Buried Prey

be a hell of a stink . . . if we don’t do something.”
     
     
    JENKINS, SHRAKE, AND DEL were long gone by the time Lucas pulled into the driveway, their beer bottles trashed with the recycling. The house was quiet when he came in through the garage—he turned on the kitchen light, looked in the refrigerator, found a chicken salad sandwich left by the housekeeper, and a bottle of Leinie’s. He sat down to eat in the breakfast nook, and heard bare feet coming down the stairs. A moment later, Letty stuck her head in the kitchen. “Hey.”
    “You’re up late,” he said.
    “Yeah. Mom’s cutting in the morning, so she went to bed at ten. Gotta be quiet when you go up.”
    “Okay. You know what she’s doing?”
    “Rhino, and then she’s covering some burns,” Letty said.
    She watched him chew until he asked, “What?”
    “Mom thinks you’re onto something. You know who killed her?”
    Lucas shook his head: “You might blab to Jennifer.” Jennifer Carey worked for Channel Three, where Letty was an unofficial intern.
    “Would not,” Letty said. “Not unless you told me I could.”
    Lucas said, “All right. I’ve got a couple of ideas.” He told her about Hanson’s mysterious disappearance. “I’m thinking he knew the person who did it, and that person got worried and killed him.”
    “When are you going to find out?”
    “Pretty soon,” he said.
    “So this is the time you gotta be really careful,” Letty said. “If you’re gonna take him out.”
    “You worry too much.”
    “You’re right. And you’re not worried enough.”
     
     
    HE SNUCK INTO BED, quiet and silent as a cat burglar, and then Weather said in the dark, “I hope your daughter gave you a good talking-to.”
    “Ah, yeah . . . she did.”
    “Good. I’m going to sleep now, so I don’t cut off poor Mrs. Johnson’s nose.”
    Rhino, Lucas thought, as he drifted away, for rhinoplasty. From the Greek rhino for nose, plus plassein , to shape. A nose job, in other words.
    But he didn’t dream of rhinos; he dreamed of the mysterious Fell.
    I do not like thee, Dr. Fell . . .

    WEATHER GOT UP at five-thirty, and Lucas at eight, early for him. He hadn’t felt her go; he usually didn’t. He stretched, yawned, did some push-ups and crunches, got cleaned up, got his gun, sat down in his den, and made a call.
    Quentin Daniel picked up and in an old man’s voice said, “What?”
    “This is Davenport. I need to talk.”
    “That was a bad day,” Daniel said. “That was about as bad a day as I’ve had since Carol died. On top of the Jones kids coming up—”
    “That’s what I need to talk about.”
    “When?”
    “How about now?” Lucas suggested.
    “You know where that Starbucks is, down the street from me?” Daniel asked.
    “Sure.”
    “Meet you there in thirty minutes,” Daniel said.
     
     
    QUENTIN DANIEL HAD BEEN a ranking detective when Lucas first met him, and later, for eight years, the chief of police. He’d done some bad things in his time, and he knew it, as did Lucas, and they’d never been quite square since.
    But Daniel was smart and had been a good investigator, and knew the Jones case and also knew his cops. That, in fact, had been his most serious strength: he knew his investigators so well that he’d match them to cases that he knew would catch their imaginations, and they’d work all the harder for it. He’d also had complete confidence in his own intelligence, and other smart cops didn’t intimidate him. He saw the intelligence of others as simply another weapon in his arsenal.
    Lucas had been his finest weapon.
    Lucas crossed the street to the Starbucks just as Daniel opened the door to go inside. He’d always been a bigger man, but now had thinned down; his hair was longer, and silvery gray, and he was dressed for golf in a red shirt and white slacks, with athletic shoes. He must be in his middle seventies, Lucas thought.
    He held the door for Lucas, said, “You’re looking rich,” and Lucas asked, “What’s your handicap now?” Daniel said, “Same as always: my swing.”
    Inside, Daniel ordered a skinny half-caff no-foam latte and Lucas got a bottle of orange juice from the cooler. “Get a table while I’m waiting,” Daniel said.
    Lucas found a table in the corner, and when Daniel came over, asked, “How’ve you been?”
    “I’ve lost twenty pounds and gotten my cholesterol lower than my IQ. Of course, I’m eating nothing but twigs.”
    They chatted for a minute, and