John Sandford - Mortal Prey

In ten seconds, they were inside, watching through a crack in the curtains. Another cop car went by every minute or two. "They're all over the place," Rinker said. "They can't be doing this everywhere-they must know we're here."

"How?"

Rinker shook her head. "I don't know. We've got to think about that."

Lucas and Andreno hooked up with Bender and Carter, and they compared maps, and Lucas told the others about the call from Rinker.

"Scary," Bender said.

"Gotta find her quick," Lucas said. "She's outa control."

They put the maps together and Lucas, comparing the crossed-off houses and eliminating duplicates, said, "Terrific. We don't have half, but we've got a third or more. If she's down here…"

"I'm worried that she's over on the flats, working for one of those companies or the brewery," Carter said.

"I don't think so," Lucas said. "Because Clara isn't working, and I think Clara was close by when she found out about Gene. I think she came right out of here, somewhere. Could be west a little more, but not as far over as the Hill."

"Why?"

"Because Clara was freaked when she called." He explained what he thought that meant, and they all nodded and went back to looking at the maps. "We oughta get those other letter carriers tonight," Carter said. "Me'n Bender could look them up."

"Do that," Lucas said. "I think Andreno and I better get back with the feds. We don't want to leave them alone too long, with nobody but themselves to talk to."

When they got off the elevator at the FBI building, they could see the door to the operations center was standing open, and they could hear the feds snarling at each other. Starting to think about blame, Lucas thought.

"… all a goddamn theory," an agent named Brown was saying when Lucas and Andreno came through the door. Everyone around the table glanced their way, and the discussion died.

"The authors of the theory," Malone said dryly. She was sitting at the end of the table, legs crossed, looking beat.

"What's the problem?" Lucas asked.

"The problem is, the whole Soulard search and Patsy Hill and cell-phone idea is a stretch, and we've got too much pinned on it," Brown said.

"It's the only goddamned theory we've got, and it paid off," Lucas said. "She called from the right area."

"She was on the interstate. Everybody's on the interstate. There's a million cars on the interstate."

"She was going west. Which meant that she had to get on it somewhere east of where you had her, right?" Lucas asked. "And that means, from where you had her, she either got on in Illinois or she got on in Soulard, or on the edge of it, anyway."

"So what're we gonna do, sit around and wait for her to call you?" Brown rapped. "Next time, she'll be up in Florissant."

"So what're you suggesting?" Andreno asked. "I mean, we really need something, and if you got, don't be shy."

"Big reward," Brown said. "A million bucks. We can get it. We put a million bucks on her-we'll have her in twenty-four hours."

"I thought, uh, that was a problem," Lucas said. "If you can get the money, I'm all for it-though I don't think Patsy Hill would turn her in. She really can't."

"The Hill thing is just a theory," Brown said, twiddling a yellow pencil between his fingers so fast that it looked blurred, like a propeller.

"Well, Jesus, you gotta work on something," Lucas said. "You can't sit around a fuckin' mahogany table and pull on your weenies."

"There's Levy and Ross," Mallard objected. "We got that going."

Lucas jumped in: "I'll tell you something else that's not a theory."

Brown: "That'd be a goddamned relief."

"Clara Rinker is gonna come after our ass," Lucas said. "I promise you. She was nuts this afternoon."

"What's she gonna do?" Mallard asked. He sounded curious, rather than skeptical.

"She's gonna kill somebody, or try to," Lucas said. To Mallard, he said, "If you've got any family that she can figure out, or if Malone has any… She mentioned Malone the first time I talked to her, so she remembers her from Minneapolis."

Mallard and Malone were both shaking their heads. "Not really," Malone said. "I've got my folks, of course, but I don't know how she could figure them out. She'd have to pull my file at the Bureau, and all that stuff is pretty locked up. We've had some pretty tough hackers make a run at it."

"She's gonna do something," Lucas insisted. "If she figures out that we've got a net around Levy and Ross, she might try to hit one of the guys on the net. They've gotta be warned, and we've got to set up some kind of reaction procedure in case that happens. So we're not just running around in a circle waving our arms."

"We'll talk to everybody right now," Malone said. "I think that's a good point."

Even Brown nodded, but he added: "We're not being proactive. We gotta be more proactive. We gotta find something…"

Andreno said, "Hey… we're listening."

Malone: "Washington's gonna come up with some ideas if we don't. They're getting anxious."

Snarling, Lucas thought, like a pack of yellow dogs.

Rinker and Pollock had watched the street when they got home, had seen the big cars trolling by, way too many of them, and talked about Pollock's life. "So nobody knows where you're at," Rinker said.

"Not exactly where I'm at," Pollock said. "My folks know I'm around somewhere. I think they know it's St. Louis. I call them every once in a while."

Rinker looked around, felt the house closing in on her, a rat trap. "You call them? From here?"

"No, of course not," Pollock said. "I go out."

"How far?"

Pollock thought for a minute, then said, "Up to the gas station, the minimart, you know."

"Close by."

Pollock thought again, and finally said, "Shoot. That's it, isn't it? They looked up all the phone calls to my mama, and they figured out that they all came from down here."

They thought about the implications of that, and then Rinker said, "Ah, jeez, Patsy, I'm sorry. They never would have come looking if it weren't for me."

"We don't know…"

"It's Davenport. I'm gonna wax his ass one of these days. I swear to God."

"The guy you danced with."

"Yeah. He's lucky." Then she said, sadly, "You're gonna have to run again. They'll be going house to house."

But Pollock shook her head and said, wryly, "Naw. I ain't gonna run. I'm gonna turn myself in."

"Sounds like a plan," Rinker said, her eyebrows up.

"I can't stand this shit anymore," Pollock said, sinking into a couch. "I can't stand my job, I can't stand this place-I'd just as soon be in prison and get it over with."

"You never been in prison, you don't know what you're talking about."

"I've read about it, all kinds of things, at the library," Pollock said. "I been thinking about it for three or four years now. I talked to my folks about it, and they're for it. Did I ever show you my back?"

"Your back?"

"I kinda hide it… I'm not a swimsuit girl." Pollock stood up, turned around, and pulled her blouse up. Rinker didn't know exactly what she was looking for, then noticed what seemed to be a large, paler birthmark on Pollock's pale back.

"What the heck is that?"

"What does it look like?"

"It looks like… an iron," Rinker said.

"Rick held me down on the bed one day and ironed me. And I got scars from a few more cuts and burns. Cigars, mostly. I think, after all these years, if I turned myself in… I kinda think I'd either get off, or they wouldn't put me away too long. And I want to go home, Clara. I know you don't like it down there, Springfield, and I don't blame you, but I want to go home someday and see my folks and be able to walk down the street without worrying."

Rinker took a quick turn around the living room, intent now. "You know what? If you're gonna do this, if you really want to, you gotta do it now, right away, and you've gotta turn me in."