Eyes of Prey

still had the taped description of the cutting of the oldwoman’s eyes. And he’d cut the eyes of the boy and the girl from Pediatric Oncology, although he’d had to take a good deal more risk with those. The girl he’d gotten to just before they moved her body out of the hospital. For the boy, he’d had to go to the funeral home and wait his chance.
    That had been a bad two days, waiting, the boy out there . . . .
    But in the end he’d cut them all.
    He hadn’t been able to cut George.
    And George was here now, coming for him.
    Deep in his closet, naked, his arms wrapped around his knees, his eyes wide and staring into the beyond, Bekker began to scream.

CHAPTER
15
    “You’re sure?” Lucas asked Swanson. “It’s Loverboy?”
    Swanson scratched his belly and nodded. “It’s gotta be. I went over to Bekker’s as soon as I heard. Shook him out of bed. This was about three hours ago, six A.M., and he looked terrible, and I said, ‘For the lover, how about Philip George from the law school?’ He went like this”—Swanson mimed Bekker’s perplexed look—“and he said, quote, If you told me so, I wouldn’t be . . . shocked, I guess. I mean, we knew him. Why? Is it him? Unquote. Then I told him about George. He seemed kind of freaked out.”
    “You got the time George disappeared? It’s nailed down? Exactly?”
    “Yeah. Within five minutes, I’d bet,” Swanson said, nodding. He was unshaven, holding an empty Styrofoam coffee cup, his eyes glassy from fatigue and caffeine. He’d been rousted out of bed at five o’clock, after four hours’ sleep. “There was a guy with him, a student, when George started changing the tire. The student was supposed to get right home to his wife, she’s pregnant, due anytime, so he was anxious. Anyway, he’s got a clock on the dashboard of his car. He saidhe looked at it going out of the lot, and remembers it was ten-fourteen. He remembers that close . . . .”
    “What about this shrink Shearson’s been looking at?”
    Swanson shrugged. “I always thought that was bullshit, but Daniel wanted him covered.”
    “Sonofabitch,” Lucas said in a black fury. Del was leaning in the doorway, listening, and Lucas bolted past him, out of his office, took a turn down the hallway, then almost trotted back, his face white. “The cocksucker was using me as an alibi. You know that? I’m Bekker’s fuckin’ alibi . . . .”
    “If George is dead,” Swanson said. “That’s a pretty big if. And if Bekker had something to do with it . . .”
    Lucas poked Swanson in the gut with his index finger. “George is dead. And Bekker did it. Believe it.” Lucas turned to Del. “Remember when you said the San Francisco alibi was a little too convenient?”
    “Yeah?”
    “Well, how about this? He invites an investigating cop over for a drink, to talk, he tries to fuckin’ seduce me, man, precisely when the main witness is being taken off. How’s that for a motherfucking coincidence?”
    Del shrugged. He didn’t say “I told you so,” but his shoulders did.
    Lucas turned back to Swanson, remembering his odd characterization of Bekker. Bekker had looked fine the night before: sleek, even. Beautiful. “You said he looked terrible? What do you mean?”
    “He looked fucked up,” Swanson said. “He looked like he was a hundred years old. He ain’t getting no sleep.”
    “ ’Cause he was working a fuckin’ murder. That’s why. ’Cause he had a murder going down last night,” Lucas said. “All right. We’re gonna take him down. One way or another”—this time he poked Del—“the motherfucker falls.”
    Sloan was coming down the hall, rolling an unlit cigarettearound between his lips, his hands deep in the pockets of his trench coat.
    “Bekker did it?” he asked.
    “Fuckin’ absolutely,” Lucas said grimly.
    “Huh,” Sloan said. He shifted the unlit cigarette. “You think he killed George before or after he drove his Jeep out to the airport?”
    Lucas looked at him blankly: “Say what?”
    “Airport cops listed the bulletin for his Jeep, found it in the long-term ramp. Long-term. Like he ain’t planning to come back.”
    Lucas shook his head. “Bullshit. If George is the one, he ain’t running. He’s dead.”
    “We don’t know that for sure,” Sloan said. “He coulda took off for Brazil. He could of cracked, decided to split.”
    “Who’s talking to his wife?” Lucas asked.
    “Neilson, but I’m going over later,” Sloan