Middle Of Nowhere

   "You want to get a beer?" she asked, as they neared the casino. Her thought process was quick and therefore flawed, though she tried to work all angles before speaking, her mind a flurry of thoughts and consideration. She wanted a chance to telephone Boldt, to tell him where she was and what she had in mind. He could then call ahead to Poulsbo and arrange for the local police to pick up Flek moments after dropping her off. He would never be out of her sight. She might even be able to start an interrogation immediately after his booking. It felt like a plan to her, but she needed this chance to call Boldt ahead of her being dropped off. A bar seemed the perfect place—her cell phone from a toilet stall, well away from the ears of Abby Flek.

   "Right now?" he asked.

   "One beer would help relax me—before this dinner," she said.

   He jerked the wheel hard, throwing Daphne against the door. The tires cried and the huge car fishtailed slightly. An on-coming car sounded its horn as Flek shot the Eldorado across to the far side and bounced it into a gas station next to the casino. He hit the brakes hard and threw her forward against the dash. "Sit tight," he said, leaving the car running. "Couple beers coming up." He jumped from the car and hurried inside.

C H A P T E R

50

Daphne sat back in the front seat of the 1978 Eldorado, the wind knocked out of her—more from nerves than Flek's bad driving. This was not the pit stop for beer she'd had in mind. She caught a glimpse of their suspect through the crowded shelves of the gas station's mini-market as he grabbed a cold six-pack from a wall cooler. Within seconds she had her purse open and the cellular phone out, though her eyes remained on Flek who was already at the cash register under the sterile bluish glare of tube lighting.

   She had to look down to dial. She nervously punched in Boldt's cellular, and got the number wrong. She cleared the last three digits and reentered them correctly. She hit SND.

   The phone signaled a busy cellular circuit. She ended the call, pushed RCL and hit SND again.

   Flek had a wad of bills in hand. He leafed through them, and pulled one out, and handed it to the clerk.

   For a moment, nothing. Then the call went through.

   She heard the ringing tone bleeping in her ear. Answer the phone! she willed. Or would Boldt's cellular be turned off this time of night and her only way to reach him be the home number? Liz had sounded so hostile when she had taken the call earlier. What was that about? Did she even want to know? Answer the damn call!

   "Boldt," came his voice, small and thin over the bad connection, cellular to cellular.

   Flek had a couple dollars and change in hand as he pushed out the swinging glass door and into a light drizzle that started that exact same instant.

* * *

Boldt had roughly explained the predicament over the Denver video to Liz before bidding her goodnight and heading back into town.

   "I've thought about it," he had said, "and I don't see how I can just walk away."

   "It's not the principled thing to do," she agreed. He loved her for this ability of hers to disconnect and walk the moral walk, talk the moral talk. Her religious faith, rekindled during her struggle with lymphoma, burned brightly. When tested, she fell on the side of right, of good, even if it meant ostensibly insurmountable personal challenges. Her earlier anger at him was "surface anger"—as she called it. When faced with this kind of challenge, they were a team again. She loaned him her own personal courage, and at no cost, no spousal bargaining. "You're known for your integrity, love. You can't escape it, even if you so desire—and I don't think you do. Do you?"

   "If they're good for this—whoever they are—then they've got to stand up for it. And they're not going to. Not on their own."

   "If it's time for you to leave this job, then it's time," she said.

   "What they intend to do—it will hurt. Hurt badly. Our friends. Your church. You want to look at that carefully before we decide this."

   "Listen, I'm not saying I fully forgive you for all that has happened, but I'll survive it . . . we

will survive it." She added faintly, "We're survivors."

   "It's no easy decision. It can't be made lightly," he cautioned, although more for himself than for her to hear.

   "We don't decide these things. They're not ours to decide. We choose to listen or not."

   "You're saying the decision is already made," he suggested.

   "I'm saying there never was a decision. There was only a question of whether we'd listen or not. And you always listen. You're a good man, Lou. I love you for these moments." Again, she added an afterthought. "I dislike you for certain others."

   "We've never been quite at a moment like this, Elizabeth. It's going to rain hard on this house."