Secret Prey

down the street, just a minute or so before he was shot. But there weren’t any blacks, either before or after.’’
    ‘‘Huh. Is the tape still around?’’
    ‘‘Yeah, someplace. Since the case is still open . . .’’ ‘‘Did you ever look at the people around Arris? Friends and coworkers?’’
    ‘‘Oh, sure. Went over to that bank where he worked, came up empty. He’d been dating a few women, but hadn’t had anything serious in a couple of years. All he did was work: that’s what everybody said. Wasn’t interested in pussy, gambling, booze. Just interested in work.’’
    ‘‘Huh. And he was dead when they found him.’’
    ‘‘Yup. Never knew what hit him. Probably never saw it coming. Entry wound right below the bump on the back of his head, exit wound right between his eyes.’’
    ‘‘Exit wound? So how’d you know it was a .380—was there a shell?’’
    ‘‘Yeah, we found it in the grass next to the curb. There was a partial print, but really partial—not enough even to start looking for a match.’’
    ‘‘Slug fragments?’’
    ‘‘Yeah, one piece. Hollow point of some kind, nothing that would identify a pistol.’’
    ‘‘Not much of anything, then.’’
    ‘‘Nope. Listen, if you want, I’ll call Doug Skelly over in St. Paul and get him to run down that tape for you.’’
    ‘‘Thanks, Jelly. Wish you were still on the job.’’
    ‘‘Wish I was too, man. I hate this fuckin’ place.’’
    THE FILE ON ANDREW INGALL CONSISTED OF ONE sheet: His boat had been reported missing on Superior on a clear, fine day with good sailing winds. The Coast Guard, the Civil Air Patrol, and the local sheriff’s departments in adjacent Minnesota and Wisconsin counties had done a search. Nothing was ever found, not even a life jacket.
    An address and phone number were listed in the town of North Oaks. Lucas punched the number in, got an answering machine, a woman’s voice. He hung up, dialed Dispatch, had them check the cross-reference index for numbers on both sides of that address, dialed the first one.
    ‘‘Hello?’’ Another woman.
    ‘‘Yes, my name is Lucas Davenport and I’m with the Minneapolis Police Department. I’m trying to get in touch with Annette Ingall, but all I get at her home is an answering machine.’’
    ‘‘Oh my God, nothing happened to Toby?’’
    ‘‘No, no, I just need to talk to her about her husband. Do you know if she works? Where I could call her?’’
    ‘‘Well, she has a bridal wear boutique downtown . . .’’
    THE BRIDAL SHOP WAS A BRISK TEN-MINUTE WALK from City Hall, among a cluster of boutiques on Marquette Avenue. Annette Ingall was a tall woman with auburn hair and pale blue eyes; motherly, Lucas thought later, though she was probably five years younger than he was. She did a smiling double take when he walked into the store, and when a clerk came over and he asked for her, she said, ‘‘That would be me. Can I help you?’’
    He stepped closer and pitched his voice down: ‘‘I need to talk to you privately for a moment. I’m with the Minneapolis Police Department—nothing happened with your boy, it’s a completely different matter.’’
    Her hand went to her throat as the smile died on her face. ‘‘How do you know about my son?’’
    ‘‘Because I called one of your neighbors to find you, and she said, ‘Oh my God, nothing happened to Toby?’ ’’
    ‘‘Oh. Okay.’’ The smile flickered back. ‘‘Why don’t you come back to my office.’’
    Ingall led the way through a door into the back of the store, to a small office cubicle that stuck out into a stockstorage area. There were two chairs inside, and she sat behind her desk and crossed her legs.
    Lucas sat down and said, ‘‘I’m investigating the death of Daniel Kresge.’’
    ‘‘Yes? I read about it.’’
    Lucas picked up the tone. ‘‘You didn’t like him?’’
    ‘‘No. Not especially. He once made a pretty heavy pass at me, when he and his wife were still together. This was after my husband died, and I was feeling pretty vulnerable.’’
    Lucas nodded: ‘‘I’m actually here because I want to know more about your husband. I have an abstract of a Douglas County file about his disappearance, but there’s not much in it.’’
    ‘‘There wasn’t much to say.’’ Her lower lip trembled as she said it; she was twisting a ring on her finger, and Lucas noticed that it was a wedding ring. ‘‘He just got on the boat and