Lucas.Davenport.11.Easy.Prey.2000 by Sandford John

Author:Sandford, John [Sandford, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Google: kUqIqCCfFfoC
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 0100-12-31T22:00:00+00:00

Lucas spent fifteen minutes with India, going through Deal's computer, but Deal apparently didn't use e-mail, and Lucas couldn't find any data files. There had to be some, but they could be on a removable disk. He closed the computer down, stuck a handwritten note that said, "Don't use—Minneapolis police" on the monitor screen, and said, "I'm sending a computer guy over here to take a look at this thing. Don't let anybody touch it, okay?"

"I'll tell Philip," she said.

"Who's he?"

"The manager?"

"Honest to God? Philip?"

Del called when Lucas was on the way back to the hospital.

"I got the game. Started last night, continues until five A.M. tomorrow. Twenty-five grand to get in." That was good. They had Bloom's name now, but there was no guarantee that Bloom was their guy. They still needed Trick—and Al-Balah.

"Where at?"

"Pat Kelly. Remember him?"

"Yeah… Where's he at now?"

"Bought a place down on the south end, right on Minnehaha Creek. He's got a brand-new two-story fully-heated triple garage in his backyard. The word is, it's upstairs in the garage."

"Going on now?" Lucas asked.

"Yup. Want to meet me?"

"Absolutely. Let's get… uh, what's Franklin doing?"

"He's still with Corbeau," Del said. "How about Loring?"

"I saw him early today, so he's probably off—but he's always up for overtime."

"Give him a ring. I'll meet you at Pasties in an hour."

Rose Marie had gone home, but a night nurse at the hospital let Lucas look in on Marcy. She was half propped up in a bed, a breathing tube in her nose, more tube in her arms, wires scrambled around the top of the bed, running to monitors. She smelled of disinfectant and something else: corruption, or cut flesh. Lucas knew the odor, but had never been able to put a name to it.

He sat down on a chair next to the bed, watched her breathe for five minutes, then said, "We got a couple of things going, couple of leads. You're gonna make it. We talked to the docs. But you gotta keep sleeping for now." Maybe she could understand it, somewhere down in her brain. He backed out of the room, turned, and nearly ran over a woman who'd been standing by the door.

"Lucas," she said, and showed a tiny smile.

"Weather." His heart thumped. That hardly ever happened anymore; now, three times in three days, with Catrin, with Jael Corbeau. "I was just… Marcy… you know."

"I heard. I was coming down to take a look," Weather said. She was a small woman, with wide athletic shoulders and a slightly crooked nose that might have been just a shade too large. Her eyes were dark blue, her short hair just touched with white. She'd be thirty-eight, Lucas thought. And, God, she looked good. "I talked to Hirschfeld—he did the surgery—and he said she's got a good chance. She was pretty torn up when she first came in, and he was worried, but they got it together."

"She was hit hard."

"Another nutcase, Lucas. They keep coming." She was a surgeon. She saw the victims, especially the children.

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