“I could do it,” Fairy said. “I could do it just like I did the car."
"The car was just a lump of metal-it wasn’t big and mean, it wasn’t carrying a gun, it wasn’t alive,” Alyssa said. “I don’t care. I can do it,” Fairy said. “I’m not saying we should, I’m just saying that if worse comes to worse, I can do it.”
ALYSSA, REALLY feeling the wine now-the last glass had done it- looked at Loren.
“Well, what are you doing?” she asked. “What do you mean?"
"What are you doing? Right now?” He caught on, and smiled. “You want to go upstairs?"
"You might talk me into it.”
THE SEX wasn’t perfect-it never was, in her experience, there was always something not right, and in Loren’s case, it was that his body, including his tongue, was cold as ice.
But it was good enough for the moment, for an evening otherwise alone.
An evening where she would, she thought, inevitably have to think about Lucas Davenport. But for now, she didn’t think about anything.
For now, she let the pleasure flow. Davenport was for some other time.
22
INVESTIGATING FRANK WILLETT was like chewing on a bad cheeseburger: the longer you worked at it, the worse the taste became. The crime- scene people pulled Willett’s apartment to pieces, and in addition to the knife, came up with one aging pack of High Wire Long hemp rolling papers that might have been there before Willett moved in.
Willett, in fact, had curled his lip at the suggestion: “Wires? We don’t need no stinkin’ wires,” he said, which had made Lucas laugh despite himself.
And that was it. The most worrying thing was that Lucas was sure that they’d find some sign of the fifty thousand dollars, but there hadn’t been a thing.
Willett, aside from the occasional stressed- out joke, was suitably desperate, but wasn’t giving any ground. He didn’t do anything, he didn’t know anything.
A CALL CAME, from a South St. Paul police officer named Janice Loomis- Smith. She said, “Hi, this is Janice Loomis- Smith, down in South St. Paul? I sat next to you at the symposium on tool mark evidence?”
“Hey, Janice, how are you?” He remembered her as a frizzy-haired piece of leather who’d spent two years in Iraq. Smart. “What’s up?”
“We got what you call your anomalous situation. We got this dude named Xai Xiong, street racer guy. His car burned up off Concord Street, this Honda Prelude, burned right down to the ground. Apparently arson-somebody filled it up with gasoline, and it blew; I guess you could see the fire for a mile, all the way across the river. Anyway, we tracked it down through VIN, and went and talked to Xiong. He swears that he sold it a month ago. There’s this informal sales lot down off Highway 36 near Stillwater-people park their cars with For Sale signs in them.”
“I know where that is,” Lucas said patiently. “It’s over where that apple orchard used to be.”
“Right. Anyway, he said he sold it to a woman who gave him cash, and he signed the papers and she took them and said she’d file them later. She never did-I mean, if he’s telling the truth. Anyway, the reason I’m calling…”
“Yeah,” he said, still patient. “… Is that he said the woman was the spitting image of this woman whose face has been in the paper. The fairy woman."
"Far out,” Lucas said. Though it sounded weak. “Give me his name again.”
THEN JACKSON, the photographer, called and said, “I got your Ricky Davis guy.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m sittin’ here with my dick in my hand-might as well drag some pictures around town.”
“Might want to wash your hands first,” Jackson said. EMILY WAU saw him as he walked into the bank and waved cheerfully. “I saw in the paper that you arrested the good- looking guy,” she said. “Dating him would have been a mistake, huh?”
“Maybe,” Lucas said. “But maybe not."
"You’ve got another picture?"
"One more-a guy named Ricky Davis."
"I don’t remember the name,” she said. Lucas handed her the photograph, and she looked at it for a long time, then her dark brown eyes flicked up at him and she said, “I opened an account for him last fall.”
Lucas recoiled in surprise, then smiled. “You’re sure."
"Yes. I’m sure.” She wandered back to her desk and sat down, elbows on the desktop, fingers massaging her temples for a moment. She looked up and said, “I don’t think he said his name was Ricky, but I can remember a little bit. I had the impression that he’d never opened a bank account before, or maybe it had been a while, though he’s not that old… he seemed really unsure about what he was doing. What’s important is-I mean, for you-is that I gave him a lot of literature inside one of these folders.”
She opened a bottom desk drawer and pulled out a slick- paper folder with a picture of a paddlewheel steamer on it, and “Riverside Banks, the Home- Grown Alternative.”
Lucas said, “That’s important? Why?"
"Because he seemed interested in all the financing options… farm financing, if I remember correctly,” Wau said. “I bet he kept it. If he kept it, my fingerprints will be all over it, and then we’ll know that he was the one.”
“You’re a pretty smart cookie,” Lucas said. “Thank you.”
LUCAS THOUGHT about it as he drove back into town. Del, he thought, was probably at the apartment. If Siggy came in, he’d be running early-but he was coming, and the watch had gone full- time.
Lucas went that way.
DEL WAS sitting at the desk, reading a thin paperback, when Lucas came through the apartment door. He glanced back at Lucas and then said, “Heather is putting stuff in a couple of suitcases.”
“Huh."
"Yeah. Those windows bother me, though. Wide open like that. If you’re gonna sneak out of town, wouldn’t you pull the blinds?"
"I would. I don’t think Heather has a modest bone in her body,” Lucas said. “It’s not modesty-if she’s gonna run, she’d want to keep it a secret,” Del said. He fumbled the paperback out of sight, but before it went, Lucas saw the title: Waiting for Godot. “She might be perfectly happy hanging her tits out the window, but packing a bag?”
Lucas picked up the binoculars and took a look. “I don’t know,” he said. “That’s weird.”
They watched awhile longer, then Del said, “I didn’t think you were coming over. What’s up?”
“The Austin case may have just solved itself,” Lucas said. He explained about Ricky Davis.
“… so I’m pretty sure he’s the guy who opened the Frances Austin account. There’s the fifty thousand. His girlfriend, Helen, had all the access she needed. She’d have to figure out a password or something, but they could do that, one way or another. Then, all she had to do was call Fidelity with the password, and have a check sent to the address that Fidelity already had. No reason for them to suspect anything was wrong. Helen intercepts the mail-she’s there alone almost every day-and passes it to Ricky, who’d already set up the account.”
“Why’d they kill Austin?” Del asked. “Don’t know that yet-maybe Frances figured it out. You want to hear a scenario?"
"Go ahead.” Lucas pulled up another chair, sat, leaned back with his hands behind his head, feet up on the desk. “Frances is at home and decides to get some money from Fidelity. She sits down and makes the call, paying no attention to Helen, who hears her say the password, or maybe a couple of passwords. There it is-the money’s just sitting there. And- we’ll have to show this-Helen really needs the money. Or Ricky does. For some reason or another. So they come up with this scheme, and it almost works. But Frances, who is no fool, looks at an account statement, maybe a whole month later, if Helen worked it right, and she remembers… She remembers Helen being there, when she was on the phone to Fidelity.”