Secret Prey

  ‘‘One more bone joke from anybody and they’re fired . . .’’

  ‘‘Fuck you, I’m civil service. Anyway . . .’’

  ‘‘I don’t know; she’s pretty chilly,’’ Lucas said.

  ‘‘Really? I think she’s pretty comfortable with Bone.’’

  Now Lucas was surprised. Sloan was the personalityreading genius in the department. ‘‘Is that so? Huh.’’

  ‘‘She also doesn’t have a completely solid alibi. Kresge does, sort of. She was talking to some other guy—and I get the feeling she may be boning this other guy too—when Bone called with the news that McDonald had left and there was no deal. But this was like on call waiting. She told Bone she’d come over, and then she switched back to this other guy and told him that something had come up with the bank, and they talked about it for a few minutes. Maybe five, ten minutes, because they talked about some other stuff too. And then she hurried right over to Bone’s place and got there about twenty after eleven, and from her place she really doesn’t have time for another stop.’’

  ‘‘Okay.’’

  ‘‘And to tell you the truth, she’s a pretty funky chick; I don’t think she’d kill anyone. She’s not crazy enough.’’

  ‘‘What about Baki?’’ Lucas asked.

  ‘‘I don’t know. I can’t read her very well. Very pretty; and she looks at Bone like a wolf looks at a sheep.’’

  ‘‘Huh. You about done there?’’

  ‘‘Yeah. Unless you want me to torture somebody.’’

  ‘‘Not tonight. I’ll see you in the morning.’’

  ‘‘Shit’s gonna hit the fan tomorrow morning, dude. The Star-Tribune has the police guy standing outside of O’Dell’s, and a business guy standing downstairs here.’’

  ‘‘Freedom of the press,’’ Lucas said.

  FIFTEEN

  JIM BONE HAD HIS HEAD IN HIS REFRIGERATOR WHEN the phone rang. He picked up the kitchen extension and Kerin Baki said, ‘‘Mr. Bone, this is Kerin.’’

  ‘‘Jesus, Kerin, it’s five-thirty. Have you been to bed?’’

  ‘‘No. Too much to do.’’ She sounded wide awake. ‘‘Nancy Lu just called me. McDonald called Brandt out at his farm, and Brandt’s asking for an emergency board meeting at ten o’clock. We’ve got to be ready.’’ Nancy Lu was the board secretary.

  Bone had been drinking milk out of the carton. He swallowed and said, ‘‘All right. Do they want the pitch today? What’d she say?’’

  ‘‘No pitch. They just want to sort things out. But I think you’ve got to go for it today. If you wait, things could get out of control.’’

  Bone scratched his head: ‘‘I don’t think they’d give it to me today, but we might kill McDonald off.’’

  There was a second of silence, and then Baki said, ‘‘Try to be more careful with your language. You talk that way all the time, and it could cause trouble.’’

  Bone grinned at the phone and said, ‘‘Yes ma’am.’’

  ‘‘Bring in your blue suit with the thin chalk line—is that clean?’’

  ‘‘Yes . . .’’

  ‘‘And the red-horsey Herme`s necktie and the usual shoes and so on. Also, wear jeans and one of those mock turtlenecks and the black leather motorcycle jacket and your cowboy boots. I’m not sure which you should wear and we have to talk about that. Don’t shave—you still have that electric razor in your office bathroom?’’

  ‘‘Yes.’’

  ‘‘Good. Mr. Bone, I think you should leave your apartment in ten minutes and meet me at the bank in fifteen. You should be here before anybody else.’’

  ‘‘I’ll be there. And listen. Call Gene McClure and tell him to get his ass in there. We’ve got to start looking at what Susan was doing. If there’s anything about the murder in her computers, we’ve got to know about it. I’ve been thinking about it all night.’’

  ‘‘Yes. That’s good.’’

  ‘‘Fifteen minutes,’’ he said. He hung up the phone, looked at it for a moment, said, ‘‘Whoa,’’ and headed for the shower. No shave? Motorcycle jacket and cowboy boots? Wonder what that was about.

  BONE CARRIED THE SUIT AND TIE WITH A WHITE shirt and a pair of black dress loafers into the elevator, and was met by Baki on the twelfth floor.

  ‘‘Good,’’ she said, taking the clothes. She was dressed in a tack-sharp blue suit and her hair was perfect. ‘‘Gene McClure is on the way in. He should be pretty quick. I scared him a little.’’

  ‘‘Good. Get him to me as soon as he comes in. Now: What’s this about the boots and jacket?’’ He looked down at himself.

