Easy Prey

you have his address?” Lucas asked.
    Reed frowned, looked at the secretary, and then said, “Give him Billy’s address.” Then, with just a hint of defiance: “And call Billy and tell him that these gentlemen are on their way.”
     
 
SPOONER LIVED A block from Highland Park, an affluent residential area ten minutes from the bank. The house was an upright, two-story, white-clapboard place set well back from the street, with oak trees in the front yard. Sloan pulled into the driveway and they got out; as they did, Spooner came to stand in the picture window, and for a second Lucas had the strange feeling that Spooner was somebody else—but who, he didn’t know. When Spooner saw them, he headed to the door. A dishwater blonde replaced him in the window. She was wearing a pink blouse and a gold watch.
    Spooner met them on the front steps, pulling on a coat as he stepped outside. He shut the door behind him.
    “I’ve talked to my attorney, and he said that I shouldn’t talk to you unless he’s present,” he said.
    “Well . . . shoot,” Lucas said. To Sloan: “A wasted trip.”
    Sloan said to Spooner, “What does your attorney think about us talking to you—you not talking back?”
    “I’m just not supposed to talk to you.”
    “So tell your attorney we’re here, and want to set up a meeting. The loan papers we subpoenaed are being reviewed by a bank examiner and an accountant right now, and we need to talk about it,” Sloan said.
    “And tell your attorney that we’re making the case against Rodriguez—for dope dealing and murder—and the more we look at him, the more we find,” Lucas said. “That the case on Rodriguez is a hell of a lot more serious than a little fudging around with loans, and that you’re going to buy a piece of his prison sentence if we don’t start seeing some cooperation.”
    Spooner had his hands in his pockets, and he flapped his coat panels like wings. “Jeez, jeez, you guys, I don’t want this. But you come on like I’m going to jail, what can I do but call my lawyer? So why don’t you call him and talk to him? I’ll come in. I’ll tell you everything I know about Richard, but I’ve got to have some legal protection.”
    “When?” Lucas asked. “When will you come in?”
    “Anytime. Jeez . . . When do you want me to come? This afternoon? When? But I want my lawyer there.”
    The blond woman was standing in the window with her arms crossed, peering out at them. “Is this your wife?” Sloan asked.
    Spooner looked, then said, “Yes, she’s really freaking out. My God, my job . . .”
    Lucas was thinking: Lane had just gone to see the examiner, and they would want that opinion before they talked to Spooner. “So come in tomorrow. Tomorrow morning. Call your attorney, make an appointment with the chief’s secretary. I’ll be available anytime you are.”
    “Okay.” Spooner shuffled uncertainly, opened the screen door as if to go back in the house, then said, just as Lucas and Sloan were turning away, “You know, I wasn’t lying the other day. I still don’t think Richard is involved with any of this.”
    “You’re wrong.”
    “You’re watching him. You know he’s done this?”
    “We’re all over him,” Lucas said, “and there’s not a lot of doubt. The question is, how much do you know? If you know enough . . .”
    “I’ll tell you everything, but there’s just not much that I know. I mean, his loans, they were a little risky, but his record . . . Thinking that he’s a dope dealer, I . . .” His mouth opened and closed a few times, as though he were flabbergasted. “I mean, I don’t believe it. He’s a nice guy.”
    “Tell me something nice that he’s done,” Lucas said.
    “Well . . .” Spooner seemed to grope for something, then said, “I can’t think of anything specific, but he’s been to our house , and he’s nice to my wife, and he’s nice to other people. . . . I mean, he’s just a nice guy to sit around and have a drink with.”
    “Well,” Lucas said. “It’s something to think about.”
     
 
IN THE CAR, Sloan said, “A nice guy.”
    “Man, he’s dealing dope. People who deal dope know about him—they pick him out of blind photo spreads,” Lucas said. “And if you look at those loans . . . the guy’s a goddamn hustler.”
    “Even if he is nice,” Sloan said.
    “You remember Dan Marks?” Lucas said.
    “Now, there was a nice guy,” Sloan said.
    “Everybody agreed, until the trouble started and