Silken Prey

of myself,” Del grumped.
    “No, you can’t, not anymore,” Lucas said. “If I get fired, I’m okay. Even with this depression, or whatever you want to call it, I make more off my investments than I earn from the BCA. If you get fired, what’re you gonna do? Get a job as a bank guard? Stick up liquor stores? There aren’t a hell of a lot of openings for guys with your job description: ‘Hang around bars and bullshit people and sometimes arrest them.’”
    “It’s a little more complicated than that,” Del said.
    “Del . . .”
    “Yeah, yeah. You’re right,” Del said. “I’d probably wind up running a bar and hating it. Or be a repo man for somebody.”
    “Repo? You’d wind up hanging yourself off your kid’s swing set.”
    •   •   •
    S ANDY, THE RESEARCHER, called as they were pulling into Lucas’s driveway: “I found a half-dozen men from Carver’s former unit. . . . One guy, down in Albuquerque, says he was with Ron Carver on the night he got in trouble. His name is Dale Rodriguez. He’s willing to talk about it.”
    Lucas looked at his watch: one o’clock in the afternoon. “Check on flights to Albuquerque, e-mail me when you find out when they are.”
    “For today?”
    “Yeah. And write up your notes on the Albuquerque guy, and e-mail those, too.”
    He rang off and punched up Flowers. “Where are you?”
    “Home.” Home was in Mankato, ninety miles south of the Twin Cities.
    “Start up this way. Bring gear for an overnight,” Lucas said. “You may be flying, but you won’t need a weapon.”
    “Where am I going?” Flowers asked.
    “Albuquerque, if we can get you a flight.”
    “You gonna brief me?”
    “If we have time. Otherwise, take your laptop and I’ll send you a long note when you’re in the air.”
    “You want me to hang around?” Del asked after Lucas rang off.
    “Unless you need to deal with that tree.”
    “The old lady’s got that covered,” Del said. “Tell you what: print out a picture of this Dannon and Carver, and I’ll run them up and show Irma.”
    •   •   •
    L UCAS DID THAT.
    Del left, and Lucas checked his e-mail, found the airline schedule from Sandy, and called Flowers. “There’s a four-twenty flight. Can you make that?”
    “Yes. I took my grab-bag and I’m on my way,” Flowers said. “Probably won’t have time to swing by your place, though.”
    “That’s okay. It’s an interview with a friendly,” Lucas said. “Be good if you could do it tonight. I’ll try to set it up.”
    He called Sandy: “Do you have phone numbers for the Albuquerque guy, this Rodriguez guy?”
    “Yes, I do. When I talked to him, he said he was going off to class at a tech school there. He said he’d be back late in the afternoon. They’re an hour earlier than us.”
    “Good. We’re gonna need a ticket for Flowers on the four-twenty. Tell Cheryl to fix that, will you?”
    “Okay, and I’m sending my notes on Rodriguez . . . now.”
    Lucas rang off and three seconds later, his e-mail pinged at him, and Sandy’s file came in. It was short: name, address, cell-phone number. She’d asked Rodriguez about Carver and he’d wanted to know why, and she’d said that there was a murder investigation going on, and that Carver was a “person of interest.” Rodriguez said that Carver “oughta be in jail,” and when Sandy asked why, Rodriguez said he’d shot some people in Afghanistan and shouldn’t have. Sandy had said that might be relevant, and asked Rodriguez if he’d talk to an investigator. He’d said he would. Sandy noted, “He didn’t seem all that reluctant. He sounded angry.”
    Which was all good, in Lucas’s view. The army had buried the file, and Carver might have felt safe, but if Lucas threatened to revive it, he might be able to drive a wedge between Carver and Dannon.
    •   •   •
    H E CALLED J AMIE M OORE, the public defender, and said, “You’re gonna get a client named James Clay, who is being checked into the Hennepin County jail about now. Turk Cochran’s got him on a murder charge.”
    “That’s profoundly interesting,” Moore said in a dead voice.
    “I need to talk to him,” Lucas said. “Off the record.”
    “What’s in it for him?” Moore asked.
    “They got him on that Helen Roman killing, Porter Smalls’s secretary. I don’t think he did it. I want him to detail where he was when the murder happened, and then I’m going to backtrack him, see if his story holds