“Thought you were tied up this morning,” Del said, when they met at the door into the apartment level.

“So’d I,” Lucas said. He told the story about the knife, and Del said, “That’s the stupidest goddamn thing I’ve ever heard. He’s running because he thinks he might get hit by the cops, but he leaves behind a knife he’s used to kill four people, with blood on the blade? What the fuck was he smokin’?”

“Well, he might have been smokin’ something,” Lucas said. “He’s been into dope, and he might’ve had that fifty grand to play with.”

THE TOMS apartment was empty. Heather had gone someplace and taken the baby. Lucas told Del about the phone call from Chattanooga, and he said, “Wonder if she’s running?”

“She’d be leaving a lot behind."

"That’s how Siggy punked us the last time,” Del said. “Parked his car at Target, walked away from it, never looked back."

"You think Heather would leave the kid’s jammies?” He passed the glasses to Del, who took them, did a tour of Heather’s apartment as he chewed on one of the bagels, then said, “Probably not.”

“She would have taken the jammies,” Lucas said. “Unless she’s a totally heartless bitch.”

“Could be that,” Del said. “That guy she was screwing-that was Hilaire Jukos, another Lithuanian, Siggy’s left- hand man. I looked him up."

"What’s this with Heather and Lithuanians?”Lucas asked. “Well, they got a reputation, you know-Lithuanians tend to be very well hung, the best in Europe. That could turn the head of a former Edina High School cheerleader.”

“I thought the Italians…” Del was shaking his head. “That’s getting it up-Italians lead the league in getting it up. Lithuanians are purely size."

"Sounds like you’ve done your research.” Del shrugged: “I’m a professional detective.” At that moment, a man came out of the apartment building, looked both ways down the sidewalk, zipped up his jacket, and walked away from them, wobbling a bit. Lucas put the glasses on him, the way he walked-was that the cowboy from the mall? No. This guy was shorter, with long hair, and seemed to be younger, but still had that wobbling, pointy- toed walk.

Lucas took the glasses down. “Sonofabitch."

"What?"

"I just had an epiphany,” Lucas said. “You can get some ointment for that."

"No-I’m serious,” Lucas said. “I’ve been seeing all these guys in cowboy boots, and I remember-I told people this at the time-the guy who shot me seemed to have a limp. He didn’t have a limp-he was running in cowboy boots.”

“Yeah? Is that a big deal?"

"I don’t know,” Lucas said. He took his cell phone out of his pocket and punched up Austin’s cell. She came up and said, “Hello, Lucas. Are you still mad at me?"

"Yup-but that’s not why I’m calling,” he said. “The other day when you were loading those cartons of Frances’s clothes into the pickup truck for Goodwill-did you hire that driver? Did you know him?”

“That was Ricky Davis, Helen’s boyfriend. Why?"

"What’s he do?"

"I think, uh, he works nights for a wrecker service in South St. Paul

Then he’s got a plow blade for his pickup and he plows snow in the winter. He sells firewood… that kind of thing.”

“Okay,” he said. “So tell me…"

"Nope. Last time I told you, you blabbed. I don’t think this is anything, anyway, just that the guy was wearing cowboy boots, and I find that interesting,” Lucas said. “But, let me ask you a favor. I don’t know how to put this, delicately…”

“You don’t have to be delicate,” Austin said. “Okay. Could you please keep your fuckin’ mouth shut about this? That I asked about Helen’s boyfriend? Just keep it shut."

"I swear to God, I will,” she said. “Besides, with Frank, I didn’t exactly blab-it was business."

"And don’t start looking sideways at Helen,” Lucas said. “I promise… I sometimes go days without even seeing her. I’ll just stay away for a while."

"Do that,” Lucas said. “I’ll tell you about it tomorrow or the next day.” Del was curious. When Lucas got off the phone, he asked, “Break the case?"

"I don’t know,” Lucas said. “Something might have happened.” He dialed Carol. When she came up, he said, “Hey- we’ve got another job for Jackson and his camera.”

HEATHER CAME into her apartment carrying grocery sacks, as Lucas was on the phone, and then went back out, and came back a minute later with more sacks as Lucas got off, and Del said, “That’s a lotta food for Momma and baby.”

“I’m telling you, Siggy is coming,” Lucas said. “If he was in Chattanooga last night, he’ll be in northern Illinois tonight, and up here tomorrow afternoon or evening, depending on how hard he’s pushing it. Not too hard, I think, because he wouldn’t want to get stopped for speeding.”

“He wouldn’t be driving under his own ID,” Del said. “Still, he wouldn’t speed. He didn’t last as long as he did, dealing big- time dope, being careless.” Del, with the glasses, said, “Uh- oh."

"What?"

"She just unloaded a six- pack of Heineken.” Lucas could see the green bottles with his naked eye. “There you go,” he said. “She hasn’t had a drink since the bump showed up."

"Whoops… looks like a bottle of Stoli.” Lucas said, “ Siggy- Siggy- Siggy… come to Mama.”

THE LAB TECH called a little after noon, about the blood on the blade. “It’s human and it’s A- positive. No prints on the knife. I’ve started the DNA, we got a good sample, we’ll crush it, but it’ll be a couple of days.”

“Thirty-six hours, I was told,” Lucas said. “That’s two days, unless you want the results at midnight,” the tech said. Lucas called Harry Anson, the Minneapolis homicide cop: “We’re looking at a guy who was an employee of Alyssa Austin’s. Hit his house this morning.”

“I heard.”

“Yeah, sorry about that, but things were moving. Anyway, we got human blood on the knife, no prints. The blood is A- positive. I don’t have the paper right here on the three who were killed in Minneapolis.”

“It’s Patricia Shockley. A- pos,” Anson said. “Sonofabitch. You started the DNA?”

“Thirty-six hours. We got the guy locked up in Ramsey on a California warrant, it’s probably good for two weeks.”

He explained the California problem and Anson said, “If we can’t nail it down in two weeks, we won’t get it. Hell, the knife is probably enough. The circumstances, if he was nailing Frances and her mother… there’s plenty of motive in that, somewhere. Get a shrink on the stand…”

“We could do that."

"Lucas, I knew there was some reason I liked you,” Anson said. “I just couldn’t put my finger on it."

"Yeah, well, I’m heading over to Ramsey to squeeze Willett’s pointy little head,” Lucas said. “You better be there."

"Gimme a time.”

WILLETT HAD A public defender named Tony Mose, rhymed with Rose, who met Lucas in the lobby of the Ramsey jail and trailed him back to the interview room, where Willett was already waiting with a deputy. Mose was dressed in a somber black suit and white tie, like a guy going to a funeral. He was not, Lucas thought, a bad attorney.

“You get a chance to talk to him?” Lucas asked Mose on the way back.

“I did. I’ll tell you what-this time, for once, I might actually have an innocent guy."

"Nah.” Lucas shook his head. “I’m serious, Lucas, the guy’s got that thing about him-he didn’t know what in the hell I was talking about when I asked him about the knife,” Mose said. “He said you must’ve put it there.”

“You hardly ever hear that,” Lucas said. “The cops must’ve did it."

"The difference is, I think he meant it,” Mose said. Willett had had a bad night, as Lucas had hoped-his eyes were puffed with fatigue, and when they came in the room, he looked up and said, “Now what?”

Mose laid it out: Lucas had some questions. Mose would stop any questions that were improper, and any questions that Willett didn’t feel like answering, he didn’t have to answer.