You look terrible, she said cheerfully. I got up early and went for a run.
God will someday strike you dead for that kind of behavior, he said. He was not a morning person. If I could only get the glue out of my eyes.
Quit pissing around; lets get going, Sherrill said. Ill drive. You can sleep, if you want.
He perked up, but just slightly. If you drive, I might survive.
So, Ill drive, she said. Cmon, cmon. Go. He turned back to the bedroom and she slapped him on the butt.
Christ, its like having a coach, he grumbled, but he tried to hurry.
MINNESOTA IS A TALL STATE; AUDREY MCDONALD'S hometown, Oxford, was in the Red River Valley in the northwest corner, on land as flat as the Everglades. They took Lucass Porsche out I-94, Sherrill driving the first twohours, giving it to Lucas, then taking the car back four hours out. Sherrill was a cheerful companion, not given to long stretches of silence. As she chattered away about the landscape, the various road signs and small towns, the river crossings, animals dead on the road, Lucas began to wonder what, exactly, he was doing with her. He began to check her from the corner of his eye, little peeks at her profile, at her face as she talked. Over the years, hed had relationships, longer or shorter, with a number of women, and in the transition zone between them, had often felt ties to the last woman even as the ties to the new woman were forming.
In this case, there were more than simple ties back to Weather. Weather had been something differentthe love of his life, if Elle Kruger wasntwhile Sherrill was much more like the other women hed dated: pretty, smart, interesting, and eventually, moving on.
He wasnt sure that he wanted a relationship with a woman whod be moving on, especially when she really wouldnt be out of sight. Sherrill was a cop, who had a desk right down the hall from his office: even when he wasnt trying to see her, he saw her four or five times a day.
You sighed, she said.
What?
You just sighed.
A lot of shit going on, Lucas said. She patted him on the leg. You worry too much. Its all gonna work out.
They followed the interstate northwest to Fargo, crossed the Red River into North Dakota, took I-29 north past Grand Forks, then recrossed the Red into Minnesota on a state highway to Oxford.
Starting to feel it in my back, Sherrill said to Lucas. Lucas was behind the wheel again. Probably wouldve been more comfortable in my car.
Yeah, Im getting too old for this thing, I need something a little smoother, Lucas said. Good car, though.
Too small for you.
Though youll probably start to shrink a little, as the age comes on. You know, your vertebrae start to collapse, your hair thins out and sits lower on your head, your muscle tone goes…
You go from a 34-C to a 34-long…
Oooh. Thats mean. But I kinda like it, she said.
They passed a sign warning of a reduction of speed limits; Lucas dropped from eighty to sixty as they went past the 45 sign. Past a farm implement dealer with a field of new John Deeres and Bobcats and antique Fords and International Harvesters; past competing Polaris and Yamaha snowmobile dealerships, both in unpainted steel Quonset huts; past a closed Dairy Queen and an open Hardees, past a Christian Revelation church and a SuperAmerica; and then into town, Lucas letting the car roll down to forty-five by the time they got to the 25 sign. Past a redbrick Catholic church and a fieldstone Lutheran church and then a liquor store that may once have been a bank, built of both fieldstone and brick.
Just like Lake fuckin Wobegon, Sherrill said.
No lake, Lucas said. Nothing but dirt.
If I had to live here, Id shoot myself just for the entertainment value, Sherrill said.
Ah, therere lots of good things out here, Lucas said.
Name one.
Lucas thought for a moment. You can see a long way, he said finally, and they both started to laugh. Then Sherrill pointed out the windshield at the left side of the street, to a white arrow-sign that said, Proper CountyOxford Government Center.
The Proper County Courthouse and Oxford City Hall had been combined in a building that resembled a very large Standard Oil stationlow red brick, lots of glass, an oversized nylon American flag, and a large parking lot where a grassy town square may once have been. Lucas spotted three police cruisers at one corner of the parking lot, and headed that way.
Watch your mouth with these people, huh? Lucas said, as they got out of the car.
Like youre Mr. Diplomat.
I try harder when Im out in the countryside, he said. They sometimes resent it when big-city cops show up in their territory.
THE OXFORD POLICE DEPARTMENT WAS A STARKLY utilitarian collection of beige cubicles wedged into a departmental office suite twenty-four feet square. The chiefs office, the only private space in the suite, was at the back; the department itself seemed deserted when Lucas and Sherrill pushed through the outer door.
A fire drill? Sherrill asked.
I dont know. Whats that? An odd, almost musical sound came from the back; they walked back between the small cubicles, and spotted a man in the chiefs private office, hovering over a computer. As they got closer, they could hear the boop-beep-thwack-arrghh of a computer action game. Sherrill gave Lucas an elbow in the ribs, but Lucas pushed her back down the row, walking quietly away. Then: Hello? Anybody home?
The boop-beep-thwack stopped, and a second later a young man with a round face and a short black mustache stepped out of the chiefs office.
Help you folks?
Were looking for the chief of police, or the duty officer…
Im Chief Mason. The young man hitched up his pants when he saw Sherrill, and walked down toward them. Lucas took out his ID and handed it over. Im Deputy Chief Lucas Davenport from Minneapolis, and this is Detective Sherrill…
He explained that they had come up to review documents and interview people who might have any information about the death of George Lamb, Audrey McDonalds father, twenty-four years earlier. The chief, who had been staring almost pensively at Sherrills breasts, started shakinghis head. I been a cop here for four years; nobody in the department has been here more than twelve. Better you should go up and talk to the county clerk, she might be able to point you at some death records or something.
Second floor? Lucas asked.
Yee-up, the chief said.
THE COUNTY CLERK WAS EVEN YOUNGER THAN THE chief, her hair dyed an unsuccessful orange: Okay, twenty-four years. About this time of year, you say?
About this time.
Okay… Were computerizing, you know, but all this old paper is hard to get on-line, she said, as she dug through a file cabinet. Here we go. George Lamb? Here it is.
You got anything in there on an Amelia Lamb? Georges wife? Four years after George?
She went back to the cabinet, dug around, then shook her head. Nothing on an Amelia.
She straightened up, stepped to the counter, pushed a mimeographed form across the counter at them, said to Marcy, I really like your hair, and Marcy said, Thanks. I just got it changed and I was a little worried about doing it… used to be longer.
The death form was filled out on a typewriter, and signed by a Dr. Stephen Landis. Lucas scanned the routine report and asked, Is Dr. Landis still practicing here?
Oh, sure. Hes over at the clinic, right down the street to Main, take a left two blocks.
Marcy looked over Lucass arm: Heart attack?
Thats what it says.
You know, Sheriff Mason wouldve been a deputy back then; I bet he would know about it, the clerk said, reading the file upside down. She tapped a line on the file with her fingertip. This address isnt right in townits out at County Aso they would have been the law enforcement arm involved in a death.