Goddamn leg.
The AUS/Tech entrance area was as spare as the exterior: hard blue carpet, pale walls hung with poster- sized black- and- white photos of unsmiling men standing next to unidentifiable machines, and a steel and- composite counter. The two older women behind the counter watched him through the door, gave him a name tag, and turned him over to Coates, who walked him back to a conference room.
Coates was a tall woman with dark hair, closely cut; steel- rimmed eyeglasses; high cheekbones and thin lips; and her navy blue suit appeared to have been chosen for its social invisibility. “One of our vice presidents would like to sit in with us,” Coates said.
“Just a couple of questions,” Lucas said. “I was hoping to talk to somebody who was friendly with Ms. Trenoff.”
“Tara and I knew her about as well as anyone,” Coates said. “Tara Laughlin, she’s our vice president for legal affairs.”
“Ah. A lawyer.”
The lawyer kept them waiting for about four seconds, and Coates seemed surprised by the delay. When Laughlin arrived, she nodded at Lucas, took a seat at the head of the conference room table, and leaned back in her chair. Like Coates, she was a tall woman with dark hair and glasses, but her suit cost a couple hundred dollars more, and was a slightly more fashionable black- and- white check.
She put a file folder on the table in front of her and asked, “What exactly is the nature of this inquiry?”
“I’m investigating the murder of Frances Austin.'
'I didn’t know that she’d been definitively identified as a murder victim,” Laughlin said. “I have done that,” Lucas said. “And I am authorized to do that. So. As part of the investigation, we are looking at people who may have had antagonistic relationships with the Austins, including Ms. Trenoff.”
“You’re not going to record this?” Laughlin asked. “No.” Lucas raised his hands above the table. “Nothing up my sleeves, no secret microphones. I was hoping to have a completely informal, off- the- record conversation about Ms. Trenoff’s relationship with Mr. Austin, before I approach Ms. Trenoff herself.”
“We are concerned about possible lawsuits involving slander and possible damage to reputation.”
The bullshit dance continued for a couple minutes, Lucas assuring them that there’d be no record of the conversation, and that if no legal charges came from it, there’d never be an official reference to it. “I’m looking for background. If we need a formal record, I’ll bring a subpoena.”Once the walls were broken down, the two women relaxed and brought out the knives. “Hunter gave her a lot of jewelry. I saw some of it-she was quite open about their relationship-and I’d have to say that this was not mistress jewelry. This was serious stuff,” Coates said. She had a habit of pushing her glasses up her nose with her middle finger; Lucas suppressed a smile.
“How serious?” he asked. “Five thousand, ten thousand…?'
'More than that,” Coates said. She was talking to Laughlin now: “I saw one of those singleton diamonds, you know, like the Forever diamonds, that must have been six or seven carats.” Back to Lucas: “It looked like an acorn. And she had quite a bit of it. She would go on business trips with him, but Hunter always got a suite and she always got the cheapest room available, and she wasn’t the kind to stay in a cheap room.”
“So they were staying together,” Lucas said. “Of course,” Coates said. “And it was a sexual relationship.” Laughlin nodded. “It was more or less explicit. We had a deal in San Francisco, a contract meeting, and we got together in Austin’s suite the morning of the meeting. I happened to glance in the back bathroom and the Viagra was right there-like the quart- jar size.”
“Do you think any promises had been made?” Lucas asked. “About a permanent relationship? Marriage?”
“I think she expected it,” Laughlin said. She pulled her lips back and showed a well- developed set of eyeteeth. “She behaved that way, as though she were the spouse, an owner. She became quite preemptory.”
“Did you see any signs of conflict between Mrs. Trenoff and Mrs. Austin?”
“You wouldn’t see them together very often, and when I did, they didn’t talk-they didn’t really acknowledge each other,” Laughlin said.
Coates added, “Mrs. Austin didn’t come around much in the last few years. She had her own business interests. We’d see her on business social occasions, and then Marty would stay in the background.”
Laughlin leaned forward, one elbow on the table, and dropped her voice: “I saw her watching Alyssa once. It was like a fox watching a chicken. Alyssa seemed unaware of her, though I’m sure she wasn’t.”
“Of course she wasn’t,” Coates agreed. “Sounds like it’d be a good mud- wrestling match,” Lucas volunteered. The two women looked at each other, and then at Lucas. Neither smiled. He said, “So. When did you get rid of her?'
'It wasn’t quite like that,” Coates said. “When Hunter died, well, she was his private assistant. The job no longer existed. She finished up her work here, transferring files over to the new leadership, and then she… moved on.”
“To General Mills?” Coates nodded. “Yes.'
'With a good recommendation?'
'The best,” Coates said. “A good severance?'
'Very good,” Coates said. Now
“Considering what?'
'Considering what a mammoth pain in the ass she’d been,” Laughlin said.“When are you going to interview her?” Coates asked. “Probably Monday,” Lucas said. “I haven’t called her yet-I wanted to talk to you guys first.'
'Off the record,” Laughlin said. “Yeah, except for the microphone down my pant leg,” Lucas said. “You had me fooled,” Laughlin said. Her lips may have twitched, a smile? “I thought it was a Chapstick.'
'Hey…” Coates said, “When you see her, say ‘Hi,’ for us.”
Then on Sunday, as Lucas and Weather and the kids were about to sit down to dinner with his old friend Elle, he took a call from the Dakota County sheriff’s office.
“We got your bulletin about Frances Austin. We’ve got a dead female, appears to have been stabbed, though we haven’t moved her yet,” the deputy said. He was standing in a ditch, talking on his cell phone. “Body’s in a ditch, about ten miles south of Sunfish Lake. She’s got a charm bracelet on her wrist and one charm says, ‘Frances.’”
“Don’t move,” Lucas said. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” Weather looked at him in dismay, the roast and the potatoes and the fresh hot bread right there, steaming, and she said, “Oh, Lucas,” but he shook his head and said, “Your fault-you got me into it.”
“What?'
'It’s Frances.”
12
At this point in his life, Lucas had no idea how many times he’d done it: stood by the side of a road, cops parked at weird angles and tilts, white faces in passing cars, maybe a Coke or foam cup of convenience- store coffee in his hand, looking at a tarp- covered body in a ditch. He didn’t know how many times, but it was a lot.
When he got to the scene, driving his truck, he introduced himself to the deputy in charge, who walked him over to the body. Frances was faceup, her face old and wrinkled like a monkey’s, her lips shriveled to show her teeth, but still mostly intact, protected by the frost in the earth, and the slow snowmelt. She wasn’t actually in the bottom of the ditch, through which a trickle of water was now flowing, but partway up the far side.
The ditch had probably been mowed in August, and the grass had regrown to mid- calf length. The body was curled in a translucent plastic painter’s drip sheet, which had been partly torn away at the hip and around the head. From the roadside, it looked like somebody’s garbage, or flotsam from a passing truck.
Lucas knelt next to the face and took a photo out of his pocket. He knew already, but he showed it to the cop, and the cop nodded and said, “That’s her.”
