Secret Prey

about.’’
    ‘‘What about the kid thing?’’
    Bone shrugged. ‘‘I always thought, maybe, you know, with the right woman . . .’’
    THE PHONE RANG, AND BONE STOOD UP. ‘‘I GOTTA go,’’ he said, but Lucas held up a finger: ‘‘Hang on a second.’’ He answered the phone, ‘‘Hello?’’
    ‘‘Lucas, this is Del.’’ Del was on a cell phone; his voice sounded like he was shouting through a hollow log, with a roar in the background.
    ‘‘Yeah. What’s going on?’’
    ‘‘Aw, I’m calling from the plane . . .’’
    Engine roar. ‘‘That’s right,’’ Lucas said. ‘‘Cancu´n. I forgot.Have a good time.’’
    If anybody comes asking for me, tell ’em ten days, would you?’’ Del shouted.
    ‘‘Sure.’’
    ‘‘Nobody’s come asking yet?’’
    ‘‘Not to me,’’ Lucas said. ‘‘Should they?’’
    ‘‘Can’t hear you too good. See you in ten days,’’ Del shouted. And hung up.
    LUCAS LOOKED AT THE PHONE, PUZZLED, THEN HUNG up and said to Bone, ‘‘We play a little ball at the Y on Wednesday nights, bunch a cops, a few lawyers. Sort of a cross between basketball and hockey—you know, no harm, no foul. If Kerin’ll let you, you’re invited.’’
    ‘‘Yeah, that’d be nice,’’ Bone said. ‘‘Maybe Isley’ll be around in a year or so.’’ They shook hands, and Bone said, ‘‘See you.’’
    • • •
    HE WENT OUT THE DOOR, BUT TEN SECONDS LATER was back: ‘‘Uh, there’s some people here to see you,’’ he said.
    ‘‘What?’’
    ‘‘Some . . . people,’’ Bone said.
    Lucas, frowning, stepped out in the hallway. He wasn’t sure until later of the exact number, which was twenty-four, but he knew at a glance that there were a lot of them.
    Old ladies.
    Gathered like a flock of curly-haired, white-fleeced sheep, each clutching a purse and what seemed to be a brand-new gym bag. One of them, a sweet-looking grandmotherly woman with a trembling chin, said, ‘‘We’ve come to turn ourselves in.’’
    ‘‘In?’’ Lucas asked. And Bone said, ‘‘Gotta go.’’ And left.
    ‘‘We’re the opium junkies,’’ the grandmother said, and the other women nodded. ‘‘Del said our best chance for leniency was to come down and surrender to you.’’
    ‘‘Sonofabitch,’’ Lucas said. He looked in at his phone as the grandmother recoiled; Del was probably halfway to Mexico.
    ‘‘I beg your pardon?’’ she said, clutching the gym bag more tightly.
    ‘‘Nothing. Stay right here,’’ Lucas said. ‘‘Don’t move. I’ll be right back.’’
    He trotted down to the chief’s office. ‘‘No, Rose Marie’s gone,’’ the secretary said. She seemed to be biting the insides of her cheeks.
    ‘‘Where?’’
    The secretary had to struggle a bit to get it out: ‘‘Cancu-´n.’’
    Lucas looked at her, a hard look, and she put her hands to her face. He turned on his heel and headed down toward Violent Crimes. He imagined he heard explosive laughter coming from the chief’s office just before the door closed behind him.
    In Violent Crimes, Loring was sitting on an office chair, peeling a green apple with a penknife. ‘‘Seen Frank?’’ Frank Lester was the other deputy chief.
    ‘‘Nope.’’
    ‘‘How about Sherrill?’’
    ‘‘Nope. They left. Together.’’
    ‘‘Together?’’
    ‘‘Yeah. They said they were going to Cancu ´n.’’
    ‘‘You sonofabitch,’’ Lucas said hotly.
    ‘‘What?’’ Loring asked, surprised. ‘‘What?’’
    ‘‘You know what.’’
    ‘‘No, I don’t know what.’’ He really seemed confused. On the other hand, he lied well. ‘‘What?’’
    THE HEADS OF INTELLIGENCE AND NARCOTICS WERE gone. Nobody knew when they’d be back. Sloan and Black were missing, Franklin was gone.
    On one of his trips past the old ladies, the grandmother said bravely, ‘‘We brought our things.’’
    ‘‘Your things?’’
    They held up their gym bags. ‘‘Toothpaste and pajamas and so on. For the slammer.’’
    ‘‘Aw, Jesus Christ,’’ Lucas said.
    He finally went back to Loring, got him out in the hall, explained the situation. ‘‘. . . surrendering, and I want you to help with the processing . . .’’
    Loring was backing away. ‘‘Fuck that,’’ he said. ‘‘They’re yours.’’
    ‘‘They’re not mine,’’ Lucas shouted. But Loring was running toward the exit. ‘‘Goddamnit, get your ass back here. Get back here . . .’’
    Loring was the last of