Shadow Prey

sixties . . .”
    “She’d of known the Crows,” Lucas said. “There weren’t that many activist Indians back in the fifties, not in Minneapolis . . . .”
    Anderson was scanning through one of his notebooks; he found a page and held it up to the screen. “Look at this,” he said. He tapped an address in the notebook and touched an address on the screen. “She lived just a couple blocks from Rose E. Love, and at the same time.”
    “All right, I’m going down there,” Lucas said. “Get onto Del and some of his narcs, tell them I might need surveillance help. I’ll look the place over now. It’s too much to hope that they’ll be there.”
    “You want me to start some squads that way, just in case?”
    “Yeah, you could start a couple, but keep them off the block unless I holler.”
     
    Leo pulled into Barbara Gow’s driveway and Aaron lifted the garage door. Leo rolled the car inside but left the engine running. Sam stepped out of the house carrying a chopped-down shotgun. Leo had cut the gun down himself. What had been a conventional Winchester Super-X, a four-shot semiauto, wound up as an ugly illegal killing machine that looked as much like a war club as a shotgun. Sam opened the car door and slipped the shotgun under the passenger seat, and then helped Aaron load a six-foot chunk of railroad tie into the cargo space. They’d sharpened one end with an ax and screwed handles to the top. When it was in, Aaron slammed the tailgate and he and Sam got in.
    “You want to leave the garage door up?” Leo asked.
    “Yeah. If we gotta get off the street in a hurry when we come back, it’ll get us an extra minute.”
     
    Lucas cruised by the side of the Gow house, moving as slowly as he could without being conspicuous. There were lights on in both front and back, probably the living room and the kitchen or a bedroom. The upper floor was dark. He turned the corner to pass in front of the house and saw that the garage door was up, the garage empty. As he passed, a shadow crossed the living room blind. Someone inside. Since the car was gone, that meant more than one person was living in the house . . . .
    He picked up the handset and put in a call to Anderson.
    “Get me the description of the woman who was seen with Shadow Love,” he said.
    “Just a second,” Anderson said. “I’ve got the notebook right here. Can’t get Del, he’s on the street, but one of his guys has gone after him. There are a couple of squads waiting out on Chicago.”
    “Okay.”
    There was a moment of silence. Lucas took another corner and went around the block. “Uh, there’s not much. Very small, barely see over the steering wheel. Indian. Maybe anolder woman. She didn’t seem young. Green car, older, a wagon, with white sidewall tires.”
    “Thanks. I’ll get back to you.”
    He took another corner, then another, and came back up along the side of Gow’s house. As he did, a man walked out of the house across the street from Gow’s, leading a dog. Lucas stopped at the curb as the man strolled out to the sidewalk, looked both ways, then headed around the side of his house, the dog straining at the leash. Lucas thought about it, let the man get a full lot down the opposite block, then called Anderson.
    “I need Del or a couple of narcs in plain cars.”
    “I got a guy looking for Del; we should have him in a minute.”
    “Soon as you can. I want them up the block from Gow’s place, watching the front.”
    “I’ll pass the word.”
    “And keep those squads on Chicago.”
     
    The dog was peeing on a telephone pole when Lucas pulled up next to the night walker. He got out of the car, his badge case in hand.
    “Excuse me. I’m Lucas Davenport, a lieutenant with the Minneapolis Police Department. I need a little help.”
    “What d’you want?” the man asked curiously.
    “Your neighbor across the street. Mrs. Gow. Does she live alone?”
    “What’d she do?” the man asked.
    “Maybe nothing at all . . .”
    The man shrugged. “She usually does, but the last few days, there’s been other people around. I never seen them, really. But people are coming and going.”
    “What kind of car does she drive?”
    “Old Dodge wagon. Must be fifteen years old.”
    “What color?”
    “Apple green. Ugly color. Never seen anything like it, except in those Dodges.”
    “Huh.” Lucas could feel his heart pounding harder. “White sidewalls?”
    “Yep. You don’t see them like that anymore. Bet