"Huh, what?" Lucas asked.

"Huh, nothing. I don't see where that goes. We already knew that John Ross was a friend of Rinker's. I'm not surprised that his wife knew her, I guess."

"Well, it's what I got," Lucas said.

ROSS WAS WAITING for them behind his big desk. He had a half-dozen orchids this time, including one that smelled something like cinnamon. He wanted to talk about Levy. "I knew the guy, sure-but what's this about telephones? Clara's no electronics wizard. Where'd she think that up?"

Mallard shook his head. "We were hoping you might be able to think of something."

Ross exhaled in exasperation. "I told you, I never knew about her. I didn't know she was a killer, for Christ's sake. I'm in some tough businesses, but we don't kill people. It's easier just to buy them out. And legal."

"Sounds like you're a little worried," Lucas said, letting the amusement show.

"Yeah, well. Guns is one thing. Now I'm thinking, what if a rocket comes flying through the window? A phone bomb-that sounds like something the CIA would do."

HE WAS SURPRISED to hear that the Giancatis were thinking of running.

"Off to merry old England again, huh? Home of the fruits and the nuts." He reached out and took a peppermint candy from a crystal bowl, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth.

"And maybe the Dallaglios," Malone added. "They may go back to the Old Country, whatever country that is."

"You do what you gotta do," Ross said.

Eventually, Mallard and Malone got tired of being stonewalled, and after another warning, got up to leave. Lucas went into this let's-talk routine; Mallard shook his head and went out the door.

"So, what?" Ross asked.

"Like Mallard said, I'm not FBI. I'm a Minneapolis cop. I have no jurisdiction…" He went through the rest of it, feeling like a third-grader reciting to a skeptical teacher.

Ross said, "I can appreciate the fact that you get off on hunting Clara, and I hope you get her, but there's not much more I can do to help. I told you that the last time. There are still some people at the warehouse who knew her, but I knew her as well as anyone. I could tell you where her old apartment used to be, I could tell you where she'd go for drinks, but you gotta remember-that was all before Wichita. This was years ago, and she only worked in the warehouse a couple, three years."

"Did your wife know her?"

"Treena? Yeah, sure. Treena worked in the warehouse along with Rinker."

"Could she tell me anything?"

Ross snorted. "She can barely remember her middle name, Mr. Davenport. She's basically a great set of tits and a terrific ass being run by a brain the size of a cashew. I can't imagine that she could give you anything useful on Clara Rinker. But you're welcome to ask her. She's around here someplace."

"If that's what you think, why did you marry her?"

"It gives me about three headaches a week, going over that. She's got these tits, and I got these hormones… You know what I mean. I should've stuck with the last one."

"Number three."

"Yeah. Number one was probably the best, number two was a rebound, three was pretty good, and four was another bounce. It never made any sense. I'll think a long time about number five."

"Somebody told me that number three died tragically."

There was irony in Lucas's voice, and Ross picked it up and seemed to darken. "She was killed in a hit-and-run. I was in New Orleans at the time."

"Good for you," Lucas said, smiling.

"Fuck you," Ross said.

"If I weren't working for the FBI, I'd pull you outa your chair and kick your ass," Lucas said, still smiling. "Just so you'd know."

Ross looked at him curiously. "You really think you could take me?"

Lucas nodded. "Yeah."

Ross leaned back, finally shrugged, and said, "Maybe we could try it someday. Be kinda interesting."

Lucas nodded and they both sat, and then Lucas said, "So for now, you're just gonna sit."

"No, I'm not just sitting. I go out several times a week-we got three cars, we all go different ways, nobody gets out until we're under cover, we look at the street before we go. And I got four good boys around all the time. I got the best alarms ever made. I can get on the TV with my remote control, any TV in the house, and look at any direction out of the house, through cameras on the roof. One of the boys has a night-vision scope that he watches with. If she gets me, she gets me, but I don't think she can get in. Unless she's got a fuckin' rocket."

"How long can you wait?"

He shrugged. "I'm a patient man. More patient than Clara."

"If you're so fuckin' patient, what was all that about in Mexico? You could've just left her."

"I didn't have anything to do with anything in Mexico, of course," Ross said. "But judging from what's been in the paper, I'd say somebody made a big fuckin' mistake, to use your adjective. A big, stupid mistake."

"And she thinks it was you. Was it you?"

Ross shrugged again and smiled for the first time-an unpleasant smile that said Yes, it was his big fuckin' mistake. What he actually said was, "I don't know from Mexico. What happened, exactly?"

"Bullshit," Lucas said. Then: "Are you going any place public this week? Any place that isn't completely shut up?"

"If I told you that, that'd be a leak. I don't even tell my boys when I'm moving."

"Listen, if you're going out, it'd be a hell of a lot easier if you told us in advance than if we have to have the cops pull over all three cars until we figure out which one you're in-all the lights and sirens and so on. Because if you're gonna act like cheese, we'd like to be there when the mouse comes out."

Ross smiled at the image, then leaned forward, lifted a piece of paper from his desk pad, and said, "I'm going one place in public: Friday night, there's a fundraiser for the St. Louis Chamber Orchestra at the botanical gardens. I'm one of the… pillars… of the chamber orchestra. And the botanical gardens, for that matter."

"Chamber orchestra and orchids. A goddamned refined little thug, huh?"

"Fuck off," Ross said mildly, and smiled again.

LUCAS GOT UP to leave. On the way to the door, a thought struck him, and he went back. "One last thing. You knew both Nanny Dichter and Levy. Are you as well protected as those two?"

"Nanny was a tough nut, but Levy was a pussy," Ross said. "I was surprised when she got to Nanny so easy."

"That's not exactly what I was asking. What I'm asking is, are you a tougher nut than Nanny?"

The question seemed to interest him. He leaned back, put his hands behind his head, thought for a moment, then said, "Yes."

"Would you have been tougher if she'd gone after you first? Could she have ambushed you as easily as she did Dichter?"

No thought this time. "No. As soon as the federal people started calling, even before Nanny, I had an idea of what was going to happen. I shut down everything I couldn't run by remote control. If she'd called me for a meet, or wanted me to go somewhere to make a phone call, I would have told her to go fuck herself. No. I would have suggested that we meet somewhere that I'd control."

"What if all the feds started running around screaming, and then nothing happened? How long before you would have relaxed? Would you do what you're doing now, indefinitely?"

The question called for more thought. Ross played with one of his ears, tugged on the lobe, and then said, "Probably not. If she'd waited six more weeks, and if she'd been careful, she would have got me."

"Huh."

"Yeah. That is kind of weird," Ross said. "I'm almost insulted."

ON THE WAY OUT, Lucas ran into Treena Ross in the hallway. She was wearing a lime-green dress and matching lime-green shoes with two-inch heels. She was carrying a dog the size of a walnut that seemed to have been bred to be frightened; it whimpered when it saw Lucas, and then Ross coming up behind. Treena said, "Oh, they're nice men, Wiener." Then to Lucas: "I don't think I've met you. Are you working with John?"