A little makeup applied professionally by the barber down the street, and Lucas's unkind wounds were made to pretty well disappear. It beat a giant Band-Aid, he decided. The neck was, as he'd predicted, stiff as a board, and his head still ached somewhat dully, but he was otherwise well. It had been the massive, bear like blow to the back of his head that had wreaked most of the havoc. When he had stepped over his blood in the gutter this morning, the sight made him boil and seethe with anger.
He wasn't used to being taken so easily. Maybe he should let it go, but his pride was bruised along with his neck.
He and Sanger were to have met with Lawrence at nine, which time had come and gone an hour ago. He supposed that now not only would Sergeant Kelton be pissed, but the captain and Sanger as well; but there was no reason Mere couldn't advise Phil on her own about what they'd found in Medford, Oregon.
He had slept until the phone rang. It was Kelton who had made the wake-up call, saying that Dr. Sanger was worried about him when he didn't show up at nine, and that if it wasn't bothering Stonecoat too awfully, would he get his bloody arse up and onto his duties! The last phrase was delivered in an earsplitting, painful war cry.
“I'm on my way. I had a little medical emergency last night, Sarge,” he had replied.
Now he was stepping through the doors to face Kelton, Lawrence and Sanger together. He hoped none would see the fresh wounds on his neck.
Kelton immediately and silently, his anger rising off him like steam, escorted Lucas to Lawrence's door, announcing him as if he were the king of Siam, bowing loudly and exaggeratedly, making Stonecoat frown and blush at once.
'That's not necessary, Sergeant,” said Phil Lawrence, dismissing Kelton. Meredyth stood in one comer of the room. “I'm told by Dr. Sanger you had some sort of brush last night with Pardee and Amelford from the Twenty- second.
Is that right?”
“Yeah, a slight brush, sir.”
“Those boys can get rough.”
“So I've noticed, sir.”
“Have a seat, Lucas.
“ Lucas did as told.
“Dr. Sanger here's brought me up to speed on what you two found up in Medford. Damned strangebusiness… damned strange, wouldn't you say? Insane, really. What do you make of it?”
“Like you say, sir, insane.”
“Some kind of sociopath on the loose?”
“If so, there're more than one.”
He nodded. “Yes, Dr. Sanger told me about your theory. Well, there's no shortage of sociopaths who meet in prison, team up after they're released to work in tandem. The literature of crime is filled with team killers. What's next, you two?”
“We're not sure just yet, sir, what our next step will be,” Lucas quickly said, “but I think we'll start talking to some of the hunting goods outlets and maybe some of the hunt club types around Houston, if that meets with your approval, sir.”
“Hunt clubs? You know that involves some big muckety-muck types. No lowlife joins a Houston hunt club that I know of.”
“No, sir, I mean, yes, sir, I know. Have it in my head, sir, that we're not dealing with the usual criminal element, sir.”
“Really, now. Then what kind of criminal element are we dealing with, Lucas?”
“High rollers, sir. Timothy Little was a rich man, and so was Mootry. They traveled in different circles, sir, but one thing they had in common was a lot of money to leave behind. Dr. Sanger's promised to look into their wills and scour for who stood to gain the most on their parting. Captain. Meanwhile, I thought I'd ask around at the local hunting goods outlets and clubs about members who prefer the crossbow to, say, a Remington automatic, sir.”
“Sounds like a plan.
Okay, you two… keep on it, run with it, and keep me apprised every step of the way.
Do you understand that? I'll talk to the twenty-second guys.”
After the perfunctory yes, sirs, bowing, and scraping, Lucas and Meredyth emerged. Meredyth was wearing a lime-green suit that made her look more youthful and beautiful than ever, he thought. “What is our next move?” Lucas asked.
“Randy's got something for us,” she said, “on the goblets.”
“Oh, yeah? What'd he find out?”
The goblets were returned to him.”
“Returned to him?” Lucas was amazed, nonplussed.
“Whoever gave him the goblets thought he was Detective Pardee. “He joked, “Who could possibly make such a mistake?”
“In any case, there were trace elements of sedatives, nothing particularly potent, but alongside the brandy, enough to induce sleep.
And fingerprints?
“Just as you predicted, wiped completely clean.”
“And the paperwork, the bill from the lab?”
She fetched it from her purse. “It's all yours. Do with it what you like.”
He grimaced.
“Don't be silly. I'm just teasing. Randy's already put it into the electronic maze. No one will ever know.”
“So, where do we go from here?” Stonecoat asked.
“I'm going to see Covey. I've already arranged it with him. He's anxious for company.”
He darkened his gaze. “I'll bet he is. You weren't going to go see him alone this morning, without me, were you?”
“He sounded real nice over the phone,” she said defensively.
“I'll bet he did.”
“Come on, Lucas. He's incarcerated.”
“Exactly where is he being held?”
'The new state pen at Hempstead. It's an hour's drive west.”
“Hempstead, really? I thought he'd be in Huntsville. Damn, I was planning to introduce you to my folks out at the res.”
“Huntsville's become too overcrowded. They opened a new state facility in Hempstead, much to the displeasure of the locals there.”
“You driving?”
“I know the way.”
“Let's go see Mr. Covey, then.”
“I got to thinking over what you said about Covey and Felipe, and it makes sense to see what we can shake loose from the man.”
“Damn it, you were planning to go see him without me, weren't you?”
“I wasn't going to wait around all morning for you, no.” She frowned and relented somewhat, adding, “Just where've you been, anyway? I telephoned your place this morning, but there was no answer.”
Apparently, he had slept through the ringing phone, or else she had called while he was out having his neck wounds cosmetically covered at the barber's. “Let's just say I was out…”
“Lucas, you wearing makeup? You don't have a secret life I don't know about, do you? What're those marks on your throat?” she asked.
“God, you can be so nosy.” He grimaced and swore again. He'd paid the barber well, but apparently it was for naught.
“I thought we were just getting to the point where we could be open and honest with one another, partner,” she complained.
“I'll tell you about it on the way to Hempstead.
