Secret Prey

would be the bolts.’’
    ‘‘Look,’’ Lucas said, ‘‘I don’t want to upset you, but . . . was there any possibility of suicide?’’
    ‘‘No.’’ She said it positively.
    Lucas said, ‘‘Okay.’’
    ‘‘Andy was a happy guy,’’ she said. ‘‘He was doing great in his job, he was up for a promotion, we were talking about putting a big garden in behind the house, we were talking about another child. I was supposed to bring Toby up to the islands the next day, and we were all going sailing, and Toby was all excited . . . No. He didn’t commit suicide. And he didn’t take off with any money or anything. He was just a heck of a good guy and well adjusted and his folks are nice and my folks liked him and they liked him at the bank . . .’’
    ‘‘This promotion,’’ Lucas said. ‘‘Who got it? After he died.’’
    ‘‘Well . . . Wilson McDonald.’’
    ‘‘Would Andy have gotten the promotion if he hadn’t died? For sure?’’
    ‘‘ He thought so. He said he’d aced Wilson out of the slot. I mean, it’s never for sure until it’s done, and Wilson has all those family connections . . . Why?’’
    ‘‘We’re just trying to run down all possibilities,’’ Lucas said vaguely.
    She was too smart for that. One hand went to her throat and she leaned toward him and said, ‘‘Oh my God, do you think Wilson McDonald killed Andy to get promoted, and then shot Dan Kresge? He got Dan’s job, didn’t he?’’
    ‘‘Temporarily. There seems to be some doubt about it in the long run . . .’’
    She pointed a finger at him, excited: ‘‘Do you know about George Arris?’’
    ‘‘Yes . . .’’
    ‘‘Wilson got his promotion too.’’
    ‘‘I haven’t been able to establish that. Not clearly.’’ ‘‘Believe me, George would have gotten the job. My God, this never occurred to me,’’ she said. She pushed the palm of her hand against her forehead. ‘‘How could I have missed it? It’s so obvious.’’
    ‘‘There’s probably nothing to it,’’ Lucas said.
    ‘‘Oh, bull . . . feathers, Mr. Davenport. Three people dead and Wilson gets all the promotions? My God, he murdered Andy!’’
    ‘‘No-no-no. There’s no evidence of that at all.’’
    ‘‘Then why’d you bring it up?’’
    ‘‘Because I’m checking everything . . .’’
    ‘‘Wilson McDonald,’’ she marveled. ‘‘Who would’ve thought.’’
    ‘‘Please, Mrs. Ingall . . .’’
    He halfheartedly tried to talk her out of the sudden conviction that Wilson McDonald had killed her husband; then said goodbye.
    He was out the door and on the sidewalk when she called after him: ‘‘Mr. Davenport?’’
    ‘‘Yes?’’ He turned and she came down the walk to him.
    ‘‘If this was murder—just say it was, that somebody loosened up the bolts on the keel, okay? They couldn’t have taken them all the way off, because then the only thing that would be holding it on would be some adhesive and sealer. Then, with a good bump, the keel might have fallen off in the harbor.’’
    ‘‘Yeah?’’
    ‘‘So they had to leave the bolts partway on, expecting them to work off, which they eventually would have. But they couldn’t know when . Toby and I usually went up with Andy, so whoever it was . . . wasn’t just killing Andy,’’ she said. ‘‘If Andy’d made the islands, we’d have been on the boat the next day, and it might’ve fallen off with us aboard. This guy, whoever it is—he was willing to kill all three of us.’’
    LUCAS HAD LAST SEEN SHERRILL WHEN SHE LEFT TO pick up Bonnie Bonet, Robles’s friend. When he got back, Sherrill and a uniformed cop were marching a young woman down the hall, her hands cuffed behind her back. Lucas caught up with them, said, ‘‘Bonet?’’
    ‘‘Yeah,’’ Sherrill said.
    Bonet snarled, ‘‘Who the fuck are you?’’
    ‘‘Sit her down in Homicide,’’ Lucas said. ‘‘I’ll be there in a minute.’’
    ‘‘She wants an attorney,’’ Sherrill said.
    ‘‘Got any money?’’ Lucas asked.
    Bonet shook her head defiantly. ‘‘No. You gotta appoint one.’’
    Lucas nodded: ‘‘So call the public defender,’’ he told Sherrill. ‘‘I’ll be right back.’’
    He dumped his coat and the file on Ingall in his office, and made a quick call: ‘‘I want everything we can find on Wilson McDonald. Everything.’’
    BACK AT HOMICIDE, BONET WAS SITTING NEXT TO Sherrill’s desk, while the uniformed cop lounged at another