WHEN THE GARAGE DOOR STARTED UP, THE TWO UNIFORMED cops pushed away from the fender of their squad car, and looked down the drive. Audrey rolled slowly up the drive, made a little jog that took her straight in toward the far door. Lucas and Sherrill started walking toward it from the front stoop, and the two uniformed cops started toward it from their parking spot at the edge of the driveway. The back of Audrey’s car had just cleared the inside of the door when it started down again.
Lucas turned and said, ‘‘Side door.’’ Sherrill followed him toward an access door at the near end of the three overhead doors, just ambling along without thinking about it. Lucas opened the access door and stepped into the semidark garage, which was getting darker as the end door dropped the last couple of feet. ‘‘Mrs. McDonald,’’ he said.
AUDREY HEARD THAT, AND LOOKING LEFT, SAW DAVENPORT step inside the garage. He was standing in a shaft of light from the open access door. She grabbed the shotgun with her right hand, took a second to make sure the safety was off, then opened the door with her left hand, pushed it out with her feet, and pivoted out of the car. The shotgun was long and awkward, and she had to maneuver it around the car’s roof post. Still, once it was out, it came up smoothly, and she saw the surprise register on Davenport’s face and heard him scream a word and saw a violent motion and then the muzzle was coming down . . .
THE DOME AND DOOR LIGHTS CAME ON IN AUDREY’S car as she opened the door; and with that light, Lucas could see the shotgun barrel as it came up. Sherrill had come in behind him and he screamed, ‘‘Gun!’’ and battered her sideways as he went down behind a Lexus. At the same instant, the shotgun blew a foot-long finger of flame at him, and the wall behind exploded in a shower of drywall plaster.
BAAA-OOOM.
The sound came after the lightning flash—a long time after, it seemed, though he was suspended in air when he thought that. Then he was on the floor, groping for his pistol, dragging it out of the holster, rolling along beside the Lexus, and the shotgun lit up the garage again, blowing glass out over his head. He’d lost track of Sherrill, lost track of everything: the thunder of the shotgun was magnified in the enclosed space, and the lightning of the shots was now the only illumination, aside from the feeble dome light from McDonald’s car.
• • •
AUDREY HAD BEEN BLINDED BY THE MUZZLE FLASH; she hadn’t expected that, but she expected Davenport to be falling, so she dropped the muzzle of the weapon as she pumped it, and convulsively jerked the trigger again. Glass shattered and she registered a voice, screaming; and a surge of confidence ran through her. Got him. Now to finish him .
‘‘LIGHT.’’ LUCAS HEARD SOMEBODY SCREAMING; HIS mind processed it as Sherrill, but he couldn’t tell what she was saying. ‘‘Top.’’
BAAA-OOOM.
Three shots; and Audrey was getting closer, walking toward them. But some shotguns only held three shots. Was she reloading? Was this a four-shot chamber? And then suddenly, the overhead lights were on and he saw, from the corner of his eye, Sherrill scrambling away from a light switch, a gun in her hand. And at the same time, from his spot on the concrete floor, saw Audrey’s ankle behind the back bumper of the sport-ute. He pushed his hand forward, couldn’t see the front barrel of the pistol but squeezed off a shot. Twelve feet: and he missed to the right. Audrey did a little hop step, and he heard her pump, and a shotgun shell bounced off the floor and he adjusted a hair to the right and pulled the trigger again.
And this time, he hit her.
Audrey screamed and went down, and suddenly, her face was there, looking under the cars at him. And the barrel of the shotgun was pointing at him too and she was moving it toward his face. He rolled behind a tire as she fired, and the tire soaked up the blast; but he could feel the air torn apart beside him.
She’d be dealing with recoil; she might be reloading. He didn’t think it, but knew it, and pushed himself just to the right and extended his arm again, still unable to find the front sight in the shadow under the car, but he was close, and her face was there, and he was tightening his grip on the trigger and she was moving the barrel back to him . . .
• • •
SHERRILL DROPPED ON HER LIKE A METEOR. SHE’D crawled over the sport-ute, and dropped from the roof. She landed with her feet behind Audrey’s neck, smacking Audrey’s head facedown into the receiver on the shotgun.
Lucas jumped up and ran around the end of the car and caught Sherrill’s hand coming up with the pistol in it. ‘‘No, no . . .’’
‘‘What?’’ Sherrill looked confused.
‘‘We got her.’’
