"So there'll be more?"
"Yes. But there is a limit on size. There really is no such thing as a grand criminal conspiracy. Or at least no such thing as a secret one. I suppose Adolf Hitler and his henchmen were a grand criminal conspiracy, but they needed the collaboration of a nation to pull it off."
"So there'd probably be at least two or three more, and maybe six or eight," Lucas said. "Probably held together by some sort of religious mania."
"That's right," Elle said. "If you want to stop it, look for the preacher."
In the car going back to Lucas' office, Lily looked him over.
"I have the feeling I'm being looked over," Lucas said.
"You have interesting friends," Lily said.
He shrugged. "I'm a cop."
"You invent games and play them with nuns?"
"Hey, I'm a wild kind of guy." He looked at her over the top of his sunglasses, winked and turned back to the traffic.
"Oooh, Mr. Cool," she said. "It makes my thighs hot."
Lucas thought, Mine too. He glanced quickly at her and she turned away, a blush creeping up her neck. She knew what he was thinking, and she had been aware of him in the booth…
At home, Larry Hart wore cowboy boots, blue jeans and work shirts with string ties. The string ties always had a chunk of turquoise buried in a silver slide. He could have worn that outfit to work, with a jacket to complete it, but he never did. He wore brown suits, with neckties in shades of brown and gold, and brown wingtip shoes. In the dead of summer, with the temperatures climbing into the nineties, Hart would sweat through the tiny tinderbox apartments of his welfare clientele, always in a brown suit.
Lucas had once asked him why. Hart shrugged and said, "I like it." What he meant was, / have to.
Hart jammed himself into the cookie-cutter frame of a municipal executive. It never worked, as hard as he tried. There was no way a brown suit could disguise his heritage. He was broad-shouldered and powerfully built, with black eyes and gray-shot hair. He was Sioux. Hart had the biggest case load in Welfare. Some of his clients refused to talk to anyone else.
"Lucas, what's happenin', babe?" Hart asked. Lucas lounged in his office chair with his feet on the rim of a waste-basket, while Lily rolled back and forth, a few inches one way and then a few inches the other, in an office chair on casters. Hart stepped inside the tiny office and dropped his bulk on a corner of Lucas' desk.
"Larry Hart, Lily Rothenburg, NYPD," Lucas said, gesturing between them.
"Nice to meet you," Lily said, taking Hart in. "You've been out?"
"Yup. Down on Franklin…"
Hart had been working through Indian Country with the photos. He knew two of the men himself.
"Bear is down at Rosebud and so is Elk Walking," Hart said. "They're pretty tough, but they ain't crazy. I can't see them getting involved in anything like this."
"You didn't know anybody else in the pictures?" Lily asked.
"Not names, but I know some of the faces. There are a couple of guys I see down at the Indian Center. You were asking Anderson about one of them. I played basketball against him last year."
"Could we get the team rosters?"
"They're mostly pickup games," Hart said. "But if I ask around enough, I could probably find out who he is. There-are a couple more faces I've seen at powwows, at Upper Sioux and Flandreau, Sisseton, Rosebud, all over the landscape."
"All Sioux?" asked Lucas.
"I think all but one. Give me the pictures again, let's see…" Hart thumbed through the stack of photographs until he found the one he wanted. He poked a finger at a man's face. "This guy's Chippewa. I don't know his name, it's Jack something, maybe like Jack Bordeaux. I think he's from White Earth, but I'm not sure."
"So how do we find out about Lily's man?" Lucas asked.
"There're a couple of guys out in SoDak who'd probably know him. Deputies. I gave Daniel the names, he called them and they're driving down to Rapid City tonight. I'm catching a plane out at six o'clock. I should be in Rapid City by seven-thirty. I'll take the pictures along."
"You think they'll know all these guys?" Lily asked.
"Most of them. They try to keep track of who has guns," Hart said.
"Why don't we just wire the pictures out…?"
"The technical guys said we'd lose too much resolution. We decided it'd just be best all around if I went. I could spend some time talking to them."
"That sounds right," Lily said.
"What about this computer tree you're building?" Lucas asked. "I understand you got all kinds of family stuff in there from Minnesota Sioux. Anything on Bluebird or Yellow Hand?"
"I looked up Bluebird. He's just about the last of the family. A lot of Bluebirds went East and married into the Mohawks and that bunch. There are still quite a few Yellow Hands out at Crow Creek and Niobrara. Those used to be Minnesota Indians before they got run out. But I know this Yellow Hand you talked to. He doesn't have much to do with the other Yellow Hands. This one is a loser."
"Nothing else?"
" Traid not." Hart checked his watch. "I've got a plane to catch."
"When will you know? About the pictures?" asked Lily.
"About five minutes after I get off the plane. Do you want me to call tonight?"
"Could you? I'll come back here and wait for the call," Lucas said.
"So will I," Lily added.
" 'Bout seven-thirty, we should know," Hart said.
"So now what?" Lily asked. They were standing on the sidewalk. Hart was on his way to the airport, riding in a squad.
Lucas glanced at his watch. "I've got to see my kid, get something to eat," he said. "Why don't we meet back here at seven o'clock? We can wait for Larry to call and figure out what we're going to do tomorrow."
"Depending on what he finds out," Lily said.
"Yeah," Lucas said, flipping his key ring around his finger. "Need a ride down to your hotel?"
"No, thanks." She smiled, starting away. "It's a nice walk."
Sarah was crawling around on the living room rug when Lucas arrived. He got down on his hands and knees, his tie dragging on the carpet, and played backup with her. First he backed up and she crawled toward him, gurgling; then, with her eyes wide, she backed away and he prowled forward.
"That'd be a lot more charming if you didn't have that big bump on your ass," Jennifer said from the kitchen. Lucas reached back, pulled out the P7 and put it on a lamp table.
"Jesus, not there," Jennifer said with asperity. "She could pull herself up and grab it."
"She can't pull herself up yet," Lucas objected.
"She will soon. It's a bad habit."
"Okay." Lucas stood up, slipped the pistol back in its holster and scooped up his daughter, who had been quivering in anticipation of the flight. He bounced her in his hands as he wandered toward the kitchen and propped himself in the doorway. "Have we got some kind of problem?"
Jennifer was making a salad. She turned her head. "No. Not unless you have."
"I just got here and I'm fine," Lucas said. "You sound a little tight."
"Not at all. I just don't want guns lying around tlu-house."
"Sure," he said. "Come on, Sarah, time for bed. Besides, your mom's being a grouch."
Lucas waited for it during dinner, watching Jennifer's face. Something was going on.
"Any lines on the guy from New York?" Jennifer asked finally. Rumors about the meeting at the StarTribune were circulating through all the media. Daniel had already fended off a half-dozen inquiries, but leaks were inevitable. Jennifer, called by her former partner at TVS, had spent the afternoon talking to old sources by phone. By the time Lucas had arrived, she had most of the story.
"Maybe. I've got a call coming in at seven-thirty."
"You're going back?"
"Yeah. Around seven."
"If Kennedy called you from the station, could you give him something for the ten-o'clock broadcast?"
"He'd have to talk to Daniel," Lucas said.
"Is he going to be there tonight?"