Boldt 03 - No Witnesses Read Free Page A

suspicion. He processed, considered, weighed, tested, and then compared with whatever evidence was available.
    “It’s a strain of cholera.” It was Dixie’s voice. He was reading the boy’s chart. A youthful face for a fifty-year-old. Somewhat oriental eyes. Dixie was a big man like Boldt. Thinning brown hair juxtaposed by bushy eyebrows. He wore a gold wedding ring and a black rubber watch. Wide shoulders that hunched forward from years of leaning over a stainless steel slab.
    “I’ve gotten a couple of calls about this,” he informed Boldt. They had worked maybe two hundred crime scenes together. “The girl, Lori Chin, is much improved. She’s going to pull through.”
    “Who’s on this?”
    “State Health investigates infectious diseases. CDC, if it’s a real bastard.”
    “It’s a real bastard,” Boldt said, staring at the boy. “It’s unofficial.”
    “No, it’s cholera. Cholera is quite official.”
    “How did he get it?” Boldt asked.
    Dixie referenced the boy’s chart. “They have names, you know? Numbers really: the strains. They can be followed that way—tracked.” Boldt felt his eye twitch. Dixie continued: “It’s a particularly virulent strain, this one, whatever it is. Normally, cholera responds to rehydration. Antibiotics can speed the recovery but this strain is resistant to the usual antibiotics. Theoretically,” he said, sounding suddenly detached, “antibiotics are not necessary for recovery. This boy is dying from shock, Lou. His dehydration progressed too far, and when rehydrated he showed a temporary recovery and then went into severe shock that has resulted in organ failure. Acute tubular necrosis of the kidneys, which will result in renal failure and fluid overload. And something called ARDS—adult respiratory distress syndrome, which can occur in children—also the result of rehydration shock. ARDS causes pulmonary failure.”
    “He’s going to pull through,” Boldt stated emphatically.
    Dixie shifted uneasily, returning the chart to a plastic file holder on the wall. “No,” Dixie corrected. “He’s not going to pull out of this, Lou.”
    Boldt heard the words, but would not allow them to register. His eyes flashed darkly at his friend. “How’d he get it?” Boldt repeated, teeth clenched.
    “Listen, there are bacterial outbreaks like this all the time. Maybe not cholera, but plenty just the same. You don’t hear about most of them, only the sensational ones. Typically, it doesn’t take State Health very long to identify the source: a restaurant, a fish stand. It goes down pretty quickly. But this one’s a bastard. An uncommon strain of an uncommon bacteria. They’re unlikely to track down the source before IDing the strain.”
    “What if I knew the source?” Boldt asked. “What if I think I knew the source?” Boldt modified.
    Dixie bore down on him intensely. “Then we’ve got to move on this, Lou.”
    “I’ll need some techs. I’ll need a cover—something to fool the neighbors.”
    “I can help with that.” Dixie pointed urgently to the door. He said, “After you.”
    Boldt glanced back at Slater Lowry. The nausea had grown into a knot.

THREE
    Less than ninety minutes later, at 11:30 A.M. , a RID-ALL Pest Control van turned left past a pair of green recycling bins into the driveway of 1821 Cascadia. Dixie had arranged it; State Health used the van for low-profile inquiries exactly like this.
    Boldt parked his Chevy on the street. He wore a RID-ALL windbreaker and carried a brushed aluminum clipboard clasped in his big fist. The neighbors were certain to have heard of Slater Lowry’s illness. This small effort to disguise police involvement—an involvement that remained unofficial and went strictly against the blackmailer’s demands—seemed well worth the short delay it had caused. Inside the van four State Health field technicians, outfitted in what amounted to environmental space suits, awaited a go-ahead from Boldt.
    He introduced