Secret Prey

Then, probably, we’ll lose most of them. But we’ll have a chance of getting her for killing her husband, if we can make it part of the pattern. Because she’s admitted it. The jury might let her go on the other ones, for lack of specific evidence, but we might get her on at least second degree, and maybe first, on her husband.’’
    ‘‘She was pretty beat up,’’ Lucas said. ‘‘They took pictures.’’
    ‘‘We can handle that, if we can make the other things clear enough. If we get her on just second degree on her husband, and then whisper sweet nothings to the judge, he could blow off the guidelines, depart upward on the sentence, and put her away for twenty.’’
    They all looked at each other; then Kirk said, ‘‘Right now, Lucas, I’d say it’s sixty-forty against. It’d be nice if you could come up with something a little stronger. Give us another twenty percent, or so.’’
    ‘‘It’d be nice,’’ Towson said.
    ‘‘I’ll hit her tonight with a search warrant on the duct tape, maybe look for a glass cutter,’’ Lucas said.
    ‘‘Talk to us,’’ Towson said. ‘‘We want to know every move from here on out.’’

TWENTY-NINE

    AUDREY MCDONALD WAS PACKING WILSON’S SUITS into cardboard boxes, after carefully noting labels, estimated cost—which she’d have to confirm with the tailor— and condition, all toward a tax deduction. The accountant had recommended a donation to Goodwill.
    She didn’t like the idea of Goodwill, but she did like the idea of the tax deduction. Still, she was muttering to herself as she did it. Shaking her head. Wilson had spent a fortune on clothing, and now she’d get only a fraction of it back. Nothing for the underwear. Perfectly good boxer shorts, and some bum was going to get them.
    ‘‘So reckless,’’ she muttered. ‘‘Just didn’t care. Just didn’t care what you spent on this. Look at this. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen pairs of undershorts. Why would you need all those undershorts? You could have gotten by with three pairs, or five pairs. Sixteen pairs of undershorts. Look at this. This is silk. Silk undershorts?’’
    She was counting them again when the headlights swung into the driveway, glowing through the bedroom drapes. Helen? She hadn’t called. She always called before she came. But who else? She went to the window and looked down.
    • • •
    LUCAS AND SHERRILL WAITED AS SLOAN PULLED INTO the driveway with Del in the passenger seat; a squad car followed a few seconds behind Sloan, with two uniformed cops. Lights shone from several windows in the house, both upstairs and down, and Lucas handed the warrant papers to one of the uniformed cops, who walked up the stoop, rang the doorbell, and knocked.
    ‘‘All glass cutters, all packages of tape, all one-gallon glass jugs, all guns, cartridges and/or cartridge parts, to include gunpowder, primers, brass, and bullets, all credit card records or billing statements involving gasoline purchases,’’ he read, in the light coming through the window in the door. There was no answer, so he rang again, then opened the storm door and pounded. Still no answer.
    ‘‘What do you want to do?’’ he asked.
    ‘‘We’re going in,’’ Lucas said. ‘‘Let’s not break anything yet. Let’s check the garage doors.’’
    The front door rattled and the cop at the door stepped back. A moment later, Audrey McDonald stuck her head out. ‘‘What?’’ she croaked. She looked worse than she’d looked in court: the bruises on her face were a sickly bluish yellow, with small reddish splotches. She still wore the bandages on her head, and her visible hair looked like broom straw.
    ‘‘I’m sorry, ma’am,’’ the cop said. ‘‘We have a search warrant for your house, for certain items.’’
    He handed her the papers, and she took them, peered at them querulously. ‘‘A search warrant? Can you wait until I call my lawyer?’’
    ‘‘No ma’am. You’re welcome to call your attorney, of course, but the warrant is served and we’ll have to come in.’’
    Her eyes drifted past the cop to Lucas, who’d begun to feel sorry for the woman: but when her eyes landed on him, they hardened into small black diamonds, like a cobra’s, and he leaned back, though he was ten feet from her. ‘‘Okay,’’ she muttered, breaking her eyes away. ‘‘But do I have to do anything? I feel awfully bad.’’
    ‘‘You just go sit down, and we’ll do all of it,’’ the cop