Chosen Prey

door, and he swears it’s a true story. . . . Did I tell you this, the story about the guy and the llama and the golf club? No? Anyway . . .”
    He had Lucas laughing in two minutes. But Lucas, glancing sideways, could see what seemed like despair hanging in his eyes over the storytelling smile.
     
    T HE ARREST HAPPENED almost exactly as Qatar had seen it in his nightmares, give or take a snap-brimmed fedora. He was in his office, and heard the voice and footsteps in the hall—the bustle of people moving, a voice that was hushed. He turned his head, sat up straight, listening. A second later, the door opened and a dark-haired, dark-complected man in a gorgeous charcoal suit opened the door and asked, “James Qatar?”
    Behind the man in the suit were two other men, and Burns Goodwin, the college president.
    Qatar stood up and tried to look puzzled. “Yes?”
     
    “H E SORTA FREAKED,” Lucas told Marcy. “He denied it all and then he started crying—I mean, really weeping. Sobbing. I think it bummed Marshall out. He wanted resistance, and all he got was this mud puddle.”
    “Where is he? Marshall?”
    “Still over at the jail talking with the county attorneys about Wisconsin stuff. If we find anything in the house, there may be a Wisconsin claim.”
    “What difference does it make? He’s gonna get thirty years.”
    “If we get him. If we don’t, but if we have something from Wisconsin, that could be another trial.”
    After talking to Marcy, Lucas walked down to tell Rose Marie about the arrest.
    “Another notch,” she said.
    “If we get him. Towson is worried that Randy’s identification might be a little shaky.”
    “Ah, we got him,” she said. “With Randy and the jewelry, with Qatar’s access to all the victims, with the Wisconsin school record . . . we’ve got him.”
    He went back to Marcy. “I’m gonna go over to Qatar’s house, see what’s going on there,” he told her. “Then I’m gonna go home and take a nap. Fuck around the with car. Let me know.”
    The phone rang, and she held up a finger, picked it up, listened, and said, “Just a moment. I’ll see if he’s in.” She pushed the hold button and asked, “It’s that Culver guy. He says he really needs to talk to you.”
    “Let me have that.” He took the phone and said, “Lucas Davenport.”
    “Chief Davenport, listen, did you take Ellen somewhere? I mean, do you know where she is?”
    “No—she was at her place the last time I saw her. What’s going on?”
    “I haven’t seen her. Usually she comes over for a cup of coffee or I go over to her place, but it’s all locked up. Now a bunch of women are milling around outside. They were supposed to have a quilting class, and they say whenever she’s had to cancel a class she’s called them. She doesn’t answer her phone. I can’t see inside very well because of the one-way stuff, but I can see a little, and it looks like some stuff has been tipped over or thrown around.”
    “Stay right there,” Lucas said. “I’m on my way.” He dropped the phone, looked around for Del, a little wild-eyed, said “Fuck,” and headed for the door.
    “What? What?” Marcy yelled after him. “Where’re you going?”
    “Call the dispatcher and tell them I want a squad, right now, out front. . . . Right now,” he shouted back. He was running down the hallway when he saw Marshall carrying a carton of yogurt and a cup of coffee.
    “Terry, c’mon, Terry . . .” He kept running, and Marshall ran carefully after him, calling, “What happened, what happened?”
    A squad was cutting across the street toward the front entrance, the driver waving at Lucas. Lucas caught the front door and Marshall piled in the back. Lucas said, “Go that way, across the Hennepin Bridge, lights and siren.” The driver nodded, and they took off, slicing through the traffic like a shark. When they were moving, he turned to look at Marshall in the backseat and said, “Nobody can find Ellen Barstad. The Culver guy from next door says it looks like the place is a little torn up inside.”
    “No, no.” Marshall was shocked. “Not that girl—we’ve been following him, he couldn’t have.”
    “Maybe it’s nothing.”
    Lucas began giving directions to the driver as they made the turn onto Hennepin, and then Marshall said, “But this feels really bad. This feels bad.”
    “She’s from outstate somewhere. Maybe she got freaked and went home.”
    “No, I don’t think so.