“Remember me, Hanson?”
Olav swallowed. Wanted to say no. Then changed his mind when he saw the gun. Tried to say yes, but his mouth was so dry all that came out was air.
“Thirty years, Hanson. That’s a long time, but you know what? I remember you like it was yesterday.”
“I…” Olav stopped right there, because he had no idea what to say. Maybe it was best to say nothing.
“Remember how you gave me your personal word you would catch the people who killed my family?”
“I…we…we sure tried.”
“Three weeks ago I spoke to the man who killed my daughter. The girl in the wheelchair, remember? He told me how you interfered with the technical evidence, you changed witness statements and made sure the guilty men were never caught. That that’s what Die Man paid you for.”
“Who…who is Die Man?”
“That doesn’t matter. He is no longer with us. I stuck a needle through the seat and into his back at the movie theater.”
Olav considered whether to try to go for the gun in his shoulder holster. He’d buttoned it in before he started down the steep path in case he slipped, and that would make it more difficult. No, this wouldn’t be like it was with the kid with the knife. But Olav had practiced drawing the gun from the shoulder holster, and he was quick. A lot quicker than Joe Kjos anyway. Olav looked up at the sky. A dark cloud heading toward the moon. Olav moved his fishing rod into his left hand.
“What are you going to do to me?” Olav asked.
“Ever heard ofrogue taxidermy?”
“What?”
“I’m going to stuff you. Then display you. Somewhere public, for the enjoyment of the people. You’ll be a modern work of art, Hanson.”
The cloud slipped over, obscuring the moon, and in the darkness Olav Hanson went for his gun.
40
Gated Community, October 2016
The time was eight thirty and the sun shone from a cloudless sky down onto the Minnesota Landscape Arboretum, more familiarly abbreviated as the Arb. Gunnar Person, the senior gardener in the botanical gardens, registered that it looked like they were in for a fine autumn day. He stepped down from the golf cart and crossed the grass in the direction of a stand of trees. He liked an early start, liked being the first man at work. But today it looked like someone had beaten him to it. The park was fenced in, and it had opening hours, but the fence was low and the park covered a huge area. If someone wanted to get in, they got in. Right now the park was hosting a sculpture exhibition, with pieces on display across the whole area. They showed animals that looked like they were made out of folded paper. Origami, they called it. Only these were made of metal and they were life-sized. If you could say ofsuch literally fabulous creatures that they had a life-size. Like that rearing, winged Pegasus Gunnar was headed for. But as Gunnar got closer, he saw that the figure of a large man had been placed on the horse’s back. He was half naked, and Gunnar was thinking it was probably something to do with someone’s stag party. The figure was held in place by the wings, with the upper body and shoulders resting against the horse’s neck. There was no way it was a comfortable position to sleep in, but the man was probably so drunk he didn’t notice.
“Hey there!” Gunnar called in a loud, cheery voice. “Time to wake up!”
The figure on the horse didn’t move. Gunnar felt uneasy. There was something…well, something dead about it. The man’s head had evidently slipped down over the far side of the origami-like horse’s neck and couldn’t be seen. Gunnar walked around it. His first thought was that he must have made a mistake, for there was no head there either. Then he saw the red stub of neck sticking up from the collar of the man’s shirt. He gasped for breath and started saying the Lord’s Prayer as he fumbled for his phone, found it and tapped in the emergency number. While it was ringing he looked around for any sign of the head but saw nothing. He returned his gaze to the sculpture again, in all its grotesque horror an arresting and almost poetic sight. Almost as though the horse was about to lift off and fly the headless man up to heaven.
—
Superintendent Walker adjusted his sunglasses. He would have preferred to spend this Saturday morning with his family but knew he wouldn’t be able to relax. He was standing next to the Viking ship sculpture in front of the U.S. Bank Stadium. People were already making their way inside, even though the mayor wasn’t due to officially open the gathering until one o’clock,almost ninety minutes away. While waiting he stared up at something that was hanging from the mast above him. It was about the size of a tennis ball and evidently didn’t weigh much, dancing around in the gusting wind, although he couldn’t make out what it was.
“Walker!”
It was Springer from the JTTF. He came walking out through the entrance to the stadium with O’Rourke from SWAT. Springer seemed relaxed, but O’Rourke kept his eyes on the line of people, scanning it incessantly.
“How are things looking?” asked Walker.
“We’ve got snipers in position covering the whole of the stadium,” said Springer. “Our people are in the TV room monitoring pictures from every security camera. If someone in the stands takes so much as a candy bar from their pocket, we’ll see it.”
Springer glanced at O’Rourke, who nodded his agreement before continuing.
“Everyone going in gets searched, more thoroughly than usual. If someone in the line notices what’s going on and tries to leave then we’ve got people watching for that too. Every stadium employee has security clearance and they’re getting searched too. In short: if Gomez tries anything he’ll be in trouble long before he gets inside the stadium.”
“Good,” said Walker. He shivered inside his coat even though the sun was shining.
“How about Homicide?” said Springer. “Anything new?”
