“What doesn’t?”
“All of this, just to find out who shot a man who sells weapons to kids.”
“Guess you’re just going to have to get used to it,” said the tall one with a sigh.
“Yeah, well, I hope that hole in his belly is burning like hell.”
The elevator arrived and we stepped inside.
There was a nurse with a girl in a wheelchair. Tears came to my eyes, and as we descended, I noticed the tall, slender man looking intently at me. But then he probably remembered that in a hospital it wasn’t particularly unusual to see people in tears.
I tried not to look at the girl in the wheelchair, but I’d seen the resemblance already. She looked like my Anna.
10
Rushing Sounds, October 2016
When Bob emerged from the elevator three men from Homicide were standing by the unit’s new coffee machine. Hanson, Joe Kjos and a new guy whose name Bob couldn’t remember.
“Here’s the wizard,” said Olav Hanson. “Didn’t manage to transport yourself here in twenty minutes after all?”
“Traffic,” said Bob over Joe Kjos’s laughter. “Where is this guy?”
“He’s waiting by your desk.”
“Oh yeah? Who let him in?”
“Me,” said Hanson, exchanging looks with the two others. There was an anticipation in their sniggers that made Bob uneasy.
“It’s a personal matter so I thought it was best if the two of you dealt with it face-to-face.”
“I see.”
Bob unbuttoned his coat as he headed into the empty office. He heard whispering and knew that the three were followinghim. He slowed as the person sitting at his desk turned. Even sitting down, the man was huge. Hanson came up behind Bob.
“He says you screwed his wife,” he whispered.
Bob swallowed. “Oh yeah? So does that make him your father, Hands-On?”
“Joke all you like, Aaa-ss, but I think you’re scared. Maybe you want us to call in a SWAT team?”
Low cackles of laughter from behind. Bob felt that familiar rushing sound start up in his head. He kept walking, a little faster now. The man in the chair got up.
“Good evening, I’m Detective Oz,” said Bob. He walked around his desk and sat down in his chair. Looked up at the man. A weak chin and a feminine mouth. Scar on one cheek. It didn’t have to mean he got in a lot of fights. But he was big. Very, very big. “Won’t you sit down again, Mr…. ?”
“I’ll stay standing. My name is Tony Stärk.” He was shaking. His voice, his lips, his whole body. “You raped my wife.”
Bob raised his head to meet the man’s gaze.
“Raped? Jesus. Have you reported this?”
“More or less raped.” The man was so angry he was tripping over his own words. “Seduced. Persuaded. I don’t know what sort of fucking trick you used but my wife doesn’t do something like that of her own free will. Are you listening, you shitbag? You stay away from her, or I’ll crush you like a…like a…”
As Tony searched for a suitable metaphor, Bob glanced over toward his three colleagues who were following things from four yards away. Kjos was sniggering and Hanson’s face glowed with pleasure at Bob’s uncomfortable predicament. That rushing sound that had started when he was standing on the porch hadn’t completely subsided. Now it sped up again. This had been a long day. Very long.
“Louse,” said Bob Oz.
“What?”
