Stolen Prey

said. “But we can’t prove it.”
    “So … seventy-five percent? That they were involved?”
    “More like ninety-five,” Lucas said. “The problem is, I’m told, that if we go to court, they can blame it all on Turicek. Especially since we got the gold back, and we know Turicek rented the place where the gold was stashed. Kline’s attorney makes the point that if his client was involved, he and Sanderson had to know where the gold was, and they could have picked it up anytime. So if they knew … why did they let eighteen million ingold get away? The other thing is, Kline’s attorney says that if Kline was involved, he could have stolen the money anytime after he left Polaris, but he didn’t, even though he was unemployed and needed money. Our county attorney, our prosecutor, and your U.S. attorney agree they were probably involved, but say it’s only ten percent that they can be convicted. And they don’t like to lose.”
    “So we’re dead in the water,” the director shouted.
    “Things still worked out for us,” O’Brien said. “Not only did we grab that eighteen mil, but we know how the Criminales are moving and investing a lot of their money. We’re gonna be a big pain in their ass for a long time—I’m thinking we can claw back another hundred million.”
    “A hundred million. I like the sound of that,” the director said. “That’s a nice round number.”
    After the call, O’Brien sighed, looked at Lucas, and said, “Well, that’s it then.”
    “I’d really like to get Kline and Sanderson,” Lucas said. “And Albitis, for that matter, if she ever comes back.”
    “We at the DEA have a little … mmm … aphorism … to cover such yearnings,” O’Brien said.
    “What’s that?”
    “Tough shit, pal.”
    T HE DAY after the debriefing, the Brooks family was buried. Lucas did not go to the funeral, and was told by Shaffer that for such a well-publicized mass murder, the funeral attendance was remarkably subdued. The Brookses did not belong to a church, and so the funeral was attended mostly by family members, Sunnieemployees, and reporters. “Hard way to go, all at once, like that,” Shaffer said. “Nobody left behind.”
    T HAT SAME DAY , Albitis opened one eye and looked around, then opened the other. Hospital room. She felt terrible: her head, neck, spine, arms, and hips hurt. Her mouth was dry, and something stank. She suspected it was her. Her feet seemed okay. She tried to turn her head but couldn’t. She managed to raise one arm into her field of view and found it punctured by a number of needles that led to plastic drip lines.
    A moment after she woke up, a nurse, apparently alerted by the monitoring equipment, stuck her head in the room and said, “There you are.”
    Albitis tried to speak, but her tongue was like sandpaper.
    “You need something to wet your mouth,” the nurse said. “I’ll be right back.”
    She was back a minute later with a bottle of water and a straw. Albitis took a sip, then two more. Her voice didn’t seem to work quite right, so she whispered, “Was I in an accident?”
    The nurse said, “We don’t know exactly what happened to you. We were hoping you could tell us.”
    Albitis thought for a moment, then said, “I don’t know.” Then, “You’re speaking English. Where am I?”
    “You’re in a hospital in Minneapolis,” the nurse said.
    “Minneapolis? In the U.S. What am I doing here?”
    “We don’t know exactly,” the nurse said.
    Albitis’s eyes wandered away, then came back. “Minneapolis? I live in Tel Aviv.”
    The nurse said, “Oh, boy.”
    A WEEK AFTER the shooting, the Davenports moved back into the house. Jimenez had been working his ass off—there were no bullet holes or blood to be seen. He’d replaced the carpet in the hallway where Tres had died, with carpet indistinguishable from the original. He hadn’t yet put in the new upstairs hallway wall, but the maple was gone, and the hall showed bare studs and electric wiring down its length.
    The hallway where Martínez had died had a varnished hardwood floor. Jimenez had stripped the varnish and redone it. He’d found a good door to replace the one Martínez had shot through, and had already fitted and painted it. The far wall had been peppered with pieces of nine-millimeter hollow-points, and he’d patched the drywall and repainted.
    The temporary front door and the bare studs in the upper hallway were the only remaining signs of the fight.
    Letty