She found her sweater, pulled it over her head, and was checking her purse for money when the knock came at the door. She opened it, and instantly recognized the blonde in the hall, and the small girl with her.
The blonde smiled: ''Hi. I'm Jennifer Carey…''
''I know who you are,'' Weather said, smiling back. '' Lucas has talked about you. Come in. And hi, Sarah.'' She and Sarah were old friends.
Jennifer was tall, lanky, a surfer girl with degrees in economics and journalism. She noticed Weather's sweater: ''Breaking out?''
''Definitely. I can't stand it here anymore,'' Weather said. ''I'm going crazy.''
''I'll give you a ride, if you want one,'' Jennifer said. '' Unless you've got a car.''
''Lucas brought me in, I'd like a ride. I understand you're working outside.''
''Yeah. Sloan's wife is here, she's taking care of Sarah for me. But there's no point in letting Lucas have all the fun, chasing around with his gun.''
''Daddy shot a man,'' Sarah said solemnly, looking up at Weather.
Weather sat on the bed so her eyes were level with Sarah's. ''I don't think so, honey. I talked to him a couple of hours ago, and he said another policeman did the shooting.''
''On TV, they said he did,'' Sarah said. Her wide eyes were the same mild blue as Lucas's eyes.
Weather said, ''Well, I think they might be wrong on this one thing.''
Jennifer, moving moodily across the room, dropped into a desk chair: ''I understand you and Lucas are getting married. Pretty soon.''
''That's the plan,'' Weather said.
''Good luck,'' Jennifer said. She was looking out the window at the street. ''I
… well, we talked about it, years ago. It wouldn't have worked, though. I hope it works with you guys. He's a good guy under the macho bullshit, and I would like to see him happy.''
''That's interesting,'' Weather said. ''Do you think that might be a problem?
Happiness?''
Jennifer shook her head and turned back to Weather: ''He has a very dark streak, a Catholic dark streak. And his job… I don't know how he stands it. I know what he does, because I've covered it, but I've got some distance. I mean, I see burned-out newspeople all the time, and they are several steps back from what
Lucas does.''
Weather nodded, and drifted toward the window herself. The sky and the day had the cold midwinter pre-storm look, a brooding somberness. ''I know what you're saying-I was just lying here thinking about it,'' she said. ''I can feel it in him. I can feel it in Del, too, almost as bad. I can feel it in Sloan, but with
Sloan, it's mostly a job. With Lucas it's like… his existence.'' ''That's the Catholic thing,'' Jennifer said. ''It can be frightening. It's like, when he confronts a monster, he solves the problem by becoming a bigger monster… and after he wins, he changes back to Lucas the good guy.'' Then she blushed:
''God, I shouldn't be talking this way to a guy's fiance ґe. I'm sorry.'' ''No, no, no,'' Weather said. ''I need it. I'm still trying to figure out what I'm getting into here.'' She looked at Sarah: ''I would like a child before it's too late… just like this one.''
Sarah said, ''I'm gonna be a TV reporter.''
Jennifer said, ''Over my dead body. You should be a surgeon, like Dr.
Karkinnen.''
''Did you cover the robbery at the credit union, where the women were killed?''
Weather asked Jennifer.
''I didn't cover it, but I talked to all the people who did. I do mostly longer-term stories. We're working on a story now about police intelligence units.''
''What do you think? Some people have said it was an execution.''
''No, it wasn't. I'll buy the argument that nobody made them do it. But you know
Lucas. He has a tendency to arrange things so they come out his way.'' She stopped again: ''Jeez, I really sound like… I don't know, like I'm trying to scrag the guy.''
''That's okay-I know what you mean,'' Weather said. She picked up her coat, hat and mittens and smiled at Jennifer. ''Ready to make the break?''
LUCAS WAS INFURIATED WHEN HE HEARD THAT Weather had left the hotel, and Jennifer had taken her out.
He tried to call the university, but was told Weather was in a meeting and couldn't be disturbed. He got Jennifer at TV3, shouted at her and she hung up.
He called back, got her again, asked about Sarah.
''She's with Sloan's wife,'' Jennifer said. ''She's fine. She's watching HBO and eating pizza.''
''Listen, I want Weather back in that fuckin' hotel…''
''Hey, Lucas? You don't own her. If you call her with this attitude, you're gonna get the same answer from her as you're getting from me. Fuck you. Go away.''
And she hung up.
LACHAISE SAID, ''LISTEN: THEY'RE GONNA GET YOUR prints out of the house. Then they'll have all three of our faces. We've got to move before that happens.''
Martin said, ''They won't have any new pictures of me… but maybe we should change what we look like.''
''Like what?''
Martin shrugged. ''I don't know-you got that beard, and they show it on the tube as long. Maybe if you trimmed it, and cut it, and dyed your hair gray. Hell, with gray hair, we'd both look older than the hills.''
LaChaise looked back toward the master bedroom: Sandy was in there, making up the beds, singing to herself while she did it. Not a happy song. A song like she was losing it, a song to herself, a singsong.
''Sandy could do it,'' LaChaise said.
''I think it'd be a good move,'' Martin said. ''We could get out and scout around.''
''Then let's do it.'' LaChaise nodded. ''I want to get going again. Find this
Weather. And Davenport himself. And the cops. Let's go after the cops.''
SANDY AGREED THAT SHE COULD CHANGE THEIR HAIR color. She had a flatness about her that provoked LaChaise: ''What's wrong with you?''
''When we got into this, Elmore said that in two or three days we'd all be dead.
He wanted to go to the cops, and I talked him out of it.''
Martin and LaChaise looked at each other, and then La-Chaise said, ''Why? Why'd you talk him out of it?''
''Because I thought I could still fix things. Get you out of here; pretend I didn't have anything to do with anything. Now they've got me on TV, and they'll have Martin pretty soon. Elmore was right: he's dead now and Butters is dead.
Not even twenty-four hours yet. If Elmore was right, we've got another two days at the most. Then we'll all be dead.''
She looked at LaChaise: ''You want to be dead?''
Martin answered: ''No big deal.''
LaChaise said nothing at all for a moment, then poked a finger at her: ''I don't want to hear this shit no more. You go on with Martin, and get the hair stuff.''
''My picture…''
''You don't look like that picture-nobody'll know you,'' LaChaise said. ''And we need the right stuff.''
''I might want to make a couple of extra stops,'' Martin said. ''They'll have my picture out there as soon as the prints come in. But if I get movin', I could tap a couple of friends for some decent weapons… guys I know from the shows. And we gotta dump the truck, sooner or later.''
''We can do that tonight,'' LaChaise said. ''Take the Continental, put the truck in the garage for now.'' He smacked his hands together. ''Get a couple of ARs if you can…'' LaChaise dug in his pocket for the money Butters had taken from
Harp. ''Couple thousand?''
''Better make it four,'' Martin said.
''Call me before you talk to anybody-I'll watch television for your face,''
LaChaise said. ''And I might try Stadic again. See if he's heard anything.''