Invisible Prey

we insisted that she get representation, so there’d be no problem. Glad she got a pro.” Lucas wiggled his eyebrows at Smith.
    “You’re taking her to her house?” Wyzinsky asked.
    “Yup.”
    “She says you might arrest her. For what?”
    “Murder, kidnapping, conspiracy to murder, attempted murder, arson, theft, possession and sale of stolen goods,” Lucas said.
    “Cruelty to animals,” Smith added.
    “And cruelty to animals,” Lucas said. “We believe she took part in the killing of a dog named Screw, after which Screw’s body was thrown out on the streets of St. Paul. Make that, cruelty to animals and littering.”
    “Anything else?”
    “Probably a few federal charges,” Lucas said. “We believe she may have been involved in murders in Chippewa Falls and Des Moines, as well as here in St. Paul, so that would be interstate flight, transportation of stolen goods, some firearms charges, et cetera.”
    “Huh. Sounds like you don’t have much of a case, all that bullshit and no arrest,” Wyzinsky said.
    “We’re nailing down the finer points,” Lucas said.
    “Yeah, I got a nail for you right here,” Wyzinsky said. “How’s Weather?”
    “She’s fine.”
    “You guys going to Midsummer Ball?”
    “If Weather makes me,” Lucas said. “I do look great in a tux.”
    “So do I,” Wyzinsky said. “We ought to stand next to each other, and radiate on the women.”
    “I could do that,” Lucas said.
    “So—let me talk to her again,” Wyzinsky said. “Is it Widdler? And, Lucas—don’t ask her any more questions, okay?”
     
    W IDDLER TOOK the phone, listened, said, “See you there, then.” She rang off and said to Lucas, “You two seemed pretty friendly.”
    “We’ve known each other for a while,” Lucas said. “He’s a good attorney.”
    “He won’t let friendship stand in the way of defending me?”
    “He’d tear my ass off if he thought it’d help his case,” Lucas said. “Joe doesn’t believe people should go to jail.”
    “Especially when they’re innocent,” she said. “By the way, he told me not to answer any more questions.”
     
    F OUR COPS were working through Widdler’s house. Lucas suggested that she pack a suitcase, under the supervision of one of the crime-scene people, and move to a motel.
    “We’re not going to leave you alone in here, until we’re finished. We can’t take the chance that you might destroy something, or try to.”
    “Can I use the bathroom?” she asked.
    “If they’re done with a bathroom,” Lucas said. “And Mrs. Widdler: don’t try to leave the area. We’re right on the edge of arresting you. If you go outside the 494–694 loop, we probably will.”
     
    W YZINSKY SHOWED UP while Widdler was packing. He was short, stocky, and balding, with olive skin, black eyes, and big hands, and women liked him a lot. He was bullshitting a cop at the front driveway when Lucas saw him. Lucas stepped on the porch, whistled, and waved Wyzinsky in. The lawyer came up, grinning, rubbed his hands together. “This is gonna be good. Where is she?”
    “Upstairs packing,” Lucas said. He led the way into the house. “Try not to destroy any evidence.”
    “I’ll be careful.”
    Smith came over: “We thought she’d be happier if she moved out while we tear the place apart.”
    Wyzinsky nodded: “You finished with any of the rooms yet? Something private?”
    “The den.” Lucas pointed. Two big chairs and a wide-screen TV, with French doors.
    “I’ll take her in there,” Wyzinsky said. To Smith, he said, “Jesus, John, you ought to eat the occasional pizza. What do you weigh, one-twenty?”
    “Glad to know you care,” Smith said.
    “Of course I care, you’re nearly human,” the lawyer said. He looked around, doing an appraisal on the house; its value, not the architecture. He made no effort to hide his glee. “Man, this is gonna be good. A dog named Screw? Can you say, ‘Hello, Fox News,’ ‘Hello, Court TV’? Who’s that blond chick on CNN who does the court stuff? The one with the glitter lipstick? Hello, blondie.”
    “In your dreams,” Smith said, but he was laughing, and he went to get Widdler.
     
    W YZINSKY AND W IDDLER were talking in the den when a cop came out of the home office: “You guys should come and look at this,” he said.
    Smith: “What?”
    “Looks like we have a suicide note. Or two. Or three.”
    Eventually, they decided that there were either three or four suicide notes, depending on