Walker shook his head. “He’s keeping himself well hidden. Speaking of which, have you considered the possibility he might be in disguise, even wearing some kind of mask?”
“Of course,” said Springer. “Today we treat everybody as though they could be Tomás Gomez, no matter what they look like.”
Walker’s phone rang. It had to be Hanson. He was late; Walkerhad tried to call him once already. He read the name that came up on the display. Rooble Isack.
“Isack,” said Walker. “It’s been a while. Listen, I’m a little busy right now, is this something that can wait?”
“Walker,” said Rooble Isack in his rumbling voice, “I’m thinking you’ll agree that what I have to tell you can’t wait, sir.”
“Oh?”
“I’m at the hospital, with Marco Dante. The gunrunner we think this Tomás Gomez tried to kill on Tuesday.”
“Yeah yeah, I’m familiar with the case.”
“We’re here because in connection with the assault we were able to carry out a search of Dante’s garage and we found all sorts of illegal weapons. We’ve got a good case against him, but Dante’s lawyered up and wants a deal in exchange for information about Tomás Gomez.”
“And?”
“The question is, how much is this information worth to us? And to you, because Gomez is also now a murder suspect.”
“Worth a lot,” said Walker. “A lot. And you’re right, it’s urgent.”
“That’s all I needed to know. I’ll get back to you soon.”
“Thanks, Rooble.”
They hung up.
“Where the hell is Hanson?” asked Springer.
“You tell me. Looks like your man might have got caught up in traffic.”
Your man.During that JTTF meeting, when Springer made it clear he preferred Hanson to Kay Myers to represent the Homicide Unit, Walker’s first impulse had been to intervene and say the decision was his to make. But Myers had gotten in before him when she said that was fine by her. Of course, he could have made the change after the meeting, but there was something about this whole case that told him not to. A feeling that this Gomez was anobstacle that could trip them up badly. And in that case he would prefer that it was Hanson rather than Myers who took the fall. The decision was as cynical as it was practical. On the other hand, what could go wrong?
Walker didn’t know, but again he shivered in the sunlight.
“Hey, Springer, can you see what that thing is hanging up there?”
Springer looked up. “Looks like a small fish,” he said.
“A fish?”
“Yeah, one of those puffer fish, you know.”
—
Kay got up early, headed down to the Rialto and interviewed the ticket attendant and the projectionist, the only two who had been working the previous day. They couldn’t add anything much except to say that the victim had been a regular at the movie theater. And they couldn’t—naturally—provide the names and addresses of any of the other patrons. Kay told them two crime technicians were on their way and that the Rialto couldn’t open to the public again until they’d been there and done their job. She drove off, heading for city hall, and wondering whether to contact the TV preacher and find out whether he’d seen or heard anything. She decided to wait until the techs and the pathologists delivered their findings. Instead, back in the Homicide Unit’s office, she did what she had made up her mind to do as she lay awake during the night. To do Bob Oz a favor. And—probably—fuck things up for herself. She raised a cup of coffee to her lips as she studied the computer screen. It was a list of all murder cases involving more than one victim. Her first search had been for Perez and 1995. She’d located the report and then widened her search. She took a screenshot of the report and the search returns and clicked on the Share icon. Typed in Bob Oz’s email address.Hesitated a moment, then clicked the Send button. Heard the swish of the departing email—and possibly her own chances of promotion—as it flew off and away.
She breathed out heavily, as though she’d been holding her breath. The open office was almost completely silent; the only sound Kay heard was Joe Kjos’s voice as he sat a few seats away, talking on the phone. Sounded like he was checking a tip-off. And she had one she needed to check too before she could take her weekend break. She looked at her watch. A trip to Cedar Creek and the woman who called in a potential lead shouldn’t take more than forty-five minutes on a Saturday morning.
She was on her way out when something struck her and she stopped, turned and made her way back to the new office. Saw to her surprise that the paint job was now finished. The cans and brushes were all gone. She felt a vague sense of disappointment but dismissed it and headed on out of the building.
—
The mayor of Minneapolis, Kevin Patterson, studied himself in the large bedroom mirror. He was reasonably satisfied. If they didn’t have the cameras too low in relation to the podium then the first signs of that double chin wouldn’t show. His hair was beginning to get thinner and turning gray, and he’d put on a few pounds after moving into the biggest office in city hall. But generally speaking he was aging well, wasn’t he? A lot of people reacted with surprise when he told them he was in his mid-fifties, and surely not all of them could be accused of flattering a mere mayor? Okay, so he didn’t have the looks of the politicians the people really took to their hearts. Or their charisma. But he knew that if he played his cards right then a place in the House of Representatives was within reach.
“Not the red necktie,” Jill interrupted his thoughts. His wifehad just come in and was checking the knot and brushing the dandruff off his jacket. “How about the blue with the black stripe?”
