Night Prey

it,” she snapped. “Davenport is right. The risk is too big.” Her eyes moved to her left, past Lucas, hardened. Lucas turned and saw Connell standing in the doorway.
    “Come on in, Meagan,” he said. “Do you have the picture?”
    “Yeah.” Connell dug in her purse, took out the folded paper, and handed it to Lucas. Lucas unfolded it, smoothed it, and passed it to Roux.
    “This is not bullshit; this could be our man. More or less. I’m not sure you should release it.”
    Roux looked at the picture for a moment, then at Connell, then at Lucas. “Where’d you get this?” she asked.
    “Meagan found a woman yesterday who remembers a guy at the St. Paul store who was there the same time Wannemaker was there. He’s not on our list of names and this fits some of the other descriptions we’ve had. A guy last night who definitely saw him says he has a beard.”
    “And drives a truck,” said Connell.
    “Everybody who drives a truck has a beard,” Lester said.
    “Not quite,” Lucas said. “This is actually . . . something. A taste of the guy.”
    “Why wouldn’t I release it?” Roux asked.
    “Because we’re not getting enough hard evidence. Nothing that can tie him directly to a killing—a hair or a fingerprint. If this isn’t a good picture of him, and we do finally track him down, and we’re scraping little bits and pieces together to make a case . . . a defense attorney will take this and stick it up our ass. You know: Here’s the guy they were looking for—until they decided to pin it on my client. ”
    “Is there anything working today? Anything that’d give us a break?”
    “Not unless it comes out of the autopsy on Lane. That’ll be a while yet.”
    “Um, Bob Greave got a call from TV3—a tip on a suspect,” Connell said. “It’s nothing.”
    “What do you mean, nothing? What is this, Lucas?” Roux asked.
    “Beats me. First I heard of it,” he said.
    “Get his ass down here,” Roux said.
     
     
     
    GREAVE CAME DOWN carrying a slip of yellow paper, leaned in the doorway.
    “Well?” Roux said.
    He looked at the paper. “A woman out in Edina says she knows who the killer is.”
    Lucas: “And the bad news is . . .”
    “She called TV3 first. They’re the ones who called us. They want to know if we’re going to make an arrest based on their information.”
    “You should have come and told us,” Roux said.
    “We’ve been sitting here beating our heads against the wall.”
    Greave held up a hand. “You have to understand, the woman doesn’t have any actual proof.”
    Roux said, “Keep talking.”
    “She remembers the killer coming back from each of the murders, washing the blood off the knife and his clothes, and then raping her. She repressed all this until yesterday, when the memories were liberated with the help of her therapist.”
    “Oh, no,” Lucas groaned.
    “It could be,” Shantz said, looking around.
    “Did I mention that the killer is her father?” Greave asked. “Sixty-six years old, the former owner of a drive-in theater? A guy with arteriosclerosis so bad that he can’t walk up a flight of stairs?”
    “We gotta check it,” Shantz said. “Especially with the TV all over it.”
    “It’s bullshit,” Lucas said.
    “We gotta check,” Roux said.
    “We’ll check,” Lucas said, “But we really need to catch this guy, and talking to old heart-attack victims isn’t gonna do it.”
    “This one time, Lucas, goddamnit,” Roux said, adamant. “I want you out there interviewing the guy, and I want you giving the statement to TV3.”
    “When the fuck did the TV start running our investigations?” Lucas asked.
    “Jesus, Lucas—we’re entertainment now. We’re cheap film footage. We sell deodorant and get votes. Or lose votes. It’s all a big loop; I’ve been told you were the first guy to realize that.”
    “Christ, it wasn’t like this,” Lucas said. “It was more like one hand washing the other. Now it’s . . .”
    “Entertainment for the unwashed.”
    As Lucas walked out the door, Roux called, “Lucas. Hey—don’t kill this old guy, huh? When you talk to him?”
     
     
     
    THEY TOOK A company car, all three of them, Greave sprawled in the back.
    “Let me do the TV interview,” he suggested to Lucas. “I did them all the time when I was Officer Friendly. I’m good at that shit. I got the right suits.”
    “ You were Officer Friendly?” Connell snorted, looking over the seat at him. Then, “You know, it