“So you’ll have tapes of Jennifer’s interview?”
“Yeah, the recorder’s set. You can look at them when you get back.”
“It sure went downhill after the chief called that guy a jerk,” Carla said.
Lucas laughed. “I loved it. The guy was a jerk. But it chilled out Daniel, too. That’s good. He’ll be more careful.”
“And you’re not going to tell me about the suspect?”
“Nope.”
It was a three-hour drive to Lucas’ cabin. They stopped at a general store to stock up on groceries and Lucas chatted with the owner for a minute about fishing. “Two large last week,” the owner said.
“How big?”
“Henning, the doctor, the row-troller? He got one forty-eight and a half inches off the big island in those weeds. He figured thirty-two pounds. Then some guy on the other side of the lake, tourist from Chicago, I think he was fishing out of Wilson’s, took a twenty-eight-pounder.”
“Henning release it?”
“Yeah. He says he’s not keeping anything unless there’s a chance it’ll go forty.”
“Could be a long wait. There aren’t that many guys in the North Woods with a forty-pound musky on the wall.”
“It’s beautiful,” Carla said, looking out at the lake.
“Doesn’t hurt to have the moon out there. It’s almost embarrassing. It looks like a beer ad.”
“It’s beautiful,” she repeated. She turned back into the cabin.
“Which bedroom should I take?” He pointed her back to the corner.
“The big one. Might as well take it, since I won’t be here. There’s a bike in the garage, it’s a half-mile out to the general store, three miles into town. There’s a boat down at the dock. You ever run an outboard?”
“Sure. I used to go north with my husband every summer. One thing he could do was fish.”
“There are a half-dozen rods in a rack on the porch and a couple of tackle boxes under the glider, if you want to try some fishing. If you go off the point out there, around the edges of the weed bed, you’ll pick up some northern.”
“Okay. You going back right now?”
“In a little while. I’ll stick the food in the refrigerator and then I’m going to have a beer and sit out on the porch for a while.”
“I’m going to get changed, take a shower,” Carla said.
Lucas sat on the glider and kept it gently swinging, his feet flexing against the low window ledge below the screen. The nights were getting cool and there was just enough wind to bring in the scent and the sound of the pines. A raccoon crossed through the yard light of a neighboring cabin, heading back toward the garbage cans. From the other way, a few lots down the lake, a woman laughed and there was a splash. From the cabin behind him, the shower stopped running. A few minutes later, Carla came out on the porch.
“You want another beer?”
“Mmm. Yeah. One more.”
“I’m going to have one.”
She was wearing a pink cotton robe and rubber shower shoes. She brought back a Schmidt and handed it to him, sat next to him on the glider, and curled her legs beneath her. Her hair was wet and the drops of water glistened like diamonds in the indirect light from the windows.
“A little cool now,” she said. “You ever come up here in winter?”
“I come up here every chance I get. I come up in the winter and ski, cross-country. There are trails all over the place. You can ski for miles.”
“Sounds great.”
“You’re invited,” Lucas said promptly.
As they talked he could feel the warmth coming off her, from the shower.
“Are you getting cold?”
“Not yet. Maybe in a few minutes. Right now it feels fresh.” She turned and leaned backward, her head on his shoulder. “It doesn’t seem like a cop ought to have a place like this. I mean, a drug-and-vice guy with a Porsche.”
“Doctor’s orders. I got so I was doing nothing but work,” he said. He eased an arm behind her shoulder. “I’d be on the street all day and sometimes half the night, then I’d go home and work on my games. I’d get so cranked I couldn’t sleep even when I was so tired I couldn’t walk. So I went in to see the doc. I thought I ought to get some legal downers and he said what I really needed was a place not to work. I never work up here. I mean, never money-work. I chop wood, fix the garage, work on the dock, all that. But I don’t money-work.”
“Guess what?” Carla said.
“What?”
“I don’t have a goddamn thing on under this robe.” She giggled a beer giggle.
“Jeez. Absolutely buck naked, huh?”
“Yep. I figured, why not?”
“So can I consider this an official pass?”
“Would you rather not?”
“No, no, no no no.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the jaw just below her ear. “I was desperately figuring my chances. I’d been such a nice guy all along, it seemed sort of crass to suddenly start hustling.”
“That’s why I decided to come on to you,” she said. “Because you weren’t rushing me like some guys.”
Much later in the night, she said, “I’ve got to sleep. I’m really starting to feel the day.”
“Just one thing,” he said in the dark. “When we went through that routine up in your apartment the first time I interviewed you, you said the guy who jumped you felt softer than me. You still think that?”
She was silent for a moment, then said, “Yes. I have this distinct impression that he was a little . . . not porky, but fleshy. Like there was fat under there and that he wasn’t terribly muscular. I mean, he was a lot stronger than I am, but I only weigh a little over a hundred pounds. I don’t think he’s a tough guy.”
“Shit.”
“Does that mean something?”
“Maybe. I’m afraid it might.”
Early the next morning Lucas walked out to his car, fished under the seat, and retrieved a Charter Arms .38 special revolver in a black nylon holster and two boxes of shells. He carried them back to the house.
“What’s that?” Carla asked when he brought it in.
“A pistol. You thought you might need one.”
“Hmm.” Carla closed one eye and squinted at him with the other. “You brought it up with you, but didn’t bring it out last night. That suggests you expected to stay over.”
“A subject which does not merit further exploration,” Lucas declared with a grin. “Get your shoes on. We’ve got to take a hike.”
They went into the woods across the road from Lucas’ cabin, followed a narrow jump-across stream that eventually became a long damp spot, then turned into a gully that led into the base of a steep hill. They came out on a grassy plateau facing a sandy cutbank.
“We’ll shoot into the cutbank,” Lucas said. “We’ll start at ten feet and move back to twenty.”
“Why so close?”
“Because if you’re any further away, you ought to run or yell for help. Shooting is for close-up desperation,” Lucas said. He looked around and nodded toward a downed log. “Let’s go talk about it for a minute.”
They sat on the log and Lucas pulled the pistol apart, demonstrated the function of each piece and how to load and unload it. He was clicking the brass shells into the cylinder when they heard a chattering overhead. Lucas looked up and saw the red squirrel.
“Okay,” he whispered. “Now, watch this.”
He pivoted slowly on the log and lifted the weapon toward the squirrel.
“What are you going to do?”
“Show you what a thirty-eight will do to real meat,” Lucas said, his eyes fixed on the squirrel. The animal was half-hidden behind a thick limb on a red pine but occasionally exposed its entire body.
“Why? Why are you going to kill it?” Carla’s eyes were wide, her face pale.
“You just don’t know what a bullet will do until you see it. Gotta stick your fingers in the wounds. Like Doubting Thomas, you know?”
“Hey, don’t,” she commanded. “Come on, Lucas.”
Lucas pointed the weapon at the squirrel, both eyes open, waiting.
“Hit the little sucker right between the eyes, never feel a thing . . .”
“Lucas . . .” Her voice was up and she clutched at his gun arm, dragging it down. She was horrified.