  ‘‘We may want to reflect the image of a man who has been working all night to keep the bank going. Nobody else is in. I checked on McDonald, and he hasn’t been in, so as far as anybody knows, we’ve been working all night. Not even McClure knows you’re just coming in. I told him you were out for coffee.’’

  ‘‘I see . . . Listen, you gotta start calling me Jim.’’

  ‘‘Not yet,’’ she said. ‘‘Go get your computers up, and get ready for McClure. I’ve got to mess up my hair.’’

  ‘‘Here . . .’’ He reached out and pulled a few strands over her eyes, a couple out at the sides: ‘‘My God, you look different,’’ he said. And he thought that in the six years she’d worked for him, this was the first time he’d ever touched her, in any way. ‘‘But you’ve got to try to look a little tired.’’

  ‘‘I am tired,’’ she said.

  MCCLURE ARRIVED TEN MINUTES LATER, WEARING A rumpled suit over a clean shirt; the skin on his face was a scuffed pink, as though he’d scraped off his beard with an emery board. McClure was technically O’Dell’s second-incommand, although his position was bureaucratic rather than executive, and he had not been part of her inner circle. Pushing sixty, he was simply waiting for retirement and enjoying himself. But as O’Dell’s technical second-incommand, he was now running her department, if only for a few days.

  ‘‘Jim. Kerin told me about Susan. My God . . .’’ Bone peered at him and realized that he was really shocked. He liked that.

  ‘‘Murdered,’’ Bone said. ‘‘I’m as upset as you are, but we’ve got some things to get straight. We’ve got to balance everything out, tear through everything Susan was doing. We’ve got to make sure she wasn’t up to something . . . unusual.’’

  ‘‘Shouldn’t we wait for the board?’’ McClure asked doubtfully.

  ‘‘No. There’s an emergency board meeting this morning at ten o’clock, and they’re gonna need this information to put together some kind of response,’’ Bone said. Baki walked into the room with a piece of paper in her hand. ‘‘If there’s anything unusual in the record, they’re going to want to know ASAP.’’

  ‘‘All right,’’ McClure said. ‘‘I’ll get some of the computer cowboys on the way in.’’

  ‘‘They’re on the way,’’ Baki said, lifting the sheet of paper so they could see a list of names. ‘‘All of them.’’

  MCDONALD WAS SHAKEN OUT OF BED AT EIGHT forty-five; Audrey was up with a cup of coffee.

  ‘‘What?’’

  ‘‘Board meeting at ten. Nancy Lu called an hour ago. I let you sleep as long as I could. You’ve got to be good,’’ she said.

  ‘‘Coffee?’’

  ‘‘Yes,’’ she said. ‘‘You go get cleaned up. I’ll get your suit . . . the charcoal one, I think, since O’Dell’s dead. Wouldn’t that be appropriate?’’

  ‘‘Whatever . . .’’ And he staggered off to the bathroom.

  THE POLARIS BANK’S BOARD OF DIRECTORS MET AT EXACTLY ten o’clock in emergency session. All the members were present, plus Bone and McDonald. Bone showed up at the last minute wearing jeans, a motorcycle jacket, and cowboy boots. Wilson McDonald raised an eyebrow at the costume, and turned to see if Brandt had gotten it.

  Before anyone else could say anything, Oakes blurted, ‘‘What in the Sam Hill is going on here? Jim? Wilson? Anybody?’’

  Wilson McDonald steepled his finge
rs: ‘‘There’s no reason to think that the O’Dell incident is related to the bank. I understand drugs were discovered in her apartment last night . . .’’

  ‘‘Drugs?’’ Brandt buried his hands in his face. ‘‘Sweet bleedin’ Jesus. Is the press gonna find out about this?’’

  ‘‘I would think that the police would make every effort to keep this private. However, I think there’s a good possibility that Susan, as with any drug user, was involved with very unsavory people . . .’’

  ‘‘Bullshit,’’ Bone snapped. He was chewing on an unlit cheroot, scowling. ‘‘It’s gonna get in the papers. I’d be surprised if it’s not out by tomorrow. And her dealer was a waiter at The Falls.’’

  ‘‘How do you know about this drug thing, anyway?’’ Anderson asked querulously, looking from Bone to Mc-Donald. And to Bone: ‘‘How do you know her dealer?’’

  ‘‘The police told us about the drugs,’’ Bone said. ‘‘ Several of us were questioned last night. Another person told me who her dealer was. Told me in confidence.’’

  ‘‘We may have to know who it is,’’ McDonald said.