Audrey wrenched her shoulders and neck around, looked up at them, dazed, blood running down her lips and across her teeth. ‘‘Who are you?’’ she asked.
One of the cops outside was screaming, ‘‘Davenport, Davenport, talk to me . . .’’
‘‘We got her, we got her, we got her . . .’’ With his foot, Lucas pushed the shotgun under the sport-ute, out of reach. ‘‘She’s hit,’’ he said to Sherrill. ‘‘Let’s get her outside.’’
‘‘I’ll get the doors . . .’’
Lucas got his arms under Audrey’s back and knees, and picked her up as best he could; then the three garage doors started rising simultaneously, and light flooded into the garage.
The uniformed cops were there, pistols drawn. They reholstered as they saw Lucas carrying Audrey.
‘‘Jesus Christ,’’ one of them said. ‘‘What was that?’’
‘‘Shotgun,’’ Lucas grunted. ‘‘She’s hit. Get an ambulance out here.’’
‘‘Put her down on the driveway, Lucas,’’ Sherrill said. ‘‘Let’s get her flat. One of you guys, you got a blanket in your car? She’ll be going into shock . . .’’
A cop got a blanket, spread it on the driveway, and Lucas put Audrey on it. She seemed only semiconscious, though her eyes were open. He stood up. ‘‘Damn,’’ he said. ‘‘That was a little too close.’’
Audrey said something. Sherrill heard it, said, ‘‘What?’’
She said something again. Sherrill said, ‘‘What?’’ and bent over the other woman.
And as she put her head close to the other woman’s face, Audrey lifted her hand, and despite her awkward position, hit Sherrill in the eye with her fist, knocking Sherrill flat on her butt.
‘‘Knock that shit off,’’ one of the uniformed cops yelled at Audrey, stepping over her, and she unballed her fist and turned her head away, her eyes softly closing. Sherrill had crawled away, one hand to her eye. ‘‘Aw, man, that hurts.’’
Lucas looked at it: ‘‘You’re gonna have a mouse. And a hell of a black eye.’’
Audrey mumbled again. They both turned to look at her, eight feet away, flat on her back, and her cobra eyes caught Lucas. And suddenly she smiled, a big, toothy smile with bloody teeth.
Lucas felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. He turned back to Sherrill, who looked up at him and shook her head once: ‘‘Fuckin’ nuts,’’ she said.
THIRTY-FOUR
SHERRILL SAID, ‘‘SO KRAUSE THINKS MAYBE SHE DELIBERATELY let the lineman see her so we wouldn’t suspect Wilson. And then she called to tell us about the lineman, because we were digging at Wilson.’’
‘‘Smart woman,’’ Lucas said.
‘‘Nasty,’’ said James T. Bone, who was just settling into Lucas’s visitor’s chair.
‘‘I gotta go,’’ Sherrill said. She stood on her tiptoes, black eye nearly gone, kissed Lucas on the lips, said, ‘‘See you tonight,’’ and, ‘‘Bye, Mr. Bone.’’
When Sherrill closed the door, Bone looked sleepy-eyed at Lucas and said, ‘‘White fuzzy sweater and chrome revolver in a shoulder holster. My heart almost stopped.’’
‘‘Wearing my ass out,’’ Lucas said comfortably.
‘‘I know how that goes,’’ Bone said.
BONE SAID, ‘‘AUDREY . . . IS SHE GONNAFIGHT IT?’’
‘‘Her attorney’s a friend of mine,’’ Lucas said. ‘‘He says she’
s crazy as a loon. Maybe she is. She even denies buying or firing the shotgun, even though we had four witnesses, the receipt in the car, and the gun shop guy identifying her. He says she’s having trouble remembering anything after the death of her husband. A shrink’s looking at her now.’’
‘‘Is she faking?’’
Lucas shrugged. ‘‘I don’t know. She’s smart, that’s pretty clear. But her whole life has been a nightmare. I think it’s possible that she never did know the difference between right and wrong.’’
‘‘And if the court decides she’s nuts?’’
‘‘She’ll go off to the state hospital.’’
‘‘What if she’s not nuts?’’
‘‘Then we have a trial, and we’ve got her.’’
‘‘Huh.’’ Bone looked out the window at the street. The weather had turned gray, and small flecks of snow bounced off the window. Although it was only three in the afternoon, most of the passing cars had their headlights on. A week after the fight in the garage, the world was beginning to settle down again. ‘‘I’d feel a lot better if I knew she was going away for a long time; like forever. I’d hate to see her get out of a hospital in a couple of years.’’
