Extreme Prey: A Novel Part 24

"I can do that," Whitehead said.

Lucas started down the steps, then turned back. "Uh, Miz Whitehead . . . have you ever seen her sons?"

"Yes. Several times. Since they were small."

"Does one of them have distinctive gray eyes?"

"That'd be Cole," she said.

- BACK IN HIS TRUCK, his subconscious poked him again. That thing about Skira being on Lawrence's computer list, but not on the printed one. That's what he'd seen, but not recognized-and he'd not recognized the implications of that.

Purdy hadn't been on the printed one, either-he'd found her by talking to the couple in What Cheer. He got the original list out and checked it. As he thought, Purdy was missing. The list was alphabetized, and the name above where Purdy's would have been was numbered 66, and the next one down was 68.

Lawrence had edited the paper list before she'd given it to him and had eliminated Purdy. He checked the point on the list where Skira should have been and found the numbers skipped again, from 77 to 79.

Lawrence had time to edit but not to renumber. He checked the rest of the list for skipped numbers and found none.

"Got her," he said aloud.

He called Ford: "I think I got our woman. The white-haired lady."

"Who is it?

"She's named Marlys Purdy and she lives in . . . uh, let me look . . . Pella. Not right in Pella, but a few miles out of town. I suspect our sniper is one of her sons, named Cole."

Lucas explained about the white hair and the change of hair color, and Ford said, "Okay, you maybe got her. I can't leave here yet, but I'll call Bell and get him to s.h.i.+p somebody out there. I a.s.sume you're going?"

"Yes. Right now."

- LUCAS TOOK THE TRUCK out to I-80 and headed west.

f.u.c.kin' Purdy.

He was about eighty-seven percent sure she was the right one-Pella was right where Kidd had thought the e-mails to Henderson might have come from-but the hair had fooled him: straight and brown instead of white and curly, but how long, in this day and age, did it take to go from one to the other? Two hours in a beauty parlor? That much?

He'd been chumped: Lawrence had probably told her that he was coming and about his description of the woman they were hunting.

He was ten miles down the road when Bell Wood called. "I'm coming myself and bringing another guy. I've never shot anyone, and what the h.e.l.l, this might be my chance."

"Happy to have you."

Wood told Lucas to follow his nav system into Pella. "It should bring you right down Main Street. When you get to Franklin, take a right for a block. On the corner of Franklin and First, you'll see a windmill. I'll meet you at the windmill."

"The windmill."

"Yeah. Great big full-sized windmill. There are some restaurants around there, and I missed lunch and now I'm going to miss dinner. Call me when you get close, and I'll be standing under the windmill."

- THE RUN FROM WEST BRANCH to Pella took ninety minutes. As soon as Lucas saw the Main Street sign, he called Wood and said, "I'm coming down Main."

"We're on First, getting a c.o.ke. We'll be at the mill in one minute."

Lucas was three minutes away, and when he saw the windmill looming above the street, he saw Wood and another man standing on the corner, hot dogs in one hand, cups of c.o.ke in the other. He pulled into a parking s.p.a.ce and got out. Wood came over, put the c.o.ke on the hood of the truck, and shook hands. "Been a while," he said. Wood introduced the other man as Sam Greer.

Greer, a tall, thin man who looked like he might run marathons, shook hands and said, "Your reputation precedes you."

"Well, h.e.l.l, nothing I can do about that," Lucas said. "I'm in a rush, here, guys, but I need a couple of hot dogs and we gotta talk about how we're gonna do this. If this is the sniper . . ."

"Well, we got the hot dog place," Wood said. "I brought a rifle and some gear for you, in case you didn't have it."

"I used to have a .45," Lucas said. "The Grinnell cops have it now. I haven't had time to get it back."

"We gotcha covered, then," Wood said.

- THEY GOT MORE HOT DOGS and more c.o.kes, and talked about how they'd get to the Purdy property. Wood hadn't had time to file for a search warrant, so they'd have to feel their way forward when they got to the farm. "If we think her son was the sniper, we're investigating, not searching," Wood said.

Lucas suggested that they begin by touching base with a neighbor, to ask about the gray-eyed son. "The one I saw was distinctly not gray-eyed."

- THE SUN WAS STILL as much as an hour above the horizon, Lucas thought, as they trucked out toward the Purdy place, Lucas in the lead, Wood riding shotgun, Greer following in the state car.

They came over the top of a hill and Lucas said, "That's the Purdy place, straight ahead, above the turn." They were coming up to another house as he said it, and Lucas said, "I thought we could ask here."

They pa.s.sed a mailbox that said "Souther," with a wooden sheep mounted above it, and turned down the long driveway.

A woman was crossing the drive, carrying a couple of buckets. When she saw them coming, she stopped, looked at them for a second, then hurried to the side of the driveway, put the buckets down, and ran into the house.

"Wonder what that was about?" Wood asked.

"Don't know, but you might want to be ready," Lucas said.

Wood slipped his pistol out of its holster, rolled his window down, and sat with the gun in his lap as Lucas pulled into the side yard, Greer behind them.

Then a man came out of the house, wearing coveralls and a Fender hat, and walked over to them. "Looks friendly enough," Wood said.

Lucas got out of the truck and the man nodded and asked, "Who're you guys?"

Lucas said, "We're with the state Division of Criminal Investigation."

Wood and Greer got out, Wood's gun back in its holster, and Wood said, "I hope we didn't startle your wife."

"She's shy," Souther said. "I mean, really shy. Anyway, what's up?"

