Middle Of Nowhere

   "The three of us over here have an ongoing investigation into that assault of the female officer."

   "Sanchez," Daphne said.

   LaMoia told the uniform, "Mine is more of a personal interest. Sanchez and I were . . . friends."

   "I'm with you," Chapman told the three.

   "You've always been straight with me, Ron."

   "Same here, Lou."

   "And I need you to be so now." He repeated, "Straight."

   "I've spoken to I.I. already, if that's what this is about."

   "That's part of what it's about," Boldt acknowledged. "Krishevski paid me a visit. Told me about a video you have. Wouldn't tell me what's on it."

   "So maybe you're wasting your time."

   "You want to go down with them?" Boldt asked, having a vague idea of who "them" was. "I.I.'ll get you for hindering prosecution—you understand that, don't you?"

   "I got no comment, Lou."

   Boldt said, "I was with you when you discovered that rifle being switched. I think it surprised you."

   He waited a moment. " 'Course it surprised me," Chapman said.

   "This is about the Flu, Ronnie. That's what I think. It's about some of the guys buying themselves a little extra insurance that the cash flow would be there when the guild funds started running dry. It's about inside information, which is where Krishevski fits in: He talked when he shouldn't have. The best pressure we have is that a missing assault rifle took a shot at me."

   Chapman's eyes went wide.

   LaMoia suggested, "You'll be hooked up to that if you keep playing it the way you are."

   Daphne explained, "The shooting offers us the best leverage in terms of getting one of them to talk." She had no idea what she was talking about, but she hoped Chapman didn't know that.

   "And I fit in, how?" Chapman asked, vamping.

   Boldt said, "Property has always been a clean department, Ronnie."

   "Damn right."

   "And now this," LaMoia said. "Gotta break your heart."

   "It does," the man insisted.

   "And us too," LaMoia said.

   Daphne added, "We hate to see anyone look bad."

   Boldt said, "And we understand that when a guy is dealing with I.I. he's not about to so much as whisper a fellow officer's name without damn good proof, because no matter what anyone says, any kind of I.I. association hurts an officer, jams him up. Even ruins him, sometimes. And for no good reason."

   "Agreed."

   "It was Krishevski's shift," Boldt stated, as if certain. "How long do you cover, Ronnie?" Boldt readjusted his cast. "Krishevski has three officers under him: Pendegrass, Riorden, and Smythe."

   Chapman was feeling uncomfortable. "I'm aware of that, Lou."

   "Who was it? What was it?" Boldt tried to sound convincing, "One of them stole some assault rifles. Probably more like two of them, given the way the mechanics work—one guy having to trip a button upstairs in order for the vault to come open downstairs. They sold them into the marketplace for some spending money."

   "Is that what's on this missing video?" LaMoia asked. "Or was it you who threw the switch to open the warehouse?"

   "I didn't throw no switch. I didn't have nothing to do with that."

   Daphne speculated, "You saw something."

   Chapman answered, "I caught one of Sergeant K's guys in house on my shift, and he hadn't signed in. You gotta sign in, Lou—that's on penalty of death in our unit. There were threats exchanged. Obviously, I realized something wrong was going down. Something had come out of the warehouse, and it came out on my shift—that was on purpose. And if it came out, then it had to go somewhere. Had to leave the building. And fast."

   "The garage," Boldt nodded, understanding the logic. The warehouse and the lower deck of the parking garage were on the same level.

   "I don't know if these guys planned on covering their backsides later or not. Maybe they're just plain stupid." He looked at LaMoia. "Maybe they planned to give me what someone gave you, what someone gave Sanchez. Schock. Phillipp. You gotta be some kind of stupid to try any of this. But I got the leg up on 'em. If I hadn't, maybe somebody would have clubbed me in an alley or on the way out of a bar or something."

   "Leg up, Ronnie?" Boldt asked.

   "You remember that vandalism in the garage . . . must be two years ago now?"

   "Vaguely," Boldt answered.

   "I.I. had a pair of cameras installed." He recognized Boldt's blank expression.

   LaMoia said, "The video."

   "No one knows about those cameras," Chapman said. "The brass wanted it that way. They didn't want anyone knowing. They knew the vandalism had to be internal, cop to cop, and they wanted to put somebody right for it. The wiring for the closed-circuit stuff runs into the boneyard. They installed it saying they were doing maintenance. Thought they'd hidden the VCRs where we'd never see them—way up on a shelf in the back. But I knew. I had to know. I've been in that room going on twenty-one years. I know every creak, every sound. I've been fighting rats and spiders so long that I've given them names. I know every inch of those shelves. But no one knew I knew."

   "The videotape," LaMoia repeated.