Lucas Davenport Novels 6-10

by John Sandford

  Sloan froze, then, as unobtrusively as possible, let his arm slide sideways and rest on the table next to the recorder. Sometimes you got the best stuff after the formal questioning was done.

  ‘‘I think I do,’’ Lucas said. ‘‘I’ve talked to your friends, I’ve talked to your sister. We don’t have every piece, because you got rid of some of them. But there’s enough left to hang you, Audrey.’’

  ‘‘So dumb,’’ she said. She stood up, and turned toward Glass. ‘‘Will there be another bond hearing?’’

  ‘‘Yes, tomorrow morning.’’

  ‘‘Gonna cost you a little more, this time,’’ Lucas said. ‘‘And when we finish all the paper on your mother, we’ll just pick you up again. It’d be easier just to stay put. Mr. Glass could arrange for your sister to watch your house.’’

  ‘‘My sister . . . my sister,’’ she said. She pushed her hands up through her hair, as though she were about to tear it out. ‘‘My sister gave you a lock of Mother’s hair?’’

  ‘‘Yes.’’

  ‘‘That was good of her. And my sister told you about this whole murder idea in the first place, didn’t she?’’

  Lucas looked at Sloan, then nodded. Glass opened his mouth to say something, then shut it.

  ‘‘And did my sister tell you that all those years when I was supposedly killing these people, her sole support came from us? From Wilson and me? That we gave her cash to keep her head above water? That if Wilson didn’t do well, if he lost his job or lost a promotion, she’d be hurt as much as we would? Did she tell you about our father feeling her up, about finding a box of rat poison in the machine shed and pouring it into Dad’s whiskey? Did my sister tell you all of that? Did she tell you about fighting with Mom about screwing boys out by the cornfield in Lakeville? And more than that, screwing them for money? Did you look at everything you have, and ask, ‘What if her sister did it?’ And did you ask, if you send little Audrey McDonald off to prison, if she could tolerate it? I’ll answer that for you: I’m claustrophobic. I wouldn’t last a year in a prison. I’d find some way to hang myself. And then who gets my share of the money? My sister? That’s what she thinks . . .’’

  Lucas was astonished: at that moment, he believed that Audrey believed. She was utterly convincing, a beetle-hard, scuttling young-old woman. ‘‘Jesus,’’ he said.

  ‘‘We gotta stop,’’ Glass said convulsively. ‘‘We gotta stop this.’’

  He put an arm around Audrey to stop her: and for a moment, the woman’s dead cobra eyes gave something away, a spark, something almost like humor. Then the moment passed, and she was as sullen as ever.

  Lucas looked after her as she left: What was this all about?

  LUCAS AND SLOAN STOPPED AT A GREASY SPOON ON the way home, Lucas following Sloan out in separate cars. As they walked inside, Sloan said, ‘‘What if the sister did it?’’

  Lucas shook his head: ‘‘No way.’’

  ‘‘Why not?’’

  ‘‘She was too young to kill her old man; I don’t care if he was groping her. But the big thing is, why would she ever risk calling attention to that whole string of killings?

  Even if she blamed them on McDonald, there was always the possibility that McDonald would be able to prove that he didn’t do it . . . and if he could prove he couldn’t do any one of them, then all of them would be in question. Nope. Whoever killed these people—Audrey—is too smart to have called attention to them.’’

  ‘‘But what . . . what if she saw Wilson McDonald going down, and shot Kresge specifically to pull McDonald down, so that Audrey would get his money? And then, when you get on top of Audrey, she decides to sacrifice Audrey? I mean, what if she’s three layers back, waiting for Audrey to die in prison? Or even planning to poison her if she’s acquitted?’’

  ‘‘No fuckin’ way,’’ Lucas said. ‘‘You gotta know the people.’’

  They found a booth, ordered beer and fries: ‘‘She scared the shit out of me, man. And I’ll tell you what, Glass was looking at that tape machine like it was solid gold,’’ Sloan said. ‘‘Anybody who listens to that tape is gonna believe her too. Like a jury.’’

  Lucas shook his head again: ‘‘Not if they listen to Helen at the same time. Helen is just . . . an innocent. She picked up on McDonald because the pattern became so clear to her over the years. She talked to them often enough that she knew when a promotion was up, and then she’d read about some guy from the bank being killed, and then it’d turn out to be a guy in McDonald’s department. Nope. She even waited longer than she should have. And why in God’s name would she offer her mother’s hair? If she knew her mother had been poisoned . . .’’