Wood told Souther about the investigation, and as he did, the woman eased out of the house, and Souther held a finger up to Wood, stopping him for a moment, and Souther called, "It's okay, Janette. These folks are police officers."

She drifted over, not looking at them, and Souther said, "So go on . . ."

Wood finished telling him about the investigation, and then Lucas said, "We think we need to talk to the Purdys. Marlys Purdy was described to us as a little heavy with white curly hair, which is right, but I saw her son, and he has blue eyes. The man we're looking for was described as having very distinctive gray eyes . . . think it might be another son."

From behind them, Janette Souther said, "Cole."

Souther glanced at her and said, "There are two sons and that sure sounds like him-Cole Purdy. You hardly ever see Cole without his gun, not when he's walking around on their land over there. You hear him shooting all the time. He's not a bad guy, not that I've seen. All the Purdys work hard. They're good neighbors."

"Have you seen them today?" Greer asked.

"I haven't," Souther said.

Janette Souther said, looking away from them all, as though she were talking to a pasture, "I saw them go. Cole and Marlys in her truck."

"White truck?" Lucas asked.

"No, it's blue. Cole has a white truck, though," Janette Souther said.

"When did they leave?" Wood asked.

"An hour ago." Now she was looking at her feet. Then, "Jesse Purdy is in jail."

Souther looked at his wife again and asked, "What? In jail?"

She nodded. "Amy told me."

Souther turned back to Lucas, Wood, and Greer and said, "Amy's the mail lady. She knows everything."

Wood asked, "In jail in Pella? Does Pella have a jail?"

"A small one," Souther said. "Mostly for overnights."

Lucas said to Janette, "You're saying they're not home, Marlys and Cole, and Jesse, the blue-eyed one, is in jail in Pella."

She said, "Yes."

Wood said to Lucas, "Let's run back into town, see what he has to say."

Lucas nodded and asked Souther, "Do you have a phone? If you see them come back, could you call? We're a little worried about Cole and his gun."

"I'll tell you something," Souther said, as he slipped his phone out of his pocket. "Cole is . . . not quite right. He was in the National Guard and got sent to Iraq, and as I understand it, he was nearby when a couple of bombs went off-you know, those devices, whatever they call them."

"Improvised Explosive Devices-IEDs," Wood said. Wood was a major in the National Guard and had done a year in Iraq and another in Afghanistan. "I hate to hear that-that he's hurt."

"Yeah, that's it, IEDs," Souther said. "Anyway, he's had some trouble ever since, with"-he waved his fingers at his brain-"his brain, I guess. I don't know whether it's physical or psychological, but he's had his problems. Probably find out more from the VA."

"We'll check," Wood said.

Souther and Lucas traded phone numbers and names. Lucas c.o.c.ked an eyebrow and asked, "David Souther? You're not the poet, are you?"

Souther, surprised but pleased, asked, "How'd you know?"

"I got about three of your books, man," Lucas said. "I collect poetry books. University of Chicago Press, right?"

"That's right. Jeez, I never met anyone before, you know, who wasn't on the poetry scene, who heard of me."

"Well, now you have," Lucas said. "'Bobcats.' That's a great poem there. That's probably my favorite. And 'Winter Water.'"

- AS THEY WERE ROLLING out of the Southers' driveway, the couple watching them go, Wood said, "You honest to G.o.d collect poetry? I didn't know you were a delicate little rosebud."

"I'm pretty delicate," Lucas admitted. "You know, when I'm not beating somebody senseless."

TWENTY-FOUR.

They were back in town eight minutes later, and Greer had an idea where the jail was. Lucas followed him, and they did find the jail, which was not much of a jail, more of a closet for people who wouldn't be there long.

A cop ushered them in, where blue-eyed Jesse Purdy was stretched out on a cot, looking not at all uncomfortable. He was reading a battered book called Chevrolet: Yesterday and Today.

"What?"

Wood identified himself and said, "We need to talk to your mother and brother, in a hurry . . . but they're not home. You know how we could get in touch?"

"Well, you could call them and ask," Jesse said, not getting up. "What's this all about?"

"We're wondering if they might have involved themselves with the Michaela Bowden campaign," Lucas said, hiding in the weeds of ambiguity.

Jesse sat up now and said, "Awww . . . s.h.i.+t. What'd they do?"

"You think they might have done something?" Wood asked.

"Well, they sure as h.e.l.l don't like Bowden," Jesse said. "Not that it means much, you know."

"You don't think your brother might . . . try to hurt her? Mrs. Bowden?" Greer asked.

Jesse looked at all of them, then ran his hands through his hair and said, "Look, Cole isn't exactly right. Not since he got back from the war. But I don't think, no way . . ."

Lucas: "Would you be willing to go back out to the house with us, in case they've come back home? So we can talk?"

"Sure, if you could get me out of here. That f.u.c.kin' Cole is the guy who got me here in the first place."

"How was that?" Lucas asked.

Jesse gave him a quick summary of his talk with Cole in the bar and his arrest outside Willie's house. "I didn't mean to hurt her, or nothin', and she knows it. That restraining order was her lawyer's idea, to give me a hard time when I want to visit with Caralee."

"Why would your brother do that? I mean, if it really was bulls.h.i.+t?" Lucas asked.

Jesse said, "I thought about that last night and this morning and . . . why he didn't come and get me out of here. Now . . ." His voice trailed off, and he looked away from them and said, "I don't give a s.h.i.+t about Michaela Bowden, no way. Might even vote for her, depending on who the Republicans put up. But Mom and Cole . . . I mean . . ." He turned back to them. "Were they getting me out of the way? Was there something they didn't want me to see? Get involved in?"