Chapter 76

SEVENTY-SIX

Lucas is standing by the door when we emerge from the bunker. He looks pissed, but like Hayden told me once, "Better pissed off than pissed on." Lucas knows he doesn't have a leg to stand on to prevent us from viewing the crime scene.

"I told you to stay out of my crime scene," he says.

My crime scene , I think. Interesting choice of words.

"You don't order us, Lucas," I say. "We are working on this together. Complain to Sheriff Longbow all you want."

He seethes for a moment and then seems to calm down. "So. Find anything? Did I miss a big clue, detectives?"

I say, "We need to step over to your car, Lucas."

"Now, what's this about?" he asks when we reach his SUV.

I'd watched Ronnie's hand go in her pocket as she walked in front of me. I hope I know what that means.

"First of all, I'm sorry if I've pissed you off." Not. "Ronnie says I could make an enemy of the Pope." A smile threatens his lips but he kills it.

"Stop blowing smoke up my ass. Get to it."

"What will happen to you after this? Your old partner told us you're very close to retirement."

"You've been talking to Larry Stroud?" The pissed-off look is back.

"It's only fair that we know each other better. Don't you think so?" I say.

"Whatever he told you is horseshit. Larry was caught stealing from a dope deal. I didn't turn him in because he was my partner. He'd run into some bad times. Divorce. You know. So he retired, and I let it go. Whatever he told you about me is just vengeful crap. I know he thought I had something to do with my wife's and daughter's deaths. And thank you very much for reminding me. He was wrong. I was cleared. But I went through hell. So what's your point?"

Ronnie says, "Where's the ransom money?"

The question catches Lucas off guard and he hesitates a little too long before saying, "There was no money here. Your dad gave it to Thundercloud if I'm not mistaken. He must have hidden it somewhere before coming back here."

I give him a skeptical look that says STFU .

"There's Thundercloud's truck back in the trees. Go search it if you want. The money wasn't in the bunker, and I looked in the truck and it wasn't there either."

I hadn't seen the Chevy truck. It was pulled back in the trees about fifty feet. The driver's door still stands open.

I say, "We believe you that the money is not in either of those places."

Ronnie steps closer to Lucas. "So where is the money, Sergeant Lucas?"

"Sheriff Longbow will put me on medical leave. There'll be a shooting board. Maybe I'll take early retirement."

"It must be nice to have that many years in. I'm far from retirement. Unless I get fired."

He laughs. It isn't that funny. My getting fired appeals to him.

"I've known dozens of detectives like you, Megan. You'll go kicking and screaming when it's time to go. We all think we're making a difference. That this job wants us. Needs us. But that's a lie. This job just eats us up and throws us away."

This is not the Sergeant Lucas I've met. He was gung-ho. This one has one foot out the door already. Maybe ten million dollars has something to do with the new attitude. Or maybe I'm on the wrong path here. Maybe he's a devoted civil servant who has been wounded in battle and ready to hang up his shooting irons. Nah.

Ronnie opens the passenger door of Lucas's car and says, "You said we could search for the money. Is it in here?"

"Get out of my car! You have no right."

He's too late. Ronnie holds up a grease-stained red bandana. "Well, well. This belongs to Duke. What was he doing in your car?"

Just for a second, he seems to lose his cool. He knows that we know Duke was in his car. And the only way that would have happened would have been if they were together before the shooting.

"You put that there!" he shouts, too quickly. "Your fingerprints are on my door handle." He'll have a lot of time to practice sounding convincing saying that at the trial, but I give him a 2 out of 10 right now.

"Bullshit, Lucas, you know Duke left it there because you know he was in your car. Care to explain how that could be?"

He looks like a grounded goldfish for a moment, his mouth opening and closing, trying to think of an excuse. Then his eyes narrow and a look of smug satisfaction crosses his face.

"Wait a second, look at that thing."

"What?"

"It has blood on it. Victoria's blood. She had it wrapped around her stump earlier."

I peer closer, being careful not to turn my back on Lucas. Goddamn, he's right. It wasn't obvious because of the dirt and the fact the bandana was red anyway, but there the stains are, unmistakably.

"Any more desperate accusations, Detective?"

I want to put my fist through his face. He was panicking there, before he realized he had a legit excuse for the bandana being in his SUV. Too late: his instinctive reaction betrayed him. A guilty conscience will give you away every time.

"We've got more, Lucas," I say, glancing down at his bloodstained shoes. We already have a shitload of circumstantial evidence. If we find the money, we'll hang him.

"You're bluffing," he says. He doesn't sound at all sure, though.

"Blood. Shoeprints. Fingerprints. The gun was in Missy's weak hand. Ballistics on the distance she supposedly fired the bullet from. We saw where the bag with the money was on the floor in that killing room. You admitted to killing Duke. We find his bandana in your car. How many others did you kill? Not counting your wife and daughter."

His features are a mask of rage but Ronnie doesn't move.

He swallows and his fists unclench. "What do you want?"

Ronnie says, "You really were a good detective, Lucas. Before you panicked when your wife wanted a divorce. What did she say? Was she taking your daughter and threatening to clean you out? We know you had money trouble before your wife died. We know her life insurance didn't pay out, so you missed the big payday."

I don't know if the part about the money trouble is true but it sounds plausible. She's getting good at this stuff. Lucas remains quiet. That's not good since he's a homicidal maniac and he's armed. The only thing standing between him and a death sentence is us. I'm not afraid to admit that I'm afraid. We may have pushed him too far. But how will he explain shooting us right outside of a crime scene with officers everywhere? He can't. I just hope he's cognizant of that.

"What do you want?" he asks.

"Three-way split," Ronnie says, and Lucas laughs out loud.

"If I had the money, why would you get a third each?"

"A third of ten million dollars is a lot of money, Lucas," I say.

He shakes his head. "You're trying to con me. Trying to get me to incriminate myself. You don't want the money."

I laugh and glance at Ronnie. "Looks like this guy didn't do his homework on me." I step in closer and lower my voice. "You think I'm some kind of incorruptible straight arrow? You don't know shit about me, Lucas. We're more alike than you want to admit. Everybody in my family is in jail or dead. I've bent rules, I've cut corners, I've killed suspects. So far I've been lucky—all of them have been ruled good shootings—but my luck will run out one day. You think I won't take three million dollars to walk away from all this? Some days I feel like I'd walk away for a buck-fifty and a jelly donut. Hell yes, I want the money, Lucas."

I'm pretty convincing, if I say so myself. I think that's because some of that is true. Maybe more than I'd like to admit.

He thinks for a split second and says, "Let's not do this here."

Ronnie says, "I'm fine right here. You get the money and we'll split it."

"You think I'm stupid?"

He takes his phone out and taps a few times, and my phone dings.

"GPS coordinates for a safe place. I'll meet you there in fifteen minutes."

Ronnie starts to speak, but I interrupt her before she blows this. "Fifteen minutes, Lucas. Have the money or we go to Longbow."

"Now, you listen. Closely. If you try to double-cross me, you'll…" He shuts his mouth and turns his face away. "Fifteen minutes."

He gets in his SUV and we watch him drive away.