Buried Prey by John Sandford Read Free Book Online

Lucas asked.
    “Not sure. There’s a small discoloration, could be blood that somebody tried to wash out. We’ll know tomorrow morning.”
    “You think they’re dead?” Lucas asked.
    “Probably not yet. But they will be, soon.”

    PAUL’S THERAPEUTIC MASSAGE occupied the end store in a fivebusiness strip that included a movie rental place, a coin laundry, a dog groomer, and a medical-oxygen service. Lucas parked in front of the massage parlor. A light shone from one window, but a red neon “Open” sign had been turned off.
    When Lucas climbed out of the Jeep and slammed the door, a curtain moved in the window, and he caught the pale flash of a woman’s face. He walked up to the entrance, tried the handle: the heavy steel-cored door was locked. He pounded on it, got no answer. He pounded louder, still got no answer, so he kicked it a few times, shaking the door in its frame, and heard a woman shout, “We’re closed. Go away.”
    Lucas pounded again and shouted, “Police. Open up.”
    He waited for a minute, then kicked the door a few more times—carefully, with the heel, since he was still wearing the loafers—stopped when he heard a bolt rattling on the other side of the lock. The door opened a couple of inches, a chain across the gap, and a narrow blond woman asked, “Cop?”
    Lucas held up his badge: “We’re looking for two missing girls. I need information about a guy you know.”
    “What guy?”
    “His name is John. You guys hang out with him sometimes at Kenny’s. That’s all I know,” Lucas said.
    The door opened another couple of inches. “Did he do it?”
    “He was telling people that he knows who did,” Lucas said. He pushed the door with his fingertips, and she let it swing open a bit more. “So who is he?”
    She looked back over her shoulder and shouted, “Sally.”
    Lucas pushed on the door again, and she let it open. He took that as an invitation, and stepped into a ten-foot-long room with a Formica counter and yellowing white-plaster walls, like in a drycleaning shop. A couple of chairs sat against the window wall, with a low wooden table between them, holding an ashtray and a table lamp with a shade that had a burned spot on one side. A gumball machine sat in a corner, half empty, or half full, depending. Not a place that people would linger for long, Lucas thought.
    A short dark-haired woman came out of the back, behind the counter, looked at Lucas and said, “I’m all done.”
    “He’s a cop,” the blonde said. “He’s looking for this guy John . . . you know, John , the joker.”
    Sally shook her head: “Why would I know where he is?”
    The blonde said, “You’d know better than me. They’re looking for him about those two girls.”
    Sally’s right hand went to her throat: “ He took them?”
    “He’s been talking about who might have,” Lucas said. “We need to talk to him.”
    “I really don’t know him,” Sally said. “He’s come in a few times, I got him, you know, gave him a massage. He’s kinda funny, tells jokes and shit.”
    “He ever say where he lives? Ask you to come over? Give you any hint . . .?”
    She shook her head: “No, but I’ll tell you what. He charged the massage last time. I bet we got the slip.”
    Lucas ticked a finger at her: “ Thank you . Who do I see about the slip?”
    “Me,” the blonde said. “But since we don’t know his last name, I don’t know how we figure out . . .”
    Sally pressed her palms to her eyes and said, “Let me think,” and a minute later said, “Fourth of July. He was joking about fireworks, you know, when . . . never mind. Anyway, the night of the fourth. Don had a baseball game on the radio, so it couldn’t have been too late.”
    The blonde went around the counter, took out a metal box, and began running through charge slips. Lucas said to Sally, “You said he’s okay. That means, what? He didn’t want anything peculiar?”
    “Hey, it was a therapeutic massage.”
    “I’m sure it