where somebody had been beating through the weeds. Falling down a lot, too, or wrestling around. And it was fresh, like the weeds had just been broken. I think maybe they’re connected. If somebody had another idea, though, I’d be happy to hear it.”
“I got nothing.” Lucas looked at his watch, took a last look around the murder scene, and then asked, “You want to meet another Russian? The guy’ll be here in an hour. Or you could haul my ass back to the station, and I’ll go get him.”
“I’ll go with you,” Reasons said.
“Maybe you’ll hate him.”
“Probably. But I go back to the office, they’re gonna have me chasing down bums.”
“Yeah?” They started back toward the car, which Reasons had parked next to the terminal.
“Somebody offed this old lady last night, street person, kinda crazy. You know. Schizo. Strangled her with a wire, we think. That’s what the doc thinks, anyway. Cut her throat with it. We got four guys going around interviewing winos—not my idea of a good day.”
“Any leads?”
“Nothing. Her pushcart—she had a shopping cart—found it a block away, down the hill. It’s possible that somebody tried to take it away from her.”
“Killed her for a cart full of junk?” Lucas eyebrows were up.
“Hey, if it was another wino . . . but we dunno. Found her on the sidewalk, head cut halfway off, big puddle of blood. Whoever did it was a strong motherfucker, is what the ME says.”
“You’re a strong motherfucker,” Lucas observed.
Reasons’s brown eyes snapped over at Lucas, and he grinned: “Yeah, I am. Lift every day. It made me wonder . . . you know, if I know the guy. Wonder if he pumps a little iron?” He thought about it, then shook his head: “Nah. Probably another wino.”
T HE TRACK INTO the terminal was not much more than a long series of potholes and ruts. They bumped out of it, over a curb, and turned up toward the city.
The south end of Superior is shaped like a pocketknife blade, pointing down into Minnesota; the lake itself is sunken into the landscape, with steep hills and bluffs along the shore. On the east side of the tip of the knife point is Superior, Wisconsin; Duluth, Minnesota, is on the west side, built on the flats along the lake, up a long lakeside hill, and then onto the plateau west of the crest.
The main airport is on the west side, a twenty-minute drive from the lake. They took Garfield Avenue out of the terminal area, crossed the interstate, climbed the hill, and dodged traffic on the main east-west drag. Lucas knew a little about the town, but Reasons kept up a running commentary on the local attractions as he drove, and got Lucas oriented on the main business and governmental areas.
“Be a nice place if it wasn’t so fuckin’ cold,” Lucas said.
“Ah, it ain’t bad. When it gets really bad in January, we can always run down to the Cities and get a little sun.”
“Very little sun,” Lucas said. “The whole fuckin’ state’s a freezer.”
“I kind of like it,” Reasons said.
“Yeah, so do I.”
T HE AIRPORT TERMINAL building was a concrete-and-red-brick wedge. They parked in an open lot and went inside, showed their ID to security so nobody would get excited about their guns, and figured out where the baggage would be coming in.
“I can’t remember a case like this Russian,” Reasons said, as they walked to the baggage claim. “Sixty percent of the time, you know whodid it two minutes after you arrive. Twenty-five percent of the time, you figure it out in the next day or two. The rest of the time, you look at it and you say, shit—we ain’t gonna solve this one. And you don’t, except by accident.” He turned and stared out one of the windows, brooding a bit: “This one’s like a hybrid—a lot of dumb-fuck stuff, and the rest of it is ‘Uh-oh, we ain’t gonna solve it.’ ”
“Planned, cold, probably for business or political or money reasons—maybe even espionage
“I got nothing.” Lucas looked at his watch, took a last look around the murder scene, and then asked, “You want to meet another Russian? The guy’ll be here in an hour. Or you could haul my ass back to the station, and I’ll go get him.”
“I’ll go with you,” Reasons said.
“Maybe you’ll hate him.”
“Probably. But I go back to the office, they’re gonna have me chasing down bums.”
“Yeah?” They started back toward the car, which Reasons had parked next to the terminal.
“Somebody offed this old lady last night, street person, kinda crazy. You know. Schizo. Strangled her with a wire, we think. That’s what the doc thinks, anyway. Cut her throat with it. We got four guys going around interviewing winos—not my idea of a good day.”
“Any leads?”
“Nothing. Her pushcart—she had a shopping cart—found it a block away, down the hill. It’s possible that somebody tried to take it away from her.”
“Killed her for a cart full of junk?” Lucas eyebrows were up.
“Hey, if it was another wino . . . but we dunno. Found her on the sidewalk, head cut halfway off, big puddle of blood. Whoever did it was a strong motherfucker, is what the ME says.”
“You’re a strong motherfucker,” Lucas observed.
Reasons’s brown eyes snapped over at Lucas, and he grinned: “Yeah, I am. Lift every day. It made me wonder . . . you know, if I know the guy. Wonder if he pumps a little iron?” He thought about it, then shook his head: “Nah. Probably another wino.”
T HE TRACK INTO the terminal was not much more than a long series of potholes and ruts. They bumped out of it, over a curb, and turned up toward the city.
The south end of Superior is shaped like a pocketknife blade, pointing down into Minnesota; the lake itself is sunken into the landscape, with steep hills and bluffs along the shore. On the east side of the tip of the knife point is Superior, Wisconsin; Duluth, Minnesota, is on the west side, built on the flats along the lake, up a long lakeside hill, and then onto the plateau west of the crest.
The main airport is on the west side, a twenty-minute drive from the lake. They took Garfield Avenue out of the terminal area, crossed the interstate, climbed the hill, and dodged traffic on the main east-west drag. Lucas knew a little about the town, but Reasons kept up a running commentary on the local attractions as he drove, and got Lucas oriented on the main business and governmental areas.
“Be a nice place if it wasn’t so fuckin’ cold,” Lucas said.
“Ah, it ain’t bad. When it gets really bad in January, we can always run down to the Cities and get a little sun.”
“Very little sun,” Lucas said. “The whole fuckin’ state’s a freezer.”
“I kind of like it,” Reasons said.
“Yeah, so do I.”
T HE AIRPORT TERMINAL building was a concrete-and-red-brick wedge. They parked in an open lot and went inside, showed their ID to security so nobody would get excited about their guns, and figured out where the baggage would be coming in.
“I can’t remember a case like this Russian,” Reasons said, as they walked to the baggage claim. “Sixty percent of the time, you know whodid it two minutes after you arrive. Twenty-five percent of the time, you figure it out in the next day or two. The rest of the time, you look at it and you say, shit—we ain’t gonna solve this one. And you don’t, except by accident.” He turned and stared out one of the windows, brooding a bit: “This one’s like a hybrid—a lot of dumb-fuck stuff, and the rest of it is ‘Uh-oh, we ain’t gonna solve it.’ ”
“Planned, cold, probably for business or political or money reasons—maybe even espionage
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