Secret Prey

THREE

THE FOUR SURVIVING HUNTERS SAT ON THE PORCH in the afternoon sunlight, in rustic wooden chairs with peeling bark and waterproof plastic seat cushions. They all had cups of microwaved coffee: Wilson McDonalds was fortified with two ounces of brandy. James T. Bone sat politely downwind of the others, smoking a cheroot.

The sheriffs investigator perched on a stool at the other end of the porch, like the class dummy, looking away from them. If one of the bankers suddenly broke for the woods, what was he supposed to do? Shoot him? But the sheriff had told him to keep an eye on them. Whatd that mean?

And the bankers were annoyed, and their annoyance was not something his worn nerves could deal with. He could handle trailer-home fights and farm kids hustling toot, but people whod gone to Harvard, who drove Lincoln and Lexus sport-utes and wore eight-hundred-dollar apre`s-hunt tweed jackets, undoubtedly woven by licensed leprechauns in the Auld Countrywell, they made him nervous. Especially when one of them might be a killer.

DAVENPORT IS THE BAD DOG, BONE SAID FROM downwind, as they watched Krause lead his parade down through the woods toward the cabin. He bit off a sixteenth-inch of the cheroot and spit it out into the fescue at the bottom of the porch. He oughta be able to tell us something.

Mean sonofabitch, by reputation, ODell said. She said it casually, looking through the steam of the coffee. She wasnt impressed. She was surrounded by mean sonsofbitches. She might even be one herself.

Just another c-cop, Robles stuttered. Robles was scared: they could smell it on him. They liked it. Robles was the macho killer, and his fear was oddly pleasing.

I talked to him a couple of times on the transfers with his IPOyou all know he used to be Davenport Simulations? Bone said. They all nodded; that was the kind of thing they all knew. He sold the company to management and walked with bettern ten, AT. He meant ten million dollars, after taxes.

So why doesnt he quit and move to Palm Springs? Robles asked.

Cause he likes what he does, Bone said.

I wish hed get his bureaucratic ass down here and do what we have to do; I wanna get back to town, McDonald grumbled. Back to a nice smooth single-malt; but hed stay here as long as the others did. Sooner or later, theyd start talking about whod be running the bank. No point in keeping us here. Weve told them everything we know.

Unless one of us killed him, Bone said lazily.

Gotta be an accident, Robles said, nervously. Opening day of deer season… I bet therere twenty of them. Accidents.

No, there arent, Bone said. There are usually one or two, and most of the time, they know on the spot who did the shooting.

Besides, it wasnt an accident, ODell said positively.

How do you know? McDonald asked. He finished the loaded coffee and rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. He could use another.

Maybe she did it, Robles said. He tried to laugh, but instead made a small squeaking noise, a titter.

ODell ignored him. Karmas wrong for an accident, she said.

Great: were talking karma, McDonald said. Superstitious hippie nonsense.

Bone slumped a little lower in his chair and a thin grin slipped across his dry face: But shes right, he said. Dan was a half-mile onto his own property. Whos going to shoot him through the heart from moren half a mile away? Nope. I figure it was one of us. We all had guns and good reasons.

Bullshit, McDonald said.

AS THEY WATCHED THE PARADE APPROACHING, ODell said, We should decide wholl speak for the bank. The boardll have to appoint a CEO, but somebody should take over for the moment. Somebody in top management.

I thought Wilson might do ituntil a decision is made on a CEO, Bone said. He looked over at Wilson Mc-Donald, whose eyes went flat, hiding any reaction; and past him at ODell. The top job, Bone thought, would go either to himself or ODell, unless the board did something weird. Robles didnt have the background, McDonald wasnt smart or skilled enough. If you think so, McDonald said carefully. This was the moment hed been waiting for.

ODell had done her calculations as well as Bone, and she nodded. Then youve got it, she said. She put her battered hunting boots up on the porch railing and looked past McDonald at Bone: Until the police figure out if one of us did it. And the board has a chance to meet.

After a moments silence, Robles said, My gun wasnt fired.

Bone rolled his eyes up to the heavens: Ill tell you what, Terry. It would take me about three seconds to figure a way to kill Kresge and walk out of the woods with a clean weapon. He took a final drag on the cheroot, dropped the stub end on the porch, ground it out with his boot, and flipped it out into the yard with his toe. No sir: I figure a fired weapon is purely proof of innocence.

