Silent Prey

Kennett.”
    “Well, yeah, Kennett can’t drive. That’d kill him, the Manhattan traffic would.” She sat up again, half turned, and this time he could see her eyes. “Davenport, what the fuck are you up to?”
    “Jesus . . .” He laughed, and caught her around the waist, and she let him pull her down.
    “The one thing I want to know—if you’re up to something, you’re not screwing me to get it, are you?”
    “Barbara . . .” Lucas rolled his eyes.
    “All right. You’d lie to me anyway, so why do I ask?” Then she frowned and answered her own question: “I’ll tell you why. Because I’m an idiot and I always ask. And the guys always lie to me. Jesus, I need a shrink. A shrink and a cigarette.”
    “So smoke, I don’t mind,” Lucas said. “Just don’t dribble ashes on my chest.”
    “Really?” She scratched him on the breastbone.
    “I mean, it’s killing you, slowly but surely, but if you need one . . .”
    “Thanks.” She got out of bed—a wonderful back—found her purse, got her cigarettes, an ashtray and the TV remote. “I gotta get some nicotine into my bloodstream,” she said. Ingenuously, genuinely, she added, “I didn’t have a cigarette because I was afraid my mouth would taste like an ashtray.”
    “I thought you’d decided not to sleep with me, and changed your mind.”
    She shook her head. “Dummy,” she said. She lit the cigarette and pointed the remote control at the TV, popped it on, thumbed through the channels until she got to the weather. “Hot and more hot,” she said, after a minute.
    “It’s like Los Angeles, ’cept more humid,” Lucas said.
    “Shoulda been here last year . . . .”
    They talked and she smoked, finished the cigarette, and then lit up another and went around the room and stole all his hotel matches. “I never have enough matches. I always steal them,” she said. “When I’m working I’ve got two rules: pee whenever you can, and steal matches. No. Three rules . . .”
    “Never eat at a place called Mom’s?”
    “No, but that’s a good one,” she said. “Nope: it’s never sleep with a goddamn cop. Cops are so goddamn treacherous . . . .”

CHAPTER
16
    Sunday morning.
    Sunlight poured like milk through the venetian blinds. Fell woke at nine o’clock, stirred, then half-sat, looking down at Lucas’ dark head on the pillow. After a moment, she got up and stumbled around, picking up clothes. Lucas opened an eye and said, “Have I mentioned your ass?”
    “Several times, and I appreciate all of them,” she said. She offered a smile, but weakly. “My head . . . that goddamn cheap wine.”
    “That wine wasn’t cheap.” Lucas sat up, still sleepy, dropped his feet to the floor, rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll call Kennett, see if we can figure something out.”
    She nodded, still groggy. “I gotta go home to change clothes, then back to Bellevue. There’ll be people around we wouldn’t see during the week.”
    Lucas said, “This is really important to you, isn’t it?”
    “It’s the biggest case I’ve ever been on,” she said. “God, I’d love to get him. I mean, me, personally.”
    “You won’t get him at Bellevue,” Lucas said. “Even ifyou find Whitechurch’s helper, and she talks, I wouldn’t be surprised if Bekker’s using a pay phone. Then where are you?”
    “So if we find the phone, we can stake it out. Or maybe he uses one on the block where he lives, we can look at the apartments.”
    “Mmm.”
    “Maybe we’ll get him tomorrow night, at the speech.”
    “Maybe . . . C’mon. I’ll make sure you get clean in the shower.”
    “That’s something I’ve always needed,” she said. “Help in the shower.”
    “Well, you said your head feels weird. What you need is a hot shower and a neck massage. Really. I say this in a spirit of fraternity and sorority.”
    “Good, I don’t think I could handle another sexual impulse,” Fell said. But the shower took them back to the bed, and that took them back to the shower, and Fell was leaning against the wall, Lucas standing between her legs, drying her back with a rough terry-cloth towel, when Anderson called from Minneapolis.
    “Cornell Reed. United to Atlanta out of La Guardia, transfer to Southeast to Charleston. No return. Paid for by the City of New York.”
    “No shit . . . Charleston?”
    “Charleston.”
    “I owe you some bucks, Harmon,” Lucas said. “I’ll get back to you.”
    “No