Lucas looked at the strips of plastic, which showed the back half of a nude woman, sitting on an Oriental carpet. Then McLain passed him a few more strips, which showed the front half of her, doing oral sex on a man, who, as in the Jim Harper photos, was cut off at hips and knees. McLain dumped a torn-up pizza carton on the floor, found a few more pieces of originals.
"What about the laser printer copies?" Lucas asked.
"I get the pasteups back and I shred those, too," Bobby said.
"Why do you shred them?"
"I don't want garbagemen finding dirty pictures and calling Domeier," McLain said.
"You don't keep any?" Domeier asked.
McLain looked up from the garbage bag. "Listen, you see so much of this shit, after a while they're like 29-cent stamps. And some of the people who contribute this stuff aren't so nice, so I don't wanna leave around any envelopes with addresses or that kind of stuff. I wouldn't want to bring any shit down on them."
"All right," Lucas said. He tossed the strips of Polaroid back at McLain. "You're saying you never saw the guy who took the picture of the kid."
"That's right. People send me letters and some of them have pictures. I'll put in the letter and the picture if it can be reproduced. You'd be amazed at how bad most of the pictures are."
After a few more questions, they left McLain and walked back out to Lucas' four-by-four, taking McLain's four copies of the magazine.
"Did we do good?" Domeier asked.
"You did good, but I just shot myself in the foot," Lucas said. He turned on the dome light, opened a magazine again, and studied the picture. "The way things broke-the kid was murdered, then the LaCourts had gotten hold of the picture of him-I was sure there must be something in the picture. Something. But there's not a fuckin' thing here."
Just a blurry picture of a man in the foreground and the kid in the background.
"Maybe you could figure out how long his dick is, go around with a ruler," Domeier said straightfaced. "You know, hang out in the men's rooms."
"Not a bad idea. Why don't you come on up?"
Lucas tore the photo page out of the magazine, threw the rest of the paper out of the truck into the parking lot, folded the page, and stuck it in his jacket pocket. "Goddammit. I thought we'd get more."
CHAPTER 15
Just south of Green Bay, moving as fast as he could in the dark, Lucas ran into snow flurries, off-and-on squalls dropping wet, quarter-sized flakes. He paused at a McDonald's on the edge of Green Bay, got a cheeseburger and coffee, and pushed on. West of Park Falls on County F, he slowed for what he thought was a highway accident, two cars and a pickup on the road in the middle of nowhere.
A man in an arctic parka waved him through, but he stopped, rolled down his window.
"Got a problem?"
The man's face was a small oval surrounded by fur, only one eye visible at a time. He pointed toward a cluster of people gathered around a snowbank. "Got a deer down. She was walking down the road like she didn't know where she was, and she kept falling down. Starvin', I think."
"I'm a cop, I've got a pistol."
"Well, we're gonna try to tie her down, get her into town and feed her. She's just a young one."
"Good luck."
The snow grew heavier as he left Price County for Lincoln. Back in town, under the streetlights, the fat flakes turned the place into a corny advertisement for Christmas.
He found Weather and Climpt at her house, playing gin rummy in the living room.
"How'd it go?" Climpt asked. He dumped a hand without looking at it.
"We found the picture; not much in it," Lucas said. He took out the copy he'd ripped from the magazine, passed it to Climpt. Climpt opened it, looked at it, said, "That narrows it down to white guys."
Lucas shook his head and Weather reached for the photo, but Climpt held it away from her. "Not for ladies," he said.
"Kiss my ass, Gene," Weather said.
"Yes, ma'am, whatever you say," Climpt said with a dry chuckle. But he handed the photo back to Lucas. "Are you gonna bag out here again?"
"Yeah," Lucas said. "But I'd like to stick her somewhere that nobody knows about."
Weather put her hands on her hips. "That's right, talk around me-I'm a lamp," she said.
Climpt looked at her, sighed, said, "Goddamn feminists." And to Lucas: "You could put her at my place."
"Everybody in town would know about it in ten minutes," Weather said. "They know my car, they know your schedule… if there were lights in your place when you're supposed to be working, they'd be calling the cops."
"Yeah."
"I'm okay here as long as you guys are around," Weather said, looking from one of them to the other.
When Climpt had gone, Weather took Lucas by the collar, kissed him, and said, "Show me the picture."
He got his coat and handed it to her.
"Quite the display," she said, peering at it. She shook her head. "I've probably got thirty patients who look more or less like that-the belly and the fat butt. How do you identify them from that?" She shook her head. "You won't get any help from me."
"Bums me out," Lucas said, running a hand up through his hair. "We've got to find some way to crank up the pressure. I thought there'd be something in the picture. If it didn't ID the guy, there'd be something."
"I'll tell you one thing," she said, poking the photograph at him. "If Jim Harper was involved in a sex ring, I can't believe that Russ wasn't aware of it. If blackmail ever occurred to anybody, it'd be Russ."
Lucas took the photo back, stared through it, thinking. Then: "You're right. We've gotta squeeze him. Squeeze him for public consumption. Maybe our asshole will come after him, or maybe Harper can put the finger on him." He wandered around the living room, touching her things: the photos of her parents, a Hummel doll, thinking. "If we play these Schoeneckers off against Harper… Huh…" He carefully folded the photograph, took his billfold out of his pocket, and stuck the photo in the fold, where he'd see it every time he paid for something. "How're you doing?"
She shrugged. "I'm tired but I can't sleep. I guess I'm a little scared."
"You should get out. Visit some friends in the Cities."
She shook her head. "Nope. He's not going to get on top of me."
"That's a little dumb."
"That's the way it is, though," she said. "How about you. Tired?"
"Stiff from the drive," Lucas said. He yawned and stretched.
"When I bought this place, the only big change I made was to fix up my bathroom. I've got a big whirlpool tub back there. Why don't you go in and lay in some hot water? I'll put together a snack."
"Terrific," he said.
The tub looked like it might be black marble, and was easily six feet long. He half-filled it, fooled with a control panel until he got the whirlpool jets working, then eased himself into it. He found he could rest his head on a back ledge and float free in the hot water. The heat smoothed him out, took him out of the truck.
The photograph had to be the key, and now he had the photograph. Why couldn't he see it? What was it?
The door opened and Weather walked in, wearing a robe, carrying a bottle of wine. Lucas, embarrassed, sat up, but she pulled off the robe. Naked, she tested the water with her foot. She had small, solid breasts, a smooth, supple back, and long legs.
"Hot," she said, stepping into the far end of the tub. She might have been blushing or it might have been the hot water.