box and cut it down to size with a razor knife and crudely shaped it to fit the bat. He used bubble wrap and newspaper and packaged the bat in the box, sealing it with more packing tape. He went online and filled out an overnight shipping label, printed it up, and left the package on the dining-room table as a shrine to his misbehavior.
Boldt had offered his help in speeding up the processing of evidence. The Meridian lab might expedite the work because of its association with a possible homicide, but Walt could overlook that possibility and send it to Boldt with a decent excuse in his back pocket. One day to reach Seattle, one day to process. He should have results in less than forty-eight hours, about the quickest he could expect it from the state lab in Meridian. But by putting it onto Boldt’s books he maintained absolute privacy, something that could play heavily in his favor in the days to come. In the event the bat implicated someone of interest to Boldt in the Vetta investigation, then his use of the Seattle lab was further justified.
But he didn’t sleep well that night. He tossed and turned, and what little sleep he found was marred with bad dreams and tangled plot lines that kept him barely below the surface. He awoke irritable and tired and got the girls off to camp in a cloud of silence they could feel. Even Beatrice kept her distance, lying with her head on her crossed paws, her eyes never leaving him.
“Stop it!” he called out to her across the room as he cooked French toast. She blinked, looked away, then refocused on her master, his four-legged conscience refusing to let him go.
At ten a.m., Walt left the office without explanation, telling Nancy only that he was heading home and would be back in fifteen minutes.
Nancy associated such unexplained departures with family or health issues, both of which worried her, as in her mind she’d taken on the role of his guardian since the divorce. She often handled personal matters for him that had nothing to do with his job.
“Everything all right?” she’d asked, a question he didn’t have to answer given the expression he wore.
“Fine,” he lied.
“If I can help,” she added, causing him to slow down, debating either a reprimand or an apology. She received neither. He continued out the door, his eyes locked ahead of him like a marching soldier.
“Sorry to call so early,” Walt said, Boldt’s face filling the small window on his computer screen.
“Up for hours,” Boldt said. “What can I do for you?”
“Am I that transparent?”
“You’re using Skype,” Boldt said, “instead of the phone. But I’m glad you called. Matthews had an explanation for us.”
“Concerning?”
“First, why don’t you tell me why you called?”
Walt kept his explanation of shipping the bat short and simple—he needed the lab work expedited. No excuse; no reasoning offered. He’d appreciate a phone call or e-mail the moment they knew anything. Boldt took it all in stride.
“Now you,” Walt said.
“The girl at the nursery,” Boldt said. “What was her name?”
“Martha Sharp. Maggie.”
“Pot. Matthews says she’s growing pot out there. She’s working it at night when she doesn’t belong there, which is why she was so sensitive about not being there after hours. She’s doing this on her own to supplement her income. She lives alone, probably with one of her parents who is ill or relies upon her. We scared the hell out of her by nosing around, but the point is, Matthews thinks she probably saw something. With Gale, I mean. I described the interview and—this is her magic, Sheriff—she jumps in and starts to break it down for me. I know it may sound like hocus pocus, but this is what she does, and I’ve learned to trust her.”
“Pot.”
“Underground, maybe. Lights. But the point is: she was there. She saw something and is withholding it because she can’t explain her being out there at all hours. Matthews said the approach is to get to her need for this money, identify and undermine her need. You establish the need, then you point out the ramifications to the need if she’s busted for growing. The parent or sibling will suffer if she goes down. You trade burning her stash for what she knows, and everyone wins.”
“And you’d go with this?” Walt asked skeptically.
“You’ll meet her someday. Matthews. She’s . . . well, she’s one of a kind. I’d give this a seventy-five