Bob drove as fast as he dared—and as fast as the Volvo could handle—along the highway to the city center.
He drove with one hand and held his cell in the other. Yes, he wished he had a pistol. Yes, he wished he had a Kojak light. Yes, he wished he had a better brain and had deciphered the writing on the wall earlier. When she took the call, he could hear she was running.
“What’s happening, Kay?”
“I’m headed for my car. I’ve made a few calls and done some checking and it looks like the house in the forest is owned by a group of artists who practice something they callrogue taxidermy.I just spoke with one of them and she told me that after they rented new space in the city the place out at Cedar Creek has hardly been used. I asked about the refrigerated room, and she said a numberof the artists used it, including this Emily Lunde, the woman who owns the workshop with the body in it.”
“Emily Lunde?”
“Lives out in Chanhassen. I’m sending a patrol car out there now.”
“Don’t do that. Not…yet anyway. She probably isn’t involved.”
“Oh?”
“She’s the sister of the man we’re looking for. His name is Mike Lunde. Emily Lunde is confined to a wheelchair, she can’t have been out in a forest with no paths through it in years. Mike Lunde is the one who’s been using that workshop.”
“Who is Mike Lunde?”
“A taxidermist. He’s been wearing a Tomás Gomez mask.”
Bob waited and let that sink in, let her brain trace the line from the flayed body and Tomás Gomez on the security videos.
“Jesus,” Kay whispered, as though not daring to say it out loud. “Are you saying that—”
“Yeah. He’s been using Tomás Gomez’s face and hands.”
“But…where is he now?”
“He’s not at home, his sister says he’s gone to work. Unfortunately he’s left his cell behind so we can’t track him that way. And he’s taken his rifle with him.”
“God. He’s at the stadium. Gomez…or, yeah, the guy the cameras picked up there yesterday while he was doing reconnaissance. He’s going to shoot someone there.”
“Someone?”
“The most obvious target would be Mayor Patterson. Any minute now he’s going to be speaking in front of sixty thousand people, and it’s going out live on TV.”
It was Bob’s turn to connect the dots.
“ItisPatterson,” he said quietly. “His masterpiece.”
“What?”
“He told his sister he was going to unveil his masterpiece today. I thought he was referring to this Labrador he’s been working on.”
“What?”
“Mike Lunde is going to crown his work with the unveiling of his last masterpiece. And an unveiling needs an audience.”
Bob heard a change in the acoustics around Kay and realized she must now be sitting in her car.
“Give me a description,” she said. “I need to call Walker and warn them they’re looking for the wrong man.”
Bob gave Kay a quick description of Mike Lunde and the few bits of personal information he had about him. She repeated after him, he confirmed it, then she hung up.
Saturday traffic was light and Bob had already reached the city center. He stopped at a red light. Hesitated. A left turn would take him to the store, a right to the stadium. Kay hadn’t asked why Bob hadn’t mentioned this Mike Lunde before. Maybe because there wasn’t time. Maybe because she didn’t want to know. No matter which way he turned now, he would still have a lot to answer for. But right now he didn’t give a damn about that. Right now all that mattered was to make the right choice, chop the tree down from the correct side and let the chips fall where they may.
The light changed to yellow.
