Sudden Prey (34 page)

''He's wearing a vest,'' one of the cops said.

''Why the vest?'' Del asked.

''In case one of you officers decided to shoot me,'' Winter said simply. ''The woman called you in, didn't she?''

''What woman?''

''The one with Martin and his friend,'' Winter said. Then, ''Do I need a lawyer?''

''Better give him his rights,'' Lucas said, and one of the cops recited the code. ''You want one?''

''Yeah, I better,'' Winter said. ''I was sitting there, thinking about calling you, when you called me.''

''Why didn't you?'' Lucas asked.

''Because I figured Martin would kill me, or LaChaise.''

''What'd they get from you?'' Del asked.

''A couple of pistols, an accurized seven-mil-Magnum Model 70 and a box of handloads and a whole bunch of AR-15 ammo. Martin's an Armalite freak: he's always reworking them. I'd be careful. I'd bet they've got modified with them.''

''This Model 70,'' Lucas said. ''Got a scope?''

''Yeah. A Leupold Vari-X III in 3.5 10.''

''A sniper rifle.''

''A varminter,'' said Winter.

''Yeah, if elk are varmints,'' Lucas said.

AN ENTRY TEAM SWEPT THE HOUSE. THE BASEMENT WAS an arsenal, but, as one of the cops said cheerfully, ''Nothin' illegal about that.''

Lucas was looking at a Model 70, a gray synthetic-stocked Winchester .300 Magnum with a Pentax scope. He turned the eyepiece down to two-power and sighted across the basement at a crosshairs target. Winter had opened the gun safes so the weapons could be inventoried, and they'd found fifty handguns, two dozen rifles and as many shotguns. Del was playing with a derringer, snapping it at a wall target, and Lucas was looking at the butt of the Model 70, when a plainclothes cop came halfway down the stairs and said, ''We're sending Winter downtown. You got anything else you want to ask him?''

''Naw. I kind of think he's telling the truth,'' Lucas said.

''So do I, but he should have called us,'' the cop said. He grinned and said, ''Now he claims he tried to call out, but his phone was screwed up and he was afraid to go out. Says he didn't know the phone was off the hook down here, just that it didn't work.''

''Not bad, if he sticks to it,'' Lucas said.

The cop said, ''We got guys walking the neighborhood, checking about the car.'' Winter had said LaChaise, Martin and Darling were in a big brown car, but he didn't notice what kind because he wasn't thinking about it. Maybe a Lincoln or a Buick. The cop went on, ''The media are swarming in.''

''Jesus, that was quick,'' Del said.

''They're monitoring everything . . .''

''Can't let them know that there was a tip,'' Lucas said. ''LaChaise'll know where it came from and he'll kill the woman.''

''What'll I tell them? They'll want to know.''

Lucas scratched his head, formulating the lie: ''Tell them that Winter called us. Tell them that we used an entry team because we were concerned it might be some kind of ambush, and Winter was known to be a gun dealer with heavy weapons . . . Get that word out quick, so we don't get anybody speculating about tips . . . I'll get my chief to back us up, and we'll talk to Winter's lawyer about keeping Winter's mouth shut.''

''All right.'' The cop nodded, and hurried back up the stairs.

Lucas turned to Del and said, ''Look at this.''

Del came over and Lucas knelt by the gun safe and said, ''See the dust?''

There was a faint patina of dust on the floor of the middle safe, where Winter said he'd kept the stolen guns.

Del nodded. ''Yeah?''

''Three guns were taken out of here. See? You can just barely see the outlines . . .'' Lucas traced the dust outlines in the air, his finger a half-inch above them.

''Yeah?''

''Watch this . . .'' He put the Model 70 in a rack-slot on the opposite end of the gun safe, and wiggled it in place. When he picked it up, he'd left in the dust an almost imperceptible outline of the gun butt.

''Doesn't look the same,'' Del said. ''Too fat.''

''But he said a Model 70 and this is a Model 70.'' He turned to the Minnetonka cop doing the inventory. ''Give me one of those ARs, would you?''

