Cold Fear - Cold Fear Part 34
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Cold Fear Part 34

"County attorney. If you're bringing the mother in to go hard on her, you'll have to Mirandize her. She may request and attorney."

"All you tell her is to be prepared to send another lawyer here in the morning," Zander said. Lam nodded.

Pike Thornton was a study of concern.

"Frank, if this goes the way it is shaping up to go, what does that mean for Hood? We can't sit here and let the state execute an innocent guy."

"What time is he scheduled to go?" Turner said.

"Midnight our time tomorrow night." Thornton studied his watch.

Zander nodded to Lam, who was speaking softly on her phone. "We'll get Nora to give the governor's office a heads up, depending on how things go. It's looking like it will all come down tomorrow."

Thornton said it would be seen as Washington interfering in the state's jurisdiction. "Governor has aspirations of running for national office."

Painfully familiar with the sleaze within the Beltway, Zander shook his head. "Executing an innocent man would not really enhance his chances, not that I give a rat's ass, mind you. Hood is his problem. It was his state that convicted him."

Afterward, everyone got into their vehicles, driving wearily drive through the night to their hotel rooms.

Looking out at the darkness, Zander was convinced Paige Baker's corpse was at the bottom of the crevasse deep in the mountains. Her mother's history, her father's wound, their argument, the bloodied ax. The shaky polygraph results.

But he noticed Sydowski was subdued, his body language telegraphing that he was holding something back. Something we missed?

Zander shook it off. It would be over tomorrow. Once they pulled that little girls' corpse from the crevasse and autopsied her, it would all be over.

FIFTY-ONE.

That night, Inspector Walt Sydowski was sitting up in the bed of his pine-scented room at the Sky Forest Vista Inn, wearing his bifocals, attempting to read an article on bird droppings. He wanted to take his mind from the case long enough to let him sleep.

It was a technical overview of what to look for in droppings. They were a warning of illness. Understanding could help prevent a bird's death. He set the article on the nightstand, removed his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes.

Paige Baker's face would not let Sydowski rest. He could not take his mind off of the case. In all his years as a homicide cop, this was one of the most baffling files he had ever known. Zander was an excellent investigator, doing everything Sydowski would do. Were they missing something?

Sydowski was exhausted.

What was he doing here? The Rockies were not his streets. It was an FBI file. It was unusual for them to arrange a team this way on an unfolding case, working a homicide when it has not been established you have a body. Or even a crime. Was it conceivable that Doug and Emily Baker murdered their daughter? They could not execute an innocent man if there was reasonable doubt about his guilt. Too many times, Sydowski had seen firsthand how evil manifests itself. His tired eyes burned at the memory of one case of two sisters, aged two and four. Their mother had bound them together with duct tape, put them in a cage built for a large dog and...

Sleep, he told himself.

But he couldn't. He was suddenly overwhelmed with loneliness. He dialed the number for his father's unit at Sea Breeze Villas in Pacifica. He imagined the old man spending the day tending his seaside vegetable garden while snow swirled outside Sydowski's Montana motel.

"Hahllow."

"Hey, Dad, so you're awake?" Sydowski said in Polish.

"Yeah, sure. Watching a movie."

Sydowski smiled. "So how are you doing?"

"No problems. You going to be in the mountains a long time?"

"Hard to say, Dad."

"The TV says you think the father killed his little girl. The bastard, why would he do something like that? It's crazy."

"We don't know anything for certain, Dad. You know how it is."

"I know how it was for you with that last case with the baby girl and the kidnapped kids. I think you want to retire, maybe have something new in your life. But you're afraid."

"Who knows? Listen, Dad, I was thinking when I'm done here, how about we drive down the coastal highway to Los Angeles."

"What for?"

"We could see the Dodgers, there's a doubleheader coming up. We could have some fun, do something you always wanted to do."

"Like what?"

"Go to Hollywood. Get a map of the stars' homes and check them out. See Brando's house?"

"He's a great actor. The best. Played a good Polack in that Streetcar. Kowalski. 'Stellllaaaa.' Heh-heh. He's put on weight though. Hey, and maybe I can give you a haircut and shave like the last time?"

Sydwoski winced at the memory.

"Listen, Pop, we'll think about everything. I got to go."

"You better call your girlfriend, Louise."

"She's not my girlfriend."

"She's worried about you."

"How do you know?"

"She called me asking how you were doing. So call her."

A warm feeling flowed through Sydowski. In the six years since his wife's death, when was the last time a woman cared about him? Maybe she was his girlfriend, he thought brushing his teeth, inspecting his old face in the mirror. What did she see in him? She was so smart, so comfortable to be with. She made him feel so good. You're like a lovesick pup, you dumb flatfoot. He picked up the phone and put it down. Christ, he was acting like a teenager. Go ahead. Call. Before he knew it her number in San Jose was ringing. He was suddenly guilty. Betraying Basha's memory. Hang up. It's better to be alone-- "Hello?"

