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Night prey book12/24/2022 ![]() Lucas, softer, said, "We're trying to track down the last days of a woman who was killed last week. How many is that for you? Six?"Ĭonnell, who had been listening impatiently to the chitchat, thrust the photos at him. I gotta friend, I just heard his wife's pregnant. You just wave it at her, and she's knocked up." How you been, Lucas?" They shook hands, and the store owner nodded at Connell, who stared at him like a snake at a bird. The owner of the Startled Crane grinned at Lucas and said, "Cheese it, the heat. "Yeah, well, thanks, Shirlene." To Connell: "We can scratch Crosby's off the list." If you'd called last week, I probably could have gotten you in." The Pillar of Manhood was a male-only night. ![]() "There was poetry at the Startled Crane, something called Prairie Woman at The SaintþI don't know how I missed that oneþGynostic at Wild Lily Press, and the Pillar of Manhood at Crosby's. "I wondered if you'd call." The woman's voice was hushed. ![]() Lucas called from a corner phone, another number from memory. "Hell, I don't know." He threw up his hands. "She didn't buy much, but we'd have these wine-and-cheese things for authors coming through town, and she'd show up maybe half the time. He nibbled at his lip as he peered at the photograph. "She used to come to readings," the store owner said. They picked up a taste of her at the suburban Smart Book. Nobody in the half-dozen downtown bookstores knew Wannemaker. Connell was an interrogator: just the facts, sir. Lucas liked to drift into conversation, to schmooze a little, to remember common friends. "He's a fuckin' comic."Ĭonnell continued to irritate him: their styles were different. "Some people are an open book," Connell snorted. He's got the Hollywood stubble and the Miami Vice suits, but he couldn't find his shoes in a goddamn clothes closet." "How about here, at eleven o'clock?"Īs Lucas and Connell walked out of the building, Connell said, "Greave's a jerk. "Meagan and I are going out to the bookstores. Lucas scooped Connell's file from his desk, handed it to Greave. "A few weeks ago."Ī little tension there. ![]() "Bob Greave, Meagan Connell," Lucas said. She looked at Greave, then Lucas, and said, "Ready." She was wearing a navy suit with matching low heels, a white blouse with wine-colored tie, and carried a purse the size of a buffalo. It's driving me crazy."Ĭonnell pushed through the door. "It's a goddamned locked-room mystery, like one of them old-lady English things. "Never heard of anything like that," Lucas admitted. "We've got it pegged as a homicide and we know who did it, but we can't figure out how." Everybody in homicide is laughing about it. ![]() Whenever there's a really horseshit case, I get it. They figure I'm not pulling my load, and they're right. "Anyway, the guys in homicide don't do nothing but fuck with me. "Yeah." Greave rubbed the stubble on his chin. "Sounds like you gotta make a decision about her," Lucas said. Homicide just makes it a little okay.Īnd she makes me wear these fuckin' Italian fruit suits and only lets me shave on Wednesdays and Saturdays." She doesn't like me being a cop in the first place. I can't go back to Officer Friendly, my old lady'd nag my ears off. "If you liked being an Officer Friendly." "So now I'm doing something I can't fuckin' do and I'm stuck between my old lady and the other guys on the job." She got tired of me being Officer Friendly. The only goddamned reason I'm in homicide is that my wife is the mayor's niece. "Don't bullshit me, Davenport." Greave studied him for a minute, then said, "That's what they call me. "Haven't heard anything like that," Lucas lied. ![]()
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