  They ran over it for another hour, building the case against Audrey. In the end, Sloan said, ‘‘You’ll have to admit, most of it could be built the other way.’’

  ‘‘Naw: jury’d never go for it. And remember, she killed her old man.’’

  Sloan shook his head. ‘‘Just wish there was some way to pry the sisters apart. Put one of them in Kansas while somebody’s getting killed in Minnesota.’’

  As Lucas put the beer bottle to his mouth, the light went off in his head: ‘‘Oh, shit,’’ he said, the bottle frozen in front of his face.

  ‘‘What?’’

  ‘‘In the Arris killing. We never looked at that tape for women.’’

  ‘‘Huh. Where’s the tape?’’

  ‘‘My place. St. Paul gave me a copy of it, and I left it at my place.’’

  ‘‘Can I come along?’’

  THEY STUCK THE TAPE IN LUCAS’S VCR, AND THE BAD picture came up on the screen. They watched Arris go by, followed by several women, and then, a minute later, another woman, walking rigidly down the hill. ‘‘There she is,’’ Lucas said.

  ‘‘That’s fuckin’ Helen,’’ Sloan said.

  ‘‘No, no, that’s fuckin’ Audrey,’’ said Lucas. He ran the tape back. ‘‘Look at the way she walks.’’

  ‘‘Looks like fuckin’ Helen to me.’’

  ‘‘Remember, this is eight years ago. Audrey’d be thirty. Helen would only be in her mid-twenties . . . They look alike, but that woman is not twenty-six.’’

  Sloan was on his hands and knees, peering at the screen. ‘‘Goddamn. Could be Audrey.’’

  ‘‘Is Audrey,’’ Lucas said.

  ‘‘Selling it to a jury’ll be hard,’’ Sloan said. ‘‘You’ll get one dumb shit on there who’ll believe nothing but his own eyes, and his eyes’ll say it’s Helen.’’

  ‘‘I wonder if we can get this enhanced somehow,’’ Lucas said. ‘‘Maybe the Feebs?’’

  ‘‘I don’t know . . . Tell you the truth, if there was a way to ditch the tape, I’d do it. It confuses things. But now that I keep looking at it, I think you’re right. She moves like Audrey does. She scuttles .’’

  THE PHONE RANG AS THEY RAN THROUGH THE TAPE one last time. Sherrill. ‘‘Did you get her?’’

  ‘‘Yeah, I think—but it’s gonna be a close call,’’ Lucas said.

  ‘‘You want me to come over and comfort you?’’

  He didn’t, especially, but he said, ‘‘Come on over.’’

  ‘‘Nah. You don’t sound like you mean it,’’ she said. ‘‘Tomorrow night, though.’’

  And she was gone.

  ‘‘Fuckin’ cop-women,’’ Lucas said.

  ‘‘That’s what you’re doing,’’ Sloan agreed.

  ‘‘Fuckin’ was an adjective, not a verb,’’ Lucas said.

  ‘‘Could’ve been a verb,’’ Sloan said.

  SLOAN LEFT, AND LUCAS SAT IN HIS STUDY FOR A while, doodling, running through the case in his mind, looking for loose ends. He didn’t find many, except to note that they’d have to reinterview half the people who worked at the bank. They’d have to find witnesses who saw Audrey McDonald firing the Contender pistol; they’d have to find witnesses who would testify about promotions, and who was competitive for them . . .

  He finally trundled off to bed, lay restlessly f
or a while, finally fell asleep.

  IN THE MORNING, HE MOVED SLUGGISHLY AROUND, looked at the clock: already nine. He dressed, stopped at a fast-food place for French toast, then headed downtown. He called the county attorney’s office and got Kirk.

  ‘‘Had the bail hearing yet?’’

  ‘‘Yeah. The judge was a wee bit skeptical about the arsenic. J. B. did a pretty nice job. We got the bail up to a million, but she was ready for it.’’

  ‘‘She’s out?’’

  ‘‘Twenty minutes ago,’’ Kirk said.

  ‘‘How about the arrest warrant on her mother?’’ ‘‘We’re slowing down on that. J. B. brought up this stuff about the old house they used to live in, and we heard about this business with her sister, so we’re gonna have the house checked and depose the sister. I mean, we’ve got her on a million, I don’t think she’ll run.’’

  SHERRILL DROPPED BY AT MIDMORNING, CARRYING A doughnut and two cups of coffee. ‘‘She’s out, I hear.’’

