Secret Prey

if you ever go to court.’’
    ‘‘Do that,’’ Cotina grunted. And he turned and left, his escort pulling the door shut behind them.
    Lucas relaxed a notch, and Bob said, ‘‘It’d be polite to give them a minute to get out of here.’’
    ‘‘Fuck ’em,’’ said Lucas. But he handed a card to Bob as the bikes fired up: ‘‘Same thing applies to you. If you hear anything, it could be worth something in the future.’’
    Bob took it: ‘‘Get out of jail free?’’
    Lucas said, ‘‘Depends on what you’re in for. But could be.’’
    ‘‘Good deal,’’ Bob said. He tucked the card in his hip pocket.
    Lucas nodded and Loring led the way through the door, squinting in the brighter light outside. Cotina and his escort were just disappearing around the corner, leaning into the curve. Lucas bent over and picked up his card where Cotina had dropped it. ‘‘Must not want to get out of jail,’’ Lucas said.
    ‘‘He had to do it; he’d have to face problems if he kept it,’’ Loring said. As they walked back to the city car, Loring asked, ‘‘What do you think?’’
    ‘‘You’re the expert,’’ Lucas said.
    ‘‘I think he was telling the truth.’’ Lucas nodded. ‘‘So do I. Which creates some problems. Like, who the fuck bombed Weather?’’
    THEY MET SLOAN AND DEL AT A NORTHSIDE DINER, and Sloan pushed the business section of the Star-Tribune across the table at Lucas.
    ‘‘The bank deal has people freaking out—turns out three or four public pension funds own a big piece of Polaris, and if this merger caves in, so does the stock price,’’ Sloan said. ‘‘I don’t know if that could have anything to do with Kresge.’’
    ‘‘Don’t see how,’’ Lucas said. He took the paper and scanned the article. Bone was quoted as saying the merger was still on track, and the bank was continuing to work toward the merger. Further down in the article, an unidentified executive said that the merger was being ‘‘ reconsidered.’’
    ‘‘Snakepit,’’ Sloan said.
    ‘‘Yeah, they’re setting up for a fight over there,’’ Lucas said. He pushed the paper back to Sloan and picked up a menu. Everything featured grease. ‘‘I bet Susan O’Dell is the unidentified executive.’’
    ‘‘Whatever. But this sounds like pretty heavy pressure to keep the merger going; which would piss off the killer if he was trying to stop it.’’
    Lucas had been preoccupied by the firebombing, but now looked up from the diner menu and said, ‘‘Bone’s the main guy behind keeping it moving . . . which is sort of odd, when you think about it.’’
    ‘‘Why?’’
    ‘‘Because most of those kinds of guys dream about being at the top. Running something. If this goes the way the papers have it outlined, the Bone gets the job, he’ll be putting himself out in the cold in a few months.’’
    ‘‘With about a zillion dollars,’’ Del said.
    ‘‘Yeah, there’s that . . . The thing is, should we put a watch on him? If some goofball is roaming around out there, trying to stop the merger, he’d be the next target.’’
    ‘‘Maybe talk to him, anyway,’’ Sloan said.
    LUCAS TOOK A CALL ON THE CAR PHONE, TRANSFERRED in from Dispatch: ‘‘Why haven’t you arrested Wilson McDonald?’’ A woman’s voice, angry, but under tight control.
    He said, ‘‘Who are you? Who is this?’’ and in the passenger seat beside him, Del took a phone out of his coat pocket and started punching in a number.
    ‘‘A person who is trying to help,’’ the woman said. ‘‘He almost beat his wife to death last night. You’ve got to arrest him before he kills someone.’’
    Click. She was gone. Del was talking to Dispatch, but Lucas said, ‘‘She’s off,’’ and Del said into the phone, ‘‘So do you have a number?’’
    They did. ‘‘Find out where it came from.’’
    Pay phone. Up north, off I-694. Nothing there.
    ‘‘Who is it?’’ Lucas asked Del. ‘‘She knows everything.’’
    ‘‘Who’d know that Wilson McDonald beat up his wife last night? Especially if they both try to keep it quiet?’’
    Lucas thought about it, then said, ‘‘Somebody in the family, maybe—and then there’s Mrs. McDonald herself.’’
    ‘‘Anonymous calls—she doesn’t take the rap if her old man finds out about them.’’
    ‘‘Yeah . . . you remember Annette what’s-her-name?’’
    ‘‘Honegger: I was thinking the same thing. And what happened to