The fat guy pointed a finger-pistol at him and said, “The cop from Minneapolis with the daughter. How is she?”
“Got a big black eye and some cracked ribs. Listen—it’s Randy, right?—we’re looking for those guys who killed the girl down in Wisconsin. You see anyone like them?”
“Not yet—I’ve been too busy setting up. Give me your cell phone, and if they come in, I’ll call you.”
“We especially want the guy who dressed like a priest,” Lucas said, as he scribbled the cell number on the back of a business card.
“I will do that,” the fat man said.
? ? ?
AFTER A LAST WALK-THROUGH, Lucas and Laurent left the park. “You think they’ll still show up?”
“Don’t know,” Lucas said. “We’ll catch up with them somewhere, but it’d be nice if we could take them down right now. I’ll tell you, Rome, the ideal thing would be to bust a bunch of them, and get one to turn.”
“Did anyone turn in the Charlie Manson bunch?”
“Yeah. One woman, big-time. And a few other people who knew about Manson, but weren’t part of the gang. These guys are not quite the same thing. They’re a little more careful, even if they’re not a lot smarter. But from what the L.A. cops tell me, they’re off in the same direction.”
“Oh, boy.” Laurent scrubbed at his upper lip with a knuckle. “Let me call some folks, my reserve deputies. They’ll help. Why don’t we get together at my place, tonight, see what we can figure out. You know, scenarios.”
“Why the reserves?”
“Because they’re all smart guys,” Laurent said. “I think we need smart guys for this.”
? ? ?
LUCAS GOT THE LAST ROOM at the Holiday Inn Express, which turned out to be a handicapped room. That was fine, because it had a better shower than the standard rooms and apparently there were no handicapped people who really needed it. He got cleaned up, and took a phone call from Del about the guy who stole the safe full of diamonds.
“I found Cory.”
“Where is he?” He was looking out a window, at cold, steel-gray waves marching across Lake Michigan.
“In a house out in the sticks west of Wyoming, backing up to Carlos Avery. Since that’s public land, I snuck up on his place, from the back, with a pair of binoculars. Never saw him, but guess what: there’re two standard oxygen tanks lying on the back porch. I think he’s running an oxyacetylene torch in the garage, trying to cut the safe open. Since he technically became a fugitive when he stopped talking to his PO, we don’t even need a search warrant.”
“Goddamnit. I’m over in the UP,” Lucas said. “You’re gonna have to talk to Jon, organize a raid on the place.”
After a long silence, Del said, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Lucas.”
“We can’t wait, Del. It might already be too late,” Lucas said. “If he’s cutting that safe open, he could get through it anytime, and once he does, the diamonds are gone.”
“Yeah, but . . .”
“What?”
“Sands is really pissed at you for going up to the UP and at Flowers for dumping that state senator’s investigation,” Del said. “He called Flowers and jacked him up, and Flowers apparently told him to suck on it. What I’m saying is, this is a fairly high-profile case and you guys could use the credit for busting it. If we get Jon involved . . . I mean, he’s not a bad guy, but if he sees a commendation coming down the road, he’d be the first guy to jump in front of it.”
Lucas laughed: “You really think I need to blow Sands?”
“No. He’s got his own political problems. What I’m saying is, Davenport could use some . . . some . . . image-building. Flowers will be okay: everybody loves Virgil. But you’ve got a U.S. senator who hates you, you’ve got a big newspaper that’d fuck you any way they could . . .”
“Governor sort of likes my ass.”
“Yes, he does. That’s why you’re still working here,” Del said. “But he’s gone in a year and Rose Marie goes with him, and then you’re out there naked. So . . .”
“Del, I appreciate what you’re saying—but fuck it. I don’t care much about the credit,” Lucas said. “Talk to Jon. He can have Jenkins and Shrake help, if you can hit Cory tonight, but tomorrow, Jenkins and Shrake might be out-of-pocket on another thing. If Jon gets you and Jenkins and Shrake to go on the raid, then everybody will know it’s our group who took Cory.”
Another silence, then Del said, “This feels bad to me.”
“Do it, okay? I’ve got a real headache over here. So just do it.”
“I’ll try to get Jon to do it tonight, and I’ll call Jenkins and Shrake,” Del said. “Goddamnit, man . . .”
“Yeah, I know, Del. Call me when it’s done.”
? ? ?
LUCAS HAD WORN tan slacks, a Fa?onnable shirt, and a blue knit sport jacket on his drive over to the UP, an effort to look somewhat official when meeting out-of-state cops. Having checked out Laurent, he decided that wasn’t necessary, and changed into jeans, a pullover shirt, and a light leather jacket that hung down over his .45.
Laurent had given Lucas directions to his house and Lucas arrived a couple of minutes after seven o’clock, as a pizza truck was pulling away from the curb. Laurent lived in a fifties ranch house, with an add-on three-car garage at one end. Two guys in casual dress were standing outside Laurent’s side door, drinking beer from bottles, and when Lucas got out of the Benz, one of them said, “Must be the guy,” and the other called, “Wish I was a Minnesota cop, get a Benz like that.”
“I was too tall for the sports cars,” Lucas said. He came up and one of the men, a short bald guy, stuck out his hand and said, “Jim Bennett,” and the other said, “Doug Sellers.” They shook hands and Sellers said, “Rome is down the basement, probably suckin’ down those pizzas already.”