Part 20 (2/2)
Connell flipped through her notes. ”He was charged with a DWI in '92, but he beat it. And a speeding ticket this year. His last known address was somewhere up around Superior, a town called Two Horse. Current driver's license shows an address in a town called Stedman. My friend couldn't find it on a map, but she called the Carren County sheriff's department, and they say Stedman is a crossroads a couple of miles out of Two Horse.”
”Did your friend ask them about the Hillerods?”
”No. I thought we ought to do that in person.”
”Good. Let's get our a.s.s back to the Cities. I want to talk to Del before we start messing with the Seeds,” Lucas said. He looked across the lounge at the pilot, who was sipping a cup of coffee. ”a.s.suming that we make it back.”
HALFWAY BACK, LUCAS, with his eyes closed and one hand tight around an overhead grip, said, ”Twenty-three months. Couldn't have been much of a rape.”
”A rape is a rape,” Connell said, an edge in her voice.
”You know what I mean,” Lucas said, opening his eyes.
”I know what men mean when they say that,” Connell said.
”Kiss my a.s.s,” Lucas said. The pilot winced-almost ducked-and Lucas closed his eyes again.
”I'm not interested in putting up with certain kinds of bulls.h.i.+t,” Connell said levelly. ”A male commentary on rape is one of them. I don't care if the guy back at Waupun calls me a girl, because he's stupid and out of touch. But you're not stupid, and when you imply-”
”I didn't imply jacks.h.i.+t,” Lucas said. ”But I've known women who were raped who had to think about it before they realized what happened. On the other hand, you get some woman who's been beaten with a bat, her teeth are broken out, her nose is smashed, her ribs are broken, she's gotta have surgery because her v.a.g.i.n.a is ripped open. She doesn't have to think about it. If it's gonna happen, which way would you want it?”
”I don't want it at all,” Connell said.
”You don't want death and taxes, either,” Lucas said.
”Rape isn't death and taxes.”
”All of the big ones are death and taxes,” Lucas said. ”Murder, rape, robbery, a.s.sault. Death and taxes.”
”I don't want to argue,” Connell said. ”We have to work together.”
”No, we don't.”
”What, you're gonna dump me because I argue with you?”
Lucas shook his head. ”Meagan, I just don't like getting jumped when I say something like, 'It must not have been much of a rape,' and you know what I'm talking about. I mean, there must not have been a lot of obvious violence with the rape, or they would have given him more time. Our killer is ripping these women. He might be smoking a cigarette while he's doing it. He's a f.u.c.kin' monster. If he rapes somebody, he's not gonna be subtle about it. I don't know the details of this rape, but twenty-three months doesn't sound like our man.”
”You just don't want it to be that easy,” Connell said.
”Bulls.h.i.+t.”
”I'm serious. I keep getting the feeling you're playing some kind of weird game, looking for this guy. I'm not. I want to nail the a.s.shole any way I can. If it's easy, that's good. If it's hard, that's okay too, as long as we put him in a cage.”
”Fine. But stay out of my face, huh?”
DEL WAS SITTING on the City Hall steps, elbows on his knees, smoking a Lucky Strike. He was watching red ants crawl out of a crack in the sidewalk. His hair was too long and plastered down with something that might have been lard. He wore an olive-drab army s.h.i.+rt with faded spots on the sleeves where sergeant's stripes had been removed, and a fading name tag over the right pocket that said ”Halprin,” which wasn't his name. The army s.h.i.+rt was missing its b.u.t.tons, and was worn open, showing a giveaway rock-station T-s.h.i.+rt that said ”KQ Sucks.” Tattered khaki pants with dirt on the knees and black canvas sneakers completed his outfit. The sneaks had a hole near the base of his right big toe, and through the hole, the visible skin was as grimy as the shoes.
”Dude,” he said, his head bobbing as Lucas and Connell came up. He had the nervous submissiveness of somebody who has eaten out of garbage cans for too many years.
Connell walked past him with a glance. When Lucas stopped, she said, ”C'mon.”
Lucas, hands in his pockets, nodded at Del. ”What're you doing?”
”Watchin' ants,” Del said.
”What else?”
Connell, who'd gotten as far as the door, drifted back toward them.
”a.s.shole's getting out in a few minutes. I want to see who picks him up.” Del snapped the cigarette into the street and looked up at Lucas. ”Who's the chick?”
”Meagan Connell. Investigator with the state,” Lucas said.
Connell said, ”Lucas, we're in a hurry, remember?”
Lucas said, ”Meagan. Meet Del Capslock.”
She looked down, and Del looked up and said, ”How do.”
”You're a . . .” She couldn't find the right word.
”A police officer, yes, ma'am, but there's been some bureaucratic foul-up and I ain't been paid the last few years.”
”You gotta see this a.s.shole?” Lucas asked him.
”Don't gotta.”
”Then come on inside. We're doing this thing. . . .”
”Yeah?”
”The Seeds came up.”
DEL HAD A database on the Seeds known to Wisconsin, Minnesota, Iowa, and Illinois police agencies. Joe Hillerod came in for twenty lines. ”His brother Bob is heavily involved,” Del said, scanning a computer file. ”He transported drugs out of the port, down here and over to Chicago and maybe St. Louis, for some medium-time dealers. He didn't retail himself, not at the time, although he might be now. Then he had some hookers working all the big truck stops around Wisconsin and northern Illinois. Joe . . . the information says he mostly drove for his older brother but wasn't much of a businessman. Apparently he's a wild one; likes women and good times. And he seems to be the enforcer when they need one.”
”What're they doing now?” Connell asked.
”Small-time retailing c.o.ke and crank through the roadhouses up there. And they've got a salvage yard outside of Two Horse.”
”Any chance that they were involved with those fifty-cals you found?” Lucas asked.
Del shook his head doubtfully. ”The Seeds have a bunch of little splinter groups. The fifty-cal guys are into this weird right-wing white-supremacy Christian-n.a.z.i s.h.i.+t. And they're mostly holdup guys and armored car guys. The Hillerods are a different splinter, mostly based around the old biker gang the Bad Seeds. They're dope and women. A couple of them supply women to the ma.s.sage parlors over in Milwaukee and here in the Cities. One of them has a p.o.r.no store in Milwaukee.”
Lucas scratched his head and looked at Connell, who'd been peering over Del's shoulder. ”I guess the only way we're gonna find out is go up there and roust them.”
<script>