He was breaking Robless balls. Bone and ODell had the two dirty rifles, while McDonald and Robles were clean. Usually, Bone wouldnt have bothered: Robles wasnt much sport. But Bone was in a mood. Davenport and the others were dropping the last few yards down the trail to the clearing around the house, and Bone muttered to the others, Bad dog.

LUCAS LED THE PARADE UP THE PORCH STEPS, WITH Krause and Sloan just behind, and the four bankers all stood up to meet them. Lucas recognized Bone and nodded: Mr. Bone, he said. Did Sally get the Spanish credit?

Bones forehead wrinkled for a second; then he remembered and nodded, smiling: Sure did. She graduated in June… Are you running things here?

No, I was just about to leave, in fact. Sheriff Krause runs things up here. Well be cooperating down in Minneapolis, if he needs the backup.

So why did you come up? ODell asked. She put a little wood-rasp in her voice, a little annoyance, so hed understand her status here.

Lucas grinned at her, mild-voiced and friendly: Mr. Kresge carried a lot of clout in Minneapolis, so its possible the motive for the shooting will be found there. Quite possibly with the bank, from what I hear about this merger. Detective SloanLucas looked at Sloan, who raised a hand in greetinghas been assigned to help Sheriff Krause with his interviews, so we can get you folks on your way home.

Are you s-s-sure it wasnt an accident? Robles stuttered.

Lucas shook his head and Krause said, He was murdered.

So thats it, ODell said, and the bankers all looked at each other for a moment, and then Bone broke the silence: Damn it. Thatll tangle things up.

McDonald, ignoring Krause, asked Lucas, Do you think… one of us…?

Lucas looked at Krause. We have no reason to think so, in particular. Since we know you were here, weve got to talk to you, Krause said. But weve got no suspects.

SLOAN SUGGESTED THAT HE WOULD PREFER TO TALK to the four of them individually, inside, while the others waited on the porch. Nice day, anyway, he said, pleasantly. And it shouldnt take long.

Let me go first, McDonald grunted, pushing up from his chair. I want to get back and start talking to the PR people. Well need a press release ASAP. God, what a disaster.

Fine, Sloan said. He turned to Lucas: You gonna take off?

Yeah. The sheriffll send you back with a deputy.

See you later then, Sloan said. Mr. McDonald?

McDonald followed Sloan and Krause into the cabin. When theyd gone, Bone said to Lucas, Id feel better about this if you were running things.

Krause is a pretty sharp cookie, I think, Lucas said. Hell take care of it.

Still, its not something where you want a mistake made, Bone said. A murder, I meanwhen youre a suspect, but youre innocent.

I appreciate that, Lucas said. He glanced at the other two, then took a card case from his jacket pocket, extracted four business cards and passed them around. If any of you need any information about the course of the investigation, or need any help at all, call me directly, any time, night or day. Theres a home phone listed as well as my office phone. Ms. ODell, if you could give one to Mr. McDonald.

Very nice of you, ODell said, looking at the cards. We just want to get this over with.

You shot one of the deer, didnt you? Lucas asked her. The two gutted deer were hanging head down from the cabins deer pole in the side yard.

The bigger of the two, she said.

I like mine tender, Bone said dryly. Always go for a doe.

Good shot, Lucas said to ODell. Broke his shoulder, wiped out his heart; I bet he didnt go ten feet from where you shot him.

She didnt feel any insinuation; he was just being polite. Do you hunt? she asked.

He smiled and nodded: Quite a bit.

WHEN LUCAS HAD GONE, ODELL SAID TO BONE, thats not a bad dog. Thats a pussycat.

Bone took another cheroot out of his jacket pocket, along with a kitchen match, which he scratch-lit on the porch railing; an affectation he acknowledged and enjoyed. Hes killed four or five guys, I think, in the line of duty. He built a software company from nothing to a ten-million AT buyout in about six years. In his spare time. And Ill tell you something else…

He took a long drag on the cheroot, and blew a thin stream of smoke out into the warming afternoon air, irritating ODell. What?

