the muzzle of the gun: I was afraid youd killed all those people; but I didnt want to know, he said.
Well, now you do, she said.
You dont have to kill me.
Wilson, that goddamned Davenport is snuffling around after you, and hes going to get you. He already knows about some of the other killings, and once he has those figured outyoud cave in like a house of cards. My problem is, you might still be able to prove you were out of town for a couple of the killings. And Ill tell you what, Wilson, after all the shit I put up with married to a goddamn loser… The booze was beginning to have an effect, and she blinked once, twice, almost lost her line of thought. After all that shit, I couldnt stand going to jail for it.
You dont have to, he said, hastily. He took a step back. You gotta think about this.
I have thought about it, she said. I would have had to do it sooner or later anyway.
You goddamn hillbilly, he said, taking another step back.
You… She couldnt think of an answer to that, so she fired the shotgun, the load of buckshot blowing straight through the broken golf trophy McDonald had moved up over his chest, through an inch of yellow fat, and into McDonalds heart. He wasnt blown backward, the way people hit with shotguns were in the movies; he simply took another step back, tried to say something else, and then toppled.
Audrey checked to make sure he was dead, and then called 911.
I killed my husband, she choked; and she really choked, because she had loved him, more or less. I shot my husband, she moaned. Send somebody…
And when they said they would, she dropped the phone, tossed the gun at McDonalds sightless body, and staggered into the kitchen for another drink.
NINETEEN
LUCAS WOKE IN FULL LIGHT, WITH THE PHONE RINGING again. He hopped out of bed, nearly stumbled on cramped legs, lurched through the bedroom door to the study, picked up the extension on the sixth or seventh ring and said, Yeah?
Lucas, this is Dan Johnson. Johnson ran the overnight Homicide. Listen, you know this McDonald guy youve been tracking?
Yeah?
We caught a call from his old lady last night. Audrey McDonald. She killed him with a shotgun.
What? He heard the words, but they didnt make sense.
Killed him, Johnson said. Hit him in the chest with a goose load, range of about six feet. Hed beaten the shit out of her. There was blood all over the goddamn place.
Aw, man. Lucas thought for a moment. Where is she right now? Audrey?
Over at the hospital. We got a preliminary statement from her, on the way downtown. She admitted shooting him, then asked for an attorney. Her sister, Helen, is here, making a statement. She says Audrey called her, lookingfor help, while her old man was chasing her around the house.
That sounds a little strange. Whatd they do, call a time-out so she could use the phone?
Well, you gotta hear the whole story, but it holds together.
Okay.
So Helen called 911 and asked us to send out a car, that her sister was being beaten to death. The next thing, we get a 911 from Audrey, saying she shot her old man. They were both pretty drunk, Audrey and Wilson. We got blood alcohols on both of them, the old man was twopointone, she was one-point-four, and big as he was, he had to drink a shitload of booze to get up to two-point-one. We got an empty fifth of scotch and another bottle with about an inch left. He had been drinking part of the afternoon and all evening.
You think Audrey and Helen couldve set it up? Lucas asked.
I dont think so. You gotta see Audrey. I mean, McDonald beat theshitout of her. Shes gonna need plastic surgery. In fact, she might be getting it right now.
Ah, Christ. Okay, Ill be in.
No rush. She wont be able to talk for a couple hours, as close as I can tell.
LUCAS WENT BACK TO THE BEDROOM, WHERE SHERRILL was still curled under the covers. What? she asked.
Lucas told her: McDonalds dead. Shot to death by his old lady in a drunken fight. Or maybe, while her old man was beating her. Like that.
Sherrill sat up, letting the blankets fall away. Lucas decided she was beautiful. How can that be right?
What do you mean?
It solves too many problems, she said.
Yeah. He nodded and remembered his talk with the St. Paul fingerprint specialistremembered saying that the discovery of McDonald's prints was just too easy. But it happens that way.
The first time it happened to me was with that Bonnie Bonet chick. And that was on this case too. Weird case… Are you going in?
Got to, he said. He dropped down on the bed next to her. But not this exact moment.
Oh, God, morning sex, she said. I never understood what men see in it. I think they just wake up with hard- ons and dont know where else to put them. She yawned and said, My mouth tastes really bad. Like that drawer in Sex that Rigotto used to spit into.
Sweet image. You oughta be a fuckin writer, Lucas said.
A fuckin scribe.
A fuckin hack. Anyway, I got a new toothbrush you can use, he said.
Yeah, you would.
Hey… He was offended.
Sorry. I make, like, a total retraction. She rolled her eyes.
You should. Anyway, you could brush your teeth and then I could show you the shower again.
She brightened. Thats not a bad idea; I only got part of the tour last night.
Did we get to the soap on a rope?
I dont believe we did…
LUCAS HAD NEVER THOUGHT OF HIMSELF AS A CHEERFUL person, because he wasnt; he wasnt usually morose either. He simply lived in a kind of police-world meґlange built of cynicism, brutality, and absurdity, leavened by not infrequent acts of selflessness, idealism, and sacrifice. If a cop brought a continuing attitude of good cheer to that world, there was something wrong with him, Lucas thought. His own recent problems he recognized as involving brain chemicals: he could take other chemicals to alter his mental state, but he was afraid to do that. Would thebrain-altered Davenport actually be himself? Or would it be some shrinks idea of what a good Davenport would look like?
All that aside, he was feeling fairly cheerful when he arrived downtown, alone. Sherrill would not get in the car with him: she would not arrive downtown at the same time.
If we keep doing this, theyre gonna know anyway, Lucas said.
Yeah. Later. And thats what I want. Later.
But you want to keep doing it?
Oh jeez, yeah. I mean, if you do, she said. A couple, three times a week, anyway. Dont think I could handle every night.
Dont have to worry about that, Lucas grunted, as he looked in a dresser mirror to tie his necktie. Another night like last nightd probably kill me.
Youre in pretty good shape for an old fuck, Sherrill said. She was still lounging on the bed, pink as a baby.
If you make me think of things to say, I wont remember how to tie a necktie, he said, fumbling the knot.
Who picked out your suits? she asked. She hopped off the bed to look in the closet. Not only was she beautiful, he thought, her ass was absolutely glorious; and she knew it.
I did. Who else?
