"Did you know that work was being done?"
"No. But sometimes he didn’t tell me. The boat was more Andy’s thing than mine."
"Did anybody ever talk to the guy who did the work?"
"Nope. We looked around, but nobody ever figured out who it was. We had a guy we’d used quite a bit, but he said he didn’t know anything about it. And nobody ever really saw the guy doing the work. He did it in the evening, mostly after dark. And he wasn’t there very long-so that made me think it wasn’t the plumbing, which would take a while. The only thing I could think of that you’d pull up the sole for, and wouldn’t take long, would be the bolts."
"Look," Lucas said, "I don’t want to upset you, but… was there any possibility of suicide?"
"No." She said it positively.
Lucas said, "Okay."
"Andy was a happy guy," she said. "He was doing great in his job, he was up for a promotion, we were talking about putting a big garden in behind the house, we were talking about another child. I was supposed to bring Toby up to the islands the next day, and we were all going sailing, and Toby was all excited… No. He didn’t commit suicide. And he didn’t take off with any money or anything. He was just a heck of a good guy and well adjusted and his folks are nice and my folks liked him and they liked him at the bank…"
"This promotion," Lucas said. "Who got it? After he died."
"Well… Wilson McDonald."
"Would Andy have gotten the promotion if he hadn’t died? For sure?"
"He thought so. He said he’d aced Wilson out of the slot. I mean, it’s never for sure until it’s done, and Wilson has all those family connections… Why?"
"We’re just trying to run down all possibilities," Lucas said vaguely.
She was too smart for that. One hand went to her throat and she leaned toward him and said, "Oh my God, do you think Wilson McDonald killed Andy to get promoted, and then shot Dan Kresge? He got Dan’s job, didn’t he?"
"Temporarily. There seems to be some doubt about it in the long run…"
She pointed a finger at him, excited: "Do you know about George Arris?"
"Yes…"
"Wilson got his promotion too."
"I haven’t been able to establish that. Not clearly." "Believe me, George would have gotten the job. My God, this never occurred to me," she said. She pushed the palm of her hand against her forehead. "How could I have missed it? It’s so obvious."
"There’s probably nothing to it," Lucas said.
"Oh, bull… feathers, Mr. Davenport. Three people dead and Wilson gets all the promotions? My God, he murdered Andy!"
"No-no-no. There’s no evidence of that at all."
"Then why’d you bring it up?"
"Because I’m checking everything…"
"Wilson McDonald," she marveled. "Who would’ve thought."
"Please, Mrs. Ingall…"
He halfheartedly tried to talk her out of the sudden conviction that Wilson McDonald had killed her husband; then said goodbye.
He was out the door and on the sidewalk when she called after him: "Mr. Davenport?"
"Yes?" He turned and she came down the walk to him.
"If this was murder-just say it was, that somebody loosened up the bolts on the keel, okay? They couldn’t have taken them all the way off, because then the only thing that would be holding it on would be some adhesive and sealer. Then, with a good bump, the keel might have fallen off in the harbor."
"Yeah?"
"So they had to leave the bolts partway on, expecting them to work off, which they eventually would have. But they couldn’t know when. Toby and I usually went up with Andy, so whoever it was… wasn’t just killing Andy," she said. "If Andy’d made the islands, we’d have been on the boat the next day, and it might’ve fallen off with us aboard. This guy, whoever it is-he was willing to kill all three of us."
Lucas had last seen Sherrill when she left to pick up Bonnie Bonet, Robles’s friend. When he got back, Sherrill and a uniformed cop were marching a young woman down the hall, her hands cuffed behind her back. Lucas caught up with them, said, "Bonet?"
"Yeah," Sherrill said.
Bonet snarled, "Who the fuck are you?"
"Sit her down in Homicide," Lucas said. "I’ll be there in a minute."
"She wants an attorney," Sherrill said.
"Got any money?" Lucas asked.
Bonet shook her head defiantly. "No. You gotta appoint one."
Lucas nodded: "So call the public defender," he told Sherrill. "I’ll be right back."
He dumped his coat and the file on Ingall in his office, and made a quick calclass="underline" "I want everything we can find on Wilson McDonald. Everything."
Back at homicide, Bonet was sitting next to Sherrill’s desk, while the uniformed cop lounged at another desk between her and the door. She’d been uncuffed and Sherrill was scratching notes on a legal pad.
When Lucas walked in, Bonet looked up and said, "I want the attorney. I’m not answering any questions without an attorney."
"I called. Somebody’s walking over," Sherrill said.
"I’m not going to ask you a question, Ms. Bonet," Lucas said. "I’m gonna make a little speech. Mr. Robles says you told him you shot Daniel Kresge because you thought Kresge was setting up a bank merger and your mother would lose her job. But he says he really doesn’t think you shot him, that you’re making a grandstand play, because you like the attention. For the experience of it. To fuck us over. Do you know the first thing that will happen when the word of your arrest gets out? The bank’s gonna fire your mother."
Bonet, naturally pale, went a shade paler. "They can’t do that. That’s discrimination…"
Lucas was shaking his head: "No. There’s no union at the bank. They can fire her f or any reason they want, as long as the firing isn’t illegal-because of race or religion or like that. If her daughter is accused of murdering the bank president on her behalf… you think that’s not a reason? I’ll tell you what: Your mother’s gonna be on the sidewalk in about half an hour, as soon as the Star-Tribune guy checks out the day’s arrest reports. And they check every couple of hours."
Bonet looked at Sherrill, who nodded, then back at Lucas. "But I didn’t shoot him," she blurted.
Sherrill dropped her pencil and said, "Oh, shit."
Lucas said, "Again, I’m not going to ask you any questions, but I’ll say this: If there’s anything that would prove that you didn’t shoot him, this would be a good time to mention it."
"Friday night," Bonet said. "I was at a friend’s house until almost four in the morning, we were on-line, gaming."
"How many people?" Lucas asked.
"Four… three besides me."
"She’d still have time to drive up there," Lucas said.
"It’d be tight," Sherrill said.
"But she could make it," Lucas said.
"I didn’t shoot anybody," Bonet wailed. "I don’t even know where the asshole lived."
"You were never up there?"
"Never. Why would I be?"
"After you left your friends, you went right home? Did you see anybody who knew you?"
"No… Well, I bought some Pepsi at the gas station, but they don’t know me there. Maybe they’d remember me."
"What gas station?"
"It’s an Amoco down off 494, like 494 and France."
"Did you pay with cash or a credit card?"
"Credit card!" Her face brightened. "The goddamn credit slip has the time and location on it. And it comes on my statement-I bet you can call Amoco and find out."
Lucas nodded and said, "Why’n the hell did you tell Robles that you shot McDonald?"
"Just to jerk his chain," Bonet said. "He called me up and he pretended to be all freaking out and worried, and the next thing I know, he’s turned me in."