Del's voice, softer: "We can get you a deal. You'll do five years. Now, we know one of the girls is dead, and that's thirty years inside. No parole. You'd be an old… what's the word?"
"Crone," Lucas said.
"… crone when you get out," Del said, his voice still soft, still reasonable.
"I want my husband, I want him in here," Helen Manette wailed. She spent much of the time weeping uncontrollably, and questions were difficult to press.
Franklin finally got down on his knees, thrust his face to within an inch of hers, and said, "Listen, bitch, if you don't shut up, I'm gonna slap the shit out of you. You got that? You shut the fuck up, or I'm gonna stomp a mudhole in your white ass, and I'll fuckin' enjoy doing it. Your pal is gonna slice Miz Manette and her daughter into fuckin' dog food, and I want to know how to stop him, and you're gonna tell me."
"I want my husband…"
"Your husband doesn't give a shit about you," Franklin shouted. "He wants his daughter. He wants his granddaughters. But he's not gonna get his granddaughters, he's not gonna get both of them anyway, 'cause you and your pal killed one of them, didn't you?"
"Hey, c'mon, take it easy, take it easy," Sloan said, gently shoving Franklin out of the way. "You're gonna have a heart attack, man. Let me talk to her."
Sloan was sweating, though the room was cool. "Now listen, Miz Manette, we know there are all kinds of stresses in a person's life, and sometimes we do things we regret. Now we know that your husband is sleeping with Nancy Wolfe, and we know that you know. And we know that if Tower Manette left you, there just wouldn't be that much to share, would there? Now…"
Franklin looked at Lucas and shook his head, and Lucas made a keep rolling sign with his hands.
Franklin nodded and pushed and said to Sloan, "Hey, cut the psychological bullshit, Sloan; you know the bitch did it. Give me two minutes alone with her, and I'll get it out." He squatted, his face close to Helen Manette's, and he turned the partial plate with his tongue. "Two minutes would do it," he said.
He chuckled, a long gravelly roll, and Lucas winced.
Wolfe looked at Lucas and pleaded: "Get me out of here, just get me out of here. Please, get me out."
"I could help you, but you've got to help us," Lucas said. "We could use anything. A phone number would be great. An address. How did you get to know him? A little history…"
"I don't know him," she said hoarsely.
"Let me explain," Loring said, circling her. Del stood behind her, very close, so she could feel his pants leg near the back of her head. "We know that you're fucking Tower Manette. We know that Tower Manette's money is going to his daughter. Now, if you shoot Tower's old lady out of the saddle, and you were getting close, and if there was no daughter around, you'd get a bundle, right?"
"That's crazy," she blurted.
"And even if you don't get Tower, you'd get the key-man insurance from the shrink business, right? That's a bundle all by itself. You could buy a fleet of Porsches with that money alone."
"That…" she started, but Loring stuck a warning finger in her face.
"Shut the fuck up. I'm not done," he said. "Now we know that you were going out with George Dunn before Andi Manette took him away, and we've been having this argument: could that have triggered this off? Is it all because of George Dunn? Are you fucking Andi Manette's father to get back at Andi Manette because you can't fuck her husband? There's a pretty big kettle of psychological stew right there, huh? What'd old Desmond Freud have to say about that, huh?"
She went cooclass="underline" "I want a lawyer. I promise you, if you don't get me a lawyer, none of you will ever again work as police officers. I'm willing to overlook…"
The door opened behind them, and Sloan stuck his head in: "Lucas. You better come in here." And to Loring and Del, he said, "Go easy."
Helen Manette was slumped in the plastic chair; she'd stopped weeping and was chewing on a fingernail. She had snapped: she had a foxy look on her face, a dealer's look.
Lucas said, "What?" and Sloan said, "Miz Manette, tell Chief Davenport what you just told us."
"I don't know anybody like this Mail person," Helen Manette said. "But I know a boy, a renter in one of my apartments."
"Oh, shit," Lucas said. He turned away, put a hand to his face.
Sloan said, "Lucas? What?"
"The goddamn building directory card in Crosby's building. We both looked at it, and it had that blue bird on it, just like in Andi Manette's office building." He looked at Manette. "That's your management company, isn't it?"
"That's our logo, a royal blue bird, yes," she nodded brightly.
"Remember that? We saw it the first day. I didn't put it together, but I knew there was something…"
He squatted, looked into Helen Manette's watery eyes. "So you knew Mail from the apartment building."
"I didn't know who he was. He seemed like a nice boy."
"Then why did you call him?" Sloan asked.
"I didn't-he called me," she said. "He said he heard what was going on, and he wanted to say he was sorry and we… talked."
Lucas knew she was lying, but right now didn't care. "You have his phone number?"
Still bright: "Why, yes, I believe I do. Somewhere. If it's the same boy. He looks the same."
"Can you get it for us?"
"I believe I could, if I could go back home…"
Lucas said, "We'll get you back." He looked at Franklin. "Take Loring, put her in a squad, get her down there, full lights and sirens. I want it in six fuckin' minutes."
"You got it," Franklin said.
Lucas took his arm, pulled him to the side: "And you and Loring stay on top of her. Anything it takes."
On the way down to the room where Wolfe was being questioned, Lucas said to Sloan, "You're not supposed to be out with a gun. Stay here with Wolfe. Help her out. Be nice to her. Apologize. Explain what we were doing, and why. Get her home. If she wants a lawyer, help her out. But suggest that she talk with me before she does anything."
"What're you gonna tell her?"
"I'm gonna beg her to let it go," Lucas said, grinning.
"I don't think it's gonna work, man," Sloan said.
He stuck his head in the interview room, where Del and Loring were leaning against a wall, Loring smoking again. Wolfe was sitting straight in her chair, dry-eyed, expectant. Lucas said, "You two guys-let's go." And to Wolfe: "You're okay. You're free to go. Detective Sloan will help you."
Sherrill was coming in the door as Del and Lucas ran up the stairs to the front of the building: "I heard on the radio," she said. She was wearing jeans, boots, a plaid shirt, and her ball cap.
"Gotta go," Lucas called back as they passed her.
"I'm coming," she said, and she followed them out the door.
"I don't think…" Lucas said.
Sherrill interrupted: "Bullshit. I'm going." Then: "Where're we going?"
They ran together across the street to the plaza in front of the Hennepin County Government Center. A helicopter sat in the middle of the plaza, blades turning, and a TV crew was shooting film of it. When the cameraman saw the three running cops, he turned, and the camera followed them to the chopper.
"Let's go," Lucas said to the pilot.
"Where?"
"Down toward Eagan. Fast as you can."
CHAPTER 33
The chopper took off head-down, Lucas's stomach clutching as the black-visored pilot poured on the power and threw the machine out of the loop. They crossed I-94, rising over the tumult of the early rush hour, then projected out over the Mississippi and down the valley, past a tow with a barge, past a solitary powerboat running full-out on twin outboards, and past Lucas's house on Mississippi River Drive. Del tapped him on the shoulder and pointed down, past the pilot, and Lucas pushed up against the safety belt and saw his house, in strobelike flashes between the brilliant autumn maples, and Weather's car slowly backing out of the driveway. He felt the cut in the palm of his hand, looked down, and found the ring. Weather: Jesus. He strained to see her, but the car was out of sight, lost in the trees.