  ‘‘If the cops ask, I might tell them,’’ Bone said. ‘‘But right now, nobody knows that I know, except the person who told me, and the people in this room. If it gets out of this room, it’ll hurt the bank and I’ll want to know why it got out.’’ He looked straight at McDonald.

  ‘‘What kind of drugs?’’ asked Bose, toying with a string of pearls.

  ‘‘Just an old piece of hash and a little pot,’’ Bone said. ‘‘Nothing serious.’’

  ‘‘Nothing serious?’’ McDonald said. This time his eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. ‘‘Nothing serious? How can you say it’s nothing serious?’’

  ‘‘Because it’s not,’’ Bone said.

  ‘‘I’d disagree,’’ McDonald said. ‘‘I think this must be handled very carefully . . .’’

  ‘‘More bullshit,’’ Bone said. He looked at McDonald over the walnut table, his eyes glittering. ‘‘And I’m getting pretty goddamned tired of your bullshit, Wilson.’’

  ‘‘Listen, pal,’’ McDonald said, but Bone’s voice rode over his.

  ‘‘First, it’s not important,’’ he told the board. ‘‘If it were heroin or cocaine or crack or methamphetamine, it’d be much more important. With this, it’s a misdemeanor, and we simply issue a press release saying that we were unaware of any drug use on O’Dell’s part, say it may have been related to her glaucoma.’’

  ‘‘Glaucoma,’’ McDonald said. ‘‘I didn’t know she had glaucoma.’’

  ‘‘Neither do I, dummy, but by the time the newspapers find out for sure that she didn’t, nobody’ll give a shit.’’

  McDonald was half out of his chair: ‘‘You’re asking to be hit in the mouth, Bone. I’m no damn dummy and I want an apology.’’

  Bone waved him down into his chair, closed his eyes: ‘‘I’m sorry, I apologize. But I’ve been here half the night, ransacking O’Dell’s files with Gene McClure. We’ve established that her department is apparently completely on the up-and-up. Everything is absolutely clean.’’

  Brandt said, ‘‘Good going. I worried about that all the way in from the farm.’’

  ‘‘And we’ve got to stay on top of it,’’ Bone said. ‘‘My assistant has prepared a press release . . .’’ He opened his briefcase, took out a sheaf of papers, and started passing them around. ‘‘It’s all very standard, full cooperation with police, the glaucoma thing, an overnight review of her department with her top subordinates indicates exemplary management with no hints of any banking issues in the murder.’’

  Brandt was reading the paper, put it on the table and said, ‘‘Excellent.’’

  ‘‘We’re going to have to tell Spacek at Midland,’’ said Constance Rondeau.

  ‘‘I already did,’’ Bone said. ‘‘Kicked him out of bed at seven o’clock this morning, briefed him. He’s issuing a press release that says that Midland is standing behind the merger proposal and that he has full confidence in the integrity of Polaris.’’

  ‘‘All right . . . all right,’’ said Anderson.

  ‘‘Do you think, uh, any of the rest of us might be in danger?’’ Bose asked.

  Bone grinned at her and said, ‘‘That’s the first question I asked when the cops came over last night.’’ After a bit of uneasy laughter, he said, ‘‘The police have nothing. I can’t see any connection, and no threats have been made . . . but then, O’Dell wasn’t threatened either.’’

  ‘‘You think we could use a vacation?’’

  Bone shrugged. ‘‘That’s up to you.’’

  The board members looked at each other; then Brandt said, ‘‘I really don’t think that’s necessary. But I do think it’s necessary for this board to talk privately amongst ourselves. We have some issues.’’

  Several of the other board members nodded, and Bone pushed back from the table and said to McDonald, ‘‘ Wilson, I think they’re kicking us out.’’ He looked down at himself. ‘‘And I could stand a change of clothes.’’

  ‘‘Not kicking you out,’’ Brandt objected. ‘‘In fact, I’d appreciate it if you both would hang around for a while. I know you’re both tired, so we’ll give you a call in a half hour or so. Get you out of here for the rest of the day.’’

  In the hallway outside the room, McDonald said, ‘‘You called me a dummy.’’

  ‘‘I apologized,’’ Bone said. Baki was standing just behind him, prim with a bundle of papers.

  ‘‘Fuck apologies,’’ McDonald said. ‘‘You’re going down, you prick.’’

  ‘‘Yeah? What’s that supposed to mean?’’ Bone asked. ‘‘You walking around with a little handgun, Wilson?’’ Bone’s voice was quiet, and he looked almost as if he might be joking. But McDonald could see his black eyes, and knew that he wasn’t.

