on his makeup. On television? As he passed the dresser he slipped two tabs off the tray, popped them, as brighteners. What could she mean?
The first floor was dark, musty, a thin orangish morning light filtering through the parchmentlike window shades. The second floor was worse, the odor of marijuana hanging in the curtains, a stench of decaying cat shit, the smell of old vegetables and carpet mold. And it was dark, except for the phosphorescent glow of the tube.
Mrs. Lacey was standing, staring at the television, a remote control in her hand. Bekker was there on the screen, all right. One of the photos that had plagued him, had kept him off the street. But in this photo, he was a woman and a blonde. The details were perfect:
'… credited to Detective Barbara Fell and former Minneapolis Detective Lieutenant Lucas Davenport, who had been brought to New York as a consultant…'
Davenport. Bekker was struck by a sudden dizziness, a wave of nausea. Davenport was coming; Davenport would kill him.
'But…' said Mrs. Lacey, looking from the screen to Bekker.
Bekker steadied himself, nodded. 'That's right, it is me,' he said. He sighed. He hadn't expected the old woman to last this long. He stepped carefully across the carpet to her.
She turned and tried to run, a shuffling struggle against age and infirmity, gargling in terror. Bekker giggled, and the cats, hissing, bounded across the overstuffed furniture to the highest shelves. Bekker caught the old woman at the edge of the parlor. He put the heel of his left hand against the back of her skull, the cup of his right under her chin.
'But…' she said again.
A quick snap. Her spine was like a stick of rotten wood, cracked, and she collapsed. Bekker stared down at her, swaying, the brightener tab coming on.
'It is me,' he said again.
CHAPTER
21
Most visitors came through O'Dell's office; when the knock came at Lily's unmarked office door, she looked over the top of her Wall Street Journal and frowned.
There was another light knock and she took off her half-moon reading glasses-she hadn't let anyone see them yet-and said, 'Yes?'
Kennett stuck his head in. 'Got a minute?'
'What're you doing down here?' she asked, folding the paper and putting it aside.
'Talking to you,' he said. He stepped inside the door, peeked through a half-open side door into O'Dell's office, and saw an empty desk.
'He's at staff,' Lily said. 'What's going on?'
'We've papered the town with the female Bekker picture,' Kennett said, dropping into her visitor's chair. Small talk. He tried a smile, but it didn't work. 'You know Lucas got it, the cross-dressing thing. It wasn't Fell.'
'I thought maybe he did,' Lily said. 'He wants Fell to do well.'
'Nice,' he said, his voice trailing off. He was looking at her as though he were trying to see inside her head.
'Let's have it,' she said finally.
'All right,' he said. 'What do you know about this Robin Hood shit that O'Dell is peddling?'
Lily was surprised-and a small voice at the back of her head said that was good, that look of surprise. 'What? What's he peddling?'
Kennett looked at her, eyes blinking skeptically, as though he were reevaluating something. Then he said, 'He's been putting out shit about Robin Hood, the so-called vigilantes. I've got the feeling that the fickle finger is pointed at my ass.'
'Well, Jesus,' Lily said.
'Exactly. There aren't any vigilantes. It's all bullshit, this Robin Hood business. But that doesn't mean he can't fuck me up. If they think they've got a problem…' He pointed a thumb at the ceiling, meaning the people upstairs, 'And they can't find anybody, they might just want to hang somebody anyway, to cover their asses.'
'Boy…' Lily shook her head. 'I've got a pretty good line on what O'Dell's doing, but I don't know anything like that. And I'm not holding out on you, Richard. I'm really not.'
'And I'm telling you, he's behind it.'
Lily leaned forward. 'Give me a few days. I'll find out. Let me ask some questions. If he's doing it, I'll tell you.'
'You will?'
'Of course I will.'
'All right.' He grinned at her. 'It's, like, when you're a lieutenant and down, you've got friends and lovers. When you're a captain or above, you've got allies. You're my first ally-lover.'
She didn't smile back. She said: 'Richard.'
The smile died on his face. 'Mmm?'
'Before I risk my ass-you're not Robin Hood?'
'No.'
'Swear it,' she said, looking into his eyes.
'I swear it,' he said, without flinching, looking straight back at her. 'I don't believe there is such a guy. Robin Hood is a goddamn computer artifact.'
'How?'
He shrugged. 'Flip a nickel five hundred times. The events are random, but you'll find patterns. Flip it another five hundred times, you'll still find patterns. Different ones. But the pattern doesn't mean anything. Same thing with these computer searches-you can always find patterns if you look at enough numbers. But the pattern's in your head; it's not real. Robin Hood is a figment of O'Dell's little tiny imagination.'
Her eyes narrowed: 'How'd you find out so much about what he's doing?'
'Hey, I'm in intelligence,' he said, mildly insulted by the question. 'The word gets around. I thought his little game was pretty harmless until my name started popping up.'
She thought about it a minute, then nodded. 'All right. Let me do some sneaking around.'
CHAPTER
22
Lucas called Darius Pike in Charleston and gave him the plane's arrival time, then met Sloan and Del downtown. They hit a sports bar, talking, remembering. Lucas was long out of the departmental gossip-who was kissing whose ass, who was shagging who. Sloan went home at one o'clock and Lucas and Del wound up in an all-night diner on West Seventh in St. Paul.
'… shit, I said, gettin' married was okay,' Del said. 'But then she started talking about a kid. She's, like, forty.'
'Ain't the end of the world,' Lucas said.
'Do I look like Life with Father? ' Del asked. He spread his arms: he was wearing a jeans jacket with a black sleeveless tank top. An orange and black insignia on the sleeve of the jacket said, ' Harley-Davidson-Live to Ride, Ride to Live.' He had a five-day beard, but his eyes were as relaxed and clear as Lucas had ever seen them.
'You're looking pretty good, actually,' Lucas said. 'A year ago, man, you were ready for the junk heap.'
