The next morning, they gathered in the lobby to check out, and Lucas gave Mallard a look. Mallard turned away. There'd been no moment with Malone, Lucas thought. He muttered "Chicken," and Malone asked, "What?"

"Nothing."

Lucas held on to Malone's copy of the Rinker file until they got to Houston, where they split up. "If there's anything I can do, call me," Lucas said. He handed the file back to her. "Sorry I wasn't more help in Cancъn. If I think of anything from the file, I'll call."

"You helped," Mallard said. "Between us, we gave old man Mejia, ummm, a clearer view of the situation. There are things that Malone and I just can't say."

Lucas nodded. "Whatever. I'll be watching you guys. When are you going to St. Louis?"

"We're already moving our setup crew in. Malone and I will be there as soon as there's any hint that she's there," Mallard said. "Given her whole psychology, the way she was abused from the time she was a kid, then her true love getting shot, and losing the baby… can you think of any more likely place than St. Louis to pull her in?"

Lucas shook his head. "Nope. If I were her, I'd be there."

Malone smiled at him, her nasty lawyer's smile. "That's another reason we asked you. You two think alike."

LUCAS WAS BACK in Minneapolis by midafternoon, having unexpectedly survived both flights. He stopped first at the new house, counted six guys working on it, talked to the foreman, and was told that the cable and telephone wiring was going in the next day. He collected a sample pad of parquet blocks that the designer was proposing for the library floor, and headed downtown.

MARCY SHERRILL WAS sitting at her desk, staring at a computer screen, when Lucas walked in. "How's Cancъn?" she asked, looking up.

"Hot and humid. Full of foreigners," Lucas said. He yawned: already a long day. "Anything new?"

"Ummm… Bob Cline croaked yesterday-did you know him?"

"Yeah, vaguely." Cline was an aging radio talk show host known for his unwavering support of the police department, no matter who had done what. "How'd he die?"

"Heart attack, I guess. He was at a Saints game and he was on his way home when he pulled over to the side of the road and died. Called 911 on the car phone but never said a word."

"Not a bad way to go… Anything else?"

"Rose Marie wants you to come by. She called twice. The homicide guys-Sloan, basically-got the name of a kid in that bus-stop drive-by on Thirty-third. They say he's the one, but they can't find him. His family says he went to New York, which probably means we oughta look in L.A."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"All right. I'll go talk to Rose Marie." He yawned again. "What're you doing?"

She yawned back, picking it up from him. "Vacation and comp time report."

"Okay." He opened his briefcase, took out the copy of the FBI report, which he'd transferred from his suitcase, and handed it to her. "I sneaked a copy-this is illegal. Read it and tell me what you think."

"How was Malone?" She asked the question with a tone.

"Be nice," Lucas said. "She's dating a paperhanger or something."

"You mean like Hitler?"

"What?" She'd lost him.

"Hitler was supposed to be a wallpaper guy, or something. Before he became a dictator."

"Oh. Well, he's not exactly like Hitler, I don't think. I'll ask her next time I see her… Read the file. Mallard's in love with her. With Malone."

Marcy perked up. "Which one told you that? Or did you just perceive it?"

"Mallard told me. I told him to grab her ass, but he didn't."

"Jesus, Lucas, grab her ass?" She was appalled.

"You know what I mean. Make a move. "

"Grab her ass," Sherrill said, shaking her head. "He told him to grab her ass."

"Not exactly that…" Then he had to explain, but it was too late. As soon as the word ass had come out of his mouth, he'd fulfilled all female expectations of insensitivity, and nothing more was necessary. He finally gave up trying to explain and went to see Rose Marie Roux, the chief of police.

LUCAS SOMETIMES SUSPECTED that the chief was a self-switching manic-depressive, willing herself into periods of gloom or frenzy as an antidote to the emotional control required of her chiefdom. When he walked into her office, and found her smoking one cigarette while another one burned in an ashtray on the windowsill, he realized that she'd pushed herself into the manic.

"You're gonna get busted someday on the cigarettes," he grunted, waving a hand through the layered smoke. Her office smelled like a seventies bowling alley, and indoor smoking was prohibited in Minneapolis.

"I'm down fifteen pounds since I started smoking again," she said. "When I get down twenty, I'll go on a program to maintain the weight, and then quit again. I just didn't quit the right way, last time."

"That's the stupidest thing you've ever said," Lucas said, irritably. "In the meantime, you've got two cigarettes going."

"Yeah, yeah." She snuffed out both butts, dug through a pile of paper on her desk, and said, "Sherrill got the top score."

Lucas smiled, dropped into her guest chair. "Excellent. I thought she might."

"Which means that if we can get Pellegrino to retire, I can slip her into that slot as a temporary replacement. She'd have to wear a uniform for a month or so, but then Leman will go in September, and I can move her into his slot, and she'd be set. It's a regular lieutenant's job."

"She'll be good at it," Lucas said.

"Not only that, she'll owe us," Rose Marie said.

"So what about Pellegrino?"

"I'm talking to him. He's at the max percentage for his retirement, so his only reason to stay here is to pick up any pay raises that come along. But if he moves over to the state, he's in a whole different retirement plan, so he gets a double dip. There's a slot in the public information office that's empty, and he'd be perfect for it."

"Is he gonna take it?" Lucas asked.

"Yes. His wife's nervous, but she's coming around."

"What about the governor? Unless he commits to you publicly…"

"He's making the announcement Friday. I'll take over as of November 1. I'll leave here October 15, and you can leave anytime you want. You probably wouldn't actually get pushed until the new guy comes in, and that might not be until the first of the year."

"I'm gonna go when you go," Lucas said. "But Jesus, two and a half months. If we're gonna swap Marcy for Pellegrino, we gotta get him out of here quick."

"He'll put in his papers next week."

They talked about the personnel maneuvers for another ten minutes. The mayor was not running for reelection, and none of the leading candidates would reappoint Rose Marie as chief: She'd made too many bureaucratic enemies during her tenure. So she was out.

But as a former longtime state senator, she had solid political connections and loyalties. When the governor, Elmer Henderson, had gone looking for a new director for the department of public safety, a group of her political pals had had a quiet word with him, and she'd been anointed.

As soon as the deal was done, she'd begun shuffling members of her city management team into protected job slots-Marcy Sherrill would be the new head of Intelligence-and slipping old departmental enemies into jobs where they would be lethally exposed. The new mayor might not be willing to appoint Rose Marie to a third term as chief, but he was going to get her team whether he liked it or not.

With a few exceptions.

Lucas was a pure political appointee, with no civil-service protection at all, and his job would expire with hers. Rather than try to find a protected slot, he'd agreed to follow her to the state, where he would head a new special investigations team with the state Bureau of Criminal Apprehension.