just lying for him.’ ”
“Well.” Lucas looked at Sloan again, who shrugged, and Lucas said, “We know it happens. You get some asshole—excuse me—who goes around wrecking people’s lives, and you get a shot at him, and some cops’ll take it.”
“Sort of like you took with Candy and Georgie?” Sandy asked.
“We didn’t cheat with Candy and Georgie,” Lucas said, shaking his head. “They went to the credit union to rob it—nobody made them do it, or suggested that they do it. They did it on their own hook: we were just watching them.”
She looked steadily at him, then nodded. “All right,” she said. “If I was a cop, I’d have done the same thing.”
THEY TALKED FOR a few more minutes, but nothing developed that would help. Lucas and Sloan said good-bye to the sheriff and headed for the car.
“What do you think about Sandy Darling?” Lucas asked as they skated down the sidewalk.
Sloan shook his head. “I don’t know. She’s a tough one, and she’s no dummy. But she was scared.”
“The cops scared her,” Lucas said. “They were pushing her pretty hard.”
“Not scared that way,” Sloan said. Lucas tossed him the car keys and Sloan popped the driver’s-side door. “She was scared like . . .”
They got in, and Sloan fired the car up, and after another moment, continued: “. . . she was scared like she was afraid she’d make a mistake. Like she was making up a story, and was afraid we’d break it down. If she isn’t involved, she doesn’t need a story. But I felt like she was working on one.”
Lucas, staring out the window as they rolled through the small town, said, “Huh.” And then, “You know, I kind of like her.”
“I noticed,” Sloan said. “That always makes them harder to arrest.”
Lucas grinned, and Sloan let the car unwind down the snaky road toward the I-94.
“We better take a little care,” Lucas said finally. “We’ll get the word out, that we’re looking for anybody asking about cops. And get some paper going on the guy, and his connections. Roust any assholes who might know him.”
“I’ve never had any comebacks,” Sloan said. “A few threats, nothing real.”
“I’ve had a couple minor ones,” Lucas said, nodding.
“That’s what you get for sneaking around in the weeds all those years,” Sloan said. Then: “Bet I beat your time going back.”
“Let me get my seat belt on,” Lucas said.
LACHAISE STRETCHED OUT on a bed, a soft mattress for the first time in four years, and breathed the freedom. Or looseness. Later, he made some coffee, some peanut-butter-and-Ritz-cracker sandwiches, listened to the radio. He heard five or six reports on his escape and the killing of Sand, excited country reporters with a real story. One said that police believed he might be on foot, and they were doing a house-by-house check in the town of Colfax.
That made him smile: they still didn’t know how he’d gotten out.
He could hear the wind blowing outside the trailer, and after a while, he put on a coat and went outside and walked around. Took a leak in the freezing outhouse, then walked down to the edge of the woods and looked down a gully. Deer tracks, but nothing in sight. He could feel the cold, and he walked back to the trailer. The sun was nearly gone, a dim aspirin-sized pill trying to break through a screen of bare aspen.
He listened to the radio some more: the search in Colfax was done. The Dunn County sheriff said blah-blah-blah nothing.
Still, nightfall was a relief. With night came the sense that the search would slow down, that cops would be going home. He found a stack of army blankets and draped them across the windows to black them out. After turning on the lights, he walked once around the outside of the trailer, to make sure he didn’t have any light leaks, came back inside, adjusted one of the blankets, and climbed back to the bed. The silence of the woods had been forgotten, submerged in his years
“Well.” Lucas looked at Sloan again, who shrugged, and Lucas said, “We know it happens. You get some asshole—excuse me—who goes around wrecking people’s lives, and you get a shot at him, and some cops’ll take it.”
“Sort of like you took with Candy and Georgie?” Sandy asked.
“We didn’t cheat with Candy and Georgie,” Lucas said, shaking his head. “They went to the credit union to rob it—nobody made them do it, or suggested that they do it. They did it on their own hook: we were just watching them.”
She looked steadily at him, then nodded. “All right,” she said. “If I was a cop, I’d have done the same thing.”
THEY TALKED FOR a few more minutes, but nothing developed that would help. Lucas and Sloan said good-bye to the sheriff and headed for the car.
“What do you think about Sandy Darling?” Lucas asked as they skated down the sidewalk.
Sloan shook his head. “I don’t know. She’s a tough one, and she’s no dummy. But she was scared.”
“The cops scared her,” Lucas said. “They were pushing her pretty hard.”
“Not scared that way,” Sloan said. Lucas tossed him the car keys and Sloan popped the driver’s-side door. “She was scared like . . .”
They got in, and Sloan fired the car up, and after another moment, continued: “. . . she was scared like she was afraid she’d make a mistake. Like she was making up a story, and was afraid we’d break it down. If she isn’t involved, she doesn’t need a story. But I felt like she was working on one.”
Lucas, staring out the window as they rolled through the small town, said, “Huh.” And then, “You know, I kind of like her.”
“I noticed,” Sloan said. “That always makes them harder to arrest.”
Lucas grinned, and Sloan let the car unwind down the snaky road toward the I-94.
“We better take a little care,” Lucas said finally. “We’ll get the word out, that we’re looking for anybody asking about cops. And get some paper going on the guy, and his connections. Roust any assholes who might know him.”
“I’ve never had any comebacks,” Sloan said. “A few threats, nothing real.”
“I’ve had a couple minor ones,” Lucas said, nodding.
“That’s what you get for sneaking around in the weeds all those years,” Sloan said. Then: “Bet I beat your time going back.”
“Let me get my seat belt on,” Lucas said.
LACHAISE STRETCHED OUT on a bed, a soft mattress for the first time in four years, and breathed the freedom. Or looseness. Later, he made some coffee, some peanut-butter-and-Ritz-cracker sandwiches, listened to the radio. He heard five or six reports on his escape and the killing of Sand, excited country reporters with a real story. One said that police believed he might be on foot, and they were doing a house-by-house check in the town of Colfax.
That made him smile: they still didn’t know how he’d gotten out.
He could hear the wind blowing outside the trailer, and after a while, he put on a coat and went outside and walked around. Took a leak in the freezing outhouse, then walked down to the edge of the woods and looked down a gully. Deer tracks, but nothing in sight. He could feel the cold, and he walked back to the trailer. The sun was nearly gone, a dim aspirin-sized pill trying to break through a screen of bare aspen.
He listened to the radio some more: the search in Colfax was done. The Dunn County sheriff said blah-blah-blah nothing.
Still, nightfall was a relief. With night came the sense that the search would slow down, that cops would be going home. He found a stack of army blankets and draped them across the windows to black them out. After turning on the lights, he walked once around the outside of the trailer, to make sure he didn’t have any light leaks, came back inside, adjusted one of the blankets, and climbed back to the bed. The silence of the woods had been forgotten, submerged in his years
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