husband, and then whisper sweet nothings to the judge, he could blow off the guidelines, depart upward on the sentence, and put her away for twenty.
They all looked at each other; then Kirk said, Right now, Lucas, Id say its sixty-forty against. Itd be nice if you could come up with something a little stronger. Give us another twenty percent, or so.
Itd be nice, Towson said.
Ill hit her tonight with a search warrant on the duct tape, maybe look for a glass cutter, Lucas said.
Talk to us, Towson said. We want to know every move from here on out.
TWENTY-NINE
AUDREY MCDONALD WAS PACKING WILSONS SUITS into cardboard boxes, after carefully noting labels, estimated costwhich shed have to confirm with the tailor and condition, all toward a tax deduction. The accountant had recommended a donation to Goodwill.
She didnt like the idea of Goodwill, but she did like the idea of the tax deduction. Still, she was muttering to herself as she did it. Shaking her head. Wilson had spent a fortune on clothing, and now shed get only a fraction of it back. Nothing for the underwear. Perfectly good boxer shorts, and some bum was going to get them.
So reckless, she muttered. Just didnt care. Just didnt care what you spent on this. Look at this. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen pairs of undershorts. Why would you need all those undershorts? You could have gotten by with three pairs, or five pairs. Sixteen pairs of undershorts. Look at this. This is silk. Silk undershorts?
She was counting them again when the headlights swung into the driveway, glowing through the bedroom drapes. Helen? She hadnt called. She always called before she came. But who else? She went to the window and looked down.
LUCAS AND SHERRILL WAITED AS SLOAN PULLED INTO the driveway with Del in the passenger seat; a squad car followed a few seconds behind Sloan, with two uniformed cops. Lights shone from several windows in the house, both upstairs and down, and Lucas handed the warrant papers to one of the uniformed cops, who walked up the stoop, rang the doorbell, and knocked.
All glass cutters, all packages of tape, all one-gallon glass jugs, all guns, cartridges and/or cartridge parts, to include gunpowder, primers, brass, and bullets, all credit card records or billing statements involving gasoline purchases, he read, in the light coming through the window in the door. There was no answer, so he rang again, then opened the storm door and pounded. Still no answer.
What do you want to do? he asked.
Were going in, Lucas said. Lets not break anything yet. Lets check the garage doors.
The front door rattled and the cop at the door stepped back. A moment later, Audrey McDonald stuck her head out. What? she croaked. She looked worse than shed looked in court: the bruises on her face were a sickly bluish yellow, with small reddish splotches. She still wore the bandages on her head, and her visible hair looked like broom straw.
Im sorry, maam, the cop said. We have a search warrant for your house, for certain items.
He handed her the papers, and she took them, peered at them querulously. A search warrant? Can you wait until I call my lawyer?
No maam. Youre welcome to call your attorney, of course, but the warrant is served and well have to come in.
Her eyes drifted past the cop to Lucas, whod begun to feel sorry for the woman: but when her eyes landed on him, they hardened into small black diamonds, like a cobras, and he leaned back, though he was ten feet from her. Okay, she muttered, breaking her eyes away. But do I have to do anything? I feel awfully bad.
You just go sit down, and well do all of it, the cop said.
She disappeared inside and the cop looked over his shoulder at Lucas. Lucas said quietly, Keep an eye on her. Shes not what she looks like.
THE MCDONALDS HAD A SMALL CLUTTERED WORKSHOP area in one corner of the basement, nothing more than an old chest of drawers with two two-by-eight-foot sheets of three-quarter-inch plywood screwed together to make the top of a small workbench, and a couple of steel shelving units with plastic boxes for storage.
Lucas had seen the workshop the first time in the house, after Wilson McDonald was shot. He went straight to it, checked all the tools. No glass cutter. He found a roll of black plastic electricians tape, which he bagged, but that seemed unlikely to be the tape they wanted. He walked once around the basement, looking behind the water heater, the furnace, through racks of paint cans and a pile of hoses and miscellaneous gardening equipment: no gallon glass jugs.
Del was working the kitchen. When Lucas came back up the stairs, he said, Got lots of tape. Duct, plastic mending, bunch of it.
Good. Bag it up, Lucas said. Check the wastebaskets and her car, see if you come across any small balls of tape that might be the right length. Two would be good. He went on through the living room, found that the carpet had been removed. Wilson McDonalds blood hadnt seeped through to the wooden floor, which looked freshly waxed.
Sloan had run quickly through the bedroom, not expecting to find much, and had moved on to a large, first- floor guest room which had a walk-in closet the McDonalds used for general storage. This was where Audrey McDonald had gotten the shotgun with which shed killed her husband. The closet was jammed with motoring, golf, and boating equipment, all of it apparently belonging to Wilson McDonald. The homicide cops investigating the shooting of Wilson McDonald had taken the gun and shells, but hadnt dug into the back of the closet. Sloan hauled everything out, found nothing of special interest, and then, as an afterthought, was patting down the weather gear, life jackets, golf and hunting jackets.
Just as Lucas walked in, he felt a heavy lump in the pocket of a golf jacket, and manipulated it out through the layers of cloth. Box of cartridges.
Gimme a bag, he said to Lucas.
What is it?
Boo-lets, he said.
Lucas held the transparent plastic bag and Sloan manipulated the box into it. Lucas turned the box on its side and read:. 38 Remington. Excellent.
Sloan stood up and said, Itd be nice if her prints were on the box.
Yeah, but Im not holding my breath.
One of the uniformed cops stuck his head in the door: Del says no glass cutter in the kitchen. No gallon jugs either.
Okay… check the garage.
At the end of an hour, they still had no glass cutter or gallon jugs, but did have nine rolls of tape and the box of cartridges. Sherrill had been going through the house files again, and had pulled out a stack of Amoco credit card receipts; the McDonalds shared a single account, but the cards had separate numbers. If they go back far enough, look for credit card charges in the Duluth area in the days before Ingall disappeared, Lucas said. We found an Amex charge in Chicago, the day before, for Wilson…
They go back that far… She started flipping through them.
A little more than an hour after the search started, McDonalds attorney showed up. Whats going on?
Lucas said, Search warrant. Mrs. McDonald has a copy. Shes in the TV room. He pointed him through to the TVroom, and Glass asked, You really think theres something going on here?
I aint doing it for the exercise, Lucas said. Youve got a problem, I think.
Glass wandered off to find McDonald, and the uniformed cop came back from the garage: No jugs, no glass cutter.
Gonna have to give up on the jugs, Lucas said. The glass cutter could be anywhere, if she didnt throw it away. Anybody look in the silverware drawer?
Del looked at the cop, and they both shook their heads.
Watch this, Lucas said. He pulled open drawers nears the sink, until he found the silverware drawer, then pulled that out all the way and stirred through the contents.