  ‘‘Yeah,’’ Lucas said in disgust. ‘‘I’ll tell you what: if she was a black guy with a record, she’d be washing dishes in Stillwater by now.’’

  ‘‘Sloan told me about that whole rap about her sister: that’s pretty weird.’’

  ‘‘Yeah, I don’t understand that,’’ Lucas said. ‘‘It’s a fucked-up defense. You put Helen on the stand, the truth is gonna come out.’’

  ‘‘You don’t think there’s any chance that Audrey’s telling the truth? That it’s Helen?’’

  ‘‘No, I don’t.’’

  ‘‘The one thing that’s hard for me to get over is her appearance,’’ Sherrill said. ‘‘She’s only five years older than me . . .’’

  ‘‘Really? I thought you were sixteen . . .’’

  ‘‘Shut up. I’m being serious. The thing is, if you take the attack on Elle, where somebody beat her up with a ball bat, who do you think would be most likely to do that? Helen, who looks pretty active, pretty good shape, still young? Or Audrey, who looks old, slumped over?’’

  ‘‘Whatever she looks like, she’s only thirty-eight,’’ Lucas said. ‘‘She—’’

  He stopped, put a hand to his forehead. ‘‘What?’’ Sherrill asked. ‘‘A stroke?’’

  ‘‘Aw, man,’’ Lucas said. He picked up the phone book, talking fast: ‘‘I think this might have gone through my head the night we were at St. Anne’s, the night Elle got hit, but it went away; it’s like it was a stroke . . .’’

  ‘‘What, what?’’

  ‘‘If Elle takes the phone call, and grabs her keys, and runs out the door and gets jumped . . . whoever called her must’ve been standing right there. Must’ve been calling from the bushes. Must’ve used a cell phone, not a pay phone. All the other tips we’ve had have come from pay phones, it must’ve blocked me off or something . . .’’

  Sherrill snapped her fingers: ‘‘Phone records.’’

  ‘‘Absolutely.’’

  The man who could get the records was away, but was expected back before lunch. In the meantime, the company would try to reach him, to hurry things up.

  Lucas said to Sherrill, ‘‘If this pans out, she’s dead meat.’’

  ‘‘What if it’s Helen’s phone?’’

  ‘‘That’d be a problem,’’ Lucas said.

  ‘‘So we wait?’’

  ‘‘We wait.’’ Lucas looked at his watch. ‘‘Shouldn’t be more than an hour or so.’’

  DEL STOPPED IN: ‘‘I’M BEING HAUNTED BY THESE OLD ladies,’’ he said.

  ‘‘Tell them if they insist on going to jail, they’ll be raped by bull dykes,’’ Sherrill suggested.

  ‘‘I think some of them are gonna need to be rehabbed,’’ Del said. ‘‘They’re all getting different lawyers; there’s gonna be fifty-eight lawyers to deal with.’’

  ‘‘Too bad the pinking shears thing wasn’t fatal,’’ Lucas said nastily. ‘‘Think how much better off you’d be.’’

  ‘‘That’s the truth,’’ Del said sincerely. ‘‘Jesus, what a mess.’’

  ‘‘When’re you going to Cancu´n?’’ Sherrill asked.

  ‘‘In a week,’’ he said. ‘‘Hope this is done by then. I’d hate to have it hanging over my head for the whole time I’m down there.’’

  ‘‘THE THING IS,’’ SHERRILL SAID, AFTER DEL HAD GONE, ‘‘what if Helen really loves Audrey—they’ve been through a lot together, and they’re sisters—and decides to help her out? What if we go talk to Helen, and she starts taking the fifth? Audrey gets on the stand, blames everything on Helen, and Helen refuses to talk . . .’’

  ‘‘I don’t think that would happen. Audrey killed their mother and . . .’’

  Lucas trailed off and Sherrill said, ‘‘What? Again? Something else?’’

  ‘‘Yeah. What if Helen wasn’t here to defend herself?’’

  HELEN WAS WORKING AT THE AUTO PARTS PLACE. LUCAS found the name in the Yellow Pages, called her. ‘‘You’ve got to take time off, and meet us at your house,’’ Lucas said. ‘‘I’m sorry, but this is critical for both you and Connie. I’ll talk to your boss if you want.’’

  Lucas took the Porsche. Sherrill, getting the go-ahead from Frank Lester, trailed in a city car. The bomb squad was ten minutes behind her, a crime scene crew a few minutes behind that.

