Secret Prey

desk between her and the door. She’d been uncuffed and Sherrill was scratching notes on a legal pad.
    When Lucas walked in, Bonet looked up and said, ‘‘I want the attorney. I’m not answering any questions without an attorney.’’
    ‘‘I called. Somebody’s walking over,’’ Sherrill said.
    ‘‘I’m not going to ask you a question, Ms. Bonet,’’ Lucas said. ‘‘I’m gonna make a little speech. Mr. Robles says you told him you shot Daniel Kresge because you thought Kresge was setting up a bank merger and your mother would lose her job. But he says he really doesn’t think you shot him, that you’re making a grandstand play, because you like the attention. For the experience of it. To fuck us over. Do you know the first thing that will happen when the word of your arrest gets out? The bank’s gonna fire your mother.’’
    Bonet, naturally pale, went a shade paler. ‘‘They can’t do that. That’s discrimination . . .’’
    Lucas was shaking his head: ‘‘No. There’s no union at the bank. They can fire her f or any reason they want, as long as the firing isn’t illegal—because of race or religion or like that. If her daughter is accused of murdering the bank president on her behalf . . . you think that’s not a reason? I’ll tell you what: Your mother’s gonna be on the sidewalk in about half an hour, as soon as the Star-Tribune guy checks out the day’s arrest reports. And they check every couple of hours.’’
    Bonet looked at Sherrill, who nodded, then back at Lucas. ‘‘But I didn’t shoot him,’’ she blurted.
    Sherrill dropped her pencil and said, ‘‘Oh, shit.’’
    Lucas said, ‘‘Again, I’m not going to ask you any questions, but I’ll say this: If there’s anything that would prove that you didn’t shoot him, this would be a good time to mention it.’’
    ‘‘Friday night,’’ Bonet said. ‘‘I was at a friend’s house until almost four in the morning, we were on-line, gaming.’’
    ‘‘How many people?’’ Lucas asked.
    ‘‘Four . . . three besides me.’’
    ‘‘She’d still have time to drive up there,’’ Lucas said.
    ‘‘It’d be tight,’’ Sherrill said.
    ‘‘But she could make it,’’ Lucas said.
    ‘‘I didn’t shoot anybody,’’ Bonet wailed. ‘‘I don’t even know where the asshole lived.’’
    ‘‘You were never up there?’’
    ‘‘Never. Why would I be?’’
    ‘‘After you left your friends, you went right home? Did you see anybody who knew you?’’
    ‘‘No . . . Well, I bought some Pepsi at the gas station, but they don’t know me there. Maybe they’d remember me.’’
    ‘‘What gas station?’’
    ‘‘It’s an Amoco down off 494, like 494 and France.’’
    ‘‘Did you pay with cash or a credit card?’’
    ‘‘Credit card!’’ Her face brightened. ‘‘The goddamn credit slip has the time and location on it. And it comes on my statement—I bet you can call Amoco and find out.’’
    Lucas nodded and said, ‘‘Why’n the hell did you tell Robles that you shot McDonald?’’
    ‘‘Just to jerk his chain,’’ Bonet said. ‘‘He called me up and he pretended to be all freaking out and worried, and the next thing I know, he’s turned me in.’’
    ‘‘He pretended to be freaking out?’’
    ‘‘Yeah. Pretended. He’s a cold fish,’’ Bonet said. ‘‘I’ll tell you what, I wouldn’t be surprised if he did it, and he deliberately set me up with that talk on the ’net about how to kill McDonald. I mean, he started it, I didn’t. And then he fed me to you.’’
    ‘‘Why do you think he might have done it?’’ Sherrill asked.
    ‘‘Because of the way he plays with guns all the time,’’ she said. ‘‘I think if you pretend to be killing people long enough, pretty soon you want to try it. Don’t you think?’’
    Lucas’s and Sherrill’s eyes locked: they’d both killed people in gunfights. ‘‘I don’t know,’’ Lucas said finally. ‘‘Maybe.’’
    Sherrill said, ‘‘What do you mean, plays with guns?’’ ‘‘He’s always out shooting. You know, rifles and pistols and sometimes he goes out to Wyoming and shoots prairie dogs. He calls them prairie rats. Or prairie pups. And he does that whole paintball thing. You know, runs around in the woods in camouflage clothes with other guys and they shoot each other.’’
    ‘‘Robles,’’ Lucas said.
    ‘‘Yeah. He doesn’t come off that way, does he?’’
    ‘‘Have you ever done the