''We've got a procedure in emergencies,'' Roux said, and the mayor swiveled back to her. ''We run two parallel investigations. Lucas and his bunch play the angles, and Frank runs the main sweep. Everybody coordinates through Anderson.
He puts out a book every day on every little piece we get. Nobody hides anything from anybody.''
''It works?'' asked the mayor.
''So far,'' Lucas said.
''Then let's do that,'' the mayor said. ''Do we have one single thing we can move on now? Anything?''
''Maybe one,'' said Lucas. He was thinking about the laundromat: a place to start.
SANDY DROVE WHILE BUTTERS LEANED AGAINST THE window on the passenger side.
Elmore followed in Sandy's truck. Elmore hadn't wanted to go at first, and
Butters agreed: Butters wanted Sandy, not her husband.
''I'm not going,'' Sandy had said.
Butters said, ''I ain't got time to argue, Sandy. You're going.'' There was no doubt that she was going: he didn't bother to show her a gun, but it was there.
Butters had an affable, southern-boy line of bullshit, but beneath it, he was as cold as Martin. When she went to get her coat, Butters went with her.
''Are you guarding me?'' she asked.
''I'm making sure that you come along,'' Butters said. ''I know you don't want to.''
''You gonna tell me what happened? Who shot him?''
''No,'' Butters said. He'd told them that LaChaise had been shot in a fight.
Sandy and Elmore had been feeding the stock, and hadn't seen any television.
When it was clear that Sandy was going, Elmore insisted that he go along too.
Butters finally agreed, because he didn't want to waste time arguing: ''But you come down in the van-Sandy goes with me,'' Butters said. ''We're still gonna need both trucks for a while.''
They stopped at the old folks' home, where Sandy still filled in when somebody was sick. A big first-aid kit in the nurse's office gave up bandages, needles and thread, razor blades and antiseptic. A large illegal bottle of Tylenol-3 was kept stashed in the bottom desk drawer, for the miscellaneous aches and pains of old age, and she emptied it. What else? Surgical scissors, a couple of Bic disposable razors, tape. Saline. There was a stock of sterile saline in the storeroom. She took five liters.
The nurses each had a personal drawer in a row of filing cabinets. Nobody bothered to lock them, and Sandy dug around in Marie Admont's drawer and found the bottle of penicillin pills. Marie had gotten them after a crazy old lady had raked her with her fingernails. Marie had only used a fewof the pills, and a half-dozen remained in the bottle. Sandy took them.
THE DRIVE TO ST. PAUL SEEMED TO LAST FOREVER, THE dark strip through Wisconsin, then the winding road out to the interstate on the Minnesota side. Butters said a half-dozen words during the trip, Sandy four or five. Both were caught in their own thoughts.
Once in the Cities, Butters guided them down the interstate, then back into the narrow ice-clogged streets of Frogtown. They parked behind Martin's truck, and got out. Elmore parked behind them, and hurried through the snow, whitefaced, and said, ''I want to talk to Sandy. One minute. Before we go in there.''
Butters said, ''Get your asses in there, goddamnit.''
''I'm going to talk to Elmore,'' Sandy said, her voice like the ice in the streets. ''I'll get to Dick when I get to him.''
''Listen…''
''Are you going to shoot me, Ansel? That'd help Dick a lot.''
Butters backed off, and Sandy took Elmore twenty yards down the street.
''What?''
Elmore was visibly trembling.
''I been listening to the radio,'' he rasped. ''They been down here killing cops' families. That's all they're talking about on the radio, every station I could get. They killed two people and there's a third one might die. Everybody in the goddamned world is looking for them, Sandy.''
Sandy looked at him, then turned and looked at Butters, who stood silently waiting. ''Oh my God,'' she said.
''We got to get out,'' Elmore said.
''Let's go see Dick,'' Sandy said. ''I'll work us out of here. But you're right.
We've got to see John.''
They walked down the driveway together, Butters lingering just out of earshot.
Martin waited at the door.
''Come on in,'' he said to Sandy. He looked at Elmore and nodded, and Elmore looked away.
The house had one couch, a broken-down wreck in the living room. Martin had pulled the cushions off and thrown them on the floor, and LaChaise was lying on them, his head propped up with a pillow. Martin had covered him with a blanket, and LaChaise grinned at Sandy when she came in.
''How bad?'' she asked.
''Not too bad,'' LaChaise said. ''It's more like… it's gotta be cleaned up.''
''Let me see,'' Sandy said. ''I need a light.''
They peeled the blanket off and LaChaise rolled onto his side. The pain had subsided somewhat, and he lifted his arm so she could see more clearly. At the same time, Butters took the shade off a table lamp, and held it like a torch over LaChaise.
Sandy looked at the wound for a moment. An open gash, at the back, became a bluish streak where the bullet had gone beneath the skin. A small round exit wound showed four inches below his nipple and over to the side. A trailing gash showed some rib meat. Sandy looked up at LaChaise. ''You gotta go to a hospital,'' she said.
''Can't do that. You gotta fix it.''
She looked at it again. In fact, she could fix it. ''It'll hurt,'' she said.
''Atta girl,'' LaChaise said, and to Butters: ''Told you so.''
''I believed you,'' Butters said.
''What happened?'' she asked. ''How'd you get shot?''
''Argument over traveling money,'' LaChaise said. ''The guy owed me…''
''Did you kill him?''
''No, I didn't kill him,'' LaChaise said, smiling faintly.''Now, you want to fix me? This hurts like hell.''
''You lying sonofabitch,'' Sandy said evenly. ''You killed some cops' families.
I oughta…''
Before she could finish, Martin backhanded her. His hand was like a leg of beef, and knocked her flat. For a second, she didn't know what had happened, and then dazed, ears ringing, heard LaChaise say, ''Whoa, whoa…'' Behind him,
Elmore: ''Goddamnit…''
She rolled, tried to sit up, and Martin was there, his face inches from hers:
''Stop the bullshit. You fix him or I'll cut you into fuckin' fish bait.''
Across the room, Butters was smiling at Elmore, half expecting him to make a move, but Elmore swallowed and shut up.
Sandy got back to her feet, turned away from Martin without a word and said to
LaChaise, ''I brought you some pills. You should take a few before we start.''
LaChaise looked at her, then at Martin, and grinned at Martin: ''I wouldn't turn your back on her,'' he said.
LACHAISE TOOK THE PILLS WITH A SWALLOW OF water, and looked past Sandy at
Elmore. ''El, I hate to say this, but you better get back. I was recognized, and the cops'll probably be coming by again.''
''I thought it'd be best if Sandy come back tonight,'' Elmore said.
''She's staying,'' Martin said bluntly. ''Overnight, anyway. Until Dick's okay.''
''What the hell am I supposed to tell the cops if they come?'' Elmore demanded.
''They'll want to know where she is.''
''Tell 'em she went out to the store, then call us on my cell phone. She can be back in an hour,'' LaChaise said.
''Sandy…'' Elmore couldn't say it, but she knew what he was thinking.
''Come on, El, let's get my stuff out of the truck,'' Sandy said. She nodded at
LaChaise. ''I'll get my stuff and kiss El good-bye.''
''I'll help,'' Butters said.
''You can stand on the porch,'' said Sandy.
Outside, at the truck, Elmore whispered, ''I'm sorry about that in there. I was gonna say something…'' He scuffled at the snow with the toe of his boot.
''We gotta get out.''
''I know.'' She looked back at the house, at Butters standing there on the dark porch. ''But I've got to get clear. If they killed cops' families, then they're dead men. I'll be back home tomorrow, and we'll figure something out.''