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The first body is of a young woman, found on a Minneapolis riverbank, her throat cut, her body scourged and put on display. Whoever did this, Lucas Davenport knows, is pushed by brain chemistry. There is something wrong with him. This isn’t a bad love affair.
The second body is found three weeks later, in a farmhouse six miles south. Same condition, same display—except this time it is a man. Nothing to link the two victims, nothing to indicate that the killings end here.
“This guy…” Lucas said. He took a deep breath, let it out as a sigh. “This guy is going to bust our chops.”
And soon he is going to do far, far worse than that…
to Smith. The outer door rolled shut behind him. Smith looked at the coin through the thick yellowish glass and said, “Hey—where’d you get that?” “Internet. Could you take a look?” Smith was a big coin investor. He said coins would be good for two or three years, would probably double in price. And he reveled in his specialist knowledge, never lost a chance to show off. “Yeah. Just a sec . . .” Against policy—but it was done occasionally, the strict safeguards breaking down, especially when
lab I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen a few. Bobby, Sandy, if I were you guys, I would do anything I could to cut down the time, because right now, you’re gonna do a stretch in Stillwater and then the feds are gonna want to talk to you.” “I want a fuckin’ lawyer,” Clanton said. “I didn’t do anything, I was just here to check the property,” Martin wailed. “Not giving us any help at all, are they?” Youngie said to Lucas. “I mean, we put them with Charlie Pope, that’d be a murder charge to go with
Lucas introduced himself, got their names: “We’re really in trouble here,” he said. “Does anybody know anything about her social life? Who she was seeing, where she went at night? Was she dating, did she go to bars?” After a moment of silence, one of the women flipped up a hand. “We went to a restaurant up in the Cities, they have wine and music.” The woman had introduced herself as Carol Olson. She looked about forty, with medium-brown hair, a thin nose. “On Grand Avenue in St. Paul, it’s
he grabs somebody else like this Peterson woman?” Hopping Crow asked. “What do we do then, tell a million cops to look for Charlie Pope? And what do I tell the medical examiner?” “Tell him you came up negative. That’s what he expects, anyway.” “Ah, man.” Then: “What are you going to do?” “I gotta talk to Rose Marie and maybe the governor. Figure something out. In the meantime, you get Anita and you tell her that I personally will run her out of the state if she says a fuckin’ thing to
couple of Leinies long necks and carried them to a booth. A couple of hard-looking guys were shooting pool in the back, leather vests, oily jeans, fat leather wallets sticking out of their back pockets, tied to their belts with brass chains. They looked dirty, as they should: they were Minneapolis intelligence cops, and they ignored Lucas and Sloan. Sloan said, “Okay, so something’s up. What is it?” Lucas said, “Some fishermen down in Le Sueur County snagged a body in the Minnesota River.