Easy Prey

asked.
    “We never found Sandy Lansing’s purse,” Loring said. “If we had, we probably would have made her as a dealer.”
    Lucas looked at Dukeljin. “Do you think your friend would recognize Spooner?”
    “I haven’t been able to get in touch. He’s out on a project—he’s an engineer—but I pointed this fellow out. I’m sure he’ll remember that. And the bag, you know, because it’s so over with. I don’t know if he’ll exactly remember the face.”
    “Where’s this project?” Lucas asked.
    “In Rochester, something to do with the Mayo Clinic. . . . He’ll be back tonight,” Dukeljin said.
    Lester came in while they were talking, and said, “Loring told you.”
    “Yup.”
    “Pain in the ass, Lucas. It’d be better for everyone if it was Rodriguez. Close the books and walk away.”
    “Can’t do that.”
    “Yeah, I know,” Lester said. “I just talked to Rose Marie, and she said the Spooner ID was your third prediction; she’s a believer. So I’ve got four guys all night with Spooner. And we’re tracking Olson.”
    “Something’s got to pop soon: there’s just too much pressure building. If anything happens, have them call me.”
     
 
WEATHER CALLED. “ I understand you were checking on Marcy Sherrill and stopped up.”
    “Yeah. We’re pretty worried,” Lucas said.
    “I talked to the people in Medicine, and they still think she’ll be okay. They got on it right away. She’s in intensive care so they can keep a closer eye on her.”
    “Tom Black is probably hanging around there. Could you tell him that? He’s really sweating it,” Lucas said.
    “Sure. I’ll walk down there now.”
    “And I want to get together. I need to talk with you,” Lucas said. “But you know what it’s like. . . .”
    “I heard about the Rodriguez fellow. Doesn’t that solve a lot of problems?”
    “No. Not really. I’ll tell you about it. Could we get lunch tomorrow?”
    “Sure. It might be a little late. I’ve got two jobs tomorrow, and the second one’s scheduled for ten o’clock.”
    “That’s okay. I’ll try to get over there. . . . Listen, just call me anytime. I’ll keep my cell phone on, and I’ll run over whenever you’re ready.”
     
 
AT THE END of the day, Lucas stopped back to look in on Marcy; no change. He walked back to the parking ramp, got his car, and headed south to Jael Corbeau’s studio. She’d been making pots; a couple of new cops were sitting around in her studio, watching. When Lucas walked in, she looked up and said, “Dinnertime?”
    “Talked me into it,” he said.
    One of the cops said, “That’s the goddamnedest thing I’ve ever seen. You oughta see her make pots. It’s, like, weird.”
    “Interesting,” Jael said.
    “If I got interested in that,” the cop asked, “is there someplace I can take lessons?”
    “Yeah, about a hundred,” she said. “This is one of the big ceramics places in the country.”
    “It’s so goddamned neat,” he said.
    The other cop raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “Playing with mud.”
    Jael looked at him and said, “Playing with mud can be fun.” And she dragged the tip of her tongue over her upper lip.
    “Oh, God, take me now, I’m ready to go,” the cop said, and Jael laughed and said to Lucas, “Ten minutes to clean up.”
     
 
THEY ATE AT a fast-food place on Ford Parkway, a few blocks from Lucas’s house. “We could go see a movie,” Lucas suggested.
    “Why don’t we go for a hike? Walk up the river path.”
    “Pretty cold.”
    “It’d feel good. I’m stuck in that house. I’m not staying in much longer,” Jael said. “Another couple of days, and then I’m leaving for New York. Let him find me if he can.”
    They dropped the Porsche at Lucas’s house and walked a mile up River Road, talking about the day. Lucas told her his doubts about Rodriguez, and the possibility that somebody else was involved. She told him about talking with the cops as she shifted through her day, and the one cop who might actually be interested in ceramics.
    “Or interested in your ass,” Lucas said.
    “I can tell the difference. You can tell the way a person’s face lights up when he sees a pot being thrown,” she said. “He really thought it was neat. He was amazed.”
    “Well . . . maybe he’ll get into it.”
    “You’re not the potter type,” she said.
    “No, but I like the potter types.”
    “You certainly demonstrated--”
    “That’s not what I meant,” he said with a