Sudden prey

TWO

THE MINNEAPOLIS CITY HALL IS A RUDE PILE OF LIVERISH stone, damp in the summer, cold in the winter, ass-deep in cops, crooks, politicians, bureaucrats, favor-seekers, reporters, TV personalities and outraged taxpayers, none of whom were allowed to smoke inside the building.

The trail of illegal cigarette smoke followed Rose Marie Roux down the darkened marble halls from the chief's office to Homicide. The chief was a large woman, getting larger, her face going hound-dog with the pressure of the job and the passing of the years. She stopped outside homicide, took a drag on the cigarette, and blew smoke.

She could see Davenport inside, standing, hands in his pockets. He was wearing a blue wool suit, a white shirt with a long soft collar and what looked like an

Herme`s necktie- one of the anal numbers with eight million little horses prancing around. A political appointee, a deputy chief, his sideline software business made him worth, according to the latest rumors, maybe ten million dollars. He was talking to Sloan and Sherrill.

Sloan was thin, pasty-faced, serious, dressed all in brown and tan-he could lean against a wall and disappear. He could also make friends with anyone: he was the best interrogator on the force. Sloan hadn't taken his gun out that afternoon and was still on the job.

Sherrill, on the other hand, had fired all six shots from her revolver. She was still up, floating high on the release from the fear and ecstasy that sometimes came after a gunfight. Roux, in her few years on the street, before law school, had never drawn her pistol. She didn't like guns.

Roux watched the three of them, Lucas Davenport and his pals. Shook her head: maybe things were getting out of control. She dropped the cigarette on the floor, stepped on it and pushed through the door.

The three turned to look at her, and she looked at Lucas and tipped her head toward the hall. Lucas followed her back through the door, and shut the door against the inquiring ears of Sloan and Sherrill.

''The request for a uniform stop-when did you think of that?'' Roux asked. Her words ricocheted down the marble halls, but there was nobody else to hear them.

Lucas leaned against the cool marble wall. He smiled quickly, the smile here and then gone. The smile made him look hard, even too hard: mean. He'd been working out, Roux thought. He went at it hard, from time to time, and when he'd really stripped himself down, he looked like a piece of belt leather. She could see the shape of his skull under his forehead skin.

''It seemed like a no-lose proposition,'' he said, his voice pitched low. They both knew what they were talking about.

She nodded. ''Well, it worked. We released the voice tape from Dispatch and it's taking the heat off. You're gonna hear some firing-squad stuff from the Star

Tribune, the editorial page. Questions about why they ever got inside-why youwaited that long to move. But I don't think… no real trouble.''

''If we'd just taken them, it would have come to a couple of witnesses with bad records,'' Lucas said. ''They'd be back on the street right now.''

''I know, but the way it looks…'' She sighed. ''If the LaChaises hadn't shot this guy Farris, there'd be a lot more trouble.''

''Big break for us, Farris was,'' Lucas said, flashing his grim smile again.

''I didn't mean it that way,'' Roux said, and she looked away. ''Anyway, Farris is gonna make it.''

''Yeah, a little synthetic cheekbone, splice up his jaw, give him a bunch of new teeth, graft on a piece of ear…''

''I'm trying to cover you,'' Roux said sharply.

''Sounds like you're giving us shit,'' Lucas snapped back. ''The Rice Lake bank people looked at the movies from the credit union security cameras. There's no doubt-it was the LaChaises that did it over there. They looked the same with the panty hose, said the same things, acted the same way. And it was Candy LaChaise who killed the teller. We're waiting to hear back from Ladysmith and Cloquet, but it'll be the same.''

Roux shook her head and said, ''You picked a hard way to do it, though: a hard way to settle it.''

''They came out, they opened up, we were all right there,'' Lucas said. ''They fired first. That's not cop bullshit.''

''I'm not criticizing,'' Roux said. ''I'm just saying the papers are asking questions.''

''Maybe you oughta tell the papers to go fuck themselves,'' Lucas said. The chief was a politician who had at one time thought she might be headed for the

Senate. ''That'd be a good political move right now, the way things are.''

Roux took an old-fashioned silver cigarette case out of herpocket, popped it open. ''I'm not talking politics here, Lucas. I'm a little worried about what happened.'' She fumbled a cigarette out of the case, snapped the case shut.

