"So tell them the truth," Calb said. "Tell them that we're just as scared and confused as they are. We don't know what the hell's happening, and we're desperate to find out."
"Dumb is best," Davis said again. "Believe me on that-you don't know nothin' about nothin'. If you don't know nothin', nobody can trip you up-not your friends, not the cops."
THEY TALKED FOR another half-hour, and then broke up. Davis said he was heading back to KC that night, after eating dinner at the Calbs'. Katina walked out with Singleton and Ruth. Ruth kept going, across the highway and down toward the church. Katina held back and said, "I'd like to come over."
"You're the goddamned horniest little thing," Singleton said. He touched her face and said, "Don't worry. You worry too much."
"I just want everything to be right," she said. "You never talked to Deon about anything, did you?"
By anything, she meant the kidnappings, Singleton realized.
"Jeez, Katina… " He was insulted.
"I'm sorry, I'm just so upset."
"It'll be okay, honey."
"Not just that. I sorta need to… get close to somebody. After all this." She stood close to him and fumbled for his hand.
"So come over. We'll just, you know… hang out."
"I'll see you there," Lewis said. "I'll take my car so I can get back. Maybe we could go down to the Bird for dinner."
"Love you," Singleton said, talking down to her. First time he'd said that; no place romantic, just standing in a snow-swept parking lot in the middle of nowhere. "Love you," he said.
12
Lucas and Del went north in a two-car convoy, Lucas leading in the Acura, Del trailing in the rented Olds. They left the Big New House at three-thirty in the morning, out past the airport, around the sleeping suburbs, then northwest on I-94.
Rose Marie had called ahead and cleared them with the overnight highway patrolmen, and Lucas put the cruise control on eighty-five, with Del drafting behind him. They made the turn north at Fargo in three hours, picking up a few snowflakes as they crossed the narrow cut of the Red River. The snow got heavier as they drove north up I-29, but was never bad enough to slow them. After a quick coffee-and-gas stop at Grand Forks, they continued north, then cut back across the border to Armstrong, and pulled into the Law Enforcement Center a few minutes before nine o'clock.
Bitter cold now, but the snow had quit for the moment. More was due during the day, and Lucas wanted to get started in Broderick before conditions got too bad. The sheriff wasn't around-probably at church, the comm center man said-so they left a message that they'd be somewhere around Armstrong or Broderick, then stopped at the Motel 6. With the discovery of the bodies of Hale and Mary Sorrell, most of the reporters had gone, and they got rooms immediately.
"Like a land office in here the night before last," the clerk said. "Now we're back to Sleepy Hollow."
"All the reporters gone?"
"All but one." The clerk leaned across the desk and dropped his voice. "A black guy from Chicago. He says he's a reporter, but I wouldn't be too sure."
"Hmm," Lucas said wisely, and took the room key.
ON THE WAY out of Armstrong, rolling through the bleak landscape, Del punched up the CD player and found Bob Seger's "Turn the Page," in the cover version by Metallica.
They listened for a while, and then Del said, "I like Seger's better."
"Close call, they're both good," Lucas said. "I go for the Metallica. Great goddamn album, anyway."
"Dusty fuckers versus metalheads; and you always leaned toward the metal," Del said. "Back when you were running around town on that bike. I remember when you went to that first AC/DC concert. You talked about it for weeks."
"They kept your motor clean," Lucas said. They were coming up on Broderick. "Tell you what-let's go on through town and find that kid."
"Letty… "
"West."
A FORD TAURUS was parked in the yard next to the Wests' Cherokee. Lucas and Del trooped across the porch, and Martha West met them at the door before they had a chance to knock.
"The state policemen," she said to the room behind her. She pushed the door open and said, "C'mon in."
The front room was too warm and smelled of wool and, Lucas thought, old wine and maybe Windex or lemon Pledge. Letty was sitting on a piano bench in front of a broken-looking Hammond organ; a short, muscular black man with a notebook was perched in an easy chair, forty-five degrees to her right, a Nikon D1X by his feet. A pillow sat on the floor at the third point of the triangle, where Martha West had apparently been sitting.
"Hey, Lucas and Del," Letty said. She got up, smiling. "Did you see me on TV?"
"All over the place," Del said. "You were like Mickey Mouse."
Martha West said, "We've been having an interview with Mr. Johnson from the Chicago… " She looked for the name but couldn't find it.
"Tribune,"the black man said, standing up. He wore round, gold-rimmed glasses and looked like he might once have been a lineman for Northwestern. "Mark Johnson." He reached out to shake hands with Lucas, and then with Del. "You're agents Davenport and Capslock?"
Lucas nodded. "I'm Davenport and this is Capslock. I'm surprised you're here. Your friends got out of town fast enough," he said.
"Mostly TV," Johnson said, as if that explained everything.
"We need to talk to Martha and Letty, but we don't want to disturb your interview," Lucas said. "We can come back, if you'd like."
Johnson shook his head. "I got most of what I was looking for. I'm trying to figure out how in the hell Cash ever wound up here."
"Learn anything?"
"No. The guy down in the car shop won't talk because he's afraid he'll get busted, or even worse, get sued. The guy with the dogs won't talk to me because of his American principles. And the women at the church think I'm probably a rapist because I'm black, but they're too nice to say so."
"We can't help you with Cash," Lucas said. "We'd like to know ourselves. He just doesn't fit."
"He was pure-bred city," Johnson agreed. "I called some people down in KC and they tell me there's no truck-driving job in the world that'd keep him up here. He'd rather have some cheap-ass job like robbing 7-Elevens."
"Interesting," Lucas said.
"It is," Johnson said, gesturing with his notebook. "Now you tell me something. Do you really think Cash and this Joe guy and Jane Warr kidnapped the Sorrell girl? If they did, why in the heck would they be out in the country where everybody could see them coming and going, and know every move they made?"
"I don't know," Lucas said. "But I think they were involved in the kidnapping. I think they did it for the money and we'll eventually nail it down. We've got a state crime scene crew taking their cars apart, looking for DNA that might tie them to the girl."
"Can you tell me precisely why you think they were involved?" The notebook was poised again.
Lucas thought it over, then asked, "Do you know Deke Harrison?"
"Yeah, sure. He's my guy at the Trib," Johnson said. "He runs our desk."
"He used to come through the Cities," Lucas said. "For years. We'd go out and get a drink."
"Yeah. That's my job now. He moved up," Johnson said.
"Tell him to give me a call," Lucas said. "I've got a cell phone."
LUCAS GAVE JOHNSON the cell phone number, Johnson said good-bye to Lucas and Del, went out through the door, and then a moment later stuck his head back inside. "Find a good place to eat?"