Youve called me, he said. You knew your husband was killing people.

Thats utterly She groped for a word other than ridiculous, but couldnt find one. ridiculous.

What are you doing, Lucas? Glass asked.

And Audrey seemed so genuinely nonplussed that Lucas, puzzledwhy would she deny it now? Having helped stop him could only be to her credit, now, and he wasnt around to strike backbacked away, and tried again. Mrs. McDonald, how often did you visit the Kresge cabin?

Why, why… She struggled to think. Its so hard tothinkwith these things they are putting into me.

You dont have to answer these questions, Glass said. And I would recommend that you dont.

You suggest that she not tell me how often she went to Kresges? Why wouldnt she tell me that? Lucas asked.

Because you might try to make your pigs ear into a silk purse, and theres no reason to help you do that, Glass said.

Maybe six times, she said.

Mrs. McDonald, you dont have to answer, Glass said. In fact, Im telling you: Keep quiet. LucasChief Davenportif you have any more questions about Mr. McDonald, ask me first. I may advise Mrs. McDonald to answer them. But she wont answer any more questions about herself. Glass looked at the stenographer. Could you read that back to me?

Sure, just a minute.

No need to, Lucas said. We got it, and Im outahere. Well be checking the McDonald house. And we may be back with more questions. He looked straight into Audrey McDonalds eyes, held them for a second, then turned and walked out.

GLASS CAUGHT LUCAS IN THE HALLWAY. WHAT THE hell was that all about?

Lucas shrugged. Bumping her along a little.

Well, Jesus… Glass scratched his head. You dont think she had anything to do with these things, do you? The killings? That old lady?

What doyouthink, counselor?

Dontcounselorme, butthead. This is J. B. fuckin Glass youre talking to. What I want to know is, do I have to start thinking about a defense? Or were you just blowing smoke?

Mostly smoke, Lucas admitted.

All right, Glass said. How you been?

Not too bad… You heard about Weather?

Yeah, the bomb. Jesus. What do you think, a crazy? Glass asked.

We dont know. Weve got no theory.

Shoot. Well, keep your ass down, Glass said, and slapped Lucas on the arm before he started back to Mc-Donalds room.

Hey, J. B. how old do you think your client is, anyway?

Glass spread his hands. I never asked. Fifty… two?

Shes thirty-eight, Lucas said.

Glass looked at McDonalds room, then said with a hushed voice, No way.

Shes got some hard miles on her, J. B. And she might not be quite what she looks like.

LUCAS WAS SITTING IN MCDONALD'S STUDY, FLIPPING through a batch of American Express statements that went back, apparently, forever. Both Wilson and Audrey Mc-Donald were Platinum Card holders, upgraded six years earlier from the Gold. The most interesting statement involved charges on McDonalds card in the days before Andy Ingall sailed off on Lake Superior and vanished.

The day before Ingall disappears, McDonald spends four hundred bucks at Marshall Field in Chicago. That night, and the night before, hes at the Palmer House, Lucas said to Franklin. That means if he rigged the boat, he had to have done it at least a couple of days beforehand, or, if he came home that day, he had to go right up to Superior and rig the boat the night before. That seems tricky.

Franklin, enormous in a plaid shirt and jeans, had been going through the check stubs and investment papers. I aint finding anything here. Its all too general. They were pretty well off, though. Hes got a trust account at Polaris with about three-point-four million divided between stocks and bonds, heavy on the bonds. Plus an account at Vanguard worth another three million, all in the stock market. And if Im reading it right, hes got another nine hundredthousand in stock at Merrill Lynch. Cash in bank accounts, about twenty-four thousand, plus a money market account with a hundred and seventy thousand… thats apparently a tax account. He put the papers down, and looked at Lucas. I dont know. With that muchthats gotta be moren seven millionyou think hed be killing to get even richer?

I asked the same thing, Lucas said. The answer is, he was chasing power, not money. He was a bully in high school, he beat his wife, he killed people to eliminate competition for the promotions. He got off on power trips. Hed be running the lives of a couple thousand people if he took over the bank.

Franklin sighed: Id like to get anicekiller sometime.

A uniformed cop stuck his head in the door: You know how you told us to find that Jag?

Lucas nodded without looking up. According to a file they found in the house, and confirmed by the Department of Motor Vehicles, Wilson McDonald owned a 1969 XKE, which was not in their three-car garage.

We talked to McDonalds old man, the uniformed cop said. His name was Lane, and he wanted to be a detective. The car was in a downtown parking garage, already covered up for the winter. And guess what?

Lucas looked up now. What?

Lane stepped fully into the room, held up a transparent plastic baggie. Inside, a small automatic pistol. Ta-da.

I dont believe it, Lucas said. He took the bag, held it up, and peered at the gun. The caliber,. 380, was stamped on the slide. Thats the one… You touch it?

No, of course not. The safetys on, and we just bagged it. Figured, who knowsif he didnt shoot it much, maybe its got some of the same shells from the Arris or ODell deals.

Get it downtown, Lucas said, handing it back.

Do I get a medal? Lane asked.

Yeah. Youll get a size eleven medal right in the ass if you dont get it downtown.

Lane left, and a few minutes later, Franklin, whod fallen into an odd reverie sitting in an overstuffed chair with the bank statements in his hands, staring at an English hunting print on the wall above McDonalds desk, suddenly said, I know what it is.

Im glad somebody does, Lucas said.

You know whats wrong with this place?

Lucas looked around. Looks pretty nice. There are no fuckin books, Franklin said. He got up, walked around the study, checking the shelves full of ceramic figurines. They even got a couple of bookends, with no books between themthey got these fuckin Keebler elves, or whatever they are.

Hummels, Lucas said. But they do have a computer. He nodded at the Hewlett Packard crouched on the desk.

Aint a book, Franklin said. Im going to look around.

Lucas finished the American Express statements, extracted the statement that showed McDonald in Chicago, and stacked the rest on the desk. Slow going. Hed just gotten up when Franklin came back: I could find five books in this whole fuckin house. A dictionary, a cookbook, a bartenders guide, and travel books on California and Florida.

Maybe they took turns reading the dictionary, Lucas said.

You dont think its weird?

The pinking shears thing with Delthat was weird, Lucas said. No books? Thats not weird, thats just a little unusual.

I think its weird, Franklin insisted. People with seven million, they oughta have books. He frowned, and said, Hey, you know what else?

He left the room, and Lucas trailed after him. Theres no CD player. I dont think theyve got any CDs. They got no goddamn record player, Lucas.

Yeah, well…

Franklin turned and said, These people are very strange. He looked around the room again, spotted a studio portrait of Wilson and Audrey McDonald smiling down from another knickknack shelf. The photo was so heavily retouched that the two of them looked like puppets. Look at her eyes, Franklin said. Lucas looked. They follow you. Man, they areverystrange.

AUDREY MCDONALD LAY IN HER HOSPITAL BED AND thought about Davenport. He seemed to know something. To knowher. The others had shaken their heads when they saw her, had essentially apologized for their maleness in view of what another male had done to her. The hospital had provided female attendants to care for her, as if a male doctor or male nurse might somehow further the damage done.