Easy Prey

Either one. That street person . . . is he in jail, or are you bringing him here, or what?”
    Lucas felt awkward looking down at her; he took a step away and settled into a leather easy chair, steepling his fingers in front of his face. “The street person’s name is Del Capslock,” he said. “He’s an undercover police officer. One of our best undercover people.”
    “Uh-oh,” she said, looking from Lucas to Swanson. “This could cause you problems.” Then she frowned. “What was he doing at my party, anyway?”
    “That’s the other thing,” Lucas said. “Del was . . . researching drugs. Miz Maison showed signs of heroin use. She had needle marks on her arm.”
    “No.” Hanson registered shock—something she was good at, Lucas thought. One hand went artfully to her face. “She was using drugs ?”
    A cop stepped into the room, said, “TV’s here. They all got here in a bunch.”
    Lucas nodded, said, “Okay, keep them back.” Then, to Hanson: “Miz Hanson, everybody at your party was using drugs.”
    “I wasn’t,” she said. Her face darkened. “I think that’s an outrageous thing to say.”
    “Miz Hanson, the officer in question is a drug specialist,” Lucas said. “He said an ocean of drugs was flowing through your apartment. He knows what he’s talking about. The thing is, there’s no way that there could be that much junk around without your knowing about it.”
    “That’s bullshit,” she said. Now she was getting angry, and a little fearful. “I don’t know anything about it. Maybe my attorney should hear this.”
    Lucas didn’t want to mention the e-mail until they’d taken the computer with a warrant. He put his hands up, palms out. “So you call your attorney and talk it over. The point is, it won’t help our investigation if any of this is alluded to. If you allow yourself to be interviewed by the press or television, and you talk about our man being at your party . . . we’re going to have to explain why he was there.”
    “You’re blackmailing me,” she said.
    She was quick enough, Lucas thought. “No, no. You can say anything you want to anybody. Your attorney will tell you that. The First Amendment gives you that right, and all Minneapolis police officers support that right.” He flicked his eyes sideways at Swanson. “Don’t we?”
    “Absolutely,” Swanson said piously. “That’s why I served in the Marine Corps.”
    Lucas continued. “I’m suggesting that you . . . understand the consequences before you take a self-destructive position. If you understand what I mean.”
    “You want me to shut up,” she said.
    “About our man. He’s an undercover officer. If his face were made public, he would lose his effectiveness and might even be endangered.”
    “What if he did it?” Hanson asked. “Cops do that sort of thing from time to time. I’ve read about it. Rogue cops.”
    “This guy doesn’t,” Lucas said. “Besides, we’re detailing a special squad out of Internal Affairs to pull him apart, everything he did last night. When we’re done, we’ll know every step he took.”
    “Well . . . I think I could leave him out of my statement,” she said. “To the press.”
    “Excellent,” Lucas said. “One more question. This will be covered when you make your formal statement, but I’m just curious. Alie’e Maison is pretty famous. Probably the most famous person at your party?”
    Hanson rolled her eyes up and waggled her head from side to side, as if balancing all the equities of fame, or celebrity, and finally decided, “Probably. In that world. We also had some very well-known financial people here, but that’s another world.”
    “If she was so famous, how could she disappear into a bedroom and nobody was curious about her, what had happened to her?” Lucas asked.
    “Well, I mentioned this to Officer Swanson . . . she seemed very sleepy, and just wanted to take a nap. So we accommodated her and shooed people away if they asked about her. She was on a very rigorous schedule, early-morning photo shoots and all. She was exhausted.”
    “So nobody went back and looked at her.”
    “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe some of her friends did.” Hanson’s eyes slid away from Lucas; she might not be lying, he thought, but she was skating. “Probably some of her friends did. We were just keeping the sightseers away.”
    “Let me tell you something,” Lucas said, “I can’t read you well enough to know if you’re lying to us, but if