Easy Prey

building he was interested in was for sale at such a good price that we could have loaned him almost all of the money even if he hadn’t had a down payment. But he did have a down payment. Not much, but it was all of his savings, and guaranteed that he’d stay right on top of the business. And he had the minority status, of course. That swung it. After that, with a lot of hard work, he kept his record perfect, and we were always ready to help when he wanted to expand his horizons.”
    “So he got a great price on the original building,” Long said. “What are the chances that he delivered part of the original purchase price to the seller, under the table, to drive down the apparent price?”
    “I wouldn’t know about that,” Spooner said stiffly.
    “What are the chances that he uses dope-dealing money to make up shortfalls in tenant rents?” Lucas asked.
    “Dope? Richard Rodriguez? I don’t think so.”
    Lucas leaned into Spooner’s desk. “If we got a subpoena for your loan records and asked a state examiner to look them over, you think he’d say they met state loan standards?”
    “Absolutely. The minority status alone would bring applause from the state banking department.” Spooner leaned back and relaxed a hair, the way a fence relaxes when he realizes that a cop doesn’t really have anything on him.
    Lucas looked at Long and shrugged. Long dipped into his briefcase, found a paper, and handed it to Reed. “It’s a subpoena for your loan records.”
    Reed’s face turned a little redder. “I thought we were handling this on a friendly basis.”
    “We wanted to,” Lucas said. “But Bill here is bullshitting us, so we’re gonna have to see all the records.”
    “I’m not bullshitting you,” Spooner said.
    “You’re bullshitting us, Billy, yes, you are,” Lucas said. “And I’ll tell you what. This case is part of the Alie’e Maison murder investigation. If Rodriguez turns out to be involved, because of his drug dealing, and you’re helping him cover up . . . well, then, you’re involved. That’s called murder one on the TV shows. Murder one in Minnesota is a minimum of thirty years in a cell the size of your desk. You look like you might be young enough to do the whole thirty.”
    “Wait, wait, wait,” Spooner said. “I have absolutely nothing to do with any of this. I want a lawyer. Right now.”
    “Those are the magic words,” Long said to Lucas. “No more questions, and read him his rights.”
    When they were done with the reading of the rights, Reed agreed to print out the loan records and Long walked out to the parking lot with Lucas. “It’s the reading of the rights that scares the shit out of them,” he said.
    Lucas nodded. “The question is, will Spooner make a call?”
     
 
HE MADE THE call.
    Long went back into the bank and Lucas climbed in the passenger side of the city car. “He’s driving the Lexus in the corner,” Del said.
    Lucas looked down at a silver-toned car nosed in next to a power transformer. “So he’s spending some money.”
    “He’s a banker,” Del said. “He’s gotta have some kind of car to impress the neighbors.”
    Del took the car to the end of the block and found a spot where they could see Spooner’s car. Del’s phone rang twenty minutes later, and Long came on. “I’m not going to make lunch. I’ve got a thing I’ve got to do with a subpoena,” he said.
    “He’s moving?”
    “Absolutely, sweetheart,” Long said.
    Del said, “He’s moving,” and a minute later they spotted Spooner pushing through the front door, carrying his briefcase, pulling on a thigh-length black trench coat. He went to the Lexus, tossed the briefcase across the front seat onto the passenger side, and rolled out of the lot. They followed, a block behind, a half-dozen cars between them, past the capitol, down the hill toward downtown St. Paul, where Del closed up and Lucas eased down in the seat.
    Halfway through downtown, Spooner took the Lexus into a parking ramp. Del pulled to the side, shoved the gearshift into park, said, “I’ll catch him at the Skyway exit. Turn on your phone,” and jumped out. When Spooner was out of sight, up the ramp, Lucas walked around the car and went looking for a parking meter.
    Del called ten minutes later. “Got him. He’s at an attorney’s office.”
    “Goddamnit.”
    “So what do we do?”
    “I’ll call you back in two minutes,” Lucas said. He punched the Off button, redialed Lane’s cell