Free Rules of Prey by John Sandford Page B

know, just cologne. I wouldn’t know the difference.”
    “Could it have been hair oil?”
    “No, I don’t think so. I think it was cologne. It was light.”
    “But he didn’t stink? Like he was unwashed?”
    “No.”
    “He was wearing a T-shirt. You said he was white. How white?”
    “Really white. Whiter than you. I mean, I’m kind of brown, you’re tan-white, he was real white.”
    “No tan?”
    “No. I don’t think so. That’s not my impression. He waswearing those gloves and I remember that his skin was almost as white as the gloves were.”
    “You said when you were talking to the St. Paul police that he was wearing athletic shoes. Do you know what kind?”
    “No. He just knocked me down and I was getting up and I remember the shoes and the little bubble thing on the side . . .” She stopped and frowned. “I didn’t tell the other officers about the bubble thing.”
    “What kind of bubble thing?”
    “Those transparent bubble things, where you can look inside the shoe soles?”
    “Yeah. I know. Do you go down to St. Paul Center much?”
    “Sometimes,” she said.
    “If you’ve got the time, walk over this afternoon and look at the shoes, see if there’s anything like it. Okay?”
    “Sure. Jeez, I didn’t think . . .”
    Lucas took out his badge case, extracted a business card, and handed it to her. “Call me and let me know.”
    They talked for another ten minutes, but there was nothing more. Lucas made a few final notes on a steno pad and tossed the pad and the investigation notebook back in his briefcase.
    “You scared me,” Ruiz said as Lucas closed the case.
    “I want to catch this guy,” Lucas said. “I figured there might be something you wouldn’t remember unless you walked through it again.”
    “I’ll have nightmares.”
    “Maybe not. Even the worst ones fade after a while. I won’t apologize, considering the situation.”
    “I know.” She plucked at the seam of her skirt. “It’s just . . .”
    “Yeah, I know. Listen, I’ve got to make a call, okay?”
    “Sure.” She walked back to a stool next to a loom and sat on it, her hands resting between her legs. She was subdued, almost depressed. Lucas watched her as he dialed the information operator, got the number for St. Anne’s College, hung up, and redialed the new number.
    “Think about something else entirely,” he said to her across the room.
    “I try, but I can’t,” she said. “I just keep going over it in my head. My God, he was right in here . . .”
    Lucas held up a hand to stop her for a moment. “Psychology department . . . . Thanks . . . . Sister Mary Joseph . . . . Tell her Detective Lieutenant Lucas Davenport . . .” He glanced at Carla again. She was staring fixedly out the window.
    “Hello? Lucas?”
    “Elle, I’ve got to talk to you.”
    “About the maddog?” she asked.
    “Yeah.”
    “I was halfway expecting you to call. When do you want to come?”
    “I’m in St. Paul now. I’ve got to be over in Minneapolis for a meeting at four, I was hoping you could squeeze me in now.”
    “If you come right this minute, we can walk down to the ice-cream store. I’ve got a faculty meeting in forty-five minutes.”
    “I’ll see you in front of Fat Albert Hall in ten minutes.”
    Lucas dropped the phone back on the hook.
    “You going to be okay?” he asked as he headed for the door. “I was a little rough . . .”
    “Yes.” She continued to stare out the window and he paused with his hand on the bolt.
    “Will you check downtown for me? About those shoes?”
    “Sure.” She sighed and turned toward him. “I’ve got to get out of here. If you can wait a minute, I’ll get my purse. You can walk me out of the building.”
    She was ready in a moment and they rode the old elevator down to the first floor. The elevator operator had plugged a set of headphones into his boombox, but the sound of heavy metal leaked out around the edges.
    “That shit can