Bone said, When we did the transfers on the IPO, I talked to him for ten minutes. While we were doing it, my daughter called on my private line, from school. All upset. She was having a problem with a language credit, and she was afraid theyd hold up her graduation. I mentioned it to him, in passingjust explaining the phone call. This was seven months ago. He remembered me, he remembered Sallys name, and he remembered the language she was taking.

Bone looked at ODell. You can take him lightly, if you want. I wouldnt. Especially if you pulled the trigger twice this morning.

Dont be absurd, she said. But she looked after Lucas, down by the parking area, just getting into his truck. Nice shoulders, she said, thinking the comment would irritate just about everybody on the porch.

THE TRUCK WAS VERY QUIET WITHOUT SLOAN: LUCAS didnt need the quietin the quiet, his mind would begin to churn, and that would lead

…

He wasnt sure where it would lead.

He was tired, but he needed to be more tired. He needed to be so tired that when he got back home, he could lie down and sleep before the churning began. He put a tape in the tape player, ZZ Top, theGreatest Hitsalbum, and turned it up. Interference. Cant churn when theres too much interference.

The killing at the hunting camp was not particularly interesting: one possible motive, the bank merger, was already fairly clear. Others of a more personal nature might pop up laterKresge was in the process of getting a divorce, so there might be other women. Or his wife might have something to do with it.

Routine investigation would dredge it all up, and either the killer would be caught or he wouldnt. Whichever, Lucas felt fairly distant from the process. Hed been through it dozens of times, and the routine greed, love, and stupidity killings no longer held much interest.

Evil was interesting, he would still admit; this a residue from his term in Catholic schools. But so far he detected no evil in the killing. Spite, probably; stupidity, possibly. Greed. Anger. But not real evil…

HE RODE MINDLESSLY FOR A WHILE, THE WINTER fields and woods rolling by, holsteins out catching a few uncommon November rays, horses dancing through hillside pastures; a few thousand doomed turkeys… Then he glanced out the side window, caught the boles on the oaks, recognized them, shivered. Turned up the tape.

Hed been dreaming again, lately; he hated the dreams, because they woke him up, and when he woke, in the night, his mind would begin running. And the dreams always woke him…

One dream had an odd quality of science fiction. He was being lowered, on some kind of platform, into a huge steelcylinder. Nearby was a steel cap, two feet thick, with enormous threads, which would be screwed into place after he was inside, sealing him in. The process was industrial: there were other people running around, making preparations for whatever was about to happen. He was cooperating with them, standing on the platform obviously expectant. But for what? Why was he about to be sealed inside the cylinder? He didnt know, but he wasnt frightened by the prospect. He was engaged by it, though. Hed start thinking about it, and then hed wake up, his mind churning…

The other dream was stranger.

A mans face, seen from a passing car. There were small beads of rain on the window glass, so the view was slightly obscured; in his dream, Lucas could not quite get a fix on the face. The man was hard, slender, wore an ankle-length black coat and a snap-brim hat. Most curious were the almond-shaped eyes, but where the surfaces of his eyes should bethe pupils and irisesthere were instead two curls of light maple-colored wood shavings. The man seemed to be hunched against a wind, and the drizzle; he seemed to be cold. And he looked at Lucas under the brim of the hat, with those eyes that had curls of wood on their surfaces.

Lucas had begun to see the almond shapes around him on the street. See them on the faces of distant men, or in random markings on buildings, or on trees. Nonsense: but this dream frightened him. He would wake with a start, sweat around the neckline of his T-shirt. And then his mind would start to run…

He turned up the ZZ Top yet another notch, and raced toward the Cities, looking for exhaustion.

AN HOUR AFTER LUCAS HAD PASSED THAT WAY, JAMES T. Bone hurtled down I-35 in a large black BMW. As he crossed the I-694 beltline he picked up the cell phone and pushed the speed-dial number. The other phone rang three times before a woman answered it, her voice carrying a slight whiskey burr. Hello?

This is Bone. Where are you?

In my car. On my way back from Southdale.

Im coming over, he said. Twenty minutes.

Okay… you cant stay long. George is

Twenty minutes, Bone said, and punched off. He pushed another speed-dial button, and another woman answered, this voice younger and crisper: Kerin.

This is Bone. Where are you?

