Night Prey

Lucas thought for a second then said, "The heart asks pleasure first/And then excuse from pain/and then those little anodynes/that deaden suffering. And then to go to sleep/and then if it should be/the will of its inquisitor/the privilege to die."

Co

"Who wrote that?"

"Emily Dickinson."

"Roux told you I have cancer?"

"Yes, but I wasn't thinking about that…"

Co

"Well…?"

"The Wild Lily Press over on the West Bank."

He shook his head. "I doubt it. That's a feminist store. He'd be pretty noticeable."

"Then The Saint, over in St. Paul."

On the way to St. Paul, Co

"We can try."

"We gotta do better than that," she said. "I owe some people."

"All right."

"I don't mean to scare you," she said.

"You're doing it."

The owner of The Saint recognized Wa

"What kind was she?" Lucas asked.

"Well, you know." He gestured. "Meek. A wallflower. She did ask a question when Margaret finished the reading, but I think it was because nobody was asking questions and she was embarrassed. That kind of person."

"Did she leave with anyone?"

"Nope. She left alone. I remember, 'cause it was abrupt. Most readings, she'd hang around; she'd be the last to leave, like she had nothing else to do. But I remember, she headed out maybe fifteen minutes after we broke things up. There were still quite a few people in the store. I thought maybe she didn't like Margaret."

"Was she in a hurry?"

The store owner scratched his head, looked out his window at the street. "Yeah. Now that you mention it, she did sort of seem like she was going somewhere."

Lucas looked at Co

The store owner, frowning, said, "You know, when I think about it, the question she asked was made up, like maybe she was dragging things out. I was sort of rolling my eyes, mentally, anyway. Then she leaves in a hurry…"

"Like something happened while she was in the store?" Co

"I hate to say it, but yes."

"That's interesting," Lucas said. "We'll need a list of everybody you know was here."

The store owner looked away, embarrassed. "Hmm. "I think, uh, a lot of my clients would see that as an invasion of privacy,“ he said.

"Would you like to see the pictures of Wa

The store owner looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "I'll get a list going," he said.

Lucas used the store phone to call Anderson, and told him about the identification. "She left here at nine o'clock."

"We got her car fifteen minutes ago," Anderson said. "It was in the impound lot, towed out of downtown St. Paul. Hang on a minute…" Anderson spoke to somebody else, then came back. "It was towed off a hill on Sixth. I'm told that's next to Dayton's."

"So she must have been headed somewhere."

"Unless she already was somewhere, and walked back to the store."

"I don't think so. That'd be eight or ten blocks. There's a lot of parking around here. She would have driven."

"Is there anything around Dayton's at nine? Was the store open?"

"There's a bar up there-Harp's. On the corner. Co

"Okay. St. Paul'll process the car," Anderson said. "I'll pass on what you found out at this bookstore. You're getting a list of names?"

"Yeah. But it might not be much."

"Get me the names and I'll run 'em."

Lucas hung up and turned around. Co

"One of the men here was a cop," she said fiercely. "A St. Paul patrolman named Carl Erdrich."

"Damnit," Lucas said. He picked up the phone and called Anderson back, gave him the name.

"What?" Co

"We'll check the bar," Lucas said. "There'll have to be some negotiations before we can get a mug of Erdrich."

Co

"It's called the Usual Bullshit," he said. "And calm down. We're talking about an hour or two, not forever."

But she was angry, heels pounding as they walked back to Lucas's Porsche. "Why do you drive this piece of crap? You ought to buy something decent," she snapped.

Lucas said, "Shut the fuck up."

"What?" She goggled at him.

"I said shut the fuck up. You don't shut the fuck up, you can take the bus back to Mi

Co

"Yeah." Lucas nodded, gri

"I was," she said, dropping her elbows on the bar and leaning toward Lucas, glancing at Co

Lucas rolled out the photo of Wa

The bartender watched his eyes, and, satisfied with her effect, picked up the photo and studied it. "She look like this?"

"Pretty much," Lucas said, steadfastly holding her eyes.

"What'd she do?" the bartender asked.

"Was she here?" Lucas asked again.

"Meanie," she said. "You don't want to tell me." The bartender frowned, pushed out her lower lip, studied the picture, and slowly shook her head. "No, I don't think she was. In fact, I'm sure she wasn't, if she dressed like this. Our crowd's into black. Black shirts, black pants, black dresses, black hats, black combat boots. I'd have noticed her."

"Big crowd?"

"In St. Paul?" She picked up her bar rag and scrubbed at a spot on the bar.

"Okay…"

As they started out, the bartender called after them, "What'd she do?"

"It was done to her," Co

"Yeah?"

"She was killed."

The bartender recoiled. "Like, murdered? How?"

"Let's go," said Lucas, touching Co

"Stabbed," said Co

"Let's go," Lucas repeated.

" 'Do not wait for the last judgment. It takes place every day,' " the bartender said solemnly, in a quotation voice.

Now Lucas stopped. "Who was that?" he asked.

"Some dead French dude," the bartender said.

"That was disgusting," Co

"What?"

"The way she was throwing it at you."

"What?"

"You know."

Lucas looked back at the bar, then at Co

"Kiss my ass, Davenport," she said, and stalked off toward the car.

Lucas called Anderson again. "Roux's still talking to St. Paul," Anderson said. "She wants you back here, ASAP."