Chosen Prey

think about it. “I knew he might have been a little freaky in some ways, right from the start. He had that shine in his eyes. But I had some things I wanted from him, too, so that was okay . . . and he’s clean and everything. But after that deal with his mom, he sorta scared me.”
    Lucas looked at Del and said, “I guess we tell her about it.”

23
    B ARSTAD HAD NOTHING to contribute but impressions. Qatar was capable of violence, she said, “Sometimes we have pretty rough sex,” she said, but she added that there had been no hint of anything else.
    “When you say rough sex, you mean he forces you?” Lucas asked.
    “No, usually I have to suggest it,” she said. “He’s not very creative.”
    “Oh.” Lucas carefully didn’t look at Del.
    She said, “How about if I asked him about it? Killing people. Don’t you guys bug apartments and stuff? I could get him here and ask him and you could record it.”
    “That might be a little crude—just coming out and asking,” Del said. “Especially if it pissed him off and he picked up a steam iron and popped you on the head with it. We could get in quick, but not that quick.”
    “But I’m not stupid,” Barstad said. “If he looked like he was getting ready to do something, I’d scream my head off. He doesn’t carry a gun. Believe me, I know that for sure. He doesn’t even carry a pocketknife.”
    “You seem pretty willing to get into this,” Lucas observed.
    “Hey. It’s interesting,” she said. “You think he might have killed his mom, I’m willing to help out.”
    “There’s more to it than that, about Qatar,” Lucas said.
    Del said, “If you’ve seen the TV stories on this guy they call the gravedigger . . .”
    She straightened. “You’re kidding me,” she breathed. “Oh, man.”
    “A violent guy—if he’s the right guy,” Lucas said.
    “Well, let’s get him,” Barstad said enthusiastically. “I can bring him over here. We can work out something for me to say, either leading him on or just putting it right to him.”
    Lucas nodded. “We can work on it,” he said. “We appreciate this.”
    She said, “Those women the gravedigger killed. They said he likes a type. I thought about it, because . . .” She looked down at herself.
    Del said, “Yeah. You’re the type. Exactly.”
    They talked a while longer, about the possibilities of bugging the apartment. “If it worked . . . we’re really looking for every scrap we can find, so it would be very helpful,” Lucas told her. “We don’t want you to get in over your head.”
    “But this guy is some kind of maniac,” Barstad said. “You’ve got to catch him. If this is the way to do it . . . I can help. It sounds . . . neat.”
    Del shrugged, looked at Lucas, and said, “I think it’s worth a try.”
    They agreed to try, as quickly as it could be done. Lucas suggested that until they could work the trap, Barstad stay out of her apartment and out of touch with Qatar. “Maybe call him right now and tell him you have to go somewhere—Chicago—to see about a quilt show. Tell him you’ll be back tomorrow.”
    She agreed, and while Lucas and Del looked, she called Qatar’s house, got an answering machine, and left the message. “Listen, I really, really need to get together tomorrow, though. Could you come over tomorrow after your one o’clock class? Then maybe we can go wine shopping. I got out some more money—might as well do it right. . . .” She hung up.
    “That was fine. And now, get out,” Lucas said. “Get some clothes together—we’ll take you with us and find you a place to stay.”
    “What about this place?” she asked. “When are you going to bug it?”
    “If we decide to go ahead, probably this afternoon or tomorrow morning. Otherwise, we’ll just keep you out of sight until we pick him up. Don’t want to take any chances with you,” Lucas said.
    “I work at a bookstore in the evenings. Could you call them and fix things?”
    “Yeah. We can take care of it.”
    She got a bag, took ten minutes to pack it, and they left together in the city car. On the way back, Lucas called Marcy, who set up a room in the Radisson Hotel. They checked her in, warned her about going out, and left her.
    “That’s the goddamn ditziest woman I’ve met since forever,” Del said on the way out of the hotel. “What are the chances that she’s gonna stay in that room?”
    “She says Qatar doesn’t like to go out, so . . . I