The cop handed him an AR, a legal, unmodified rifle, and Lucas printed the butt in the dust next to the Model 70 imprint. The two prints were distinctly different--but the AR's print matched the dust shadows of the three stolen guns.

''They took the ARs out of here,'' Del said.

''And they're modified,'' Lucas said. ''That's why he laid that rap on us about Martin modifying guns. He wanted us to know that they're running around with machine guns, but he didn't want to say they came from him.''

''I'm getting pretty fuckin' tired of this machine gun shit,'' Del said.

''Let's get a photographer down here and see if we can get some shots of this,'' Lucas said, tapping the edge of the safe. ''I don't know if we can get Winter or not. He's a smart guy. But maybe we can fuck with him a little.''

''Why'd they come out for more guns? They've got guns.''

''Because of Franklin,'' Lucas said. ''If they'd shot Franklin with an AR, it would've gone through that vest like it was cheese.'' He took a slow turn around the basement, looking up at the ceiling: the ceiling was neat, just the way the rest of the basement was. Lucas's basement joists were full of cobwebs, which he had every intention of leaving alone.

''Say they took three ARs off Winter. And he says they took three vests. I'd say they're gonna make a suicide run.''

''On what? The hotel?''

''Maybe,'' Lucas said, but then shook his head. ''I really think it's gonna come somewhere else. They gotta figure that none of us are hanging around home, not after Franklin. They can't get at the hotel, we've made that pretty clear.''

''They're gonna hit the hospital,'' Del said, suddenly white-faced. ''They're going back in after Cheryl and Franklin, and Franklin's old lady's been over there . . . Shit, where's the telephone?''

STADIC HEARD ABOUT THE SCRAMBLE OUT TO MINNETONKA, and called LaChaise, while LaChaise, Martin and Sandy were still driving back downtown.

''They're out there now,'' he said, with thin satisfaction. ''They were about five minutes off your ass.''

''What happened to Winter?'' LaChaise asked, prompted by Martin.

''They're talking to him. The way I heard it, he's cooperating.''

''Fucker must've called them the minute we were gone,'' LaChaise said. ''They got the car?''

''I don't know,'' Stadic said.

''We better get out of sight.''

''Yeah: and one more thing. Me and a half-dozen other guys are supposed to be on the way to Hennepin General. They think you might be on the way there.''

''What? Why?''

''I don't know, but we're on the way over there. They talked to Winter, and he must've said something.''

''I gotta think,'' LaChaise said. ''Something's screwy.''

STADIC SAT BEHIND A DESK IN THE EMERGENCY ROOM, a shotgun by his feet, while Lester and another cop named Davis talked about ways of blocking off the drive without being too conspicuous about it. Lucas and Del showed up, cold, damp, hurried.

''You get the new composites on the street?'' Lucas asked Lester.

''Yeah, and we got the car out,'' Lester said. As they talked, they drifted toward a group of chairs a few feet from Stadic. ''Big brown car. What the fuck does that mean? What we got to do is break out where they're hiding.''

''Until we do that . . .''

Davenport went on talking but Stadic blanked. All he could think of was, Big Brown Car. And he thought, Oh, shit, they're at Harp's .

At noon, he was relieved of duty. He stopped at the office just long enough to pick up a pair of 8 50 naval binoculars, then drove down toward Harp's place. He stopped a blockand a half away and put the glasses on the windows above the laundromat. He hadn't been watching for more than five minutes when he saw the blinds move--somebody looking out at the street.

All right, he had them again. Same deal? He could wait in the street until they came out--they'd be in the car, that'd be a problem. He could maybe park across the street, and wait: and when he saw the garage door going up, he could run over to the driver's side, blow it up from one foot away--press the muzzle of the shotgun against the glass and pull the trigger. That would take out the driver, then the other guy . . . He'd need his vest.

He chewed his thumbnail nervously. A lot could go wrong. There'd be questions, later, too. But he could talk those away. He kept thinking about the death of Sell-More, he'd say, and how Harp seemed to tie into it. He ran Harp's name on the computer and came up with a Lincoln . . . but why wouldn't he tell everybody at that point? Why would he go in by himself?

