Masked Prey (Lucas Davenport #30) - John Sandford Page 0,120
from church. “Quite the interesting sermon,” Henderson said, without even saying hello. “The minister—junior minister, actually—spoke on the Book of Common Prayer, the history of it, and how it should guide individual members of different political beliefs. Quite enchanting, even if he did have his head up his ass. So, what’s going on?”
“I believe I’ve identified the shooter . . .”
“Yes!”
“. . . but I don’t have him yet. Can you either loan me your plane for a flight to Macon, Georgia, or get me a first-class ticket for a flight to Macon? For tonight?”
“Can’t get you the plane, my wife is in Los Angeles with some woman named Oona, trying to exhaust each other on Rodeo Drive.”
“Do you care?”
“I do not. I can get you on any flight you wish, any class you want. That’s because I know people. What time do you want to fly and where do you want to fly from?”
“National or Dulles, either one. Macon if possible, but I’ll take Atlanta. One flight if possible, before dark.”
“I’ll have my assistant call you back,” Henderson said. “I want you to call Porter and tell him. He’s now suspicious of our relationship and you need to kiss and make up.”
* * *
—
LUCAS CALLED PORTER SMALLS, who hadn’t gone to church, and who said, “I’ll look forward to the denouement. I’m looking at my vocabulary-word-of-the-day calendar, and denouement means the point in a narrative when the different pieces of the plot are pulled together and we reach the climax.”
“I knew that,” Lucas said.
“Well, you had all those hockey pucks hitting you in the head since childhood, so I’m always uncertain of where you stand, brains-wise,” Smalls said.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Stay in touch. I would like to hear something before your friend Henderson does.”
* * *
—
AT DUNN’S HOUSE, Lucas pounded on the door, got no response. The older couple in the nearest home were no longer there, so he moved to the other side of Dunn’s house and a woman came to the door, peered through the tiny door window, then shouted through it, “Who are you?” and Lucas held up his ID and badge and she opened the inner door.
“Federal marshal?” She had dirt on her face, as though she’d been cleaning behind the refrigerator.
“Yes. Have you seen Mr. Dunn today?”
“What’d he do?”
“We don’t know if he did anything,” Lucas said. “Have you seen him?”
“Yes, I have,” she said. “He was loading things into his truck early this morning and then he took off. To where, I don’t know. Somebody told me once that he has a cabin in West Virginia, but I don’t know that for sure. We don’t talk much. I think he went over to the Bixbys’ place before he left. The Bixbys are across the street in the red house.”
Lucas thanked her and headed across to the Bixbys. Again, the only person home was a woman, older, with carefully set silver hair and a pale British complexion and long British nose. She also looked through the door window before opening the door, although she didn’t shout through it. Lucas showed her his ID and asked about Dunn.
“My husband . . . they’re not exactly friends, but they talk from time to time.” Her accent was from farther south, like South Carolina. “Elias is a civil engineer and my husband is a building contractor, so they have things in common. I didn’t see Elias this morning, but I heard him talking to Frank. My husband, Frank. Elias was going on a short trip but won’t be here for the trash pickup, so he asked if he could leave a bag of trash with us, if we’d take it out for him.”
“That was this morning? And you still have the trash bag?”
“Yes, we do. We have a little trash and recycling corral out back. The bag is there. Do you need it?”
“Yes, I believe so. I’ll know in a few minutes when some FBI people show up. Why would Mr. Dunn leave his garbage?”
“Because we have crows,” the woman said. “They know all about the bags, and they’ll peck right through them to get at the contents and then they spread the stuff all over the street.”
“Okay. Could you show me that corral?”
* * *
—
THE CORRAL WAS A TEN-FOOT-WIDE square of red bricks surrounded by a five-foot-high woven fence, with a trash bag sitting by itself, in the middle of the square. Two rakes and a shovel were leaning against the fence, with an upended wheelbarrow.