At home.

Dan Kresges been killed. Shot, probably murdered. Had you heard yet?

No. My God…

Ill be at the office in an hour, or a little more. If you have the time…

Ill be there in ten minutes. Can I get anything started before you get there?

Names and phone numbers of all the board members…

They talked for five minutes; then Bone punched out again.

A THREE-CAR FENDER BENDER SLOWED HIM A BIT, BUT he pulled into the downtown parking garage a little less than a half hour after he made the first call. Hed gotten out of his hunting clothes and was wearing a Patagonia jacket with khakis and a flannel shirt. He pulled the jacket off as he rode up in the elevator.

Marcia Kresge met him at the door in a blue silk kimono. You like it? I bought it an hour ago.

I hope youre not celebrating, he said.

He said it with an intensity that stopped her: What happened?

Your soon-to-be-ex-husband was shot to death up at the cabin this morning. Im undoubtedly one of the suspects.

Kresge looked mildly shocked for a quarter-second, then slipped a tiny smile: So the fuckers dead?

I hope to Christ you didnt have anything to do with it.

Moi? she asked mockingly, one hand going to her breast.

Yeah, Marcia, youre really cute; I hope youre not that cute when the cops show up.

The cops? Finally serious.

Marcia, sit down, Bone said. Kresge dropped onto a couch, showing a lot of leg. Bone looked at it for a moment, then said, Listen, I know you think you fucked over Dan pretty thoroughly. Youre wrong. Last week the board granted him another two hundred and fifty thousand options to buy our stock at forty, as a performance award. If the merger goes through, and its botched, the stockll be worth sixty in a year. If the merger is done exactly right, it could be at eighty in a year. Thats ten million dollars, and if its held for a year, youll take out eight after taxes.

Me? I

Marcia, shut up for a minute. The options have value. They become part of his estate. Youll inherit. Youll also get the rest of his estate, that you didnt get in the divorce. No taxes at all on that. In other words, Dan gets murdered, you get ten million. Im up there with a gun, and guess whos fucking Marcia Kresge?

Jesus, she said.

I seriously doubt that hes involved.

But they cant think I…?

You didnt, did you? You know all those crazy nightclub characters

…

Bone: I had not a goddamned thing to do with it. I reallydidthink Id taken him to the cleaners… and I mean, I didnt like him, but I wouldnt kill him.

He knew her well enough to know she wasnt lying. He exhaled, said, Good.

You honest to God thought…

No. I didnt think you went out and hired some asshole to kill him, Bone said. What I was afraid of is, youd mentioned to one of your little broken-nosed pals that ifDan died, youd get another whole load of cash.

Well, I didnt, she said. Because I didnt know that I would.

Okay… I dont think it would be necessary to mention to the police that weve been involved, he said dryly.

Good thought, she said, matching his tone precisely.

All right. He stood up and started toward the door. Ive got to get down to the bank.

The bank? God, when you called, I thought maybe… Shed gotten up and come around the couch.

What? He knew what.

You know. She slipped the belt of the kimono; she was absolutely bare and pink beneath it. I just got out of the shower.

I thought George was coming over.

Well, not for a couple of hours… and you gotta at least tell me what happened.

Take off the kimono.

She took it off, tossed it on the couch. He was staring at her, like he always did, with an attention that both disturbed and excited her.

What? She unconsciously touched one arm to her breastbone, covering her right breast as she did it. Bone reached out and pushed her arm down.

Put your hands behind you, he said. I want to look at you while I tell you this.

She blushed, the blush reaching almost to her waist. She bit her lower lip, but put her hands behind her back.

We started out like we always do, walking back into the woods. You know how that trail goes back around the lake…

As he told the story, he began to stroke her, his voice never faltering or showing emotion, but his hands always moving slowly. After a moment she slowly backed away, and he stepped after her, still talking. When her bottom touched the edge of a couch table, she braced herself against it, closed her eyes.

Are you listening? he asked; his hands stopped momentarily.

Of course, she said. A few minutes before six and the shooting started.

Thats right, he said. He pushed her back more solidly into the couch table and said, Spread your legs a little.

She spread her legs a little.

A little more.

She spread them a little more.

