Sudden Prey

the trailer with cleaning rags and a bucket of detergent.
    And she should get out—in a couple of days, with any luck, the lawyer said.
    She turned on her side, felt the tug of the cuff and looked out the window. She had a view of a snow-covered rooftop and a hundred yards of anonymous street.
    Elmore. Elmore would be the problem, she thought. The guilt she felt about Elmore was deeper, more intractable than she would have believed. He haunted her thoughts, in death, the way he never had in life.
    She’d babbled something about it to a doctor. The doctor told her that grief was natural, would stay, but could be borne and would eventually fade.
    Maybe, maybe not.
    God, if I can only get out . . .
    She needed to be outside, working with the horses. This was a pretty time of year, if you liked the north woods, the white fences of the training rings, the dark trees against the snow.
    The horses would be out in it now, running over the hillside, the blankets flowing over their backs, gouts of steam snorting from their nostrils.
    Sandy Darling shut her eyes and counted horses.
     
     
     
    THE PLAINCLOTHES GUYS gathered in homicide, where there really wasn’t enough space, like mourners at a wake, muttering among themselves. Much of the talk was about the Iowa boy and his rifle.
    And Stadic, of course.
    Stadic dead was better than Stadic alive, everybody agreed on that. But already, the amateur lawyers were talking: he’d never been found guilty in a court of law. What would happen to his benefits? He had an ex-wife and kid, would they get them?
    “Andy was a greedy sonofabitch, he was always bitchin’ about not havin’ enough, not makin’ enough,” Loring said. “All the guy ever thought about was money. That’s why his old lady split. But I never thought he’d . . .”
    Lester came in and cleared his throat and said, “Listen up, everybody. We’re all done. Unless you’re on the schedule or you’re making a statement, go home. Finish your Christmas shopping. And get the goddamn overtime forms in, and anybody who wants comp time instead of money, come see me, and I will personally kiss you on the ass and shake your hand . . .”
    “At the same time?”
    A little laughter.
    A detective from sex said, “What about Stadic?”
    “What about him?” Lester asked.
    “I mean . . . we were talking . . . what’s gonna happen?”
    Lester said, “Aw, shit, let’s not get into that. We got a long way to go with the county attorney.”
    “What about Harp?” asked a drug guy.
    “We’re looking for Mr. Harp,” Lester said. “And pay attention here: if anybody except the chief or the mayor talks to the press about Andy Stadic, without checking with us first, well, that’s your First Amendment right, but we will cut your nuts off with a sharpened screwdriver.”
    “Hey, are we gonna be on Cops ? . . .”
     
     
     
    SLOAN AND SHERRILL found Lucas sitting in a waiting room at the University Hospitals, looking at a sheaf of papers in a manila file.
    Sherrill stuck her head in and said, “What’s happening, dude?”
    Lucas closed the file and said, “Just . . . hanging out.”
    Taking that as permission to come in, they dropped into chairs facing him, and Sloan asked, “Have you seen Weather?”
    “She should be waking up,” Lucas said. “I’m waiting to go in.”
    “Has she said anything to anybody?” Sloan asked.
    “Yeah, but she’s disoriented,” Lucas said. “She really seems . . . hurt. I think I really hurt her.”
    Sloan shook his head: “You didn’t hurt her. You did what you had to.”
    Sherrill, exasperated, said, “C’mon, Sloan, that’s not gonna help.”
    “What?”
    “Clichés,” Sherrill said. She turned to Lucas. “Maybe you did hurt her. You ought to think about that.”
    “Aw, Jesus,” Sloan groaned.
    “The problem that’s got me is, it’s my fault,” Lucas said. “I didn’t see Stadic—I should have seen him. If I’d seen Stadic, we would’ve had them all.”
    Sloan was irritated: “C’mon, Lucas, how could you have seen Stadic? He saved your life with Butters.”
    Lucas waved him off: “You remember when we were getting ready to raid poor old Arne Palin? We were talking at the door, you and me and Franklin? And Lester was there, and Roux? Stadic came in, and Franklin said something like, he wanted to sneak back to his place to pick up some clothes for his wife. An hour later, he was ambushed.”
    “Lucas . . .”
    “Listen, after he was ambushed, I ran