Shadow Prey

got a cab coming downstairs . . . .”
    “I could come . . .”
    “No, don’t,” she said quickly. “I’d really prefer that you didn’t.”
    “Jesus, Lily . . .”
    “I’m sorry . . .” she said. There was a moment’s silence before she finished the sentence. “I hope you’re okay. And I’ll see you. Maybe. You know, someday.”
    “Okay,” he said.
    “So. Bye.”
    “Bye.”
    She hung up and Lucas stood leaning against the booth. “God damn it,” he said aloud.
    Two young girls were passing, carrying schoolbooks. They heard him, glanced his way and hurried on. Lucas walked slowly back to his car, confused, unsure whether he was feeling disappointment or relief. He spent another hour touring Lake Street bars, apartment buildings and stores, looking for a toehold, an edge, a whisper, anything. He came up dry; and although he was given more names, more people to check, his heart wasn’t in it. He looked at his watch. Ten after two. She’d be off the ground, on her way to New York. Lily.
     
    Daniel was in his office. He had turned the overhead fluorescent lights off and sat in a pool of yellow light cast by an old-fashioned goosenecked desk lamp. Larry Hart was sitting in the chair in front of his desk, Sloan, Lester and Anderson off to the side. Lucas took the last chair.
    “Nothing?” asked Daniel.
    “Not a thing,” Hart said. Lucas shook his head as he sat down.
    “We’ve been getting some stuff about Liss. He worked for a metal fabrication plant out in Golden Valley. They said he was all right, but weird, you know, about Indian stuff.”
    “Big help,” Anderson said.
    Sloan shrugged. “I got some names of his friends, I can feed them to you, maybe the computer’ll have something.”
    “Family?” asked Lucas.
    “Wife and kid. Wife works a couple of jobs. She’s a check-out at Target and works at a Holiday store at night, part-time. And they got a kid. Harold Richard, aka Harry Dick, seventeen. He’s trouble, a doper. He’s been downtown a half-dozen times, minor theft, possession of pot, possession of crack. Small stuff.”
    “That’s it?” asked Daniel.
    “Sorry,” Sloan apologized. “We’re hitting it as hard as we can.”
    “What about Liss himself? Are they getting anything out of him?”
    Anderson shook his head. “Nope. About fifteen minutes after Liss went down, Len Meadows flew in from Chicago in his private jet. The first thing he did was bar any cops from talking to his client.”
    “Fifteen minutes? Did Meadows know in advance?” Lucas asked.
    “It wasn’t really fifteen minutes—” Sloan started.
    Hart interrupted. “The Fire Creek Reservation office is in Brookings. When they heard about the shooting, they got scared about what might happen. They called Meadows” office. He’d done some pro bono criminal work for them. So then Meadows had his people call around, working with the information they were getting off the TV. They found out who Liss’ old lady was. Meadows called her—Louise, that’s her name—and offered his services. She said yes, so he flew out to Brookings. When Liss woke up after the docs got finished with him, Meadows went in and talked to him. That was it. No more cops.”
    “Damn it,” Lucas said, chewing his lip. “Meadows is pretty good.”
    “He’s a grandstanding asshole,” said Lester.
    “Frank, you’re an asshole, but nobody ever said you weren’t pretty good,” said Daniel.
    “I did once,” Sloan said. “He made me go out and investigate supermarket thefts.”
    Lester grinned. “And I’d do it again,” he said.
    “The problem with Meadows is, he won’t deal,” Lucas said. “He’s an ideologue. He prefers the crucifix to the plea bargain.”
    They all chewed it over for a minute, then Daniel said, “Our Indian friends are putting out press releases now.”
    “Say what?” asked Hart.
    “We got a press release. Or rather, the media got press releases. All of them—newspapers, TV stations, WCCO radio. We got copies. They’re supposedly from the killers,” Daniel said.
    Lucas sat up. “When did this happen?”
    “They started arriving in the morning mail.” Daniel passed out photocopies of the press releases. “Channel Eight was out on the street for the noon news, asking Indians to read the press releases and then asking them if they agreed.”
    Lucas nodded absently as he read. The authors took responsibility for all four killings, the two in the Cities, and those in New York