  Lucas thought of the lie that Audrey had told during the interrogation, how harsh, straightforward, how honest it seemed. But not unrehearsed. And there was a smugness about her when they came to take her away. She must have known that whatever case she could make against Helen would be denied by Helen, and that Helen’s denials might even be provable in some cases. She may have understood that Helen was simply more believable than she was. She might even have understood that finding a hank of hair with arsenic in it didn’t mean much unless Helen was there to swear that the hair had been taken from her mother . . .

  She must have deduced that the police case rested squarely on Helen; and that if Helen was dead, Audrey had all kinds of defenses available.

  And that little spark in her eyes, that smugness at the very end.

  She thought Helen was out of it. How would she do it? She’d used firebombs, guns, and poison. Guns were out, because she couldn’t have known that she’d be free. Some kind of bomb was possible. Some kind of poison.

  • • •

  HELEN ARRIVED: RESISTED. ‘‘I KNOW AUDREY. SHE would never do anything like this. Never. We’ve been together since we were children.’’

  ‘‘Mrs. Bell—we’re pretty sure she killed your mother and father . . .’’

  ‘‘She says she didn’t,’’ Bell said stubbornly.

  ‘‘We think she did. And if you don’t think there’s any chance, why did you give us that lock of hair?’’

  ‘‘I . . .’’

  ‘‘Believe what you want,’’ Sherrill said gently. ‘‘But just let us look. If we’re wrong, no harm has been done.’’

  NO BOMB.

  The bomb squad went in with sniffer equipment, found nothing. They checked the furnace and gas water heater for tampering or gas leaks. Nothing there either.

  ‘‘Pills,’’ Lucas said. ‘‘What kind of pills do you take? Aspirin? Something in capsules, I think . . .’’

  ‘‘Prozac,’’ she said. ‘‘I take Prozac.’’

  ‘‘Where do you keep it?’’ Sherrill asked.

  ‘‘In my bedroom.’’

  She got the bottle of Prozac and they poured the pills out on a clean garbage bag on the kitchen table. One of the crime scene techs had a hand glass, and Lucas used it to look at the capsules. After a minute, he shook his head. ‘‘I don’t see anything.’’

  ‘‘We do have aspirin,’’ she said. ‘‘Not in capsules, though.’’

  ‘‘We could take a look,’’ Lucas said.

  ‘‘And I’ve got some antibiotics left over from a cold last winter. And there’re some of those timed cold pills; now those are capsules, I think.’’

  ‘‘We’ll take them all,’’ Luca
s said. ‘‘The problem is, we don’t want anything Connie would take. How about food? Is there any food that is absolutely yours, that Connie wouldn’t eat?’’

  ‘‘I’ve got some of that diet drink, but the cans are sealed . . .’’

  ‘‘We better take a look,’’ Lucas said.

  ‘‘Look: I’ve got to get back to work,’’ she said. ‘‘Since it’s not a bomb, maybe we could do it this evening?’’

  ‘‘I suppose,’’ Lucas said. ‘‘Jesus: it’s gotta be something.’’

  ‘‘Unless you’re wrong about her.’’

  ‘‘I’m not wrong,’’ Lucas said. ‘‘I’ve got . . .’’

  He heard the tinny music in the back of his head, but didn’t react until he noticed Helen looking at her purse, a peculiar expression on her face. ‘‘What?’’ he asked.

  ‘‘That’s my pillbox,’’ she said. ‘‘I keep a pillbox in my purse, it’s got a little alarm clock so I always take my pill at the same time every day. I just filled it up this morning.’’

  Lucas picked up the purse, clicked it open, found the pillbox. The box was playing ‘‘My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean.’’

  ‘‘Push the button to stop it,’’ Helen said, as the two guys from the crime scene crew stepped up to Lucas to look at the box. Lucas carried it into the kitchen, dumped it on the garbage bag.

  ‘‘Gimme the glass,’’ he said.

  He spotted the pill in a half-second: ‘‘Got it.’’

  ‘‘No.’’ Helen didn’t believe it.

  ‘‘That goddamn pill has been messed with,’’ Lucas said. He handed the glass to the crime scene man. ‘‘What do you think?’’

  The crime scene man squinted through the glass: ‘‘And guess what? There’s nothing better in the world than gelatin for picking up a fingerprint.’’

  ‘‘There’s a print?’’ Lucas asked.