Secret Prey

innocence.’’
    He was breaking Robles’s balls. Bone and O’Dell had the two dirty rifles, while McDonald and Robles were clean. Usually, Bone wouldn’t have bothered: Robles wasn’t much sport. But Bone was in a mood. Davenport and the others were dropping the last few yards down the trail to the clearing around the house, and Bone muttered to the others, ‘‘Bad dog.’’
    LUCAS LED THE PARADE UP THE PORCH STEPS, WITH Krause and Sloan just behind, and the four bankers all stood up to meet them. Lucas recognized Bone and nodded: ‘‘Mr. Bone,’’ he said. ‘‘Did Sally get the Spanish credit?’’
    Bone’s forehead wrinkled for a second; then he remembered and nodded, smiling: ‘‘Sure did. She graduated in June . . . Are you running things here?’’
    ‘‘No, I was just about to leave, in fact. Sheriff Krause runs things up here. We’ll be cooperating down in Minneapolis, if he needs the backup.’’
    ‘‘So why did you come up?’’ O’Dell asked. She put a little wood-rasp in her voice, a little annoyance, so he’d understand her status here.
    Lucas grinned at her, mild-voiced and friendly: ‘‘Mr. Kresge carried a lot of clout in Minneapolis, so it’s possible the motive for the shooting will be found there. Quite possibly with the bank, from what I hear about this merger. Detective Sloan’’—Lucas looked at Sloan, who raised a hand in greeting—‘‘has been assigned to help Sheriff Krause with his interviews, so we can get you folks on your way home.’’
    ‘‘Are you s-s-sure it wasn’t an accident?’’ Robles stuttered.
    Lucas shook his head and Krause said, ‘‘He was murdered.’’
    ‘‘So that’s it,’’ O’Dell said, and the bankers all looked at each other for a moment, and then Bone broke the silence: ‘‘Damn it. That’ll tangle things up.’’
    McDonald, ignoring Krause, asked Lucas, ‘‘Do you think . . . one of us . . . ?’’
    Lucas looked at Krause. ‘‘We have no reason to think so, in particular. Since we know you were here, we’ve got to talk to you,’’ Krause said. ‘‘But we’ve got no suspects.’’
    SLOAN SUGGESTED THAT HE WOULD PREFER TO TALK to the four of them individually, inside, while the others waited on the porch. ‘‘Nice day, anyway,’’ he said, pleasantly. ‘‘And it shouldn’t take long.’’
    ‘‘Let me go first,’’ McDonald grunted, pushing up from his chair. ‘‘I want to get back and start talking to the PR people. We’ll need a press release ASAP. God, what a disaster.’’
    ‘‘Fine,’’ Sloan said. He turned to Lucas: ‘‘You gonna take off?’’
    ‘‘Yeah. The sheriff’ll send you back with a deputy.’’
    ‘‘See you later then,’’ Sloan said. ‘‘Mr. McDonald?’’
    McDonald followed Sloan and Krause into the cabin. When they’d gone, Bone said to Lucas, ‘‘I’d feel better about this if you were running things.’’
    ‘‘Krause is a pretty sharp cookie, I think,’’ Lucas said. ‘‘He’ll take care of it.’’
    ‘‘Still, it’s not something where you want a mistake made,’’ Bone said. ‘‘A murder, I mean—when you’re a suspect, but you’re innocent.’’
    ‘‘I appreciate that,’’ Lucas said. He glanced at the other two, then took a card case from his jacket pocket, extracted four business cards and passed them around. ‘‘If any of you need any information about the course of the investigation, or need any help at all, call me directly, any time, night or day. There’s a home phone listed as well as my office phone. Ms. O’Dell, if you could give one to Mr. McDonald.’’
    ‘‘Very nice of you,’’ O’Dell said, looking at the cards. ‘‘We just want to get this over with.’’
    ‘‘You shot one of the deer, didn’t you?’’ Lucas asked her. The two gutted deer were hanging head down from the cabin’s deer pole in the side yard.
    ‘‘The bigger of the two,’’ she said.
    ‘‘I like mine tender,’’ Bone said dryly. ‘‘Always go for a doe.’’
    ‘‘Good shot,’’ Lucas said to O’Dell. ‘‘Broke his shoulder, wiped out his heart; I bet he didn’t go ten feet from where you shot him.’’
    She didn’t feel any insinuation; he was just being polite. ‘‘Do you hunt?’’ she asked.
    He smiled and nodded: ‘‘Quite a bit.’’
    WHEN LUCAS HAD GONE, O’DELL SAID TO BONE, ‘‘That’s not a bad dog. That’s a pussycat.’’
    Bone took another cheroot out of his jacket pocket,