Secret Prey

‘‘I’ll take a chair.’’ And to Audrey: ‘‘The minute they push the wrong button, you come get me, and we’ll have Harrison get up here.’’
    ‘‘Okay,’’ she said, swallowing nervously. ‘‘Don’t go far away.’’
    WHEN WILSON MCDONALD HAD GONE, LUCAS SAID, ‘‘Detective Swanson is going to talk to you for a few minutes, then Detective Sloan will want to ask a few questions—Detective Sloan has already spoken to your husband . . .’’
    ‘‘Up at Dan’s cabin—he told me about it,’’ Audrey said. She seemed more assertive when her husband wasn’t around.
    ‘‘I have to leave in a minute or two, but I’d like to talk to you privately just for a moment, you and I,’’ Lucas said. He looked at Swanson. ‘‘I just need to speak to her for a second.’’
    ‘‘Sure.’’
    Lucas escorted her into O’Dell’s kitchen, lowered his voice: ‘‘I believe I spoke to you earlier today.’’
    ‘‘What?’’ Was she really surprised? he wondered. There was an instant of surprise in her eyes. ‘‘I don’t believe so.’’
    ‘‘Mrs. McDonald, you have a rather nasty bruise on your leg, just above your ankle: Is that new?’’
    ‘‘I just . . .’’ She looked away, groped for a word. ‘‘. . . bumped myself.’’
    ‘‘No, you didn’t,’’ he said. ‘‘Your husband beat you up last night. Would you like a call from the domestic intervention people?’’
    ‘‘No, no, we only had a little argument.’’
    ‘‘If we took you downtown and had one of our policewomen take a look at you, she’d find a lot of bruises, wouldn’t she?’’
    ‘‘That’s illegal. I want to see my husband.’’
    ‘‘Okay.’’ Lucas raised his hands. ‘‘Like I said, this is just between you and me. If you don’t want to make a complaint, I’m not going to insist on it. But you should. It never gets better, it always gets worse.’’
    ‘‘Things will get better. Wilson’s been under a lot of stress. This job . . .’’
    ‘‘Just a job,’’ Lucas said.
    ‘‘Oh, no.’’ She was shocked. ‘‘This . . . this is everything.’’
    BEFORE HE LEFT, LUCAS TOOK SWANSON ASIDE: ‘‘TREAT her very carefully. Get as much as you can on her— personal history, everything—and tell Sloan that I want her wrung out, but not scared. Don’t push her into getting an attorney.’’
    ‘‘Are we trying for anything in particular?’’ Swanson asked. He turned half sideways to look at Audrey, who was perched on a chair in O’Dell’s home office.
    ‘‘If we can do it—very gently—it’d be nice to get a wedge between her and her husband. Don’t be obvious, but if the opportunity comes up, it’d be good to let her know that her interests and her husband’s are not necessarily the same.’’
    BACK IN HIS CAR, LUCAS PICKED UP THE CAR PHONE and called St. Anne’s College, which was located a few blocks from his house in St. Paul. He told the St. Anne’s operator that he knew it was late and nuns commonly don’t take calls from men in the middle of the night, that this was an emergency and perhaps a matter of life and death, that he was with the police department . . . and he got his nun.
    Sister Mary Joseph, a psychology professor and childhood friend he’d always known as Elle Kruger: ‘‘Lucas? Is somebody hurt?’’ A sharp, somewhat astringent voice, becoming more so as they got older.
    ‘‘Nothing like that, Elle. I’m sorry to disturb you, but I have a couple of questions on a case.’’
    ‘‘Oh, good. I was afraid . . . Anyway, have you read the Iliad lately?’’
    ‘‘Uh, no, actually.’’ He looked at his watch. Had to get to Bone’s place.
    ‘‘Have you ever read it?’’
    ‘‘That’s the one . . . No, that’s the Odyssey . I guess not. Same guy, though, right?’’
    ‘‘Lucas . . .’’ She sounded exasperated. ‘‘I keep forgetting you were a jock. Listen, go down and get the Iliad , the one that’s translated by Robert Fagles, that’s the one I’m reading now, and I’ll tell you what parts to read if you don’t want to read the whole thing.’’
    ‘‘Elle . . .’’
    ‘‘The thing is, this translation is much coarser, in all the right places, than the old ones—my goodness, the Trojan War resembled one of your gang wars. That was always obscured by the language of the other translations, but this one . . . the language is brilliantly apt.’’
    ‘‘Elle, Elle—tell me later. I’m calling from my car and