John Sandford - Rules of Prey

"If we can eliminate him," Anderson said.

"What about this cop?" Lucas asked "The one Carla picked out?"

"I came down last night after the chief called," Anderson said. "I pulled the rosters. He was on duty when Ruiz was attacked, with a partner, up in the northwest. I talked to his partner and he confirms they were up there. They took a half-dozen calls around the time of the attack. We went back and checked the tapes, and he's on them."

"So he's clear," said Lucas.

"Thank Christ for small favors," Daniel said. "You better haul ass over to the detention center and talk to Smithe. They're waiting for you."

McCarthy and Smithe waited in a small interrogation room. The decor was simple, being designed to repel bodily fluids. McCarthy was smoking and Smithe sat nervously on a padded waiting-room chair, rubbing his hands, staring at his feet.

"I don't like this and I'm writing a memorandum to the effect," McCarthy spat as Lucas walked in.

"Yeah, yeah." He looked at Smithe. "Could I ask you to stand up for a minute?"

"Wait a minute. We wanted to talk-" McCarthy started, but Smithe waved him down and stood up.

"I hate this place," he said. "This place is worse than I could have imagined."

"Actually, it's a pretty good jail," Lucas said mildly.

"That's what they tell me," Smithe said despondently. "Why am I standing up?"

"Flex your pecs and stomach for me."

"What?"

"Flex your pecs and stomach. And brace yourself."

Smithe looked puzzled, but dropped his shoulders and flexed. Lucas reached out with his fingers spread and pushed hard on Smithe's chest, then dropped his hand and pushed on his stomach. The underlying muscles felt like boards.

"You work out?"

"Yeah, quite a bit."

"What's this about?" McCarthy asked.

"The woman who survived. The killer grabbed her from behind, wrapped her up. She said he felt kind of thick and soft."

"That's not me," Smithe said, suddenly more confident. "Here, you turn around."

Lucas turned and Smithe stepped behind him and wrapped him up. "Get loose," Smithe said.

Lucas started to struggle and twist. He had enough weight to move Smithe around the floor in a tight, controlled dance, but the encircling arms felt almost machinelike. Try as he might, he couldn't break loose.

"Okay," Lucas said, breathing hard.

Smithe released him. "If I had her, she wouldn't get loose," Smithe said confidently. "Does that prove anything?"

"To me it does," Lucas said. "It wouldn't convince a lot of other people."

"I saw that thing on television, about you believing me," Smithe said. "And I can't handle this jail. I decided to take a chance on you. I have an alibi. In fact, I've got two of them."

"We could do all of this at the preliminary," McCarthy said.

"That's four days away," Smithe said sharply. He turned to Lucas. "If my alibis are good, how soon do I get out?"

Lucas shrugged. "If they're good and we can check them, we could have you out of here this afternoon."

"All right," Smithe said suddenly. "Mr. McCarthy brought my calendar in. On the day Lewis was attacked, that afternoon, I was doing in-service training. Started at nine o'clock in the morning and went straight through to five. There were ten people in the class. We all ate lunch together. That wasn't long ago, so they'll remember.

"And on the day Shirley Morris was killed, the housewife? I got on a plane for New York at seven o'clock that morning. I have the plane tickets and a friend took me out to the airport, saw me get on the plane. I've got hotel bills from New York, they have the check-in time on them. Morris was killed in the afternoon, and I checked in during the afternoon. I bet they'll remember me, too, because when I went up to my room with the bellhop, he pulled back my sheet and there was a rat under it and the guy freaked out. I freaked out. This is supposed to be a nice hotel. I went down to the desk and they gave me a new room, but I bet they remember that rat. You can check it with phone calls. And Mr. McCarthy has the bills and plane tickets at his office."

"You should have told us," Lucas said.

"I was scared. Mr. McCarthy said…" They both turned and looked at McCarthy.

"It was too much all at once. You were grilling him, everybody was running around yelling, we had to cool out or we could make a mistake," McCarthy said.

"Well, we sure made a mistake doing it this way," Smithe said. "My family knew I was gay, my parents and my brothers and sisters and a few friends back home, but most people in my high school didn't, most of the people around the home place…"

He suddenly sat down and started to sob. "Now they all know. You know how hard it'll be to go back to the farm? My home?"

McCarthy stood up and kicked his chair.

In the lobby of the detention center, Lucas stopped at a phone and made a single call.

"Lucas Davenport," he said. "Can you meet me someplace discreet? Quickly?"

"Sure," she said. "Name the place."

He named a used-book store on the north side of the loop. When she arrived, he thought how out-of-place she looked. With her perfect hair and faultless makeup, she wandered through the stacks like Alice in Wonderland, stunned by the presence of so many baffling artifacts. Annie McGowan. Pride of Channel Eight, the Now Report.

"Lucas," she whispered when she saw him.

"Annie." He stepped toward her and she reached out with both hands, as though she expected Lucas to take her in his arms. He instead took her hands and pulled her close to his chest.

"What I'm going to tell you now must be kept a secret. You must give me journalistic immunity or I can't tell you," he said, glancing back over his shoulder. Introduction to Method Acting 1043, two credits.

"Yes, of course," she blurted. Her breath smelled like cinnamon and spice.

"This gay fellow arrested for the maddog murders? He didn't do it," Lucas whispered. "He has two excellent alibis that are being checked out even as we speak. He should be released late this afternoon. No one, but no one, knows this outside the police department, except you. If you wait until three-thirty or so, you can probably catch his attorney-you know McCarthy, the public defender?"

"Yes, I know him," she said breathlessly.

"You can catch him outside the detention center, signing Smithe out. Better stake the place out around three o'clock. I don't think it could happen earlier than that."

"Oh, Lucas, this is enormous."

"Yeah. If you can keep it exclusive. And I'll give you another tip, but this also has to come from 'an informed source.'"

"What?"

"These women were supposedly raped, but nobody ever found any semen. They think the killer may be using some kind of… foreign object because he's impotent."

"Oh, jeez. Poor guy."

"Uh, yeah."

"What kind of object?"

"Uh, well, we don't know exactly."

"You mean like one of those huge rubber cocks?" The words came tripping out of her perfect mouth so incongruously that Lucas felt his chin drop.

"Uh, well, we don't know. Something. Anyway, if you handle this right and protect me, I'll have more exclusive tips for you. But right now I've got to get out of here. We can't be seen together."

"Not yet, anyway," she said. She turned to go, and then stepped back.

"Listen, when you call me at the station, they'll know who my source is if you keep leaving your name. I mean, if you can't get me."

"Yeah?"

"So maybe we should use a code name."

"Good idea," Lucas said, dumbfounded. He took a card from his wallet, wrote his home phone number on the back of it. "You can call me at the office or at home. I'll be one place or the other when I call you. When I call, I'll say 'Message for McGowan: Call Red Horse.'"