  ‘‘Kiss my ass,’’ McDonald said; and Bone, in his turn, took a mental step back. This was not the hail-fellow he knew. Baki caught the hem of Bone’s jacket and pulled. ‘‘No,’’ she muttered, an inch from his ear. McDonald nodded at the two of them, then turned on his heel.

  ‘‘Fat fuckin’ . . .’’

  ‘‘Some other time,’’ she said. ‘‘Did it work out in there?’’

  ‘‘I don’t know.’’

  ‘‘WHAT HAPPENED?’’ AUDREY DEMANDED, AS SOON AS the door shut behind her husband.

  ‘‘I damned near punched Bone out in the hallway, the prick,’’ McDonald said. ‘‘Christ, I could use a drink.’’

  ‘‘Punched him?’’ Audrey was confused, and her voice turned shrill. ‘‘Wilson, what are you thinking about? Punched him?’’

  ‘‘Ah, shut up,’’ McDonald rapped. He peeled off his coat and tie. ‘‘Board wants us to wait around until they’re done.’’

  ‘‘Are they going to pick someone? We’re not ready. We were going to work on Bose this weekend.’’

  ‘‘The O’Dell thing spooked them,’’ McDonald said. ‘‘I think half of them are getting ready to leave town. Hide out until it’s over with.’’

  ‘‘But . . .’’ Audrey was flabbergasted. ‘‘They said next week . . .’’

  ‘‘I don’t know.’’ Wilson shrugged. He turned to look out his window, down at the street. ‘‘Bone turned up looking like a motorcycle bum. He sure as hell didn’t look like a CEO, so that’s something.’’

  ‘‘Okay,’’ she said. She folded her skirt beneath her as she sat down on a plush chair. ‘‘So we wait.’’

  THE WAIT WAS AN HOUR LONG, AND SEEMED TO TAKE most of the day. A few people came and went; McDonald stared at a computer screen while Audrey read Vogue . Then Jack O’Grady came down, smiled at Audrey, and said, ‘‘Wilson, could you step back into The Room for a minute?’’

  Audrey patted him on the back and Wilson followed O’Grady out the door.

  ‘‘Going to the Gophers game?’’ O’Grady asked.

  ‘‘Always do,’’ McDonald said brightly. ‘‘Good year, bad
year, I don’t care . . .’’

  But he trailed off when he walked through the door. Bone was already sitting at the long conference table, but this time he was wearing a dark banker’s suit with a thin chalk stripe. And he’d shaved.

  ‘‘Wilson, sit down,’’ said Brandt, and McDonald’s stomach turned. He sat down. ‘‘Wilson, we’ve decided we need to get a new leader in place immediately; somebody who can handle the bank and give us a single voice to speak with. We’ve elected you and Jim Bone to the board of directors. I’ll be taking over as the board chairman, and if you’ll accept the job, you’ll be vice chairman, as well as maintaining the presidency of the mortgage arm. We’ve asked Jim to take over as president and chief executive officer. And we’ve directed him to continue with the merger plans.’’

  Brandt looked at Bone, then back to McDonald. ‘‘So that’s it. Welcome to the board.’’

  ‘‘I, uh . . .’’ McDonald shook his head as if he’d been struck. Vice chairman: he was dead meat. ‘‘I, uh, thank you.’’

  BAKI MET HIM IN THE HALL, EYES WIDE, ALMOST VIBRATING with caffeine and anxiety, Bone thought, and demanded, ‘‘Well?’’

  He grinned. ‘‘I got it. Brandt is chairman, for now, and McDonald is vice chairman. For now.’’

  She smiled back and six years’ worth of frost melted for a moment: ‘‘I’m very pleased for you, Mr. Bone.’’

  ‘‘Jim.’’

  ‘‘Not yet,’’ she said; she refrosted.

  ‘‘And we have to talk about that favor.’’

  ‘‘Tomorrow,’’ she said. ‘‘I’ve got some more thinking to do, and we’ve got some work. I should call Spacek, and tell him that you’re now the man to deal with on the merger.’’

  ‘‘That’s the first thing,’’ he said. ‘‘Second thing is, we’ve got to start talking about how to screw the merger.’’

  ‘‘That’s not entirely consistent with your previous position,’’ she said, with absolute equanimity.

  ‘‘I didn’t used to be the CEO,’’ he said. ‘‘So let’s go. We’re gonna need coffee and cookies. We’ve got some minor receiving to do.’’