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“The Marshals Service doesn’t really do this kind of thing,” Lucas began.
“Look. We’ve known each other for a long time. I’d appreciate your expertise on this, your experience, but I don’t want my people to get run over. You know, in the press. On that social media bullshit.”
“I don’t need the credit,” Lucas said. “If I get involved at all, I’ll step back when the time comes.”
The chief bumped him with an elbow. “Thank you. Maybe this killer screwed up and we’ll catch him tomorrow. If it goes on, especially if it goes on for more than a week, I mean, if you can find it in your heart to take a look, I’d facilitate that.”
“I’ll keep it in mind, Chief.”
“Do. There’s gonna be pressure, and here comes some of it now.”
Lucas looked up the street where an older Mercedes S-Class sedan had just pulled to the curb. Steve the cop looked in the passenger side window, then helped open the door.
Lucas recognized the mayor, Joe Hartcome, climbing out the passenger side; the driver he didn’t recognize.
“Who’s the guy in the hat?” he asked.
“That’s one of our richie-riches, Noah Heath. He runs that Heart/Twin Cities charity.”
“I think my wife gives money to them,” Lucas said.
“As she should. Mayor’s here because he knows the family and half his political donations come out of the Crocus Hill neighborhood,” the chief said. “I don’t know about Heath.”
The two men scurried through the rain toward them, the mayor nodding to Lucas and the chief, calling them both by name, saying, “Noah and I were at dinner when we heard. I guess it’s bad?”
“It’s bad,” the chief said. “I don’t know if you’ll want to go inside.”
“Where’s Maggie?” Heath asked.
“They took her to Regions, then a friend picked her up. She’s with the friend.”
The mayor carried the professionally sad look that mayors were expected to carry after an unexpected death. Heath looked genuinely distraught, wringing his hands, and he said, “A tragedy. A tragedy, my God, what is the world coming to, people cut down by madmen?”
The chief shook his head: “I don’t know. This didn’t happen back in the day...”
Lucas wanted to say, “Of course it did, all the time,” but he didn’t. Instead, he clapped the chief on the back, said, “Do good, man,” nodded at the mayor and said, “Mayor, Mr. Heath, I gotta go,” and limped down the stairs to the walk. The FBI agent followed, and called, “Davenport. Wait up.”
Lucas turned and stuck out a hand and they shook, and the agent said, “John Howahkan. You’re Lucas Davenport. I missed the investigation that got you shot up. I was out in the Dakotas, working a killing at Standing Rock.”
“You missed an intense situation, then,” Lucas said. “Though I’m told Standing Rock is an interesting place. Never been.”
“You’re a little too white to be poking around out there,” Howahkan said. “Listen. I know about you, mostly good, from talk around the office. You’re familiar with the local and state people working this. I’d just as soon you didn’t tell them I was asking, but... Who in there is incompetent?”
Lucas turned to look at the men still on the porch. “Maybe the chief. He’s an old-line copper, but he’s mostly on a desk. He does outreach and political stuff, so no damage there,” Lucas said.“Russo’s very good. Gary Durey is better than competent. St. Paul forensics had some problems, but they’ve got that cleared up now, so they should be okay. On the whole, that’s a good team. They won’t miss much.”
“Great. The SAC told me that we’d keep notional responsibility, but we’re going to set it up as a task force and let the local people handle most of it. I guess I’m over here to make that point.” He shrugged.
“I’m in the same position,” Lucas said. “My boss said she wanted to show the flag.”
Howahkan turned and looked back at the murder room and said, “Gonna be a lot of heat on this, lot of pressure. A federal judge, his kids.”
“Yes,” Lucas said. “But right now, we’d be in the way.”
“Then we should go home,” Howahkan said.
—
The crime scenebelonged to St. Paul, and the mayor was the mayor, so they let him in to view the bodies. He would later relay the horror of the scene in a number of speeches, talks, and conferences, to let the voters know that he was on the job.
