Rules of Prey

arrived. Lester was sitting in a corner, reading a file.
    “What’s happened?”
    “We don’t know,” Daniel said. “But the minute I walked in the door, the phone rang. It was the public defender. Smithe wants to talk to you. ”
    “Great. Did you say anything about the call last night?”
    “Not a thing. But if he’s ready to alibi, maybe we can find a way to dump the whole thing on McCarthy . . . something along the lines of Smithe decided to cooperate and with his cooperation we were able to eliminate him as a suspect. We could come out smelling like a rose.”
    “If we can eliminate him,” Anderson said.
    “What about this cop?” Lucas asked “The one Carla picked out?”
    “I came down last night after the chief called,” Anderson said. “I pulled the rosters. He was on duty when Ruiz was attacked, with a partner, up in the northwest. I talked to his partner and he confirms they were up there. They took a half-dozen calls around the time of the attack. We went back and checked the tapes, and he’s on them.”
    “So he’s clear,” said Lucas.
    “Thank Christ for small favors,” Daniel said. “You better haul ass over to the detention center and talk to Smithe. They’re waiting for you.”
     
    McCarthy and Smithe waited in a small interrogation room. The decor was simple, being designed to repel bodily fluids. McCarthy was smoking and Smithe sat nervously on a padded waiting-room chair, rubbing his hands, staring at his feet.
    “I don’t like this and I’m writing a memorandum to the effect,” McCarthy spat as Lucas walked in.
    “Yeah, yeah.” He looked at Smithe. “Could I ask you to stand up for a minute?”
    “Wait a minute. We wanted to talk—” McCarthy started, but Smithe waved him down and stood up.
    “I hate this place,” he said. “This place is worse than I could have imagined.”
    “Actually, it’s a pretty good jail,” Lucas said mildly.
    “That’s what they tell me,” Smithe said despondently.
    “Why am I standing up?”
    “Flex your pecs and stomach for me.”
    “What?”
    “Flex your pecs and stomach. And brace yourself.”
    Smithe looked puzzled, but dropped his shoulders and flexed. Lucas reached out with his fingers spread and pushed hard on Smithe’s chest, then dropped his hand and pushed on his stomach. The underlying muscles felt like boards.
    “You work out?”
    “Yeah, quite a bit.”
    “What’s this about?” McCarthy asked.
    “The woman who survived. The killer grabbed her from behind, wrapped her up. She said he felt kind of thick and soft.”
    “That’s not me,” Smithe said, suddenly more confident. “Here, you turn around.”
    Lucas turned and Smithe stepped behind him and wrapped him up. “Get loose,” Smithe said.
    Lucas started to struggle and twist. He had enough weight to move Smithe around the floor in a tight, controlled dance, but the encircling arms felt almost machinelike. Try as he might, he couldn’t break loose.
    “Okay,” Lucas said, breathing hard.
    Smithe released him. “If I had her, she wouldn’t get loose,” Smithe said confidently. “Does that prove anything?”
    “To me it does,” Lucas said. “It wouldn’t convince a lot of other people.”
    “I saw that thing on television, about you believing me,” Smithe said. “And I can’t handle this jail. I decided to take a chance on you. I have an alibi. In fact, I’ve got two of them.”
    “We could do all of this at the preliminary,” McCarthy said.
    “That’s four days away,” Smithe said sharply. He turned to Lucas. “If my alibis are good, how soon do I get out?”
    Lucas shrugged. “If they’re good and we can check them, we could have you out of here this afternoon.”
    “All right,” Smithe said suddenly. “Mr. McCarthybrought my calendar in. On the day Lewis was attacked, that afternoon, I was doing in-service training. Started at nine o’clock in the morning and went straight through to five. There were ten people in the class. We all ate lunch together. That wasn’t long ago, so they’ll remember.
    “And on the day Shirley Morris was killed, the housewife? I got on a plane for New York at seven o’clock that morning. I have the plane tickets and a friend took me out to the airport, saw me get on the plane. I’ve got hotel bills from New York, they have the check-in time on them. Morris was killed in the afternoon, and I checked in during the afternoon. I bet they’ll remember me, too, because when I went up to my