“You’re on,” she said. “What is it?”

Late that night, Jennifer Carey lay facedown on Lucas’ bed and watched him undress, watched him unstrap the hideout gun.

“Do you ever use that thing, or do you wear it to impress women?” she asked.

“Too uncomfortable for that,” Lucas lied. Jennifer sometimes made him nervous. He felt she was looking inside his head. “It comes in handy. I mean, if you’re buying some toot from a guy, you can’t be packing a gun. They figure you for a cop or maybe some kind of nutso rip-off psychotic, and they won’t serve, won’t deal. But if you got a hideout in a weird place and you need it, you can have it in their face before they know what you’re doing.”

“Doesn’t sound like Minneapolis.”

“There are some bad folks around. Anytime you get that much money . . .” He peeled off his socks and stood up in his shorts. “Shower?”

“Yeah. I guess.” She rolled over slowly and got off the bed and followed him into the bathroom. The print pattern from the bedspread was impressed on her belly and thighs.

“You could’ve brought McGowan home, you know,” she said as he turned on the water and adjusted it.

“She’s been coming on to me a little,” Lucas agreed.

“So why not? It’s not like you’re bored by the new stuff.”

“She’s dumb.” Lucas splashed hot water on her back and followed it with a squirt of liquid bath soap from a plastic bottle. He began rubbing it across her back and butt.

“That’s never stopped you before,” she said.

Lucas kept scrubbing. “You know some of the women I’ve taken out. Tell me a dumb one.”

Jennifer thought it over. “I don’t know them all,” she said finally.

“You know enough of them to see the pattern,” he said. “I don’t go out with dummies.”

“So talk to me like a smart person, Lucas. Did this killer torture these women before he killed them? Daniel was pretty evasive. Do you think he knows them? How does he pick them?”

Lucas turned her around and pressed his index finger across her lips.

“Jennifer, don’t pump me, okay? If you catch me off guard and I blurt something out and you use it, I could be in deep trouble.”

She eyed him speculatively, the water bouncing off his chest, his mild blue eyes darkened with an edge of wariness.

“I wouldn’t use it before I told you,” she said. “But you never blurt anything out. Not that you didn’t plan to blurt out. You’re a tricky son of a bitch, Davenport. I’ve known you for three years and I still can’t tell when you’re lying. And you play more goddamn roles than anyone I’ve ever met. I don’t even think you know when you’re doing it anymore.”

“You should have been a shrink,” he said, shaking his head ruefully. He cut the water off and pushed open the shower door. “Hand me that big towel. I’ll dry your legs for you.”

A half-hour later, Jennifer said hoarsely, “Sometimes it gets very close to pain.”

“That’s the trick,” Lucas said. “Not going over the line.”

“You come so close,” she said. “You must have gone over it a lot before you figured out where to stop.”

Two hours later, Lucas’ eyes clicked open in the dark. Somebody was watching. He thought about it. The ankle gun was in the desk . . . Then Jennifer poked him, and he realized where it was coming from.

“What?” he whispered.

“You awake?”

“I am now.”

“I’ve got a question.” She hesitated. “Do you like me more than the others or are we all just meat?”

“Oh, Jesus,” he groaned.

“Say.”

“You know I do. Like you better. I can prove it.”

“How?”

“Your toothbrush? It’s the only one in the bathroom cabinet besides mine.”

There was a moment of silence and then she snuggled up on his arm. “Okay,” she said. “Go to sleep.”

CHAPTER

5

For the first twenty rings he hoped it would stop. He got out of bed on the twenty-first and picked up the receiver on the twenty-fifth.

“What?” he snarled. The house was cold and he was naked, goose bumps erupting on the backs of his arms, his back, and his legs.

“This is Linda,” said a prim voice. “Chief Daniel has called a meeting for eight o’clock sharp and you’re to be there.”

“ ’Kay.”

“Would you repeat that, Lucas?”

“Eight o’clock in the chief’s office.”

“That’s correct. Have a good morning.” She was gone. Lucas stood looking at the receiver for a moment, dropped it onto the hook, yawned, and wandered back to the bedroom.

The clock on the dresser said seven-fifteen. He reached over to Jennifer, swatted her on the bare butt, and said, “I gotta get out of here.”

“Okay,” she mumbled.

Still naked, Lucas padded back down the hallway to the living room, opened the front door a crack, made sure nobody was around, popped the screen door, and got the paper off the porch. In the kitchen, he shook some Cheerios into a bowl, poured on milk, and unfolded the paper.

The maddog led the front page, a double-deck headline just below the Pioneer Press nameplate. The story was straightforward and accurate as far as it went, with no mention of the Ruiz woman. The chief hadn’t talked about survivors. Had lied, in fact—had said the only known attacks by the killer were the three that produced deaths. Nor had he mentioned the notes.

There was a short, separate story about Lucas’ involvement in the investigation. He would work independently of homicide, but parallel. Controversial. Killed five men in line of duty. Commendations. Well-known game inventor. Only cop in Minnesota who drove a Porsche to work.

Lucas finished the story and the Cheerios at the same time, yawned again, and headed down to the bathroom. Jennifer was staring at herself in the medicine-cabinet mirror and turned her head when he came in.

“Men have it easy when it comes to looks, you know?”

“Right.”

“I’m serious.” She turned back to the mirror and stuck her tongue out. “If anybody at the station saw me like this, they’d freak out. Makeup all over my face. My hair looks like the Wolf Man’s. My ass hurts. I don’t know . . .”

“Yeah, well, let me in there, I have to shave.”

She lifted an arm and looked at the dark stubble in her armpit. “So do I,” she said morosely.

Lucas was ten minutes late for the meeting. Daniel frowned when he walked in, and pointed at the empty chair. Frank Lester, the deputy chief for investigations, sat directly opposite him. The other six chairs were occupied by robbery-homicide detectives, including the overweight head of the homicide division, Lyle Wullfolk, and his rail-thin assistant, Harmon Anderson.

“We’re working out a schedule,” Daniel said. “We figure at least one guy ought to know everything that’s going on. Lyle’s got his division to run, so it’s gonna be Harmon here.”

Daniel nodded at the assistant chief of homicide. Anderson was picking his teeth with a red plastic toothpick. He stopped just long enough to nod back. “A pleasure,” he grunted.

“He won’t be running you, Lucas, you’ll be on your own,” Daniel said. “If you need to know something, Harmon’ll tell you if we got it.”

“How’d it go with the media this morning?” Lucas asked.

“They’re all over the place. Like lice. They wanted me on the morning show but I told them I had this meeting. So then they wanted to shoot the meeting. I told them to go fuck themselves.”

“The mayor was on,” said Wullfolk. “He said we had some leads we’re working on and he’d expect to get the guy in the next couple of weeks.”

“Fuckin’ idiot,” said Anderson.

“Easy for you to say,” Daniel said gloomily. “You’re civil service.”

“You got some ink,” said Anderson, squinting at Lucas.

Lucas nodded and changed the subject. “What about the weapon from the property room?”

Anderson stopped picking his teeth. “We run a list,” he said. “We got thirty-four people, cops and civilians, who might of took it. There are probably a few more we don’t know about. Found out the fucking janitors go in there all the time. I think they’re smoking some of the evidence. Everybody says he’s clean, of course. We got IAD looking into it.”