Margaret Trane, a Minneapolis deputy chief and one of Lucas’s longtime friends, showed up in jeans and a sweatshirt, even as the phone under the car continued to ring every few minutes.
Lucas’s phone was ringing, too, alternating with the phone under the car, but Lucas didn’t answer.
“You gotta go tell Lara,” Lucas told Trane. “I won’t do it. I’m terrible at it.”
“I’ll get someone…”
“You should do it. You’re important enough to make an impression,” Lucas said. He added, “Chief.”
“Then you’re coming with me.”
“Ah…” Lucas was dragging his feet, but finally nodded. “Okay.”
“You think this is the original Grandfelt killer?” Trane asked as she watched the homicide and first-arriving crime scene investigators crawling around the Jaguar.
“I believe it is,” Lucas said. “I can’t think who else it might be. In one way or another, the true crime investigation has become a threat. I don’t know why it has—if I knew that, I might know who it threatens.”
“Where’s Flowers?”
“I haven’t called him yet. I’ll go do that. Didn’t you guys work together on that professor case, the professor who got murdered in the university library?”
“Yeah. I kinda like the guy. Flowers, not the professor.”
“I’ll call him. Then let’s talk to Lara.”
—
Virgil was athis hotel, working on the novel. He was astonished to hear about Wise. “What have we done?”
“I don’t think we’re to blame…”
“Neither do I. I meant, what have we done to stir this up? We must have done something.”
“I was just talking to Maggie Trane about that. I don’t know.”
“How did Maggie get involved?” Virgil asked.
“I called her to get some cops to look at the Jaguar.”
“Good move. All right, I’ll see you at Grandfelt’s place. I’m still dressed, I’ll leave here in five minutes.”
—
Lucas wasn’t goodat death notifications, and he knew it. He became too gruff when he was angry or upset, and sometimes that came out during a notification, putting out a “Yeah, he’s dead, get over it” feel.
Trane was far better: straightforward, but bleeding sympathy.When they rang Grandfelt’s doorbell, Lucas saw a curtain move at the side of the stone porch. He lifted a hand, and Grandfelt unlocked and opened the door.
“I’m Margaret Trane, I’m a deputy chief of police for the City of Minneapolis. I’m afraid I have dreadful news for you,” Trane said, as Lucas hovered unhappily in the background. “May we come in?”
Grandfelt backed away from the door, leaving it open, and said, “She’s dead.”
“Yes, she is,” Trane said, stepping inside.
“And Lucas was too chicken to tell me himself.”
Trane nodded: “Yes. He was.”
“Oh, goddamnit.” Grandfelt burst into tears and turned away from them, her hands to her face.
