Lucas stood up, yawned, and stretched. 'Poop. Listen, thanks for your time.'
Going down in the one-floor elevator, Lucas thought about Annabelle Ramford. Working for her old man's law firm, wearing her little pearls and her little green dress, worrying about 'poor people' between charity benefits. Doing pro bono because it made her feel good and she didn't need the money. Her old man, he thought, was probably the kind of asshole who bought six-thousand-dollar Italian suits.
Still, there was something about Annabelle Ramford that tickled his bullshit meter. He just couldn't think what it might be.
Annabelle stood in the window outside her office and watched him stroll away down the street. She felt a little sorry for him. The case against the Walther kid was weak. If news reports were correct, the FBI was pressuring state prosecutors to make a deal that would let the kid out in a couple of years, in exchange for information…
It didn't have to be that way. The whole case against Walther would come together if Davenport could find Trey.
But Trey was gone for good. Not even Annabelle would know where to find her, not now, not ever again. Davenport turned the corner, and Annabelle Ramford went back to her office, dropped three pennies and a nickel into a half clamshell, sat down behind her computer, and put the whole thing out of her mind.
Outside on the street, Lucas looked around, thought about going back to the office. He could call Kelly and tell him about Ramford, and maybe plot a little strategy in Carl Walther's case. On the other hand, he could just go home and see Sam.
Walther had fired shots at cops, so he'd do some jail time. A couple of years, at a minimum. And who was to say that Carl hadn't been abused, having spent so much time with that crazy old man? The snarled-up history of the Walther spy ring was another matter, and finding an equitable resolution for that case was beyond him. Probably beyond anybody.
Lucas yawned. Whatever happened would happen. If he wanted nice neat endings, he was in the wrong business. And he'd been at the office too much, lately. He was getting stale. Worse than that, he was investigating horses.
He turned the corner, back toward the parking ramp. Better to go home and see Sam, he thought.
And he did.
