John Sandford - Shadow Prey

They were standing in front of the fireplace, glasses in their hands. A moment after he called, Lucy appeared from the back. She was tiny, blonde, shy, and wore a pink kimono.

"Come over here, darling, and meet a friend of mine," Drake said.

"Cop," Leo said.

"Shit. He's going in," Sam said.

Drake's house was on a long loop road, to the left. The cop had just turned into the loop, then stayed to the right. If he continued along the loop, he'd pass Drake's house on the way back out.

"We gotta wait," Sam said. He pointed at a supermarket parking lot. "Pull in there. We can watch for him to come out."

"What if Clay leaves?"

Aaron looked at his watch. "He's only been there a half-hour. He usually stays two or three. This is not something you do quick. Not if you can help it."

Lucas and Del left their cars just down the block, and Lucas led the way to the porch. Del took a short black automatic out of a hip holster and stood to one side of the door as Lucas knocked.

He knocked once, then again.

A woman's voice: "Who is it?"

Before Lucas could answer, Del piped up, in a childish falsetto, "StarTribune."

There was a moment's hesitation and then the door started to open. As it opened, Lucas realized that it was on a chain. A woman's eye appeared in the crack. Lucas said, "Police," and the woman screamed, "No," and tried to push the door shut. She was small and dark and not young, and Lucas knew for sure. As she tried to push the door shut he rocked back and kicked it; the chain ripped off and they were inside, the woman running awkwardly toward the back. Lucas was on her, punching her between the shoulder blades, and she went down on her face in the hallway. Del was braced in the entrance to the living room, his gun in front of him, scanning.

"You don't fuckin' move," Lucas snarled at the woman. "You don't fuckin' move, you hear?"

Lucas and Del went through the house in thirty seconds, rotating down the hallway, clearing out the two bedrooms, then taking the stairs, cautiously, ready… Nothing.

At the top, Lucas heard the woman on her feet, and as Del held the stairs, Lucas shouted, "Wait here," and ran back down. Gow was headed for the front door when Lucas; hit her again. She yelped and went down, and he dragged her to a radiator and cuffed her to it. Del was still waiting ' at the top of the stairs; Lucas came and they cleaned out the second floor. Nobody.

Downstairs they checked the bedrooms again, this time for any sign of the Crows. It was all there: a stack of un-mailed press releases, letters, two different sets of men's clothing.

"I'm gonna talk to this woman," Lucas told Del. "You shut the front door and call Anderson, tell him what we've got. Get a warrant down here, maybe we can finesse things later. And tell him we may want an ERU team for when the Crows come back."

While Del went to call, Lucas walked back to Barbara Gow, who was lying on her side with her knees up to her face, weeping. Lucas uncuffed her and prodded her back with his foot.

"Sit up," he said.

"Don't hurt me," she wailed.

"Sit the fuck up," Lucas said. "You're under arrest. Seven counts of first-degree murder. You have the right to remain silent…"

"I didn't do anything."

"You're an accomplice…" Lucas said, squatting next to her, his face two inches from hers. He was not quite shouting, and he deliberately let spittle rain on her face.

"I didn't do anything."

"Where are the Crows…?"

"I don't know any Crows…"

"Bullshit. All their stuff is in back." He gtabbed her by the blouse and shook her.

"I don't know," she said. "I don't know where they went. They took my car."

"She's lying," Del said. Lucas looked up and found Del standing over them. His eyes were dilated and he hadn't shaved for several days. "Stay with her for just a second. I wanna run down to the bathroom."

Lucas waited, watching the woman's face. A few seconds later, they heard the bath water running.

"What're you going to do?" Lucas asked when Del returned. He tried to sound interested-curious-but not worried.

"She's got nice hot water," Del said. "So I thought maybe I'd give the bitch a bath."

"Shit, I wish I'd thought of that," Lucas said happily.

Gow tried to roll away from him but Del caught the old woman by the hair. "You know how many old women drown in the bathtub? Suck in that scalding hot water and can't get out?"

"It's a tragedy," Lucas said.

"Let me go," Gow screamed, struggling now. Del dragged her toward the hallway by the hair. She flailed at him, but he ignored it.

"There's some coffee in the kitchen," Del called. "Why don't you go heat up some water, we can have a cup. This'll only take a minute. She don't look too strong."

"They went to kill Clay," Gow blurted.

"Jesus Christ." Del let her go and the two men crouched over her.

"They can't get to him. He's got round-the-clock bodyguards," Lucas argued.

"He sneaks out," Gow said. "He has sex with little girls, so he sneaks out."

Lucas looked at Del: "Motherfucker. They don't crack the security. They get Clay to come out. Call Anderson and have him get onto the feebs. Find out where Clay is. And get Daniel."

Del dashed down the hall toward the telephone and Lucas gripped the old woman's hair.

"Tell me the rest. I'll testify in court for you. I'll tell them you helped; it might get you off. Where'd they go?"

Tears ran down her face and she sobbed, unable to talk.

"Talk to me," Lucas screamed, shaking the old woman's head.

"There's a man named Christopher Drake. Corky Drake. He lives up in Kenwood somewhere," Barbara Gow sobbed. "Clay goes to his house for the girls."

Lucas let her go and ran into the kitchen, where Del was on the phone. "I gotta go," he shouted. "Stay with her. Tell Anderson I'll call in ten seconds, tell him I'll need those squads." • Lucas sprinted to the Porsche, cranked it, picked up the handset and called Dispatch.

"A Christopher Drake," he told the dispatcher. "In Ken-wood. I need the address now."

Twenty seconds later, as he turned onto Franklin Avenue, he had it.

"I need everything you've got. No sirens, but make it fast," he told Dispatch.

Anderson came on: "I'm talking to Del, we're going out to the FBI now. How long before you make this Drake's place?"

Lucas ran a red light and calculated. "If I don't hit anything, about two minutes," he said. He crossed the center line into the left lane and blew past two cars, the speedometer nudging sixty.

The squad car came out of the loop road, turned away from them and kept going. Aaron grunted, checked his watch again and said, "Let's go."

Drake's house was a quarter-mile down the lane. They did a U-turn in front of the house, so the car would be pointed out, and left it on the street. The yards were wooded, and the brush would screen them as they approached the house.

"Let's get the tie," Sam said as they climbed out of the car.

Aaron looked up at the sky as Sam popped the tailgate. "Good moon for a killing," Aaron said.

In the soundproofed privacy of the bedroom, the girl dropped the kimono around her feet and slipped onto the bed. Lawrence Duberville Clay peeled off his underwear and slipped in beside her, and she put her arm over her chest. "Smell so good," she said. He looked over her shoulder at the video camera and the monitor screen. The light was just right. It would be an evening to remember.

Leo held the cut-down shotgun by his side as they pulled the railroad tie out of the car and held it by the handles. A battering ram. Nearly a hundred pounds, swung hard, focused on a point no bigger than a hammerhead. Better than any sledgehammer made.

Swinging the tie, they moved swiftly through the dark into Drake's yard.