Easy Prey

with Plain, and bang! A pistol. But he was only close with Plain because he had to be. He was inside a building. A fuckin’ rifle, man—if we’d found a shell from a .30-06, I would have had a two-block-wide net around Spooner. But a .44? I assumed it was a pistol.”
    “So’d we all,” Del said. “I wonder why that chick in the Matrix building--”
    “Yeah, the Oriental chick.”
    “--why she didn’t see the rifle. If that was him?”
    “It’s a small gun, man. You could put it down your pants leg, if you wanted to walk with a limp.”
    Del thought it over, looking out the window at the dark. Then: “How’d he get Spooner to come outside?”
    “Huh. I didn’t ask that,” Lucas said. “The surveillance guys said he came out and looked at his chimney. You got your phone?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Call St. Paul. See if Spooner took a call.”
    St. Paul was already working it. Spooner took a call, the St. Paul cops said, supposedly from a neighbor down the block, who said Spooner might have a chimney fire. Spooner had run outside to look, his wife said. St. Paul was in the process of tracking the calling number.
    “That could be interesting,” Lucas said.
    “Got a buck that says it’s from a pay phone,” Del said.
     
 
OLSON BEAT THEM to the motel by ten minutes. Lucas and Del checked in with the surveillance cops, then headed up to Olson’s room. “I want you down the hallway, out of sight,” Lucas said. “I’m going in hard. If I need you to interrupt, I’ll call you on the cell phone and I’ll ask for an update, as though I were calling downtown. Give me a minute, then come knock on the door.”
    “How do I come in?”
    “Soft. He might need somebody to give him a little sympathy.”
     
 
DEL STAYED OUT of sight. Lucas knocked on the door, heard a man’s voice call, “Just a minute,” and a minute later, Olson came to the door, buckling his belt. He looked out past the privacy chain, frowned, and said, “Chief Davenport?”
    “We got to talk,” Lucas said.
    “Sure.” Olson slipped the chain out, and Lucas banged in hard, put a hand on Olson’s chest before he had a chance to react, and shoved him back against the bed. Olson fell back on it, and Lucas kicked the door shut and screamed, “How the fuck did you do it? Who are you working with?”
    Olson, eyes wide, tried to sit up, but Lucas crowded against his legs, slipped his .45 out of its holster, and held it by his side. “What . . . what’re . . .”
    “Don’t give me that shit,” Lucas said. “You set him up, you know you set him up. You got your own parents killed, and I don’t want to hear any bullshit.”
    “What . . . what . . .”
    Lucas took a breath. “I told one guy about Bill Spooner. One guy. You. So tonight Bill Spooner is shot to death on his own lawn, in front of his wife’s eyes. Cold-blooded murder. Shot with a rifle.”
    “I don’t, I . . . Oh, no. No, no,” Olson stuttered. “I told, I told, I told, oh no. I told four people. I told four people, my God, I told four people.”
    “Who?”
    But the question died with a knock on the door. Del should have stopped any visitors. Lucas stepped back, opened the door, looked. Del was standing in the corridor. “Something came up,” he said. He looked past Lucas at Olson, who was now sitting up on the bed. Lucas stepped back, and Del asked, “You already tell him about Spooner?”
    “Yes.”
    Del looked at Olson. “Spooner was lured out on his front lawn by somebody who told him he had a chimney fire. The St. Paul police traced the phone call. It came from a cell phone registered to your mother.”
    “What?”
    “To your mother,” Del repeated.
    Olson looked from Lucas to Del. “My God, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know she had her own phone.”
    “You didn’t have anything to do with it,” Lucas said skeptically.
    “I told four people,” Olson said. “At dinner Friday night. I told the Bentons and the Packards.”
    “Where are they now?”
    “They went back home for the weekend,” Olson said.
    “How far is Burnt River?” Lucas asked.
    “Five hours. By car.”
    “Do you have their phone numbers?” Lucas asked.
    “Yes. Of course.”
    “I want you to call them,” Lucas said. “If somebody answers, like Mrs. Benton, I want you to ask for her husband. If Mr. Benton answers, I want you to come up with a reason to talk with his wife. Just thank them for helping you out.”
    “I’d feel like I’d be betraying them,”