Sudden Prey

office.
    “Franklin’s down. Two minutes ago. They hit him at his house,” he shouted down the long marble hallway. “They’re taking him to Hennepin.”
    “On the way,” Lucas shouted back. “They’re bringing in Palin, talk to him . . .”
    Lucas ran through the snow to the medical center, down the street to the emergency entrance. No cops. A doctor was standing just inside the entrance, a couple of nurses were wrestling with a gurney.
    “I’m a cop,” Lucas said. “You got a . . .”
    “Yeah, you’re Davenport, I’ve seen you on TV. He’s on the way,” the doctor interrupted. “The paramedics got him, they’re working on him.”
    “How bad?”
    “He’s shot in the arm and the leg. Sounds bad enough, but not critical. They say he took four rounds right in the middle of his vest.”
    Lucas flashed back to the street where they’d stopped to pull on the vests, so they could charge in on simple old Arne Palin. How did LaChaise—it had to be LaChaise—know to wait for Franklin?
    Then he heard the sirens, and he and the doctor went out to meet the paramedics, and he stopped thinking about it.

18
    LUCAS HURRIED THROUGH the crowd of media in the lobby, shaking his head, saying, “No, I’m sorry . . . the chief should be out in a minute, I’m really sorry I can’t say anything.”
    Outside, he hurried, slipping and sliding, back toward City Hall. His office was dark, and he went up to Homicide, where he found Sloan, Del and Sherrill.
    “How’s Franklin?” Sloan asked, standing up. They all were beginning to fade.
    “He’s in surgery, but it’s not critical,” Lucas said. “Somebody said he might have some peripheral nerve damage in his arm. I’m not sure, but I think that means he might have some patches of skin where he can’t feel anything.”
    “Could be worse,” Del said.
    “Where’s his wife?” Sloan asked.
    “She’s at the hospital,” Lucas said. “What happened with Palin?”
    “We’re keeping him around, in case you or the chief wants to talk to him. But it’s not him,” Sloan said.
    “Tell me,” Lucas said.
    “Have you heard the tapes?”
    “No.”
    “Well, if it’s him,” Sloan said, “he’s disguising his voice. But why is he disguising his voice, when he gives his squad number? And even if you figure it’s disguised, it sounds too much not-like him.”
    “Huh.” Lucas nodded. “What was he doing earlier on the tape?”
    “That’s the other thing,” Sherrill said. “I went down and listened to them, and he and Dobie Martinez cleared out a burglary report and then said they were going to stop for a cup of coffee, and they went off the air. Then ten minutes later, there’s the request on the Darling car . . . then ten minutes after that, they come back on the air again, ready to go back to work.”
    “Shit,” Lucas said. “Did you talk to Martinez?”
    “Yeah. He remembers clearing the burglary, then stopping at Barney’s. He says they were in there for fifteen or twenty minutes, that Arne never left him, and then they came back and started working again. He says they never called in any Wisconsin plates. So unless they’re working together, the identification was bullshit.”
    “It’s bullshit,” Lucas said. “But I’d like to hear the tapes.”
    “I’ve got a copy on cassette, I’ll get it,” Sherrill said.
    She stepped away, and Lucas said to Del, “Have you heard about Sell-More?”
    “No, I just got here.”
    “Stadic called just about the time Franklin got shot. He was on a call down south. Sell-More was lying in the street with a couple of bullet holes in his head.”
    “Sonofabitch,” Del said. “They used Sell-More to set up Palin.”
    “But I don’t understand why,” Lucas said. “It’s gotta be a cop, and he’s gotta know that it wouldn’t hold up.”
    They all looked at each other, and then Sloan said, “Maybe he ain’t the brightest.”
    “Bullshit. He’s been leading us around by the nose,” Lucas said. “Who’s working the scene down at Franklin’s?”
    “Some of Lester’s guys, I don’t know who—Christ, people are all over the place.”
    “I want to talk to whoever it is . . .”
    Lester came in, and they turned toward him, and a second later, Rose Marie Roux followed Lester through the door. She looked at Lucas and said, “Give me an idea.”
    Lucas said, “I got nothin’ that we aren’t already doing. He’s gotta be holed up with a friend.”
    “We’ve shaken down every biker