He tried to work it through, but his mind wasn't right: too tired. He drove past the apartment to a liquor store with a pay phone, and dialed LaChaise again.

''We're looking for a big brown car, a Lincoln or a Buick.''

''That's it? No tags?''

''No tags. But they've got a new composite out on you--it won't be on TV until the late news, they want to see if you hit the hospital. But they say you've got gray hair, and gray beards, and you look like old men.''

''That fuckin' Winter,'' LaChaise said. Then, ''What's it like at the hospital. Security?''

''Tighter than a drum.''

''Goddamnit . . .''

''If I was you, I'd think about packing up and getting out,'' Stadic said. ''Your time's running out.''

After a moment, LaChaise said, ''Maybe.''

Stadic could hear him breathing; five seconds, ten. Then Stadic said, ''Really?''

''We're talking about it,'' LaChaise said. ''Mexico.''

Chapter
Twenty-One.

THE WHOLE DAY DRAGGED, THE HOURS SQUEEZING BY: every cop in the department was on the street: there were rumors that the local gangs were filling up the Chicago-bound buses, just to get out of the pressure.

Lucas had run out of ideas, and spent half the day at the hospital, with dwindling expectations.

Night came, but no LaChaise . . .

THE HOSPITAL WAS QUIET, DARK. NURSES PADDED around in running shoes, answering calls from individual rooms, pushing pills. Lucas, Del and a narcotics cop named McKinney hung out in an office just off the main lobby. There was no telling where LaChaise and Martin would try to crack the place--if they tried at all--but from the lobby, they could move quickly to either end of the building.

''Unless they come in by parachute,'' McKinney said.

''That'd be good,'' Del said. ''You see that movie?''

''Yeah . . . actually, there've been a couple of them. There was that one where the guy jumps out of the plane without a'chute, you see that one? Grabs the guy in midair?''

''What's-his-name was in it, the kid, you know, the Excellent Adventure guy,'' Lucas said.

''Yeah, I saw that,'' said McKinney. ''That's what got me jumpin'.''

''Hey, you jump? Far out . . .''

They talked about skydiving until they wore it out, then Lucas went back down the hall and crawled into an empty bed. Del sat up with McKinney; when first light came, he put his gun away and went to sit with Cheryl until she woke.

''YOU WANT ME TO DRIVE?'' MARTIN ASKED SANDY.

''No, I'm okay,'' she said.

''Watch your speed. We don't want to attract no cops,'' Martin said.

''Maybe we should of stopped in Des Moines,'' LaChaise said. ''This is a long fuckin' way.''

LaChaise had spent the trip in the backseat. Whenever they passed a highway patrolman--they'd seen three--he sprawled out of sight.

''Yeah, well, we're almost there,'' Martin said. ''See that glow out there? Way off, straight ahead? That's Kansas City.''

They'd made the decision late in the afternoon, LaChaise and Martin, and just after dark, LaChaise had walked back to the bedroom and said, ''Get your stuff ready.''

Sandy sat up. ''Where're we going?''

''Mexico.''

''Mexico? Dick, are you serious?'' She felt a quick beat of hope. If they made it out of town, they'd have some room. And someplace along the road, they'd forget about her for a while, and she'd walk away. A dusty little restaurant someplace, a small town out on the desert . . . she'd wait until they started eating, then she'd tell them she had to go to the ladies'room and then she'd walk out, leave a note on the car seat, hide until they were gone.

It was all there, in her mind's eye: and when they were gone--long gone--she'd turn herself in. Work it out.

A possibility.

But now Dick was complaining that they'd come too far? What was all that about?

She thought about it, a sinking feeling, and finally asked, ''Why is Kansas City too far, Dick?'' He didn't answer immediately. ''Dick?''

''Because we don't want to drive in the daytime,'' Martin said. He looked at his watch. ''It'll be light in another hour. We've got to find a motel.''