"Louise? Uhm. I know it's late. I'm sorry if I woke you, it's Walt. Sydowski."

"You didn't wake me, Walter." Her voice was like medicine. He could hear her smile. He nestled the phone closer. "I just had an evening swim in the pool."

"Oh." He tried envisioning her figure in a swimsuit. "Look, I won't keep you. Uhmm, it's just, well, my father said you called."

"I did. I was concerned about how you were doing. It is such a huge story. Tragic. On the radio, TV, the papers. Nonstop, so many twists and turns. It has got to be so stressful."

"Yes, well, it has its complications."

"Are you holding up okay, Walter?"

"I'm fine. How are you budgies doing?"

"They are singing up a storm. But now you didn't call just to ask about my birds?"

"Well, no. How are you doing?"

"Oh, for Pete's sake, Walter, are you going to ask me for a date or not?"

He was at a loss. Positively impressed and stunned.

"Uh, sure. How about dinner when I get back?"

"That would be lovely."

"Okay. I'll call you."

"Sound's wonderful. Now, good luck on your case."

"Thanks, Louise. For everything."

For several minutes afterward, Sydowski sat on his bed, in his boxers and T-shirt, listening to the wind howling outside, struggling to think of nothing. Then he switched off the room's lights and was overcome with a thousand thoughts and worries. His father, his new relationship, Tom Reed and his relentless pursuits, the real possibility that an innocent man was going to be executed in a few hours.

Sleep. He ordered himself. Sleep.

Drowsiness was coming for Sydowski but it was coming with visions of ten-year-old Paige Baker's corpse, stiff and frozen in the mountain night at the bottom of crevasse, so deep, so eternal that none of the flakes swirling amid the celestial peaks of the Rocky Mountains would ever reach her.

FIFTY-TWO.

The Blueberry Hill Lodge was an independently owned first-rate motel located a few miles south of Glacier National Park's west gate, not far from Columbia Falls. Its spacious lobby had hardwood floors, oversized leather sofas, floor-to-ceiling windows framing mountain views, log walls and a massive stone fireplace, where a dying blaze crackled.

In the dimmed tranquility of the late hour, a solitary guest sat near the soft light of a lamp, her hands working on the needlepoint scene of a hummingbird hovering at a glacier lily. Embroidery was the only way FBI Special Agent Tracy Bowman could keep her hands from trembling since coming away from the task force briefing an hour ago.

Well, you wanted field work, girl.

She could not stop thinking of Paige Baker, Emily, Doug. Isaiah Hood.

If Hood is innocent? Dear God.

Bowman had held Emily in her arms just a few hours ago. Was she comforting a murderer? Had she been manipulated by a calculating, cold-blooded woman who killed her little sister?

And now her own daughter?

Bowman thought of Mark, ached to hold him. She ached for Carl. Ached for him in every way. She should sleep. Stop this. I've been an FBI special agent for over seven years now. Respectable on the GS pay scale. She'd done well at Quantico and Hogan's Alley. She'd had a duty to carry out. So much is riding on this case. For Mark. Just concentrate on the job.

"Tracy," a large warm hand touched her shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Frank Zander came from behind.

"Oh!" She smiled. "Just a little wound up and saddened, thinking of Paige Baker."

"I understand."

Zander had obviously showered, changed into fresh clothes, and had a clipboard and records with him. She detected some cologne. Looked good.

"That a hobby?" He nodded to the needlepoint.

"Helps me relax. This case has been tough."

"It's one of the most difficult files I've ever had."

"It's so intense. So much. So fast. I guess I didn't expect it to take so much out of me."

"They all take something from you."

"You got kids?"

"No. I'm not married, I'm sep--Well, I'm getting a divorce."

"I didn't mean to pry. It's just that I think of this case and Paige Baker, wondering if she's dead out there. Then I think of Mark. He's nine, and I think of Doug and Emily Baker. We look into their eyes. We talk to them. What's the truth here? I fully appreciate that it's our job to find out fast, but it just eats at you."

"I know," Zander glanced round to ensure they were alone, keeping his voice low. "Perform our duty in silence. That is what you do."

"I'm sorry. I should get to bed and not lay this on you."

"Tracy, it's okay to talk about it. I don't mind."

"Really?"

"It eats at me, too. Always has. If it's any comfort, I think you're a good investigator."

She nodded appreciatively, staring at her needlepoint.

"You're incredibly intuitive and come at things from different angles. Tell me your story. You're in Missoula."