Lucas nodded: ‘‘So would I.’’
BONE HAD THE BANK: OF THE TOP FIVE POLARIS EXECUTIVES in October, only two had made it to the end of November, Bone and Robles. ‘‘I’ve got my assistant winding up O’Dell’s affairs here. I talked to her father—he’s having trouble dealing with her death.’’
‘‘Death of a child,’’ Lucas said. ‘‘Just ’cause they’re grown up, doesn’t make it any easier.’’
‘‘No, I don’t expect it does,’’ Bone said. Then, ‘‘Have you seen Damascus Isley lately?’’
‘‘Not since we had lunch together a while back.’’
‘‘I saw him at the bank. We talked a little basketball . . . He’s on a strange diet, a Big Mac every day with popcorn.’’
‘‘He told me he was thinking about it,’’ Lucas said. ‘‘I hope he can stick it out.’’
‘‘I think he will. He was on the diet for one week, he told me, and lost eighteen pounds. He knows that won’t keep up, but when he got on the scale after the first week, he said his wife went out to the bedroom and cried for fifteen minutes. Outa joy, I guess. He was freaked out. I don’t see any way he’ll relapse.’’
BONE SAID, ‘‘THIS AUDREY MCDONALD THING HAS torn me up.’’
‘‘Yeah?’’ Lucas had an archaic typewriter tray in his desk, just the right height for feet. He pulled it out and put his feet up.
‘‘Yeah. I was gonna run a major bank someday. But it wouldn’t have come this soon, if Audrey hadn’t blown old Dan Kresge out of his tree stand.’’
‘‘Won’t you be out of a job, if the merger goes through?’’
‘‘Sure. But some problems are cropping up with the merger,’’ Bone said, showing a thin smile. ‘‘The road might not be as smooth as it looked. Even if it happens, once you’re running a place, you can usually go someplace else, and run that. It’s the breakthrough to the top that counts.’’
‘‘Sloan talked to you about your relationship with Marcia Kresge . . . I’d think that might have been a dangerous relationship for somebody trying to get to the top,’’ Lucas said.
‘‘Eh . . . it’s easier in a private company. You don’t have to deal with elections and all your insane bureaucratic rules. I doubt Dan would have cared; he probably would have been amused. Marcia wasn’t any more of a potential problem for me than Miss Fuzzy Sweater is for you. Besides, that’s all done.’’
‘‘All done?’’
‘‘Yeah.’’ Bone seemed mildly embarrassed and turned to look out at the street again. ‘‘You met my assistant, Kerin Baki.’’
‘‘The glacial blonde.’’
‘‘Yeah. When the whole scramble started, after Kresge was killed, she started working to get me the top job. She did everything right: pretty much managed the whole show. And when I asked her what she wanted out of it, she said she wanted a favor from me. But she wouldn’t tell me what it was until after I got the job.’’
‘‘And you got it.’’
‘‘Yeah. So after things settled down a little, when Audrey McDonald was arrested, I got her in my office and asked, ‘What’s the favor?’ ’’
Baki had been a little uncomfortable when he pressed her, Bone said, but finally sat down and outlined what she wanted. Basically, she was tired of living alone. She wanted to find a man who was as smart as she was, who worked as hard as she did, and had similar interests. That was difficult.
‘‘What she wanted from me,’’ Bone said, as Lucas started smiling, ‘‘is, she wanted me to take her around— just as a friend, as an associate—and introduce her to guys I knew in the banking and investment communities who might be candidates.’’
‘‘Just as a friend,’’ Lucas said.
‘‘Yeah. ‘Mr. Bone,’ she said, ‘I don’t have a chance to meet many people like that, socially, because I’m always here. And I know this sounds a little cold and a little calculating, but I don’t have many more years to go if I want to have children and a normal home life,’ ’’ Bone said, mimicking Baki’s precise soprano. ‘‘And she pushed her glasses back up on her nose, which is about the only thing that’s ever been wrong with her—her glasses slide down.’’
‘‘Yeah,’’ Lucas said. ‘‘She’s, like, vulnerable.’’ ‘‘I said okay,’’ Bone said. ‘‘I could understand that. So I took her around to a couple of places, a couple of outside meetings she wouldn’t normally have gone to, and she made quite an impression on a couple of guys. I got some calls asking about her status . . . I told her about them, and she was pretty interested.’’
