Silent Prey

Lily in it? How about Fell? And who else?”
    “Lily’s okay—she never had anything to do with it. And Lily says you believe Fell was an alarm. I don’t know if I believe it, but I can see the possibility . . . .”
    “Kennett?”
    “Yeah, I knew about Kennett and a couple more—and frankly, you and Lily should have known that,” O’Dell said. “Petty’s investigation wasn’t a TV show. He didn’t sneak off and do all the work and keep all of his conclusions to himself. He came up and sat here every day and told me what he thought. We had Kennett and a couple more people spotted—not Copland, unfortunately. We didn’t know that Kennett had his own computer people. We figured we could go into the system anytime, print out our evidence. Then Petty got killed and his printouts were lifted. When I went back into the system, the files had been trashed. All I had were a few names and no way to push.”
    “So you set us up.”
    O’Dell smiled, still pleased with himself. “Yes. Lily had talked about you. Said you were smart. And I saw one of your simulations. So I put Kennett on Bekker, and you on Kennett, and brought Fell to work with you, and had Lily running you on the side. With all that pressure, something had to blow. Anyway, I had nothing to lose.”
    Lucas thought about it, stood, stretched, yawned, wandered to O’Dell’s window, pulled back the heavy plush drapes and looked out at the twinkling city. “This goddamn place is one big patch, you know? Have I given you my rap on how the place is one big patch?”
    “Yeah.”
    “And I was another one.”
    “Yeah.”
    Lucas stretched again, then wandered across the room toward the door. “Nice game,” he said.
    O’Dell looked at him, then laughed, low and long, genuinely delighted. “It was, wasn’t it?”
     
    Lucas sat behind a round, simulated-wood table the size of a manhole cover, in a plastic bar full of plastic pictures of old airplanes. Through the clear Plexiglas walls, he could watch the people streaming out toward the departure gates. He glanced at his watch: three twenty-seven in the afternoon, more or less. With a Rolex, he’d discovered, more or less had to be good enough. He sipped at his Budweiser, not interested, just holding his seat.
    Fell showed up at three-thirty, thin, bird-gawky, tough. And maybe angry or something else. She stopped near the end of a long queue for the security gates, looked both ways, and spotted the bar. She paused again at the door, and Lucas raised a hand. She saw him and threaded her way through the tables. When she saw his suitcase by his leg, she looked from the case to Lucas and said, “So I was a three-night stand, or whatever it was.”
    “Not exactly,” Lucas said. “Sit down.”
    She didn’t sit down. Instead she said, “I thought we might go someplace for a while.” Tears rimmed her eyes.
    “Sit down,” Lucas said.
    “You fuck,” she said, but she sat down, dropping heavily into the chair across from him, hands dangling dispiritedly between her legs. “You said we . . .”
    “I thought about asking you to come down to the Islands with me,” Lucas said. “I even called out to Kennedy, out to United, to find out what islands we could go to.”
    She looked down at the tabletop. “Tell me,” she said.
    “Well, I . . . couldn’t.” He dug in his pocket and tossed a red matchbook on the table in front of her. The matchbook had a horsehead on it. She picked it up and put it in her purse.
    “So you were in the restaurant where Walter Petty got killed,” he said. “You told me you weren’t.”
    “Yeah?”
    “Yeah. I saw the matches in your apartment.”
    “When?”
    “Well, when we were up there . . . .”
    “Bullshit, I got rid of them. When I thought you might be coming over, I saw them, and I thought, ‘I got to get rid of these.’ I threw them out. So when did you see them?”
    He looked levelly across the table at her. “The first day we worked together, I copped your purse, made molds of your keys. The next day I went in.”
    “You sonofabitch,” she said. Then a realization came to her eyes. “You’re wearing a wire?”
    “No. I like you too much. But the thing is, I can’t trust you. Not completely. I thought about going down to the Islands with you and decided I couldn’t. I’d eventually talk to you about this, and then . . .” He let the thought dangle, and so did she. He went on: “I tried to think up a lie that would get me