Read Online Winter Prey by John Sandford - Free Book Online

forming on his chin and under his nose.
    “That logging truck almost did us,” Lucas said as Carr walked back from his Suburban. Gouts of steam poured from their mouths and noses.
    “Gol-darned fool. I called back and told somebody to pull him over,” Carr said. “Give him a breath test, slow him down.” And as they started across the street, he added, “I’m not looking forward to this.”
    They scuffed through the snow on the rectory walk, up to the covered porch. Carr pushed the doorbell, then dropped his head and bounced on his toes. A man came to the door, peered out the window, then opened it.
    “Shelly, what happened out there?” Bergen held the door open, glanced curiously at Lucas, and said, “They’re dead?”
    “Yeah, um . . . let’s get our boots off, we gotta talk,” Carr said. “This is our new deputy, Lucas Davenport.”
    Bergen nodded, peered at Lucas, a wrinkle forming on his forehead, between his eyes. “Pleased to meet you.”
    The priest was close to fifty, a square, fleshy Scandinavian with blond hair and a permanently doubtful look on his pale face. He wore a wool Icelandic sweater and black slacks, and was in his stocking feet. His words, when he spoke, had a softness to them, a roundness, and Lucas thought that Bergen would not be a fire-and-brimstone preacher, but a mother’s-milk sort.
    Lucas and Carr dumped their pac boots in the front hallway and walked in stocking feet down a short hall, past a severe Italianate crucifix with a bronze Jesus, to the living room. Carr peeled off his snowmobile suit and Lucas dumped his parka next to a plain wood chair, and sat down.
    “So what happened?” Bergen said. He leaned on the mantel over a stone fireplace, where the remnants of three birch logs smoldered behind a glass door. A Sacred Heart print of the Virgin Mary peered over his shoulder.
    “There was an odd thing out there.” Carr dropped the suit on the floor, then settled on the edge of an overstuffed chair. He put his elbows on his knees, laced his fingers, leaning toward the priest.
    “Yes?” Bergen frowned.
    “When I called, you said the LaCourts were okay when you left.”
    “Yes, they were fine,” Bergen said, his head bobbing. He was assured, innocent. “They didn’t seem nervous. How were they killed, anyway? Is it possible that one of them . . .” He answered his own question, shaking his head. “No, not them.”
    “A fireman saw your Jeep passing the station,” Carr continued. “A few seconds later the fire call came in. When the firemen got there, maybe five or six minutes later, it appeared that the LaCourts had been dead for some time. A half hour, maybe more.”
    “That’s not possible,” Bergen said promptly. He straightened, looked from Lucas to Carr, a shadow in his eyes. Suspicion. “Shelly . . . you don’t think I was involved?”
    “No, no, we’re just trying to straighten this out.”
    “So what were they doing when you left?” Lucas asked.
    Bergen stared at him, then said, “You’re the homicide fellow who lives over in Sawyer County. The man who was fired from Minneapolis.”
    “What were you doing?” Lucas repeated.
    “Shelly?” The priest looked at the sheriff, who looked away.
    “We’ve got to figure this out, Phil.”
    “Mr. Davenport is a mercenary, isn’t he?” Bergen asked, looking again at Lucas.
    “We need him, Phil,” Carr said, almost pleading now. “We’ve got nobody else who can do it. And he’s a good Catholic boy.”
    “What were you doing?” Lucas asked a third time. He put glass in his voice, a cutting edge.
    The priest pursed his lips, moving them in and out, considering both Lucas and the question, then sighed and said, “When I left, they were fine. There was not a hint of a problem. I came right back here, and I was still here when Shelly called.”
    “The firemen say there’s no mistaking the time,” Lucas said. “They’re certain.”
    “I’m certain, too,” Bergen snapped.
    Lucas: