What to do?

26

MARCY AND MARSHALL were waiting when Lucas got in the next morning. "You better get over to Regions," Marcy said. "The public defender called and he said Randy's calmed down-but he wants to see you, not me."

"Did he say why?"

"Randy said he wanted to deal with the boss," she said.

Lucas shrugged. "So let's get together a spread and take it over."

"It's ready," Marcy said, holding up an envelope. "There're pictures of the jewelry you got out of the place, and of the dead girl, Suzanne. I've arranged for a court reporter-we're gonna share one with the PD's office. A guy from St. Paul Homicide will be there."

"And I'm coming," Marshall said.

On the way to Regions, Lucas called Marc White, the intelligence cop baby-sitting Qatar. "Where is he?"

"In his office. Craig Bowden watched him into the building, and I picked it up from there. I haven't actually seen him yet, but he's due for a class in a half hour."

"Stay close. We might be about to get an ID, and if we do, we take him."

When he got off the phone, Marshall asked, "Are we gonna get an ID? Or is this Randy guy too crazy?"

"Randy's crazy, but he's not stupid. If his head is working, he'll do it if the deal's good enough. That's what he's all about: deals."

"I always hoped I'd see the day, but I didn't think I would," Marshall said. His voice grated like a rusty gate.

ROB LANSING WAS waiting in the hall with his briefcase, a stocky black woman who carried a court reporting machine and a St. Paul Homicide cop named Barnes. Lansing said nothing at all, but pointed at Randy's room and pushed through the door, followed by the court reporter. Lucas trailed behind, with Marshall and Barnes a step back.

Randy's head was up, and he had some color, but every minute of a hard twenty-plus years was etched into his forehead and cheeks. "You guys really fucked me this time." None of the hysteria of the day before.

"I feel pretty bad about it," Lucas said. "You know I don't like you-and I know you don't like me-but I wouldn't have wished this on you."

"Yeah, yeah," Randy said. He looked at the court reporter and said, "Who's this?"

"This is Lucille. She's going to take down what we say, so there's no question about what the deal is," Lansing said. The reporter had unfolded her machine and was waiting.

Randy looked at Lucas and Marshall. "Is this deal straight? You guys take care of the medical and cut all the rest of the charges?"

"That's the deal," Lucas said, nodding.

"Let me see the picture."

"I've got six pictures. We want to see if you can pick one of them out as the guy who sold you the jewelry." Lucas took the manila envelope out of his pocket and shook two groups of photos into his hand and pulled the paper clip off one group.

"You have a name on the guy?" Marshall asked.

"I mostly called him 'dude,' but I think his straight name is James."

"James," Lucas said. He looked at the court reporter, who was taking it all down.

"One more brick," Marshall said.

Randy took the first group of photos from Lucas, shuffled through them quickly, cocked his head at one, and said, "This is the dude. James."

Lucas took it, showed it to Marshall, and then passed it to Lansing. To the court reporter he said, "Make a note that Mr. Whitcomb indicated the photograph of James Qatar and that officers Davenport, Marshall, and Barnes, and attorney Lansing are witnesses." She nodded, and typed.

"Now I'm going to give Mr. Whitcomb another group of photos, and all of these are of James Qatar. This is to confirm his initial impression."

Randy took the photos, again shuffled through them, and said, "Yeah, that's the dude."

"Did he kill Suzanne Brister?"

"Who?"

"Suzanne Brister was killed in your apartment. We have all the evidence, Randy-her blood was all over the place."

"Dude…" Randy scrubbed his face with both hands. "I can't remember. I was partying that night, and I come home and she was dead. I freaked out."

"Did you do it?"

"No, man, that's what freaked me out. I didn't do it; I'd remember that. I walked up the stairs in the dark and I stepped on her and I felt down and here was this cold titty, and I almost jumped out the window. Then I turned on the light and there was this blood…" He shuddered. "Felt her up in the dark. I didn't know she was dead."

"So when was James last over?"

He scrubbed his face again. "I can't remember."

Lucas went back to the envelope of photographs, shook out the shots of the two rings found at Randy's, and handed them to him. "We found these at your place-in your hideout. They came off a woman professor at St. Patrick's University. You remember where you got them?"

Randy looked at them and scratched his head. "You got them at my place? My stash?"

"Yeah."

"Must've been when I was wrecked, because I don't remember."

"What do you remember?"

"Well, that night, I was partying. I partied all night. I ran out of money and I went home and I got some more money, and then I partied some more and then I ran out of money again… I kept running out of money and I kept going home and getting some more… That's what I remember, going back and forth, and then feeling this cold titty."

"Who were you partying with?"

Randy rolled his eyes at Lansing, who nodded. "Dude named Lo Andrews."

"I know him," said the St. Paul Homicide cop. "Got a place off Como. There's usually smoke coming out of the windows."

"That's the dude," Randy said.

"You don't know when Suzanne was killed or when you last saw James."

"If James gave me those rings, he must have come over when I was wrecked," Randy said.

They talked a while longer but got nothing significant. Out in the hallway, Lucas asked the St. Paul cop for Lo Andrews's address, and the cop made a call to St. Paul Narcotics and get the number on Como.

Back in the car, Lucas called Marcy and said, "We've got a positive ID on Qatar. We're gonna pick him up. Get started on a warrant for his house."

"That's great-I'll get the warrant started right now. Del wants to talk to you."

She handed the phone off to Del, who said, "Can I come with you?"

"Sure. He's down at St. Patrick's. Meet you there. Is Lane around?"

Lane came on the line, and Lucas gave him Lo Andrews's address. "Find the guy-St. Paul Narcotics will give you a guy to walk around with-and ask him about that night. If anybody went home with Randy, if anybody saw anything…"

"Talk to you this afternoon," Lane said.

"NEVER THOUGHT I'D see it," Marshall said. "Goddamnit."

Lucas looked at him, and Marshall seemed to be sweating. He'd gotten a Coke from the hospital waiting room, and when he lifted it to take a drink, his hand was shaking. "You feel all right?"

"Well, uh, I'm not having a heart attack or anything, but my blood pressure's probably nine hundred over nine hundred. I want to drag that sonofabitch out of that schoolroom… He's a goddamn teacher, Lucas. A teacher."

"Teachers… They're about as messed up as anybody. We've had a few of them over here."

Marshall sat staring out the window, his lips moving, as though he were saying a silent prayer, but he'd heard Lucas, and suddenly smiled and seemed to unwind a notch. "Yeah, you're right. Did I ever tell you about this weird old white-haired teacher from River Falls? I got a friend who's a deputy in the county next door, and he swears it's a true story… Did I tell you this, the story about the guy and the llama and the golf club? No? Anyway…"

He had Lucas laughing in two minutes. But Lucas, glancing sideways, could see what seemed like despair hanging in his eyes over the storytelling smile.

THE ARREST HAPPENED almost exactly as Qatar had seen it in his nightmares, give or take a snap-brimmed fedora. He was in his office, and heard the voice and footsteps in the hall-the bustle of people moving, a voice that was hushed. He turned his head, sat up straight, listening. A second later, the door opened and a dark-haired, dark-complected man in a gorgeous charcoal suit opened the door and asked, "James Qatar?"