Anyway, he said, gently parting her with his fingertips. Any one of us could have killed him. It was just a matter of climbing down from the tree, sneaking back up the path…

Did you do it? she asked.

What do you think?

You could have, she said. And then she said, Oh, God.

Feel good?

Feels good.

Look at me…

She opened her eyes, but they were hazy, a dreamers eyes, looking right through him. Dont stop now, she said.

Look at me…

She looked at him, struggled to focus on his dark, cool face. Did you kill him?

Does the thought turn you on?

Oh, God…

SUSAN ODELL'S APARTMENT WAS A STUDY IN BLACK and white, glass and wood, and when she walked in, was utterly silent. She pulled off her jacket, let it fall to the floor, then her shirt and her turtlenecked underwear, and her bra. The striptease continued back through the apartment through her bedroom to the bathroom, where she went straight into the shower. She stood in the hot water for five minutes, letting it pour around her face. When shed cleaned off the day, she stepped out, got a bath towel froma towel rack, dried herself, dropped the towel on the floor, and walked back to the bedroom. Underpants and gray sweatsuit.

Dressed again, warm, she walked back to the study, stood on her tiptoes, and took a deck of cards off the top of the single bookshelf.

Sitting at her desk, she spread the cards, studied them.

Shed once had an affair, brief but intense, with an artist whod taught her what he called Tarot for Scientists. A truly strange tarot method: business management through chaos theory, and he really knew about chaos. An odd thing for an artist to know, shed thought at the time. Shed even become suspicious of him, and had done some checking. But he was a legitimate painter, all right. A gorgeous watercolor nude, which nobody but she knew was ODell herself, hung in her bedroom, a souvenir of their relationship.

After she realized the value of the artists tarot method, hed bought her a computer version so she could install it on her computer at workthe cards themselves were a little too strange, and a little too public, for a big bank. Theyd done the installation on a cold, rainy night, and afterwards had made love on the floor behind her desk. The artist had been comically inept with the computer. Hed nearly brought down the bank network, and would have, if she hadnt been there to save him. But she could now access electronic cards at any time, protected with her own private code word.

Still. When she could, she preferred the cards themselves: the cool, collected flap of pasteboard against walnut. Hippielike, she thought. McDonald referred to her as a hippie, but she was hardly that. She simply had little time for makeup, for indulgent fashion, or for the flattering of men all the things that Wilson McDonald expected from a woman. At the same time, she obviously enjoyed the company of men, and her relationship with the artist and a couple of other men-about-town had become known at the bank. And she was smart.

As McDonald had thumbed through his box of mentallabels, hed been forced to discardhousewifeandhelpmeet, lesboandbimbo. When word inevitably got around about the tarot, McDonald had relaxed and stuck thehippielabel on her. The label might not explain the hunting, or the manner in which shed cut her way to the top at the bank… but it was good enough for him.

Fuckin moron.

ODell laid out the Celtic Cross; and got a jolt when the result card came up: the Tower of Destruction.

She pursed her lips. Yes.

She stood up, cast a backward glance at the spread of cards, the lightning bolt striking the tower, the man falling to his death: rather like Kresge, she thought, coming out of the tree stand. In fact, exactly so…

She shivered, pulled a cased set of books out of the bookcase, removed a small plastic box, opened it. Inside were a dozen fatties. She took one out, with the lighter, went out to her balcony, closing the glass doors behind her. Cold. She lit the joint, let the grass wrap wreaths of ideas around her brain. Okay. Kresge was dead. Shed wanted him dead gone, at any rate, dead if necessary, and lately, as the merger deal crept closer, dead looked like the only way out.

So shed gotten what she wanted.

Now to capitalize.

TERRANCE ROBLES HOVERED OVER HIS COMPUTER, sweating. He typed:

Switch to crypto.

Youre so paranoid; and cryptos boring . Switching to crypto…

Once in the cryptography program, he typed:

What have you done?

Why?

Oh shit. Somebody shot Kresge today. Im a suspect…

My, my…

Even with the crypto delay, the response was fast. Toofast, and too cynically casual, he thought. More words trailed across the screen.

So, did you do it?

Robles pounded it out: Of course not.

But you thought I did?

He hesitated, then typed, No.

Dont lie to me, T. You thought I did it . No I didnt but I wanted you to say it.

