“Tomás Gomez is Lobo.” Rooble spoke clearly and calmly, so it wasn’t a case of Walker not hearing him, more that he just didn’t believe what he had heard.
“TheLobo?” said Walker.
“Yes. The Wanted poster was still up on the wall when I started in Homicide. I remember the description referred to a star-shaped tattoo on the back of one hand. Hanson said it was a cartel thing from south of the border.”
Walker closed his eyes. Opened them again. Lobo. He turned to Springer, who was holding the slice of melon up in front of his face so it looked like he was grinning from ear to ear.
“Bad news, Walker?”
“Yes. We need to postpone the speech.”
“Why?” Springer took another mouthful of melon.
“Gomez is almost certainly identical to a man called Lobo, a notorious serial killer.”
“What difference does that make? We already know Gomez is a killer.”
Walker looked at Springer. He realized he had no good answer. That the unease he felt in the pit of his stomach at the news was not an argument. Walker heard Rooble’s voice and realized he was still on the line.
“What?” he said, putting the phone to his ear.
“I said, Dante said there was something strange about Gomez’s hands.”
“What, exactly?”
“They had stitches along the sides, like seams. That the skin seemed to sort of move when he moved his hands. Like he was wearing gloves.”
44
Cat, October 2016
Bob turned into Erie Avenue in Chanhassen. Middle-class houses with plenty of room between them, trees and neatly trimmed lawns on both sides.
He stopped in front of the address Kari had provided.
Two floors. Big but standard family home with a yard in front, lawn with the grass cut short, double garage.
He didn’t see the Caprice, but of course it could be in the garage.
His phone vibrated. He was about to reject the call but changed his mind when he saw it came from Kay Myers.
“Kay, thanks for the report. And the list.”
“You’re welcome. Now it’s your turn to help me.” It could have been just a poor connection, but it sounded like she was freezing.
“Where are you?”
“At a deserted house in a forest with no trails. Listen, I broke in here without a search warrant. I found something.”
Bob didn’t respond. Cops called it an own goal when you found something that could have been used in a court of law, if only you’d followed the rules.
“So what am I going to do?” She sounded desperate. Bob had never heard Kay Myers like this before.
“Get out of there the same way you went in,” he said. “Cover your tracks and make out like you didn’t find anything. Get the search warrant, then come back.”
Bob heard her trembling intake of breath. Were her teeth chattering? Or was she starting to cry?
“I broke open the door, but if that’s ‘tripping up’ then what’s the point of being a cop? Tell me that. I sent you those reports because it’s our job to protect people against…against monsters like this. I don’t need a bigger office, Bob, I just need to stop this…this sickness.”
