If he hadn't had just the right thing to work with, he might not have tried. But he did have the right thing, or what seemed like the right thing, in his tool box: a pair of tiny, needle-nosed pliers used to do automotive electrical work.
This was going to hurt,he thought. But if it worked…
He carried them back into the house, took two pills, scrubbed the pliers with antibacterial soap, and then, still not happy with their condition, dropped them in a saucepan, covered them with water, and put them on the stove. He let them boil for a while, then cool down underwater, as he waited for the pills to take hold. He glanced at the clock: forty-five minutes before he was due at work. He could do this.
He did it sitting at the kitchen table. Probed the lump with the needle, then slowly pushed the pliers in until he touched it. The pain had been dulled by the pills, but this hurt as bad as anything yet. His right hand, the pliers hand, began shaking, so he pinned the pliers in place with his left hand, and leaned against the table, bracing himself.
Then with his right hand, steady now, he slowly spread the pliers, pushed them down alongside the lump-or what felt like down, his hand shaking again-and squeezed. Pain flared through his body. Might have gotten some meat, he thought. Squeezed… and had it.
Slow and steady. He held it, pulled, pulled… had some meat, but then suddenly felt the lump come free. Held it, held it, pulled…
And had it out. It emerged like a small, gray larva, slick with blood, a.22 slug half the size of a pea.
Blood dribbled out of his chest again, but now everything felt different. The pain was changed-there'd been an ugly, corrosive feel to it, and now it just hurt. This he could handle.
He tottered off to the bathroom, looked at himself in the mirror. His face seemed narrower, sharper, wolf-like; and white, from the pain, his frown lines etched deep.
But he could touch his chest without flinching. He could manipulate the wound area without the arc of pain. He took two tabs of penicillin and a pain pill and looked at his watch. Had to start moving. He patched himself with gauze and tape, carried his bloody shirt and undershirt and fleece down to the washer, and threw them in, poured in a half-cup of liquid Tide, and started it. Climbed into his uniform.
Almost done now, he thought, as he buttoned up his shirt. There was Letty West-but if they were searching the landfill, he would have known about it, and so far, they weren't. Maybe she didn't know? Maybe he'd taken that risk for nothing?
He had the night to think about it.
And to think about the bullet. There was a sense of accomplishment with the bullet. Damn, that was a story. Maybe he could tell it someday.
THAT NIGHT WAS the longest in Singleton's life-and like most of the other nights of his life, nothing happened. He drove back and forth through town, his usual eleven o'clock grid, then headed out into the countryside, passing through a list of small Custer County towns, showing the flag for the sheriff. He tried to think about Katina as he drove, but where Katina used to be, there was a big dark box. He tried to focus on her face, and nothing came. He tried to think about what would happen in the next few days, and couldn't think of anything.
At seven o'clock, he signed off, went home, and crashed-lay fully clothed on his bed, unfeeling, until the telephone rang.
19
They'd spent the day before tramping around Broderick, talking with housewives and Calb employees, getting nowhere. The pitch Lucas had made to the sheriff's deputies hadn't produced anything yet, and Lucas began to wonder if he might be able to devise a way to pull the killer in. The problem was a lack of bait. There was Letty, but he couldn't use her. Might have been able to use her if she was a fifty-year-old asshole who'd brought the trouble on herself, but not an innocent teenager.
He worried a little that he'd even bothered to think of reasons not to use her…
HE WAS SITTING on his bed at the Motel 6, reading a Star Tribune story about the attack on the West house, and waiting for Del to knock. The TV was tuned to the Weather Channel, because they'd heard a rumor from the night clerk that snow was coming in. Coming in somewhere. When he looked out the window after he got up, there were a few fat flakes drifting around, but nothing serious. He was rereading the fire story when the room phone rang.
Ruth Lewis: "The sheriff called. They want to bury Martha West tomorrow and I'm going to bring Letty back up. I wanted to let you know-the sheriff said they'll provide security at the funeral."
"She can travel? Letty?"
"Your wife says so. Your wife is the admitting physician, by the way. She said you didn't know. She said they'll need Letty back here in a week, but that she could travel tomorrow."
"Has anybody figured out where she could stay?"
"Yes. She'll stay with me. I have lots of room right now, and we get along."
"All right. I wish I'd known about the funeral. I might have tried to push it a couple of days."
"I don't know about that," Lewis said. "The sheriff said the arrangements had been made… and that's what I know."
"Come and see me when you get up here," Lucas said. "We've got more to talk about."
"Maybe," she said.
DEL CAME BY. "We doing Calb?"
"I've got nothing else," Lucas said.
They got in the car and loafed up to Broderick, across the gray landscape, heading for Wolf's Cafe, where they'd found that the pancakes were edible. The snow had gotten heavier, and a North Dakota radio station said there could be four to six inches by evening. There were a half-dozen cars parked outside Cash's house-BCA crime scene guys, the FBI, and at least one deputy sheriff, Lucas guessed.
Wolf's was quiet, with only two other customers, both on stools at the bar, one talking with Wolf about going to Palm Springs, the other eating cherry pie and drinking coffee and eavesdropping. Lucas and Del took the furthest booth so they could talk. Through the window they could see the front of Calb's body shop, and could see people coming and going.
"Hate waiting," Del said. "We're just waiting for somebody to get killed so we've got something more to work with."
"We'd know what we were doing if we could figure out why he went after Letty. If he went after Letty. We're assuming that, but what if he was after Martha? We're thinking it was Letty because we've been hanging around with Letty."
"No, no. We think it's Letty because after he killed Martha, he went after Letty," Del said. "He tried to hunt her down out there, after he killed Martha. Letty says her mother was yelling at her to get out… Martha just got in the way."
Lucas nodded. "Okay. So what does Letty know that makes it necessary to kill her? Must be something."
"Maybe she doesn't know she knows," Del said.
"We'll talk to her again tomorrow. I keep going back to your theory that there can't be two big separate crimes in one small town without them being related, somehow," Lucas said. "We've got two big separate crimes-the drug running and the kidnappings-and they don't seem to be related."
"Could be an exception, I guess," Del said. "But… " He rubbed his chin, sipped at his coffee. "Maybe we ought to get with Ruth, or one of the other women, and do a whole history of how they got here. Why here? How did they get involved with Calb? Can't be just a coincidence that Calb has these ties down to Kansas City car thieves and these women… "
He trailed off, and Lucas said, "What?"
"What, 'what'?"
"Where were you going with that? 'Cause you gotta be right. How did they hook all this together? How did they land on Calb, out here in the middle of the prairie? There's gotta be more to it."
"That cheer you up?"
"Gives us something to think about," Lucas said. "Something to pull at."
WOLF BROUGHT THE pancakes over, and a couple of minutes later, as they were eating, a black Lexus backed out of the Cash house, rolled south, and pulled into the parking lot next to Lucas's Acura. A white-haired man got out of the driver's side, and a moment later, Jim Green, the FBI agent, got out of the passenger side. Green pointed at Lucas's Acura and said something to the white-haired man, who went back into the Lexus and fished out a briefcase.