I havent exactly said it, have I?

Come on…

Come on what? The worlds a better place with that fucking fascist out of it.

You didnt do it.

A long pause, so long that he thought she might have left him, then: Yes I did.

No you didnt…

No reply. Nothing but the earlier words, half scrolled up the screen.

Come on… A label popped up:

The room is empty.

Bitch, he groaned. He bit his thumbnail, chewing at it. What was he going to do? Looking up at the screen, he saw the words.

Yes I did .

MARCIA KRESGE OPENED HER APARTMENT DOOR AND found two uniformed cops standing in the hallway.

Yes?

Mrs. Kresge? The cops looked her over. Late thirties, early forties, they thought. Very nice looking in a rich-bitch way. She was wearing a black fluffy dress that showed some skin, and was holding a lipstick in a gold tube. She had a lazy look about her, as though shed just gotten out of bed, not alone.

Yes?

They kept it straightforward: her husband had been killed in a hunting accident.

Yeah, I heard, she said, leaning against the doorpost. Her eyes hadnt even flickered; and to the older cop they looked so blue he thought he might fall in. Should I do something?

The cops looked at each other. Well, hes at the county medical examiners office. We thought youd want to make, er, the funeral arrangements.

She sighed. Yeah, I suppose that would be the thing to do. Okay. Ill call them. The medical examiner.

The older of the two cops, his experience prodding him, tried to keep the conversation going. You dont seem too upset.

She thought about that for a moment. No, Id have to say that Im not. Upset. But Im surprised. She put one hand on her breast, in a parody of a woman taken aback. I thought the asshole was too mean to get killed. Anyway, I just dont… mmm, what thats colorful redneck phrase you policemen always use in the movies? I dont give a large shit.

The cops looked at each other again, and then the younger one said, Maybe we got this wrong. We understood…

Yeah, Im his wife. In two weeks we wouldve been divorced. We havent lived together for two years, and I havent seen him for a year. I dont like him. Didnt like him.

Uh, could you tell us where you were…?

She smiled at him sleepily. When?

Early this morning?

In bed. I was out late last night, with friends.

Could anybody vouch for you being here last night? The older cop was pressing; once you had somebody rolling, you never knew what might come out.

But she nodded: Sure. A friend brought me home.

Im talking about later, like early this morning.

So am I, she said. He stayed.

Oh, okay. Neither one of them was a bit embarrassed, and she was now looking at him with a little interest. Could we get his name?

I dont see why not. Come on in, she said. Ill write it down.

They followed her into the apartment, noted the polished wood floors, the Oriental carpets, the tastefully colorful paintings on eggshell-white walls.

You havent asked me how much Id get from him, if he died before the divorce, she said over her shoulder.

The older cop smiled, his best Gary Cooper grin. He liked her: How much?

I dont know, she lied. My attorney and I took him to the cleaners.

Good for you, he said. She was scribbling on a notepad, and when she finished, she brought it over and handed it to him. George Wright. Heres his address and phone number. Im going to call him and tell him about this.

Thats up to you, the older cop said.

Thats my number at the bottom, in case you need to interrogate me. Its unlisted, she said. She looked at him with her blue eyes and nibbled on her lower lip.

Well, thanks, he said. He tucked the slip of paper in his shirt pocket.

Do I sound like a heartless bitch? she asked him cheerfully. And as she asked, she took his arm and they walked slowly toward the door together.

Maybe a little, he said. He really did like her and he could feel the back of his bicep pressing into her breast. Her breast was very warm. He even imagined he could feel a nipple.

I really didnt like him, she said. You can put that in your report.

I will, he said.

Good, she said, as she ushered him out the door. Then maybe Ill get to see you again… You could show me your gun.

The cops found themselves in the hallway, the door closing behind them. At the elevator door, the younger one said, Well?

Well, what?

You gonna call her?

The older one thought a minute, then said, I dont think I could afford it.

Shit, you dont have tobuyanything, the young one said. Shes rich.

I dunno, the older one said.

Take my advice: If you call her, you dont want to jump her right away. Get to know her a little.

Thats very sensitive of you, the older one said.

No, no, I just think… She wants to see your gun?

Yeah?

So you wanna put off the time when she finds out youre packing a.