Part 17 (2/2)
”I'm told that St. Paul had a shrink talk to him,” Lester said. ”They don't think he's capable of it.”
”Beat up his wife,” Shantz suggested.
”The charges were dropped. More like a brawl. His old lady got her licks in,” Anderson said. ”Hit him in the face with a Mr. Coffee.”
”I heard it was an iron,” Lucas said. ”Where was he last night, by the way?”
”Bad news,” Lester said. ”His old lady moved out after the last big fight, and he was home. Alone. Watching TV.”
”s.h.i.+t,” Lucas said.
”St. Paul's talking to him again, pinning down the shows he saw.”
”Yeah, yeah, but with VCR time delays, he could have been anywhere,” Shantz said.
”Bulls.h.i.+t,” said Anderson.
Shantz was talking to Roux. ”All we'd have to do is leak a name and the spousal-abuse charge. We could do it a long way from here-I could have one of my pals at the DFL do it for me. h.e.l.l, they like doing favors for media, for the paybacks. TV3'd pee their pants with that kind of tip. And it really does smell like a cover-up.”
”They'd crucify him,” Lester said. ”They'd make it look like the charges were dropped because he's a cop.”
”Who's to say they weren't?” Shantz asked. ”And it would take some of the heat off us. Christ, this killing over at the lakes, that's a G.o.dd.a.m.n disaster. The woman's dead and the guy's a cabbage. Now we get this serial a.s.shole again, knocking off some country milkmaid, we're talking firestorm.”
”If you feed the St. Paul guy to the press, you'll regret it. It'd kill the Senate for you,” Lucas said to Roux.
”Why is that?” Shantz demanded. ”I don't see how . . .”
Lucas ignored him, spoke to Roux. ”Word would get out. When everybody figured out what happened-that you threw an innocent cop to the wolves to turn the attention away from you-they'd never forget and never forgive you.”
Roux looked at him for a moment, then s.h.i.+fted her gaze to Shantz. ”Forget it.”
”Chief . . .”
”Forget it,” she snapped. ”Davenport is right. The risk is too big.” Her eyes moved to her left, past Lucas, hardened. Lucas turned and saw Connell standing in the doorway.
”Come on in, Meagan,” he said. ”Do you have the picture?”
”Yeah.” Connell dug in her purse, took out the folded paper, and handed it to Lucas. Lucas unfolded it, smoothed it, and pa.s.sed it to Roux.
”This is not bulls.h.i.+t; this could be our man. More or less. I'm not sure you should release it.”
Roux looked at the picture for a moment, then at Connell, then at Lucas. ”Where'd you get this?” she asked.
”Meagan found a woman yesterday who remembers a guy at the St. Paul store who was there the same time Wannemaker was there. He's not on our list of names and this fits some of the other descriptions we've had. A guy last night who definitely saw him says he has a beard.”
”And drives a truck,” said Connell.
”Everybody who drives a truck has a beard,” Lester said.
”Not quite,” Lucas said. ”This is actually . . . something. A taste of the guy.”
”Why wouldn't I release it?” Roux asked.
”Because we're not getting enough hard evidence. Nothing that can tie him directly to a killing-a hair or a fingerprint. If this isn't a good picture of him, and we do finally track him down, and we're sc.r.a.ping little bits and pieces together to make a case . . . a defense attorney will take this and stick it up our a.s.s. You know: Here's the guy they were looking for-until they decided to pin it on my client.”
”Is there anything working today? Anything that'd give us a break?”
”Not unless it comes out of the autopsy on Lane. That'll be a while yet.”
”Um, Bob Greave got a call from TV3-a tip on a suspect,” Connell said. ”It's nothing.”
”What do you mean, nothing? What is this, Lucas?” Roux asked.
”Beats me. First I heard of it,” he said.
”Get his a.s.s down here,” Roux said.
GREAVE CAME DOWN carrying a slip of yellow paper, leaned in the doorway.
”Well?” Roux said.
He looked at the paper. ”A woman out in Edina says she knows who the killer is.”
Lucas: ”And the bad news is . . .”
”She called TV3 first. They're the ones who called us. They want to know if we're going to make an arrest based on their information.”
”You should have come and told us,” Roux said.
”We've been sitting here beating our heads against the wall.”
Greave held up a hand. ”You have to understand, the woman doesn't have any actual proof.”
Roux said, ”Keep talking.”
”She remembers the killer coming back from each of the murders, was.h.i.+ng the blood off the knife and his clothes, and then raping her. She repressed all this until yesterday, when the memories were liberated with the help of her therapist.”
”Oh, no,” Lucas groaned.
”It could be,” Shantz said, looking around.
”Did I mention that the killer is her father?” Greave asked. ”Sixty-six years old, the former owner of a drive-in theater? A guy with arteriosclerosis so bad that he can't walk up a flight of stairs?”
”We gotta check it,” Shantz said. ”Especially with the TV all over it.”
<script>