You were born a detective. Did you know that?" He seemed a little disappointed that Boldt had second-guessed him. Boldt's heart rate increased. Now, more than ever, he wanted the rest of the evidence. Dixie dug out a pair of black-and-white photographs which, because of their magnification, Boldt immediately recognized as lab work. "Peter Blumenthal-one of the runaways who died as a result of surgery-also had several ribs snipped. He was a lung harvest. We saved one of his ribs, as is our custom with possible evidence. Yesterday, when those files reminded me of Mr. Carsman's visit, I ran both ribsblumenthal's and this mystery woman's-by the lab for comparison tool markings. Here's what they came up with." He handed Boldt the photos. He had studied hundreds of such photographs. When any tool-a knife, pliers, a wrench, wire cutters-interacts with a material-wood, wire, metal, in this case, bone-it leaves a distinct "fingerprint." A cutting tool leaves grooves that A under magnification resemble scratch marks. These scratch marks form distinct patterns, like a comb with some of the teeth missing. In the photo, the two sets of scratch marks had been perfectly aligned, indicating the work of the same tool.
Boldt caught himself holding his breath. Whoever was responsible for the death of Peter Blumenthal and the two other runaways had also performed surgery on the woman who had once lived inside these bones. The cases were inexorably linked by this evidence.
Reading his thoughts, Dixie said, "The harvester buried this one, Lou. Why? Why when he turned the other three, and Chapman, back into the streets? Why treat this mystery woman any different?"
"Because she died on him."
"Maybe. But the way these bones were picked clean, this woman predates these other harvests by several years. These recent ones may have died by accident. He may not even know they're dead yet. But with her," he said, pointing to the bones, "he certainly knew."
"His first? Is that what you're saying?" Boldt knew the importance of such a find. The first incident in any criminal pattern typically told the investigator more than did any of the subsequent crimes or victims. it established method, motivation and a key look into the demographics of future victims. These bones suddenly took on an additional importance. This woman-whoever she was-just might tell them who the harvester was.
Dixon had reached the same conclusion. "If we locate the rest of her remains, she can tell us more." Toying with the bones again, Boldt asked, "May I keep these?"
Dixon grinned. "I thought you'd never ask."
Tegg boarded the ten-fifteen ferry for Bainbridge Island at Pier 52 and waited until the ship was under steam. The wind blew out of the west, bitter cold upon his face. Gunmetal clouds moved overhead like a giant door shutting. When the ferry whistle reverberated out across the water, Tegg shuddered. As ordered-he hated taking orders!-he worked his way down a series of steep metal ladders into the car hold.
it was dark down here, despite the occasional bare bulb and the wide openings at either end. Empty cars parked in long, tight rows. The smell of car exhaust and sea salt, kelp and fish. He wandered the aisles, as instructed, twisting and turning to worm his way through the cars. Sea spray kicked up by the wind blew through the open bow and misted across him, blurring the windshields. Many of the cars showed excessive body rot-even a few of the newer ones; these were the regular commuters. When Tegg turned around at the stern and started up the next aisle, he spotted a hulk of a figure some yards away. As he drew closer, he recognized the ape as one of Wong Kei's bodyguards. This was Wong Kei's world, not his. Wong Kei's rules. The ape stood alongside a black Chrysler New Yorker with mirrored windows. He opened the car door and signaled Tegg inside.
Tegg found himself alone with Wong Kei in the back seat. The emaciated man was drinking a diet Coke, holding the can with fingers as long and thin as chopsticks. "You are able to help me?" he said in an old man's voice. "You wouldn't have called otherwise, would you?,, "We have a possibility. What's your wife's present condition?"
"She's being flown north tomorrow, Saturday. I am told that surgery could follow immediately providing there are no setbacks. That will leave us in your hands, Dr. Tegg. We will be awaiting your call that the heart is on its way. She is running out of time. You understand this, I hope."
"I understand."
"You have found someone, I assume.
Brain-dead? Dying? How long do we have?"
"You know as much as you need to." He didn't like the change in the man's eyes. Had he angered him? The Chinese are so inscrutable, he thought. "It's for your own good as well as mine," he added. "I have a down payment for you. Call it good faith," he said. He pointed to the front seat where the ape belonged. The money was evidently up there. "No money. Not yet. We can do that when it's over."
Wong Kei persisted, "I have a sum for you now which, as I have just said, is to show my good faith. Yours as well as mine. Please take it."
No mention of a final figure. Tegg liked it that way. "No hurry," he said.
The ferry rocked violently to the left. Dozens of cars complained. "You are a trusting man," Won Kei put forward. "Not really," Tegg said. "If you don't pay me, I'll take the heart back." He waited. "It was a joke," Tegg added. "You joke about my wife's life?" His chin trembled. "Is that what I am hearing from you?" He drank more of the Coke, spilling some. "Allow me to explain something, Dr. Tegg. Allow me to explain the obvious." He finished the drink. He studied the empty can as if reading it. "I am relying on you. That is all I am going to say about it. That should be selfexplanatory. Yes?"
Tegg didn't like the sound of that. "You will call me when your wife is admitted and ready to go," Tegg instructed. He wrote out his cellular number on a blank memo pad from his Daytimer. No name, just the number. "Only the cellular. If you call me on the land lines, I will hang up."
Wong Kei sat forward, reached over the seat and dragged a small Alaskan Airlines flight bag to him. He looked incredibly tired. Anxiety and grief were swallowing him whole. Tegg knew the symptoms. "Take this. This is the purpose for this meeting my purpose. Our time is wasted otherwise. I insist." He didn't shove it at him, but he made its handle available.
Tegg accepted the bag, his curiosity mounting. He understood the commitment his acceptance of it represented. He was crossing a dangerous threshold: He would now owe this man. He immediately regretted his acceptance of the bag, but knew it would ' be impossible to return it. Wong Kei's expression told him as much.
For emphasis, the Asian added, "We must not overlook the seriousness of the situation. Time is everything. There is nothing I will not do to restore my wife to health. Yes?"
Tegg thought he meant it as some sort of veiled threat, although it was difficult to interpret exactly. Perhaps he was offering his help. Tegg said, "If I don't hear from you first, I'll call when we're set to go.
The man nodded. The ferry slowed and bumped the loading dock.
From the ferry's deck, Tegg, all alone in the wind and the night, watched the black car as it and the others disembarked. in the glow of a few meager street lamps and a mercury light far in the distance, he watched sea gulls resting on pilings, standing on one leg. Balanced.