Middle Of Nowhere

   Daphne signed the manila folder and then opened it, dumping a set of keys and a clicker into her waiting hand. The keys and clicker had been dusted and fumed for latent prints, giving them a pale purple cast. Chapman swiveled the monitor back around and made notes in the computer log. Everything in its place.

   But no case numbers alongside Sanchez's name. Why? Boldt had in his possession what he'd come for, but he was leaving with more questions than answers.

"Let me ask you this," Boldt said to Daphne from behind the steering wheel of the Chevy. "Since when does a uniform like Ron Chapman not walk in concert with Krishevski?"

   "Bothers me too. Yes," Daphne agreed.

   "You're the psychologist."

   "Peer desertion?" she asked, looking for a cubbyhole. "It would typically indicate a selfish motivation. Something personal, maybe. Retirement? Illness in the family? Some situation where the paycheck is deemed more important than the cause."

   "Then why cooperate with me at all?"

   "It's troubling, I have to admit."

   "Then you thought that was strange back there," Boldt said encouragingly.

   "Unusual," she said, choosing her own word. "Unexpected."

   "He wanted to tell me something."

   "No," she corrected. "He wanted you to discover it."

   "Sanchez wanted that too," he informed her. "These keys. She was practically killing herself to help me figure this out, and I never did."

   "At least not yet," she said, displaying the keys and letting them dangle.

   He pulled the car to a stop, blocking Sanchez's driveway. "I still can't forgive SID for parking in the driveway that night. Who knows what we might have missed?"

   "Such as?"

   "If it's burglary, robbery, whatever, this guy has to park somewhere. He's yarding in TVs, don't forget. Maybe he parked in the driveway. Maybe we might have lifted a tire pattern or something. Who knows?"

   "If?" she questioned. "Don't you hate this not knowing?"

   "We know they got my wallet, and yet they stayed to finish me off. One of them used the term 'K-9.'"

   "We also know there have been a dozen serious assaults since the Flu," she reminded him.

   "Right now, only these keys interest us."

   She quoted, "Maintain focus and objectivity." Boldt 101.

   "Amen," Boldt said, snagging the keys from her grasp and limping as he led the way to the Sanchez house.

• • •

"Okay," he said, once inside. "Let's review the inconsistencies."

   "I thought this was about the keys," she complained. "Can't we just try all the keys first?"

   "It's your case," he said, a little miffed. He passed her the keys. Attached to the ring was a black plastic bobble with a black button.

   She sighed and gave in, saying, "Most security systems were blocked. Hers was not. She was stripped and tied to a bed. The only other known assault was Kawamoto, and she was left alone."

   He added, "Time of day was off. All the others were committed in broad daylight."

   "But all the burglaries involved high-end electronics, including Sanchez. Similar neighborhoods, similar MO: jewelry, silver, and other items left in plain view go untouched. How often does that happen?" Daphne walked them through the house, trying the keys on exterior doors. One key worked all the exterior doors. Three keys to go. She said, "Are you going to explain how this guy bypassed the security systems?"

   "He didn't. Not exactly," Boldt answered.

   "Are you going to make me beg?"

   "I love it when you beg," he said.

   "You be careful what you ask for," she said, trying a key out on a locked closet. She found one that fit. The closet was empty.

   "Probably for renters," Boldt said.

   "So?"

   Boldt said, "The guy does this for a living, right? He knows damn well that home security systems dial out over the phone line. He scouts the place. He knows it's empty. So he calls the house just as he's going to hit it. The message machine picks up, engaging the line, which means it's now busy. The security system can't dial out. He's got a minute or more—however long the answering machine gives him—to break in. When he does, he busts up the system's siren and gets the phone physically off the hook."

   "Sweet. Except that siren is blasting from the minute he's through the door until he KOs it."

   "Those things false alarm all the time. As bad as car alarms. You think a neighbor's going to pay any attention if the thing stops within twenty or thirty seconds? No way."

   "Two keys unaccounted for," she said. They'd been through the whole house.

   "Garage?"

   "Should be one of them," she agreed.

   They walked out back. The disturbed area in the grass was marked off and protected by yellow crimescene tape. They reached the garage's side door, and the key fit. They opened it up and stepped inside.

   Boldt said, "All keys accounted for."

   "One left," she said, indicating the smallest on the ring.

   "You'll find it fits that dirt bike," he said, pointing.

   She slipped past the car into the far corner and

tried the key just the same. When it fit, she said, "You do impress the ladies, you know?"

   "Do I?"

   "Yes. Absolutely."

   "But I failed in my mission," he pointed out. "Why the keys?"