DEPUTY PROSECUTING ATTORNEY PAUL GEISER’S OFFICE reminded Boldt of a librarian’s or research assistant’s with its untidy stacks of papers covering every horizontal surface, the dust, the unsavory smell of old food. He knew Geiser by reputation: a courtroom bully; opinionated to a flaw; outspoken. He’d languished in the prosecuting attorney’s office significantly longer than even the prosecuting attorney himself, destined to never be recruited by the U.S. Attorney’s Office, the proper career track, because his mouth had made him more enemies than it had won friends. The question on Boldt’s mind was whether Geiser could help him learn more about the federal case against Yasmani Svengrad, and what, if anything, Geiser knew about Liz’s affair with Hayes, given his prints on the tape. If Boldt were going to attempt to sting the very investigation he found himself a part of-this in order to protect his family from Svengrad-he had to know all the players, their roles, and their weaknesses.

A man who probably sweated in his sleep, Geiser wore a sheen of perspiration, as if he’d showered too quickly after a run. He was said to be an expert in the martial arts, and this rumor was now confirmed by a group of photographs on the wall, one of which, a triptych, showed him breaking a small concrete brick in two with his bare hand gripped in a fist. He was said to play the bars for the young impressionable women new to jurisprudence, scoring more often than not, considering himself a real ladies’ man, though Boldt doubted real ladies ever looked his way.

“Lieutenant.” Geiser’s voice sounded sadly misplaced-a nasal-prone adolescent stuck in a forty-year-old’s well-conditioned body, a voice useful in court no doubt, but lost on conversation.

“You mind?” Boldt asked, indicating Geiser’s door.

Judging by his eyes, Geiser did mind, though he nodded. Boldt shut the door, moved a pile of papers aside without asking, and took a seat. By moving that pile, he wanted Geiser to understand he was taking charge. As a rule, attorneys believed they could win any argument. Boldt was here to prove that wrong.

“You’re familiar with David Hayes,” Boldt began.

“I convicted him. What’s this about?”

“Are you aware we found blood evidence in a cabin north of the city that we believe will come back positive for Hayes?”

“Yes, I am. Have you found a body yet? No?”

Boldt fought the urges that rushed to the surface, forcing an artificial calm in their place, believing it a mistake to confront Geiser on his prints being lifted from the videotape, because according to Foreman, Geiser didn’t know the content of the video. There was no sense in bringing his attention to it. Boldt toed a tentative line between exploration and revelation.

“I could use a favor,” he said, beginning to walk that line. Attorneys loved negotiation.

“What kind of favor?”

Geiser wore frameless glasses, a thin length of silver wire hooking behind each ear. He’d lost two front teeth-to the martial arts perhaps-their unnatural white giving his ironic smile a glint that drew Boldt’s eye. Boldt did not find him handsome, but saw how some might. He had an intensity about him. The type of man who might go unnoticed when entering a room and yet would later commandeer the conversation at the dinner table; not exactly charming, but not feckless either.

“You must have associates, within the USAO for instance, with whom you’re on good terms.” Boldt knew Geiser’s failure to reach the U.S. Attorney’s Office had to weigh heavily on the man, and tried to say this in a tone that did not imply he was taking a shot at him.

“Go on.”

“I need a case looked into. Quietly, if at all possible. There’s a situation-it could help us both-that apparently involves a federal ruling in favor of a position held by Fish and Wildlife.”

“You must know a few people over there yourself,” Geiser said. Not to be fooled, Boldt thought. “We’ve both been in this work a long time, eh, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, of course I do. But an inquiry coming from me is completely different than one from you.”

“Not necessarily. It depends on the request.”

“Yasmani Svengrad,” Boldt said, watching intently for a tic or other reaction, trying to drop it like a bomb so that Geiser couldn’t protect himself, knowing full well that experienced attorneys taught themselves to never visually react to any news, no matter the surprise.

“The Sturgeon General.” Geiser disappointed Boldt with his placid expression. “You are in the shit if you’re messing with Svengrad.”

“I’m not messing with anyone. I’m exploring the strengths and merits of a federal injunction preventing Svengrad from importing and selling caviar.”

“So the question that needs to be asked is why would you, a Seattle police lieutenant of some note, care what happens to the alleged don of this city’s Russian mafia?”

Boldt opened the bomb bay doors and dropped number two. “I think Svengrad may be the one whose seventeen million went missing.”

This won only a protracted stare from Geiser. “How certain are you?”

“Entirely speculative. But if I… if we, you and I… could use the lifting of that injunction as a carrot, something to bring to the table, I have a feeling we might win more than we lose.”

“IRS wants him on tax fraud. The injunction is nothing but a stall while they sharpen their pencils.”

“Then you’re familiar with the case?”

“That Internal Revenue is investigating S &G and Svengrad, yes. But don’t ask me in public, because I’ll deny it. As to this other possibility you’ve just now surfaced, no. That’s news to me.”

“Interested?”

“Interested enough to keep listening.”

“Do you know Svengrad?”

“By reputation.” Geiser clearly felt Boldt’s accusatory tone. “One of his guys surfaced as our primary in the Radley Trevor case.”

Boldt, along with everyone else in Seattle law enforcement, knew the Radley Trevor case. A twelve-year-old boy found buried alive, presumably held hostage for ransom. Boldt remembered now the whispers of Russian mob during the course of that investigation. His chest seized with the thought of his own children.

“Do you believe it possible that the seventeen million was his?”

“Anything’s possible, Lieutenant. The IRS plays it close to the vest, but let’s assume their case revolves around laundering or offshore accounts-that would dovetail nicely with your theory. We know for a fact that David Hayes intercepted at least one wire transfer from a dummy account at WestCorp intended for a Bahamian bank. That would fit what you’re suggesting.”

“I’m under the impression that if we get the injunction lifted Svengrad will provide information concerning several assaults we’re working. Might possibly even hand over a suspect.” This wasn’t Boldt’s impression at all, but instead that if the injunction were lifted, if Liz cooperated in transferring the seventeen million, then his family would be spared bloodshed. Until he found a way around this, a solution that might keep Liz out of it, he pursued the obvious.

“I’m not sure how that helps the prosecuting attorney’s office exactly,” Geiser said. “My interest is…?”

“We prosecute a man responsible for tearing the fingernails off of at least two individuals, and quite possibly for holding the LaRossa family hostage.”

“Your wife is going to help them, isn’t she, Lieutenant?” Geiser dropped a bomb of his own. “Svengrad’s turning the screws, is he? Since when does a Homicide lieutenant recommend aborting a multidepartmental federal investigation in order to apprehend a subordinate, some thug who slapped a few people around?”

“Since one of those he slapped around was a state investigator.”

“Danny Foreman and I discussed running your wife, Lieutenant. He detailed to me the contact made by Hayes, both by phone and in person, and we agreed that your wife remained our best bet of busting open this case. Now you show up in my office, just after our primary suspect disappears in a pool of blood, looking to help a mobster who may be behind the whole case? What exactly is my reaction supposed to be?”