John Sandford - Field of Prey

Then he was asleep.

Lucas called Mattsson a few minutes before three o’clock. “We rang him. The phone was still operating. He was on Highway 52 just south of Cannon Falls. So, you were right: he’s from down south.”

“I knew it. I knew it.”

“And you were right. But: he was moving. He wasn’t where he lives, yet. He could have been headed for either Holbein or Zumbrota. One of those two places, I think.”

“What do you want to do?”

“We’re going to give him time to get home. I’ll be in Zumbrota, because. . I don’t know, because that’s where Shaffer was found. We’ll have the cops from both Zumbrota and Holbein ready to go. We need you guys from Goodhue to have a couple people ready-”

“I’ll take care of that,” she said.

“That’s why I called you,” Lucas said.

“Good. I’m coming to Zumbrota with you,” she said. “Where do you want to meet?”

“Five o’clock at the Zumbrota police headquarters,” Lucas said. “You know where it is?”

“Of course.”

“See you there. And, Catrin. . bring your above-average guns.”

Lucas got to the Zumbrota city hall, which housed the police headquarters, a few minutes early. He parked on the side of the building, the sun still trying to find its shine, and a sleepy-looking chief came to the door and held it open for him.

Lucas said, “Thanks,” and followed him back to the police wing, which had standard office cubicles for the cops, and an oval conference table. Two more cops were already sitting there. “Coffee?”

“Yeah, that’d be fine,” Lucas said. He saw an SUV go by, headed into the parking lot, and he added, “There’s Mattsson. I’ll get the door.”

He walked out to the lobby and saw Mattsson already walking over, her hands in her jacket pockets and shoulders hunched against the predawn cool. “If he’s really close by, he could see us getting together, all the lights,” she said.

Lucas looked around and said, “Yeah, I suppose. I’m not sure anyplace else would be better.”

She looked around and said, “Probably not. But why five o’clock in the morning?”

“To give him time to go to sleep,” Lucas said. “If he kept the phone, and didn’t pull the batteries, we’re hoping it’ll ring a few times. What we’re really hoping is that he turned it off, so that it won’t ring. It’ll still be registered with the system, and we’ll be able to nail it down. We’ll keep calling until we get a good fix.”

“What’s the worst case?”

“He pulled the batteries and threw it in a ditch. If he did that, we won’t get him now, and when we do catch him, he wouldn’t have it, as evidence. That’s worst case.” Lucas looked at his watch. “They’ll start calling him two minutes from now.”

Mattsson looked out at the quiet, dark town. “There oughta be a bigger ceremony,” she said.

They went back into police headquarters, and the chief had two cups of coffee waiting for them.

They didn’t say much, until Mattsson said, “Getting kinda tense, here,” and one of the other cops asked, “What exactly are we gonna do if we get a good fix?”

“Depends on how good it is,” Lucas said. “If it’s really good-the phone’s got a GPS function, and if they get some time with it, they should be able to tell us what house it’s in. With less time, we’d probably at least be able to tell what block it is in.”

“If we know that,” the chief said, “I’ll be able to tell you, ninety percent, which house we should look at first.”

“Got a judge ready to sign a warrant if we get an address,” Mattsson said. “He’ll sign it and fax it over. He said he’ll be sitting by the phone from four forty-five on, and if we get a solid fix, we’ll have it in one minute.”

They waited. Finally Lucas said, “Either things have gone really bad, or really good, and they’re working it hard.”

One of the cops pulled a leather money clip out of his pocket, pulled dollar bills out of it, and said, “I got four bucks says it’s gone wrong.”

The chief said, “Goddamnit, Mikey, why’d you have to go and say that?”

A minute later, Lucas’s cell phone lit up and then rang and he punched the “answer” tab and the “speaker” setting, and the tech on the other end said, “The phone is dead. He must’ve pulled the batteries or trashed the phone. It’s not signed on anywhere.”

“Goddamnit. You’re sure?”

“Yeah. There’s only one answer to this-the phone either registers, or it doesn’t. If there’s a battery in it, it’ll show up. If there’s no battery in it, or the battery’s dead, it won’t. Or, a third choice-it could be buried, or something. Most likely, he either pulled the battery or trashed it.”

“All right. Listen, ping it every ten minutes,” Lucas said.

“For how long?”

“Forever,” Lucas said. “Keep pinging it forever.”

Mattsson got up, walked out to the lobby, in disgust, then turned and walked back. She asked Lucas, “What’re you going to do?”

“See if I can get breakfast somewhere,” Lucas said. “Probably go back home.”

“There’s nothing here in Zumbrota, but there’s an all-night pancake place on the highway up in Holbein,” the chief said. “I’ve eaten there a few times, never actually gotten food poisoning.”

“The Teepee,” Mattsson said. “That’s good enough. Goddamnit, I thought I’d be outside somebody’s house right now, getting ready to kick the door.”

The Teepee was a red A-frame pancake house with faux Indian signs painted on the roof, and four cars parked outside. One skinny trucker sat on a bar stool drinking coffee, looking them over when they walked in, and two heavyset guys hunched over eggs and sausage in a booth. The waitress was talking to the cook through a service slot, and followed them to a corner booth.

“How you doing, hon?” she asked Mattsson. She plopped two plastic water glasses on the table and took a long look at Lucas.

Lucas said, “I’m also a cop, but I’m not a ‘hon.’”

“I decide that,” the waitress said. “I figured you were another cop, or the two of you was just up from the Motel 6.”

“Hey!” Mattsson said. “He could be my dad.”

“Doesn’t look like your dad,” the waitress said. She gave Mattsson a broad wink.

“I’m sitting right here,” Lucas said.

“So shoot me,” the waitress said. “You all want coffee?”

They got pancakes and lots of butter and syrup, and Lucas got a Diet Coke and Mattsson got coffee, and they talked about the phone call she’d gotten from the killer. Mattsson went out to her truck and got a notebook, and brought it back, opened it as she sat down and said, “I wrote it all down. I got it pretty much word for word.”

She recited the entire conversation, and when she finished, Lucas said, “He called you a bitch and hung up.”

“Yes.”

Lucas thought about it for a minute, then said, “He still had Carpenter’s phone-so he keeps trophies. At least, some trophies.”

“If we ever figure out who he is, that’ll hang him,” Mattsson said.

“Unless. .”

“It’s in a ditch,” they said simultaneously.

They finished the pancakes and got another round of Diet Coke and coffee, and Mattsson asked, “I’ve been thinking about what you said about working for the BCA. If I put in for it, what are my chances of getting hired? I’ve got a good clearance record, I could get one of your guys to recommend me.”

Lucas studied her for a moment, then said, “That fuckin’ Flowers.”

She said, “Well, yeah, Virgil. We’ve talked a few times. He helped me out on a hijacking case. You guys don’t get along?”