Buried Prey

flip-flop out of the trash can and set it on a plastic bag, and now was probing deeper into the trash. “Is that . . . have you talked to the Joneses? Were they wearing flip-flops?”
    “Mary was,” Daniel said. “They were red and white, like this one, Miz Jones thinks. They got them at a Kmart, and we’ll be checking for size and brand and style.”
    “Well, hell, it’s her flip-flop,” Lucas said. “What are the chances?”
    “There’s always a chance it isn’t,” Hanson said. “The problem is, we got that box.”
    “And?”
    “We got some prints on it. They look like Scrape’s.”
    Daniel said that they’d gotten a dozen partials off the box, none good—but when compared to the prints they’d taken from Scrape the day before, there seemed to be a few apparent matches.
    Lucas scratched his ear and said, “Huh.”
    Daniel said to Lucas, “We’re gonna take this flip-flop around to Miz Jones and have her look at it, and Sloan will check the Kmart connection. For you—that chick who knew where Scrape lived. I want you to find her again, and tour her around to all the places that he might have gone.”
    “He could be halfway to California,” Hanson said.
    Daniel: “He could be, but I doubt it. He had four dollars when we picked him up and he skipped at night. I think he’s hiding. We’ve got the highway patrol and every cop in Minnesota looking at hitchhikers.”
    “Look at the trains,” Lucas said.
    “What?”
    “Have somebody check the train yards over by the university,” Lucas said. “Bums still ride trains—I was talking to a railroad security guy last year, after that guy got his legs chopped off. He said they still got all kinds of bums riding the boxcars. Especially out to the West Coast.”
    Daniel said to Hanson: “Check that. Like right now. Get onto railroad security.”
    Lucas said, “I’ve got a phone number in my notebook.”
    Daniel said to Del, “I want you down at the place where he was living. Knock on all the doors, talk to the residents. Anything they know . . .” Del nodded, and Daniel said, “So let’s go. Go, everybody. Go away.”

    AFTER A COUPLE of phone calls, Lucas found the blue-haired Karen Frazier standing at a bus stop just down the street from her office. He pulled up, leaned across, and popped the door and said, “I’ll give you a ride.”
    “What do you want?” she asked, not getting in.
    “More help,” he said. “Come on, get in. I’m not gonna bite.”
    She got in and pulled the door shut: “So?”
    “So where’re you going?”
    “Back home. I live in Uptown.”
    “So do I,” Lucas said. “But listen—this is confidential. We found a box last night with some of the girls’ clothes in it. Their mom fainted when she saw it.”
    “Oh, no.” Her hands went to her face. “It was theirs? For sure?”
    “For sure. One of them was wearing a bra with a kitty face on it.”
    “Ah, God. I don’t want to hear that,” Frazier said.
    “What I need is, a tour of the places where you think Scrape might go to hide. He took off in the night, after we let him go. He had no money, we’re checking hitchhikers and the freight trains, but we think he’s probably hiding out somewhere. Somewhere he could get in the dark.”
    She thought for a minute, then said, “Scrape’s pretty good at hiding. He doesn’t go where the other transients go. Doesn’t hang out with them, doesn’t use the Mission. He’s not stupid, either—he’s just really schizophrenic, which can make him look stupid, but he’s not. If he wants to hide . . .”
    She thought for another minute, then said, “The idea of the trains . . . I don’t think he rides trains. I’ve never heard him say that. I think he hustles around for bus money. . . . But there’re abandoned sheds and buildings all over that area, north of University Avenue, and some of them are built up on stilts and you can get under them. And there are old shipping containers all over the place, that you can get into, and old truck trailers at some of the trucking companies . . . Guys who ride the trains use them to hide—the train cops know most of them, but that would be one place. He could walk there from his room in a couple of hours.”
    “Where else?”
    “Well, he was living under that tree. He likes it outdoors, and there are all kinds of little caves and nooks and holes where he could be, along the river. There are some sewer tunnels you can get into, and they cross through old caves