‘‘You chump.’’
‘‘You know how the story comes out?’’
Lucas knitted his hands across his chest and said, ‘‘Let me guess. You decided to take her out for a dinner . . .’’
‘‘Dinner meeting.’’
‘‘And then you have to take her home afterwards.’’
‘‘I just went up for a minute; I’d never seen her place.’’
‘‘And you didn’t come out for a while.’’
‘‘Quite a while.’’
‘‘And the glacier melted.’’
‘‘You might say that . . . And she’s told me I’ve seen the last of Marcia Kresge,’’ Bone said. ‘‘She also mentioned a couple of other women that I had no idea she knew about.’’
‘‘What about the kid thing?’’
Bone shrugged. ‘‘I always thought, maybe, you know, with the right woman . . .’’
THE PHONE RANG, AND BONE STOOD UP. ‘‘I GOTTA go,’’ he said, but Lucas held up a finger: ‘‘Hang on a second.’’ He answered the phone, ‘‘Hello?’’
‘‘Lucas, this is Del.’’ Del was on a cell phone; his voice sounded like he was shouting through a hollow log, with a roar in the background.
‘‘Yeah. What’s going on?’’
‘‘Aw, I’m calling from the plane . . .’’
Engine roar. ‘‘That’s right,’’ Lucas said. ‘‘Cancu´n. I forgot.Have a good time.’’
If anybody comes asking for me, tell ’em ten days, would you?’’ Del shouted.
‘‘Sure.’’
‘‘Nobody’s come asking yet?’’
‘‘Not to me,’’ Lucas said. ‘‘Should they?’’
‘‘Can’t hear you too good. See you in ten days,’’ Del shouted. And hung up.
LUCAS LOOKED AT THE PHONE, PUZZLED, THEN HUNG up and said to Bone, ‘‘We play a little ball at the Y on Wednesday nights, bunch a cops, a few lawyers. Sort of a cross between basketball and hockey—you know, no harm, no foul. If Kerin’ll let you, you’re invited.’’
‘‘Yeah, that’d be nice,’’ Bone said. ‘‘Maybe Isley’ll be around in a year or so.’’ They shook hands, and Bone said, ‘‘See you.’’
• • •
HE WENT OUT THE DOOR, BUT
TEN SECONDS LATER was back: ‘‘Uh, there’s some people here to see you,’’ he said.
‘‘What?’’
‘‘Some . . . people,’’ Bone said.
Lucas, frowning, stepped out in the hallway. He wasn’t sure until later of the exact number, which was twenty-four, but he knew at a glance that there were a lot of them.
Old ladies.
Gathered like a flock of curly-haired, white-fleeced sheep, each clutching a purse and what seemed to be a brand-new gym bag. One of them, a sweet-looking grandmotherly woman with a trembling chin, said, ‘‘We’ve come to turn ourselves in.’’
‘‘In?’’ Lucas asked. And Bone said, ‘‘Gotta go.’’ And left.
‘‘We’re the opium junkies,’’ the grandmother said, and the other women nodded. ‘‘Del said our best chance for leniency was to come down and surrender to you.’’
‘‘Sonofabitch,’’ Lucas said. He looked in at his phone as the grandmother recoiled; Del was probably halfway to Mexico.
‘‘I beg your pardon?’’ she said, clutching the gym bag more tightly.
‘‘Nothing. Stay right here,’’ Lucas said. ‘‘Don’t move. I’ll be right back.’’
He trotted down to the chief’s office. ‘‘No, Rose Marie’s gone,’’ the secretary said. She seemed to be biting the insides of her cheeks.
‘‘Where?’’
The secretary had to struggle a bit to get it out: ‘‘Cancu-´n.’’
Lucas looked at her, a hard look, and she put her hands to her face. He turned on his heel and headed down toward Violent Crimes. He imagined he heard explosive laughter coming from the chief’s office just before the door closed behind him.
In Violent Crimes, Loring was sitting on an office chair, peeling a green apple with a penknife. ‘‘Seen Frank?’’ Frank Lester was the other deputy chief.
‘‘Nope.’’
‘‘How about Sherrill?’’
‘‘Nope. They left. Together.’’
‘‘Together?’’
‘‘Yeah. They said they were going to Cancu ´n.’’