Part 23 (2/2)

A deputy helped the fat man into the room. He was bleeding all over his head, shoulders, and arms from the window, and was dragging one leg.

”Dumb bunny jumped off the roof,” the deputy said. ”After he crashed through the window.”

”He was flus.h.i.+ng s.h.i.+t upstairs,” Lucas said. Dumb bunny? The guy looks like a mastodon. ”He got some of it on the toilet seat, though.”

”Check that,” Beneteau said to one of the deputies.

Connell had put away her gun, and now she stepped up behind Hillerod and pulled at his hand, immobilized by the cuffs.

”What the f.u.c.k?” Hillerod said, trying to turn to see what she was doing.

”See?”

Lucas looked. Hillerod had the 666 on the web between his thumb and forefinger. ”Yeah.”

The woman who'd been on the fold-out couch had been watching Connell, taking in Connell's inch-long hair. ”I was s.e.xually abused,” she said finally. ”By the cops.”

Connell said, ”Yeah?”

Lucas was climbing the stairs, and Connell hurried after him. In the bedroom, a decrepit water bed was pushed against one wall, with a bedstand and light to one side and a chest of drawers against the wall at the foot of the bed. Magazines and newspapers were scattered around the room. An ironing board sat in a corner, buried in wrinkled clothing, the iron lying on its side at the pointed end of the board.

A long stag-handled folding knife sat in a jumble of junk on the chest of drawers. Connell bent over next to it, carefully not touching it, looked at it, and said, ”G.o.dd.a.m.n, Davenport. The autopsies say it's a knife like this. The blade's just right.”

She picked up a matchbook and used it to rotate the knife. The excitement rose in her voice. ”There's some gunky stuff in the hinge or whatever you call it, where it folds; it could be blood.”

”But look at the cigarettes,” Lucas said.

A pack of Marlboros sat on the nightstand. There wasn't a Camel in the house.

17.

THE HILLERODS CALLED a Duluth lawyer named Aaron Capella. The lawyer arrived at midafternoon in a dusty Ford Escort, talked to the county attorney, then to his clients. Lucas went to the local emergency room, had four st.i.tches taken in his scalp, then met Connell for a late lunch. Afterward, they hung out in Beneteau's office or wandered around the courthouse, waiting for Capella to finish with the Hillerods.

The crime-scene crew called from the junkyard to say they'd found three half-kilo bags of cocaine behind a false panel in the junkyard bathroom. Beneteau was more than pleased: he was on television with each of the Duluth-Superior stations.

”Gonna get my a.s.s reelected, Davenport,” he said to Lucas.

”I'll send you a bill,” Lucas said.

They were talking in his office, and they saw Connell coming up the walk outside. She'd been down at a coffee shop, and carried a china cup with her.

”That's a fine-looking woman,” Beneteau said, his eyes lingering on her. ”I like the way she sticks her face into trouble. If you don't mind my asking, have you two . . . got something going?”

Lucas shook his head. ”No.”

”Huh. Is she with anybody else?”

”Not as far as I know,” Lucas said. He started to say something about her being sick, hesitated.

”I mean, she's not a lesbian or anything,” Beneteau said.

”No, she's not. Look, George . . .” He still couldn't think of exactly what he wanted to say. What he said was, ”Look, do you want her phone number, or what?”

Beneteau's eyebrows went up. ”Well, I get down to the Cities every now and then. You got it?”

AARON CAPELLA WAS a pro. Beneteau knew him, and they shook hands when Capella walked into the sheriff's office. Beneteau introduced Lucas and Connell.

”I've spoken to my clients. Another unconscionable violation of their civil rights,” Capella said mildly to Beneteau.

”I know, it's a shame,” Beneteau said, tongue in cheek. ”The right of felons to bear stolen a.s.sault weapons while distributing cocaine and speed.”

”That's what I keep telling people, and you're the only guy who understands,” Capella said. ”C'mon, b.i.+.c.h is waiting.”

They walked through the courthouse, Beneteau and Capella talking about Capella's sailboat, which he kept on Lake Superior. ”. . . guy from Maryland was telling me, 'A lake just isn't the ocean.' So I say, 'Where do you sail?' and he says, 'The Chesapeake.' And I say, 'You could put six Chesapeakes in Superior, and still have a Long Island Sound around the edges.' ”

b.i.+.c.h was the county attorney, a serious, red-faced man in a charcoal suit. ”They're bringing your client up now, Aaron,” he said to Capella. They all followed the prosecutor into his office, settling into chairs, b.i.+.c.h joining the sailing talk until a deputy brought Joe Hillerod down from the lockup.

Hillerod's lip lifted in an uncontrollable sneer when he saw Beneteau. He dropped into a chair next to Capella and said, ”How're we doing?”

b.i.+.c.h SPOKETO Capella as if Hillerod weren't there, but everything he said was aimed at Hillerod: Capella and b.i.+.c.h had already been over the ground.

”Tell you what, Aaron, your client's in bad shape,” b.i.+.c.h said professorially. ”He's got two years left on his parole. Possession of a gun'll put him back inside. There won't be any trial, none of that bulls.h.i.+t. All it takes is a hearing.”

”We'd contest.”

b.i.+.c.h rolled past him. ”We found him with a house full of stolen guns. We could try him for possessing firearms as a felon and possession of stolen firearms. Then we could send him to Minnesota, to be tried for burglary. He'd go back to Waupun, serve out the rest of his parole, start his new Wisconsin time after that, and then go to Minnesota to serve out his time over there. That's a lot of time.”

The lawyer spread his hands. ”Joe had nothing to do with the guns. He thought they were legit. A friend left them there, the same guy you grabbed up in the bathroom.”

”Right.” b.i.+.c.h rolled his eyes.

”But we're not discussing the guns; that's another issue,” Capella said. ”We can talk, right? That's why Lucas and Ms. Connell are here, right? A little friendly extortion?”

”If he'll ride along with us,” b.i.+.c.h said, poking a finger at Hillerod's chest, ”we might be inclined to forget the parole violation, the possession of a gun. That we got him on already.”

”So what are we talking about?” Capella asked.

b.i.+.c.h looked at Lucas. ”Do you want to explain to Mr. Hillerod?”

Lucas looked at him and said, ”I won't bulls.h.i.+t you. There are some good reasons to think that you've been slicing up women. Ripping their guts out. Six or more times now. We need to ask you some questions and get some answers.”

Hillerod had known what was coming, having spoken to Capella. He started shaking his head before Lucas was finished talking. ”Nah, nah, never did it, that's bulls.h.i.+t, man.”

”We're running your knife through the crime lab,” Connell said. ”It looks like it might have some blood gummed up in the hinges.”

<script>