Youve got pretty good taste. She pulled out a suit, looked at it, put it back, pulled out another. I can remember, you always wore good suits, good-looking suits, even before you were rich.
I like suits, he said. They feel good. I like Italian suits, actually. Ive had a couple of British suits, and they were okay, but they felt… constructed. Like I was wearing a building. But the Italiansthey know how to make a suit.
Ever try French suits?
Yeah, three or four times. Theyre okay, but a little… sharp-looking. They made me feel like a watch salesman.
How about American suits? she asked.
Efficient, he said. Do the job; dont feel like much. You always wear an American suit if you dont want people to notice you.
Jeez. A real interest. She was being cop-sarcastic. Never would have guessed it. Suits.
He wasnt having it: Yeah, sorta, he said. I like to watch the fashion shows on TV, sometimes, late at night.
Now she was amazed. Now youre lying.
No, Im not. Fashion is interesting. You can tell just about everything you need to know about somebody, by looking at their fashion.
What about me?
Ask me some other time; like three years from now.
Cmon, Davenport…
Nope. Im not going to tell you, he said. Women get nervous when men have insights into their personalities, and were too early in this whole thing for me to reveal any.
Youve had some? Her eyebrows went up.
Several, over the years, and more last night, he said. Some of them unbearably intimate; Ill list them for you. Like, three years from now.
Jeez, she said. What an enormous asshole…
LUCAS DUMPED THE CAR AND STRODE INTO CITY Hall, jingling his car keys. Sloan spotted him in the hallway.
What happened to you? Sloan asked.
What? Nothing.
You look weird, Sloan said. You look… happy.
Any fuckin happier Id be dancing a jig, Lucas said. You talking to McDonald?
I was just on the way.
I want to watch, if thats okay.
Sure. Its over on the ward, at Hennepin.
HENNEPIN GENERAL HOSPITAL WAS JUST DOWN THE block and over one; Sloan and Lucas walked over in thebrilliant, clear morning light, just a fresh touch of winter in the wind.
Her lawyer says shell make a statement, Sloan said, as they crossed the street. Theyre trying to hurry things along, get a bond hearing this afternoon.
Theyre talking self-defense?
Man, itwasself-defense, Sloan said. I was just out at the house, theres blood all over the place. And waitll you see her. He chopped the shit out of her head with a golf trophy. She got like forty stitches in her scalp.
She sure sold you on it.
If its a setup, its the best one were ever going to see. The ME says hes got her skin under his fingernails, and shes got big stripes on her legs where he peeled it off. Her legs are a mess, her back and ribs look like shes been in a gang fight, her face is completely blue with bruises, except where its cut. Her old mans fingerprints are all over the golf trophy. In blood.
Okay…
But just in case, said Sloan, reversing direction, we should bump her a little. I was gonna get Loring to do it, becauses hes such a mean-looking sonofabitch, but I cant find him. If youre gonna be around, after we get the statement, could you do it?
Yeah, sure.
Bump was Sloans private code word for frighten. Hed be the nice guy and get all the basic information, but even with a voluntary statement it sometimes helped to shake up the suspect. You could never tell ahead of time just what might fall out…
A tall, white-haired attorney named Jason Glass, known for handling spousal abuse cases, a court reporter, and Sloan gathered around Audrey McDonalds bed. She was propped half upright, with a saline solution dripping into one arm through an IV. Lucas stepped into the room and looked at her. He hadnt seen much worse, he thought, where the woman actually survived. He stepped back outside the open door and leaned against the wall to listen.
Sloan led McDonald through the routine, with interjections by her attorney: Yes, she was making the statement voluntarily. No, she hadnt been offered anything in return for making the statement. No, she hadnt been asked to answer police question before her attorney arrived, but yes, she had told police that shed shot her husband, Wilson McDonald, with a twelve-gauge shotgun.
As Lucas listened to her recount the sequence of violence, Frank Lester, the other deputy chief, straggled down the hall, peeked in the door, and said, Hows it going?
Lucas shrugged: She aint arguing. She says she did it. And McDonald was the guy: nothing shes saying makes it seem any other way.
Were getting some preliminary stuff back from the lab. Everything is consistent with what she said early on.
They had a history, Lucas said. The question now is, can she live without him?
Shes got a problem?
When I saw her, at ODells, she was virtually a hand puppet. She had no personality left that he didnt supply.
Well… you know theyre pleading self-defense, Lester said.
Yeah.
If the lab comes through, I doubt shell even be indicted.
If the lab comes through, she shouldnt be, Lucas said. Speaking of the lab, did we ever get that spectrographic analysis on the slug fragments?
Mmm, I heard somebody say something about it. I think its back, but I dont know what they said.
All right…
They listened for a minute: Audrey was telling of the pursuit down the stairs, of the panicky call to Helen. You gonna bump her a little? Lester asked.
Yeah, when shes done. Im starting to feel kinda bad about it, though, Lucas said.
I dont know, Lester said, peering up at him. I thought you were looking pretty cheerful.
Yeah?
Yeah. You getting laid again?
Jesus, you married guys dont think about anything but sex.
Thats true, Lester said. Well, let me know what happens.
Lucas nodded. I will.
And say hello to Sherrill for me. You know, when you see her.
SLOAN HAD GOTTEN THROUGH THE SHOOTING, AND now was working backward: Did Audrey McDonald know that her husband was suspected of committing a number of murders?
No… A little fire now, but in a prissy way. That ridiculous Davenport person is pushing this. Wilson would never kill anybody. Hed lose control and hed beat me up, but sometimes I was asking for it. Last night… last night I just couldnt help myself, I ran into the bedroom to hide and there was the shotgun and the shells on the floor and he was coming and I knew how to load it… She started rambling down the path to the shooting again, and Sloan cut her off.
Did your husband own a pistol?
No. Well, yes, years ago…
