She said, ''I think they went on a trip.''
''Huh?'' LaChaise looked at her. ''Why?''
''Well, there're holes in the closet where they took a whole bunch of clothes out at the same time. And there's a suitcase sitting on the floor like they decided to take a different one, but didn't put the first one back. And the thermostat's set at fifty-five, like you'd turn it down before you went somewhere.''
''Huh,'' said Martin, nodding. ''It feels like they left.''
Martin noticed the two telephone answering machines, sitting side by side.
''He's got two answering machines,'' he said. ''I wonder if he left a message.''
He picked up one phone, and dialed the number posted on the other: the phone rang twice, then a man's voice said, ''Leave a message.'' Nothing there. He hung up, picked up the second phone and dialed the first. And Harp's voice said,
''We're outa here. Back on the twenty-sixth or so. I'll check the messages every day.''
''He's gone,'' Martin said to LaChaise. ''He says they're gone until the twenty-sixth.''
LaChaise made him redial, listened to the message, then looked at Martin with a broad grin. ''Goddamn. We landed on our feet,'' he said, when he'd hung up. He looked around the apartment: ''This place is six times better than the other one. This is great. And we got a Continental. A fuckin' luxury car
…'' He started to laugh, and whacked Martin on the back. Even Martin managed to crack a smile.
• • •
ROUX AND THE MAYOR MET LUCAS IN ROUX'S OFFICE, and heard about the laughing incident.
''I didn't believe it was me, until I saw the tape,'' Lucas said. ''I don't know why we were laughing. We just about had a goddamned disaster on our hands, and instead, it was all done with. I guess that's why.'' The explanation sounded lame.
''The St. Paul cop getting killed-that's not a disaster?'' the mayor asked.
''We didn't know the cop was dead. And we thought we were going to get a whole goddamned family shot up. When Butters ran in there, when he blew through that door, I thought we were out of luck.''
''The TV people are wondering why there weren't enough people out there in the first place. Enough to take him as soon as he showed,'' the mayor said.
''Normally, it would have been plenty. Except that he saw us coming and he had a machine gun. And he didn't care if he died. All that-that changes everything.
We're lucky only one guy got killed; it could have been three or four. If he'd had some combat experience, he might've waited until the entry team was halfway into the house, and then took them on at close range.''
''Anyway, that's all St. Paul's problem,'' Roux said. ''And as far as Lucas is concerned, the laughing thing, I think I can clear it out.''
The mayor's eyebrows went up. ''How?''
Roux said, ''You know Richard Small-TV3? He was on the stakeout last night. He wouldn't leave, and Lucas let him keep his shotgun. I talked to him this morning and he figures Lucas and Del are his war buddies now. I'll call him about the laughing incident, and why they were doing it-out of relief, or hysteria, and how unfair this is, some horseshit like that. He just about runs TV3. If he goes on the air with anotherperspective, we can turn it around. And he'll do it. When
I talked to him this morning, he was still jacking shells in and out of the shotgun.''
The mayor looked from Lucas to Roux. ''Do it,'' he said, nodding. ''Emphasize the fairness thing, and how he'd be setting the record straight on his combat buddy.''
And to Lucas: ''You gotta keep your ass down and out of sight.''
''I'm trying,'' Lucas said.
HOMICIDE HAD BEEN TURNED INTO A WAR PLANS room: file cabinets and desks pushed into corners, two tables shoved together with a six-foot plastic map of the Twin
Cities spread across it. Sherrill was there, wearing her. 357 in a belt clip.
''You okay?'' Lucas asked.
''Yeah. We got the arrangements going on Mike. I'm all cried out.''
''We got one of them,'' Lucas said.
''Not the one I want, not yet,'' Sherrill said, shaking her head. ''We got
Kupicek's guy. I want the third man, the one we don't know yet.''
Anderson wandered in, spotted Lucas, and stepped over: ''I got a lot of new paper, if you want it.''
They talked about the paper for fifteen minutes, what the Tennessee cops were doing, the Wisconsin cops, about the death of Elmore Darling. ''We've got more pictures of Sandra Darling, we'll put those out. But I don't know. I don't know if she's with this LaChaise, or we're gonna find her dead in a ditch somewhere.''
''She's with him,'' Sherrill said.
''Why do you think that?'' Lucas asked.
''I don't know. I just think she's with them. If they were going to kill them, why not kill both of them? I bet she'sscrewing LaChaise. Or maybe the second guy. I bet she helped set up the funeral home thing with the second guy…''
''Bonnie and Clyde,'' Lucas said.
''More like Dumber and Dumbest,'' said Sherrill.
LACHAISE, MARTIN AND SANDY DARLING WERE RIVETED by the images on the television.
The pictures came up from a winter street, with a woman in a long wool coat and fur hat talking into a microphone.
''… rushed the wounded officer to the hospital, but he died seconds after arrival. As that was going on, Chief Davenport and Lieutenant Selle were seen laughing as they stood over the body of the attacker…''
Her voice rolled on over a videotape, taken from a high angle, a uniformed cop and a guy in street clothes, standing over what looked like a pile of clothes in the street. Had to be Butters. And the cops were laughing, no doubt about it.
''… police were refusing to disclose the identity of the officer or officers who actually shot Butters, saying that information would be available after
LaChaise and his gang members are caught, but nobody has denied that Deputy
Chief Lucas Davenport took part in the gunfight and was himself wounded. At the moment, a police spokeswoman said, the threat to the officers' families will not allow full disclosure…''
''Look at the fuckers,'' LaChaise said.
Martin frowned as the tape of Davenport and Selle was run again. The picture seemed wrong. ''They don't look too happy,'' he said.
''They're laughing,'' LaChaise shouted at him. ''They're laughing.''
LaChaise paced in front of the TV, snarling at it, beating his hands together, palms open, the angry claps snapping intothe room. He went to the window shades, looked down at the street, listening, then stalked back to the television.
''That cop who was laughing. They said it was Davenport, right? The guy on our list?''
As if to answer his question, the television reporter said, ''The chain of events started last night, when Chief Davenport put a surveillance team on the home of his daughter by TV3 correspondent Jennifer Carey, who now lives with TV3 executive vice-president Richard Small…''
She went through the story, ending with the tape loop of Davenport and Selle laughing over Butters's body.
''We're gonna mow those fuckers down,'' LaChaise brayed at Martin.
Martin said, ''Dick, we gotta take care. We can't go off half-cocked, if we want to get anything done.''
LaChaise stalked around the apartment, kicking walls, then looked at Sandy:
''Why'n the fuck don't you do something useful? Go cook something.''
She got up, wordlessly, and went to the kitchen and started looking through the cupboards. She found canned food, but not much else. She dumped a couple of cans of Dinty Moore beef stew in a pot, put it on the stove and started a pot of coffee.
''If we're gonna stay here for more than a couple of hours, we'll need food,''
Sandy said, as she brought the stew out to the living room. The men were on the couch, still watching the television. As they ate, a TV3 television reporter was delivering a eulogy on the dead cop. He was cut off in midsentence. An anchorman came up, quivering with the urgency of his message.