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“Out for a run,” Lucas said. “What’s up?”
“You can run now?”
“Not well,” Lucas said.
“Better than not at all... Listen, I got an early call. Henderson has been nagging the governor, the governor has been nagging Rose Marie, and Rose Marie has been nagging Cartwright.” Henderson was a U.S. senator, Rose Marie was the state commissioner of public safety, Cartwright was director of the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension. As they say in the military, shit rolls downhill. “They want me to review the Sand murder. I just left the BCA, heading your way. I had them make two copies of the murder file. I thought you might enjoy some light fiction.”
“I’m about ten minutes from that Starbucks at Marshall and Snelling and it’s starting to drizzle. I need to get off the street and I’d like a look at the file; I haven’t heard much.”
“That’s because there’s not much to hear,” Virgil said. “I’m on I-94, I’ll probably get there about the same time as you.”
“I’ll limp fast. See you there.”
—
Virgil’s Tahoe wassitting in the Starbucks parking lot when Lucas arrived, and he could see Virgil at a window table looking at a bound file. The rain was coming down harder, with an occasional slice of sleet. He’d been using the cane the last couple of blocks, humping along, trying to take some impact off his leg. He hustled inside, pushed his wet hair back with one hand, nodded at Virgil and went to the counter.
The young woman behind the register gave him a kind smile and he said, “Gimme a Grande... Pike Place, and two vanilla scones.”
He fished crumbled five-dollar bills out of a pocket and passed them across the counter. The young woman said, cheerily, “Oh, boy—I bet it’s tough out there today, isn’t it? Cold rain and all. Tell you what, I’ll give you the two scones, but I’ll only charge you for one.”
That hadn’t happened before. Lucas scratched one unshaven cheek, trying to figure out the con, decided there wasn’t one, and said, “Okay. Thanks.”
He got the coffee and scones, dropped the change into a tip jar and when he turned to Virgil, found Virgil trying to stuff the knuckles of his right hand into his mouth.
Lucas sat down. “What’s funny?”
“A free scone?”
“Yeah.” Lucas glanced back at the counter woman, who now was looking at them, and seemed puzzled. “What was that all about?”
“She thought you were a street guy. Spending money you collected at the corner. Wet sweatshirt and baggy-ass pants, the drugstore cane on a string, your hair is sticking up like the antennas on a ’56 Buick, you’re not shaved... She’s wondering how you know the well-dressed blond dude. That would be me.”
Virgil was as tall as Lucas, but lean, lanky, and blond, hair too long for a cop. He lived on a farm near the town of Mankato, a hundred miles south of St. Paul, as a regional agent for the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension. He had the best clearance rate in the agency and was sometimes pulled out of his territory to look at difficult cases.
“Ah, jeez,” Lucas said. He glanced over at the woman, who was now ignoring them. “Maybe I oughta pay for the extra scone.”
“Forget it. We’ve got to read this stuff, talk it over, get back to your place so you can change into something decent and get over to Minneapolis by two o’clock.”
“What’s in Minneapolis?”
“Margaret Cooper. Also known as Maggie,” Virgil said, tapping the file. “She’s still at her girlfriend’s house with the baby. We need to talk to her.”
“I’m not even sure I’m doing this,” Lucas said.
“Oh, bullshit, you’re doing it,” Virgil said. “Stop wasting time and start reading the file. Is one of those scones for me?”
—
Virgil and Lucasspent an hour and a half at Starbucks, reading through the files, muttering at each other from time to time,looking out the window at passing cars and walkers in the rain, like the cars or walkers might connect their thoughts. Because Lucas had grudgingly given Virgil one of his scones, Virgil bought two more, and told the counter woman to charge him for three.
He said, in a stage whisper, “I know he looks weird, but that guy is a really, really rich businessman. He’s a little eccentric. He’s got a sword inside that cane.”
“Do not,” Lucas called.
The woman puffed up her cheeks, exhaled in Gen-Z exasperation, and charged Virgil for three scones.
—
