Middle Of Nowhere

   It amused Boldt that neither he nor Daphne answered these questions, but instead the various politicians and their assistants. Facts surrounding the private commerce program at Etheredge unfolded. According to a congressman's aide, the program had been approved by a handful of politicians and had been kept quiet these many months under the pretense of it being a test program. As such, a statement had been made to the voting public that Etheredge Corporation was paying both the county and the state substantial fees on a commission basis—no mention that certain influential state politicians had been generously entertained, and their campaign coffers padded, prior to the subcommittee's closed-door vote that had authorized the program in the first place.

   Boldt's letter of complaint to the state's Department of Justice lit a fuse that would burn for many months to come, finally destroying more than a few in the hotel lobby.

   "Is it true this program was initiated under the guise of prison reform?" a reporter shouted.

   "What was David Ansel Flek's role in your investigation?" a well-informed woman called out from the crowd. Boldt and Daphne met eyes. How had that leaked? "And what does your trip here, to Denver, have to do with your ongoing investigation of the tragic assault of Seattle police officer Maria Sanchez?"

   Daphne grabbed him by the arm, stopping him. "We need to deal with this. We need to head it off. If the Flek investigation leaks home, we lose our jump on his possible accomplice."

   "Agreed!" Boldt said. He assumed this reporter had searched the Times' Internet archives for one or both of their names and had uncovered their participation in the Sanchez investigation. A guard or someone in the warden's office had Flek's name.

   Daphne spoke up loudly, and as she did, the crowd quieted down for the first time. "Ladies and gentlemen! Please! Thank you! Lieutenant Boldt and I are with the Seattle Police Department, investigating a string of burglaries." She looked this woman reporter in the eye to drive home her point. "We came to Denver to follow up on possible leads that may or may not be connected to the Etheredge facility in Jefferson County. We spoke to a variety of individuals at the facility, including inmates and administrative personnel, none of whom has been charged with any crimes. I want to stress that point: To date, no one in Colorado has been charged with any crime associated with our investigation. This was, and is, a fact-finding mission and nothing more. The lieutenant and I are returning to Seattle now to follow up on what we've learned here. Any forthcoming charges or connections to our investigation will be released to the press in a timely fashion. We are working in cooperation with the Colorado Department of Corrections, and the justice department. That is all we have for you at this time. Thank you."

   Boldt and Daphne exited the room, following a pair of patrol officers. A reporter pulled at Boldt's overnight bag, and the lieutenant elbowed the man away. Camera flashes blinded him as they staggered out into the daylight, expecting their rental but instead finding themselves shoved into a waiting stretch limousine bearing the hotel logo. Moments later, they were on their way to the airport.

   When the two weren't calling out on their cellular phones, the devices were ringing. ABC radio broke the story nationally ten minutes into the ride, ensuring that even more press would be awaiting the two at the Denver airport. Two cars and a television van dogged the limousine, pulling alongside, reporters leaning out of the cars and shouting for one of them to put the window down and answer questions. The limousine's cellular phone rang; it was the television van following right behind them. The driver hung up.

   Boldt's cellular rang. "Lieutenant Boldt?" a man's voice asked.

   "Speaking," Boldt answered into his cellular.

   "John Ragman, Colorado Department of Corrections. We spoke this afternoon."

   "Yes."

   "There's something here I wanted to share with you. It concerns . . . the inmate you interviewed out at Etheredge."

   "I'm listening."

   "You run the man's surname through our system and you get more than one hit. You follow me?"

   "Yes, I think I do."

   "You're on a cellular—I can hear it. Digital?"

   "No."

   "So maybe I shouldn't say much more. The reporters—often scan the analog frequencies."

   "Yes, I understand. The person you want to talk to is a Sergeant John LaMoia." Boldt gave him the direct number. "I'll call LaMoia from a land line out at the airport to be caught up, or I'll call you directly if I can't reach him . . . if you two haven't spoken."

   "Got it." Ragman added, "You're gonna like what I've got. Or maybe not, I guess. But either way, you need it, Lieutenant."

   Boldt disconnected the cell, waited for Daphne to get off her own phone, and told her, "There's another Flek in the Colorado system, maybe a relative."

   "Maybe currently living in Seattle?" she deduced.