“You’re not important enough to wait for,” Hanson said. “So you better hurry.”
Lucas headed for his Jeep, and Lacey called after him, “Who’s going to throw this shit back in the dumpster?”
“I investigate, I don’t clean up,” Lucas yelled back, and then he was in his Jeep and rolling.
At his apartment, he stripped naked, put all the clothes except his boots and the newer canvas shirt in a garbage bag and threw it at the door. He put the shirt in another garbage bag, and left it on the kitchen table; he’d take it to a laundromat and wash it for an hour or so. The boots he carried back to the shower, and washed them with soap and hot water, until they looked clean, then left them on the floor to dry out. He scrubbed himself down, washed his hair, dried, dressed, picked up the garbage bag by the door, threw it in the trash on the way out, and headed downtown.
The box was on Daniel’s desk, sitting on top of a pile of newspaper. Daniel was sitting behind his desk, while Sloan and Lester took the two guest chairs. Hanson wasn’t around. An amused look flitted across Daniel’s face when Lucas walked in, and he said, “They tell me you smelled worse than the box.”
“They were right,” Lucas said. “I ruined about fifty bucks’ worth of clothes, if I manage to save the boots. You’ll be getting the bill.”
“Go ahead and put in for the boots,” Daniel said. “A little bonus.”
“Is Jones on the way?” Lucas asked.
“Talked to him five minutes ago,” Sloan said. “He’s coming.”
“But it’s theirs,” Daniel said. “The girls’.” There was no doubt in his voice.
They all sat there, for a moment, in silence, and then Lucas said, “I’d like to know a little more about that nine-one-one tip.”
The tip, Daniel said, had come from somebody who identified himself as a neighbor who didn’t want to get involved. He said he’d gone into the alley to move his car, and saw the guy with a basketball and a box, and saw him stop and loft the box into the dumpster, and then walk around the corner at Tom’s. He said he knew about the basketball from neighborhood rumor-that the cops were looking for the guy with the basketball.
“So everybody in the world knows Scrape,” Lucas said.
“Not the whole world,” Sloan said. “But the neighborhood around Matthews Park is pretty contained-and when you’re talking about a pedophile, the word gets around fast.”
Lester: “The thing about Scrape is, all he does is walk. He walks up and down every street down there, every day. They all know who he is.”
“I still don’t like it,” Lucas said. “We get an anonymous tip that Scrape threw the clothes in the dumpster, and we’re only chasing him in the first place because of a tip from a guy we can’t find, who might be some kind of an asshole operating under a phony name.” He remembered, then, and looked at his watch: eight o’clock. “Shit.”
“What?”
“I had an appointment at seven tonight. Gotta make a call.”
“What you’re gonna find as you get into investigations,” Lester said, “is that all kinds of weird shit happens.”
“I already learned that,” Lucas said. “Weird shit happens on the street, too-but there’s weird shit and then there’s weird shit. When it’s too weird, you gotta think about it some more. I need a phone.”
He went into the outer office, to an empty desk, got Kenny’s number from the operator, and called. He asked for Katz, got him, identified himself. “Has John Fell been in? John Fell?”
“Not tonight. Not so far.”
He’d just hung up when George Jones, followed by a frightened-looking woman who Lucas recognized from the papers as his wife, Gloria, stepped into the office, trailed by Hanson, who’d apparently gone to meet them at the door. Hanson said, “This is Detective Davenport, who recovered the box for us.”
The two nodded vaguely at Lucas, and they all went into Daniel’s office. Daniel, Lester, and Sloan were all on their feet, and Daniel said a few words about how hard it all was, and then opened the top of the box.
Gloria Jones, a slightly too-heavy woman with red-tinted hair, began to tremble and her husband took her arm. Together, they peered into the box, and then Gloria reached into it and picked up the brassiere and said, “The kitty bra,” and fainted.
She would have fallen if Lucas hadn’t caught her, under the arms, and he eased her into a chair, but she was unconscious, and Daniel was shouting about an ambulance, and everybody but Lucas and George Jones went running.
Daniel was back in a few seconds and said, “We’ve got an ambulance on the way; it’ll be here in a minute.”
“I think she fainted,” Lucas said. “She’s coming back.”
“Can’t take a chance,” Daniel snapped. “It could be her heart.”
She came back, but then the medics were there to take care of her, and the cops all moved to the outer office. George Jones said, “The kitty bra-it was Nancy’s first bra. It has a kitty face in the front.”
And it did.
Gloria Jones was wheeled to the ambulance for the oneminute ride to the emergency room, and George went with her. The cops gathered back in Daniel’s office, and Daniel said, “We’re looking at a double murder, now. Anybody doubt that?”
They all shook their heads.
“There’s gonna be tremendous heat,” Daniel said. “We’ve gotta get Scrape back, right now. We need to know who called nine-one-one, even if we have to tear the neighborhood apart. I don’t give a shit if the guy doesn’t want to get involved, we find him.”
Hanson: “Best to do it right now, everybody home from work but still awake…”
Sloan: “Oughta get an entry team this time, gettin’ Scrape.”
Daniel began issuing orders, and the detectives started moving, and Hanson turned back to Daniel’s desk and looked into the box, and Lucas, who hadn’t been told anything, asked, “What am I doing?”
Daniel looked up at him and said, “Uhhh… Lucas, man, you did really good. And I’m keeping you around for a few more days. But we’ve got something else for you.”
Lucas didn’t understand. “Something else? What the hell? I’m all over this one,” he said.
“But this one, we’re just chasing the guy down. We… don’t need you to do that. So now, you’re gonna get all over the other one,” Daniel said. “And it’s important. The Smith murder. Capslock caught it this morning, but Sandola is on vacation, and we don’t want Capslock wandering around by himself interviewing gangbangers.”
“Smith murder? What’s the Smith murder? What’re you talking about?” Lucas was tired, and now was a little pissed.
Daniel spread his hands, as if explaining the real world to a moron: “Life goes on, even when kids get kidnapped. Billy Smith, a little dipshit gangbanger and crack salesman, got his ass stabbed to death. We found him this morning. He’s over at the ME’s office right now. We need to get a clean white face on it, and you’re the guy.”
“A clean white face?”
Hanson stepped in: “See, Billy had him some friends in the community, and if we don’t step up and take it seriously, they’ll call the mayor and their councilman, and they’ll call the chief, and the chief will call QD here…”
“And I hate that,” Daniel said. “I hate to get called. So even though we know we won’t catch the killer unless somebody calls us, we gotta look like we’re serious about it. That means sending white guys in good clothes down there, to talk to folks, and take notes on what they say. Capslock caught it, and he needs a partner.”
“Fuck me,” Lucas said, his hands on his hips.
“Yesterday, you were walking around with a flashlight picking up drunks. Today you’re investigating a murder. Just take it,” Daniel said. And: “Capslock’s getting dinner at the XTC. You need to get over there and introduce yourself.”
“Goddamnit,” Lucas said.
