Eyes of Prey

natural. She even got her lines right.”
    “Smart kid . . .”
    “When do we talk?”
    Lucas looked down the street toward the Metrodome. “I don’t want to do anything today. I just want to sit somewhere and see if I can feel good. There’s a Twins game . . . .”
    “Sarah’s never been.”
    “You wanna see a game, kid? They ain’t the Cubs, but what the hell.” Lucas lifted Sarah to straddle the back of his neck and she grabbed his ear and him with the pacifier. What felt like a gob of saliva hit him in the part of his hair. “I’ll teachyou how to boo. Maybe we can get you a bag to put on your head.”
     
    When Lucas had gone, Daniel gathered his papers together, stacked them, dropped them into his in tray, shut down the computer and took a lap around the office, looking at the faces of his politicians. Hard decisions. Hard.
    “Jesus Christ,” the chief said quietly, but aloud. He could hear his heart beating, then a rush of adrenaline, a tincture of fear. But now it was ending, all done.
    He stepped back toward his desk, saw the paper wad that Lucas had fired at the wastebasket. He picked it up, meaning to flip it at the basket, and saw the ballpoint ink on the back. He smoothed the paper on his desk.
    In Davenport’s clear hand, under the heading “Loverboy”:
     
    —Heavyset, blond with thinning hair. Looks like Philip George.
    —Cannot turn himself in, or even negotiate: Cop.
    —No hair in drain or on bed: Cop.
    —Called me through Dispatch on nontaped line: Cop.
    —Extreme voice disguise: Knows me.
    —Served with S. Bekker in police review board study.
    —Knew Druze was the killer.
    —Didn’t call back after advertisement in newspaper and pictures on TV: Already knew Druze was dead and that he was S. Bekker’s killer.
    —Had Redon flower painting on calendar; same calendar at Institute of Arts has cyclops painting for November; changed it for weather calendar.
    —Assigns fuck-up to chase phony Loverboy.
     
    Then there was a space, and in a scrawl at the bottom, an additional line:
    — Has to get rid of me—that’s where IA is coming from  . . .
     
    “Jesus Christ,” Daniel said to himself.
    He looked up, across the office at the weather calendar, which hung on the wall amid the faces of the politicians, all staring down at him and the crumpled slip of paper. Stunned, he looked out the window again, saw Davenport tossing a kid in the air.
    Davenport knew.
    Daniel wanted to run down after him. He wanted to say he was sorry.
    He couldn’t do that. Instead he sat at his desk, head in his hands, thinking. He hadn’t been able to weep since he was a child.
    Loverboy wished, sometimes, that he still knew how.
    •  •  •
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