Rules of Prey

they think you know who they are.”
    “Okay. One meeting? Or two? One for the papers and one for the TV?”
    “One, I think. The TV people like to be in the same discussions with the newspaper guys. Makes them feel like journalists.”
    “What about radio?” Daniel asked.
    “Fuck radio.”
     
    Anderson propped himself in Lucas’ office doorway.
    “Something?”
    “He may drive a dark-colored Thunderbird, new, probably midnight blue,” he said with just the mildest air of satisfaction.
    “Where’d that come from?” Lucas asked.
    “Okay. The medical examiner figured she was killed sometime Wednesday night or Thursday morning. We know she was alive at seven o’clock because she talked on thetelephone with a friend. Then a guy who lives across the street works on the night shift, he got home at eleven-twenty and noticed that her light was still on. He noticed because she usually went to bed early.”
    “How’s he know that?”
    “I’m getting to it. This guy works a rotating shift out at 3-M. When he was working the day shift, seven to three, he used to see her going down the sidewalk when he left for work. One time he asked her why she got up so early, and she said she always did, it was the best time of day. She couldn’t work at night. So he noticed the light. Thought maybe she had a big test.”
    “And . . .”
    “So we think she was dead then. Or dying. Then, about ten o’clock—we’re not exact on this time, but within fifteen minutes either way—this kid was walking up toward his apartment and he noticed this guy walking down the sidewalk on the other side of the street. Going the same way. Middle height. Dark coat. Hat. This is the street that runs alongside Wheatcroft’s house. Anyway, they walk along for a couple of blocks, the kid not paying attention. But you know how you keep track of people when you’re out at night on foot?”
    “Yeah.”
    “It was like that. They walk for a couple of blocks and the guy stops beside this car, this Thunderbird. The kid noticed it because he likes the car. So the guy unlocks it, climbs in, and drives away. When the kid hears about Wheatcroft, he thinks back and it occurs to him that this guy was kind of odd. There were a million parking places on the street around there, and it was cold, so why park at least two or three blocks from wherever you’re coming from?”
    “Smart kid.”
    “Yeah.”
    “So did you look at him?” Lucas asked.
    “Yeah. He’s okay. Engineering student at the U. He’s got a full-time live-in. The guy across the street looks okay too.”
    “Hmph.” Lucas rubbed his lip.
    Anderson shrugged. “It’s not a major clue, but it’ssomething. We’re checking insurance records on Thunderbirds, going back three years, against people who transferred policies up here from somewhere else. Like Texas.”
    “Luck.”
     
    The meeting was held the next day at midmorning in a Star-Tribune conference room. Everybody wore a suit. Even the women. Most of them had leather folders with yellow legal pads inside. They called the mayor and Daniel by their first names. They called Lucas “lieutenant.”
    “You’re asking us to censor ourselves,” said the head of the Star-Tribune editorial board.
    “No, we actually aren’t, and we wouldn’t, because we know you wouldn’t do it,” Daniel said with a treacly smile. “We’re just trying to share some concerns with you, point out the possibility of general panic. This man, this killer, is insane. We’re doing everything we can to identify and arrest him, and I don’t want to minimize the . . . the horribleness—is that a word?—of these crimes. But I would like to point out that he has now killed exactly five people out of a population of almost three million in the metropolitan area. In other words, your chances of dying in a fire, being murdered by a member of your own family, being hit by a car, to say nothing of your chances of dying from a sudden heart attack, are much more significant than your chances of encountering this killer. The point being, news coverage that produces panic is irresponsible and even counterproductive—”
    “Counterproductive to what? You keeping your job?” asked a Star-Tribune editorialist.
    “I resent that,” snapped Daniel.
    “I don’t think it was entirely appropriate,” the paper’s publisher commented mildly.
    “He doesn’t have to worry about it anyway,” said the Minneapolis mayor, who was sitting at the foot of the