Middle Of Nowhere

   Pendegrass elbowed his wife out of the way, kicked LaMoia's boot clear, and slammed the front door shut.

   On the way back to the car Boldt said, "I'm starting

to think if we searched his closets or his locker downtown, or the trunk of his car, that maybe we'd find a baseball bat or a balaclava," Boldt said. "And that might begin to make sense of things."

   "Eggplant? What's with that?" LaMoia asked naively. "Or is balaclava one of those Greek desserts?"

   Boldt dismissed the man's ignorance. "He's on Krishevski's squad. Right?"

   "Right as rain."

   "So maybe that's all we need to know."

   They ducked through the downpour and ran for the parked car, LaMoia calling out loudly and complaining about how much he loved his deerskin jacket.

C H A P T E R

21

"Y ou're being awfully quiet," Daphne said, stung by the irony of the prominently displayed sign that reminded hospital visitors to keep silent.

   The morning routines kept the corridors busier than on their previous visits. Doctors were doing their rounds, med students in tow. Nurses and orderlies seemed harried and overworked.

   "Thinking," Boldt replied.

   "About last night's assaults," she completed for him.

   "Pendegrass is a loyalist. He'll do whatever Krishevski asks. You're the staff psychologist. You know there's a thin line between cop and criminal."

   "From what you told me, his wife's explanations made sense. Tell me how that connects to Krishevski."

   "You didn't see his eyes. His attitude. Pendegrass, Riorden—Krishevski's boys down in Property—they all ride in the back of the bus."

   "It doesn't mean they cracked open a couple of heads."

   "But they could have," he said. He needed answers. He still believed Sanchez the best source for those answers

   The rent-a-cop security guard on Sanchez's hospital room recognized Matthews and Boldt. Daphne led the way through the door. It warned of oxygen in use, but Boldt thought they might post other cautions as well. This woman's assault seemed to be tearing at the fabric of SPD's integrity, implicating misplaced loyalties to labor unions and dissolving the bonds between fellow officers. He came to find out if Sanchez had worked an Internal Investigation prior to her being found tied to her bed with her neck cracked. He came hoping that her assault was nothing but a burglary gone bad. Without confirmation otherwise, this was how the case had to be investigated. It was rare for him to enter an interrogation desiring his hunches and instincts to be proved wrong, but that was exactly what he felt as he stepped into the room and looked over at the paralyzed woman lying in the bed.

   Sanchez's haunting eyes had come to plague Boldt. Pleading. Silent. Saddened. A young, vital woman had been sacrificed. Maria Sanchez was trapped—her spirit was confined to a body that would not release her. Within the next few days or weeks, surgeons would apparently know if her surgery would reconnect this woman to the life she had previously known.

   "We know this is difficult for you, Officer," Daphne began after greeting her. The reference to the patient's rank was intentional. They needed the participation of a policewoman. They needed honest, difficult answers.

   "We've had several important developments in the case," Boldt informed her. Her eyelids shut with some difficulty, and as they opened her dark brown irises fo cused intently on Boldt, whose voice caught as he said, "Some questions we'd like to ask you."

   Her eyes shut and then reopened again, her pupils fixed to the right. "Yes," came the woman's answer. She seemed worse today than the last time he'd seen her. He reeled.

   "There have been two more assaults," Daphne said, stepping closer to Boldt at the foot of the bed to make it easier on the patient. "Both officers. Both badly off."

   The eyelids shut.

   Boldt said, "There seems to be the possibility of a connection that we would prefer not to face, but face it we must. Our primary interest remains this burglar— especially in your case, where your possessions went missing. We're pursuing all relevant leads. But unfortunately, another possibility has raised its ugly head— that these assaults on officers, my own included, have to do with an I.I. investigation. That this investigation, whatever it is, or was, is the common thread we've been missing."

   "And that's why we're here," Daphne said.

   Boldt said cautiously, "Sometimes the system itself can stand in an officer's way. We need answers, and we're not getting them from upstairs."

   "We need your help."

   When her eyes opened this time, they aimed to the right. "Yes."

   "Prior to your assault," Boldt began, "were you involved in an Internal Investigation?" Her eyes fluttered shut and remained so.

"Please, Maria," Daphne pleaded.

"Yes," came the answer.

   Boldt experienced a combination of relief and anxiety. Sanchez had been working an I.I. prior to her burglary assault. A dozen questions danced on the tip of his tongue.

   "Did the investigation involve Property?" he asked.