Middle Of Nowhere

   "Phil Shoswitz was guild secretary. Whose side do you think he's on?" Boldt said, "Don't double guess this, John. The information is good. We need to work the call tree, and we need to do it tonight. Phil thinks we should avoid our home lines."

   "Oh, this is precious." LaMoia snorted and shook his head and looked Boldt over, trying to read him. He asked tentatively, "You buy this?"

   Boldt knew to leave it alone. It was the only way to convince his obstinate sergeant. As much as he wanted to argue his case, he returned to LaMoia's reason for the meeting. "Schock and Phillipp are Vice. Why are they sitting on a guy like Chapman?"

   "Are they?" LaMoia asked. "Vice? You're Homicide, Sarge, but are you at the moment?"

   "One cop watching another? What, they got handed an I.I.?" Internal Investigations had been wiped out by the Flu same as Burglary. It wasn't out of the question, no matter how unlikely. I.I. was a closed unit—a dreaded assignment. But it only made sense that these investigations would have to continue in spite of the Flu. He considered this possibility. "We need to know who Chapman was looking for."

   Saddled by obvious reservation, LaMoia informed Boldt, "Maria got hooked up to something first day of the Flu, Sarge. She wouldn't talk about it—and we talked about everything. I got pissed off, partly 'cause she wouldn't talk, partly because she wouldn't join us in the sickout. Basically, Sarge, she threw me out. Next time I see her she's got her head screwed down to that bed."

   "I.I.?" Boldt asked.

   "It might explain why she wouldn't discuss whatever it was," LaMoia suggested. The unit operated under strict secrecy acts. The explanation satisfied Boldt. LaMoia added, "Let me sniff out Chapman. You chat up Maria about that case. With me involved, it would only get her pissed off again. Hispanics and temper, Sarge! I'm telling you!"

   "The call tree."

   "I'll think about it."

   "Thanks again for the call," Boldt repeated. "I would have missed that crime scene."

   "What are you talking about, Sarge?"

   "The call. Putting me on to the assault."

   "The only call I made was from the bar," LaMoia said.

"Earlier?" Boldt asked.

LaMoia shook his head. "Wasn't me."

   Boldt's gut twisted. Who had wanted him to see two badly beaten officers? And much more important: Why? So he could help out with the investigation, or as a warning of how close he had come to incurring the same fate?

C H A P T E R

20

Boldt placed the call from his cell phone, disturbing Phil Shoswitz at home. Boldt's former boss had the kind of contacts within the department that John LaMoia had in the private sector. LaMoia could come up with any and all information on a suspect or witness, be it financial, tax-related, insurance or medical. He had "Deep Throats"—sources within institutions and industries—that would have made government agents blush. Shoswitz had formed similar relationships within SPD—ironically, in large part, due to his many years of guild service—and had ways of turning gossip into hard fact. He knew the scuttlebutt in the department's vehicle garage as well as the chief's social calendar. Exactly as Boldt needed.

   Recognizing Boldt's voice immediately, Shoswitz said, "You're supposed to be working that phone tree."

   "Already in motion. What about Schock and Phillipp's condition?" Boldt asked.

   "Word is both are going to pull through, although Schock may lose the eye. Phillipp won't be completing any full sentences for a week or so, but he'll be back on the job." Shoswitz already had the full medical re ports on the two and understood Boldt wanted this information first.

   Boldt said cautiously, "I need to know if they had drawn I.I. duty as a result of the Flu. I hear they may have followed a fellow officer into that bar."

   "I can ask around, but I won't get confirmation, Lou. Not if it's I.I."

   "And that lack of confirmation will tell us what we need to know."

   "Not necessarily."

   "I read this wrong, Phil. Blue on blue. I was thinking we were getting roughed up in order to cut our numbers, strengthen the effect of the Flu. And sure, maybe a brick through a window. Some rookie pissed off his paycheck isn't coming in and drinking too much. But assaults? Sanchez? Schock and Phillipp?" He left himself out of it. "Would we do that kind of damage to each other over guild politics?"

   "Don't underestimate what a desperate man will do," Shoswitz cautioned.

   "Six months into a strike, maybe. But one week? Does that make sense? And so carefully executed to look like muggings. The things are textbook, Phil."

   "Your point?"

   "I could use a little help here," Boldt prodded. "I've got two Vice cops poking around a bar and apparently following a Property sergeant. What's that about?"

   "I'll ask around," Shoswitz confirmed. "But if they were I.I., about the best we'll get is a denial. We'll be working hunches is all."

   "I have another source I can work," Boldt told him. "Sanchez may be able to fill in some of this."

   "I thought she's comatose."