Sudden Prey

window shades, looked down at the street, listening, then stalked back to the television.
    “That cop who was laughing. They said it was Davenport, right? The guy on our list?”
    As if to answer his question, the television reporter said, “The chain of events started last night, when Chief Davenport put a surveillance team on the home of his daughter by TV3 correspondent Jennifer Carey, who now lives with TV3 executive vice-president Richard Small . . .”
    She went through the story, ending with the tape loop of Davenport and Selle laughing over Butters’s body.
    “We’re gonna mow those fuckers down,” LaChaise brayed at Martin.
    Martin said, “Dick, we gotta take care. We can’t go off half-cocked, if we want to get anything done.”
    LaChaise stalked around the apartment, kicking walls, then looked at Sandy: “Why’n the fuck don’t you do something useful? Go cook something.”
    She got up, wordlessly, and went to the kitchen and started looking through the cupboards. She found canned food, but not much else. She dumped a couple of cans of Dinty Moore beef stew in a pot, put it on the stove and started a pot of coffee.
    “If we’re gonna stay here for more than a couple of hours, we’ll need food,” Sandy said, as she brought the stew out to the living room. The men were on the couch, still watching the television. As they ate, a TV3 television reporter was delivering a eulogy on the dead cop. He was cut off in mid-sentence. An anchorman came up, quivering with the urgency of his message.
    “In Wisconsin, Dunn County sheriff’s deputies raided the home of Dick LaChaise’s sister-in-law and her husband, Sandy and Elmore Darling. According to first reports, Elmore Darling was found shot to death in the kitchen of the couple’s rural home, and his wife, Sandy, is missing.”
    A five-year-old snapshot of Sandy Darling filled the screen. Sandy screamed, “Elmore.”
    LaChaise grinned. “You put on a few pounds,” he said, pointing at the picture.
    She had her hands to her face: “They killed Elmore.” She looked from Martin to LaChaise. “My God. They said Elmore’s dead. They killed Elmore. Elmore’s dead.”
    “Could be bullshit,” Martin said, his voice even, almost uninterested. “They maybe got him in jail. Don’t want anybody to know.”
    “I don’t think so,” LaChaise said. The TV anchor was going on, then Martin said, “Guess not.”
    “No, no . . .” Sandy said, riveted to the screen.
    “You didn’t much like him anyway,” LaChaise said.
    Tears started down her cheeks: “I didn’t want him dead. He wasn’t supposed to die.”
    LaChaise shrugged. “Shit happens.”
    Martin: “I wonder if the cops killed him?” His voice was flat, with no real emotion; he was only curious.
    LaChaise thought for a minute, then said, “Must’ve. Who else would do it?”
    He looked at Sandy, who backed away from the TV and collapsed in a chair. “Nobody was gonna kill Elmore,” she said. And after a minute, “Who’d kill Elmore?”
     
     
     
    STADIC WAS WALKING down the hall to his apartment, shell-shocked, his mind running at two hundred miles an hour. He was digging for his keys when the cell phone chirped at him. He pulled it out of his pocket. “Yeah.”
    LaChaise, without preamble, asked, “What happened to Butters? And Elmore?”
    “Jesus Christ, where are you?” Stadic said, his voice hushed. “You know what’s going on?”
    “We’re at a friend’s,” LaChaise said. “We seen it all on TV. Who killed Butters?”
    “Davenport, of course. I told you . . .”
    “We thought it might be him. What happened to Elmore?”
    “I don’t know about that. I thought you did it, when I heard.”
    “We didn’t do it,” LaChaise said. He pulled his lip. “Maybe the Wisconsin cops.”
    “Or the guys from Michigan,” Stadic suggested. “There’re a couple of Michigan guys running around over there. They are very pissed about this Sand guy, you cuttin’ his throat.”
    “Yeah, well, that’s what you get for working in the fuckin’ joint,” LaChaise said. “Try to find out who did it.”
    “Okay,” Stadic said. “But listen—the wives up in the hotel . . . I hear they’re getting antsy. They want out. Davenport’s girlfriend is going back to the University of Minnesota hospital.”
    “What’s her name? We never got any insurance on her.”
    “ ’Cause they’re not married and you didn’t say what you wanted the information for. Her name is Weather