Twisted Prey (Lucas Davenport #28)

by John Sandford

“I need her phone number,” Lucas said. Smalls went away for a while, then came back for the number. “Her cell phone; she usually answers right away.” She did. Lucas identified himself, and asked, “Do you have access to the Internet?” She said, “I live in West Virginia, not on the friggin’ moon.” “Great. Do you have it handy?” “I’m in the yard. I’d have to walk into the house.” “I’m going to send you eight or ten photographs. Tell me if any of them look like the guys you saw driving the F-250.” The whole round-trip with the photographs took five minutes. Lucas sent ten, and, after examining them, Walker said, “The third photograph—that looks like the driver. I’m not sure I could swear it was him, if it went to court, but it looks like him.” “Thank you,” Lucas said. “Keep this under your hat, if you would.” — JAMES HAROLD RITTER. Lucas had three markers pointing at Ritter: his impression of the attacker’s face on the street; Walker’s identification; and the fact that he owned a black F-250. Could be a coincidence, with a little bit of a stretch, but Lucas felt he was on a roll, that Ritter was the one. Like most of the other people Lucas was trying to find, Ritter lived across the Potomac in Virginia, in what turned out to be a neatly kept condominium complex not far from where the F-250 plates had been stolen. The complex had individual covered parking spaces at the back of the building. Although Ritter’s driver’s license hadn’t included an apartment number, Lucas spotted t...

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