pitcher of Bloody Marys at the club, had laid a base for the vodka. Her rage at Wilson began to shift. Not to disappear, but to shift in the maze of calculations that were spinning through her head.
Bone and ODell would try to steal this from them.
She sipped vodka, pressed the ice compress against her head, thought about Bone and ODell. Bone was Harvard and Chicago; ODell was Smith and Wharton. ODell had a degree in history and finance; Bone had two degrees in economics.
Wilson had a B.A. from the University of Minnesota in business administration and a law degree from the same place. Okay, but not in the same class with ODell or Bone. On the other hand, his grandfather had been one of the founders of Polaris. And Wilson knew everyone in town and was a member of the Woodland Golf and Cricket Club. The vice chairman of Polaris, a jumped-up German sausage-maker who never in a million years could have gotten into the club on his own, was now at Woodland, courtesy of Wilson McDonald. So Wilson wasnt weaponless.. .
SHE HEARD HIM THUMPING DOWN THE STAIRS A MINUTE later. He stalked into the kitchen, still nude, jiggling, dripping wet. What ya drinking? he asked.
Soda water, she said.
Soda water my ass, he snarled. Then his eyes, which had been wandering, focused on the cold compress she held to her head. What the fuck were you taking my scotch for?
Because weve got things to think about, she said. We dont have time for you to get drunk. We have to figure out what to do with Kresge dead.
I already got his job, he said, with unconcealed satisfaction.
What? She was astonished. Was he that drunk?
ODell and Bone agreed I could have it, he said.
You mean… youre the CEO?
Well… the board has to meet, he said, his voice slurring. But Ive already been dealing with the PR people, putting out press releases…
She rolled her eyes. You mean they let you fill in until the board meets.
Well, I think that positions me…
Oh, for Christs sake, Wilson, grow up, she said. And go put some pants on. You look like a pig.
You shut the fuck
He came at her again and she pitched the vodka at his eyes. As he flinched, she turned and ran back into the living room, looked around, spotted a crystal paperweight on the piano, picked it up. Wilson had gotten the paperweight at a Senior Tour pro-am. When he came through the doorway after her, she lifted it and said, You try to hit me again and I swear to God Ill brain you with this thing.
He stopped. He looked at her, and at the paperweight, then stepped closer; she backed up a step and said, Wilson.
All right, he said. I dont want to fight. And we gotta talk.
He looked in the corner, at the liquor cabinet, started that way.
You cant have any more…
She started past him and he moved, quickly, grabbed herhand with the paperweight, bent it, and she screamed, Dont. Wilson, dont.
Drop it, drop it… He was a grade school bully, twisting the arm of a little kid. She dropped the weight, and it hit the carpet with a thump.
Gonna fuckin hit me with my paperweight, he said, jerking her upright. Gonna fuckin hit me.
He slapped her again, hard, and she felt something break open inside her mouth. He slapped her again, and she twisted, screaming now. Slapped her a third time and she fell, and he let her go, and when she tried to crawl away, kicked her in the hip and she went down on her face.
Bitch. Hit me with, hit me, fuckin bitch… He went to the liquor cabinet, opened it, found another bottle. She dragged herself under the Steinway, and he stopped as though he was going to go in after her, but he stumbled, bumped his head on the side of the piano, caught himself, said, Im the goddamned CEO, and headed back up the stairs to the tub, his fat butt bobbling behind him.
Audrey sat under the piano for a while, weeping by herself, and finally crawled out to a telephone, picked it up, and punched a speed-dialer.
Hello? Her sister, Helen, cheerful, inquiring.
Helen? Could you come get me?
Helen recognized the tone. Oh, Jesus, what happened?
Wilsons drunk. He beat me up again. I think I better get out of the house.
Oh, my God, Aud, Ill be right there… hang on, hang on…
FOUR
LUCAS ARRIVED AT THE OFFICE LATE MONDAY MORNING, neatly dressed, neatly shaved, dead tired. The simpler things in life could be done on automatic pilot: take the clothes to the cleaners, shower, shave, and eat. Anything more complicated was difficult. Exercise took energy, and a heavy workout was impossible after a month without sleep.
Hed been the route before. The last time over the edge, he hadnt recognized what was happening, hadnt seen it coming, and itd almost killed him. This time the process felt slightly different. He could feel it out therethe depression, the breakdown, the unipolar disorder, whatever the new correct name for it wasbut it didnt seem to be marching on him with the same implacable darkness as last time.
Maybe he could fight it off, he thought. But he still dreaded the bed. The minute his head touched the pillow, the brainstorm would begin. Sleep would come only with exhaustion, and then not until after daylight…
IN THE WINTER JUST PAST, WEATHER KARKINNEN, THE woman he'd been about to marry, had been taken hostage by a killer looking for revenge against Lucas. Weather hadmanaged her attacker: shed talked him into surrender. Shed given him guarantees. But nobody on the outside knew.
When Lucas closed his eyes at night, he could see the two of them walking down the narrow hospital corridor toward him, Weather in front, Dick LaChaise using her as a shield, with a pistol to her head. He could also feel the pressure at his back, where a hidden police sniper, a kid from Iowa, was looking at LaChaise through a rifle scope.
Lucass job was to talk the gun away from Weathers head, if only for half a second. If he could just get LaChaise to move the muzzle. .. And he did. The Iowa kid was cold as ice: Dick LaChaises head had been pulped by the mushrooming. 243 slug.
Weather, whose face was only inches away from La-Chaise, had been showered with bone, brain, and blood. She had recovered, in most ways. She could work; she could even forget about it, most of the time. Unless she saw Lucas. They tried to pull the relationship back together, but three months after Dick LaChaise died in a hospital hallway, she was gone.
Gone for good, he believed.
And Lucas was staring into the darkness again.
Hey, Lucas?
Lucy Ghent, a secretary, was calling down the hall from the chiefs office door. She was one of the older women in the office, who competed with her peers on hairdos. Chief Roux is down in Identification. She wants to see you right away.
Trouble?
Ghent flopped a hand, dismissively. Just… weirdness.
Rose Marie Roux was sitting at a cluttered desk in Identification, chewing Nicorette, paging through a document Lucas recognized as the departmental budget. She looked up when Lucas came in and said, I swear to God, if you killed the smartest guy on the city council, the average IQin Minneapolis would go up two points. Dont quote me.
What happened?