''There's a feel of… setup. Of taking the law in our own hands. We're okay, because Farris was shot and you made that call for a stop. But there were six or seven holes in Candy LaChaise. It's not like you weren't ready to do it.''

''We were ready,'' Lucas agreed.

''… So there could be another stink when the medical examiner's report comes out.''

''Tell them to take their time writing the report,'' Lucas said. ''You know the way things are: In a week or so, nobody'll care. And we're still a couple of months from the midwinter sweeps.''

''Yeah, yeah. And the ME's cooperating. Still.''

''The LaChaises started it,'' Lucas persisted. ''And they were sport killers.

Candy LaChaise shot people to see them die. Fuck 'em.''

''Yeah, yeah,'' Roux said. She waved at him and started back toward the chief's office, shoulders slumped. ''Send everybody home. We'll get the shooting board going tomorrow.''

''You really pissed?'' Lucas called after her.

''No. I'm just sorta… depressed. There've been too many bodies this year,'' she said. She stopped, flicked a lighter, touched off the fresh cigarette. The tip glowed like a firefly in the semidark. ''Too many people are getting killed.

You oughta think about that.''

WEATHER KARKINNEN WAS DOING PAPERWORK IN THE study when Lucas got home. She heard him in the kitchen, and called down the hall, ''In the study.''

A moment later, he leaned in the door, a bottle of beer in his hand. ''Hey.''

''I tried to call you,'' she said.

Weather was a small, athletic woman with wide shoulders and close-cut blond hair. She had high cheekbones and eyes that were dark blue and slightly slanted in the Lapp-Finnish way. Her nose was a bit too large and a little crooked, as if she'd once lost a close fight. Not a pretty woman, exactly, but men tended to drift toward her at parties. ''I saw a TV story on the shooting.''

''What'd they say?'' He unscrewed the beer cap and took a sip.

''Two women were shot and killed after a robbery. They say it's a controversial shooting.'' She was anxious, brushing hair out of her eyes.

Lucas shook his head. ''You can't pay any attention to TV.''

He was angry.

''Lucas…''

''What?'' He was defensive, and didn't like it.

''You're really steamed,'' she said. ''What happened?''

''Ah, I'm taking heat from the media. Everybody seems to worry about whether it was a fair fight. Why should the fight be fair? This isn't a game, it's law enforcement.''

''Could you have taken them? Arrested them? Gone to trial, with the people at the other banks in Wisconsin?''

''No.'' He shook his head. ''They were always masked, and always used stolen cars. There was a case down in River Falls, two years ago, where Candy LaChaise was busted for armed robbery. The guy she robbed, the car dealer, was mugged and killed two weeks later, before the trial. There weren't any witnesses and she had an alibi. The River Falls cops think her old nutcake pals helped her out.''

''But it's not your job to kill them,'' Weather said.

''Hey,'' Lucas said. ''I just showed up with a gun. What happened after that, that was their choice. Not mine.''

She shook her head, still distressed. ''I don't know,'' she said. ''What you do frightens me, but not the way I thought it would.'' She crossed her arms and hugged herself, as she would if she were cold. ''I'm not so worried about what somebody else might do to you, as what you might be doing to yourself.''

''I told you…'' Getting angrier now.

''Lucas,'' she interrupted. ''I know how your mind works. TV said these people had been under surveillance for nine days. I can feel you manipulating them into a robbery. I don't know if you know, but I know it.''

''Bullshit,'' he snapped, and he turned out of the doorway.

''Lucas…''

Halfway down the hall, the paperwork registered with him. She was doing wedding invitations. He turned around, went back.

''Jesus, I'm sorry, I'm not mad at you,'' he said. '' Sometimes. .. I don't know, my grip is getting slippery.''

She stood up and said, ''Come here. Sit in the chair.'' He sat, and she climbed on his lap. He was always amazed with how small she was, how small all the parts were. Small head, small hands, little fingers.

''You need something to lower your blood pressure,'' she said.

''That's what the beer's for,'' he said.

''As your doctor, I'm saying the beer's not enough,'' she said, snuggling in his lap.

''Yeah? What exactly would you prescribe…?''