‘Quite all right,’ said Bob. ‘Mike Lunde?’
‘That’s right.’
Bob showed him his ID.
‘That was quick, I must say, Detective...’ He leaned closer and read the name aloud: ‘...Oz?’
‘My great-grandfather’s adaptation of his Norwegian name. A-a-s-s. The pronunciation is the same. At least it is according to our Norwegian relatives.’
‘That’s correct. Two A’s in Norwegian are pronounced like an A with a hoop on top of it. Å.’
‘You speak Norwegian?’
‘No, no.’ Mike Lunde laughed and shook his head. ‘I learned that about the Å from my grandfather.’
‘I see. Well, of course, my great-grandfather couldn’t have known that Frank Baum would one day write a kids’ book about a wizard.’
‘Precisely. But I don’t suppose that was the worst name you could be called as a child?’
‘The wizard of Oz? Better than the alternative, I guess. The wizard of ass would have been harder to shake off.’
Mike Lunde laughed heartily. There was something melodic and disarming in the sound. Perhaps because of the silence of all the animals, it made Bob think of birdsong in a vast forest.
‘I’m here about a customer of yours, Tomás Gomez,’ said Bob. ‘I found your card in his apartment yesterday. A neighbour of his, a Mrs White, said she had recommended you to Gomez.’
‘Ah, I see,’ said the taxidermist. ‘I thought you were here because of my phone call.’
‘Your phone call?’
‘I saw in the morning newspaper that you were looking for Tomás Gomez. So I rang the police and left a message. A... eh, a tip-off, isn’t that what it’s called? That was just...’ He looked at his watch. ‘Two hours ago. That was what I meant about being quick.’
‘If it was about Gomez then it probably didn’t get through to us at Homicide, it probably went to Aggravated Assault, because the victim didn’t actually die. What did you say in your message?’
‘That Tomás Gomez has an order here waiting to be picked up. A cat.’
‘I see. Anything else?’
‘Anything else?’
‘Anything else you can tell us about Tomás Gomez?’
‘What might that be?’
Bob didn’t respond but just looked at Lunde. He had taken a spontaneous liking to the man. There was something straightforward and natural about him. The type who calls the police because it’s the right thing to do. But it was also evident that he wasn’t telling Bob everything. He continued to hold Lunde’s blue eyes and let the silence work for him. Watching for signs of stress. But Lunde seemed unaffected by the silence. And when he finally did speak, he did so in a calm, assured voice:
‘I had no idea he was going to shoot someone, if that’s what you mean. If, that is, Tomás really is the one who shot this other person.’
Bob nodded. He studied the owl. The feathers looked so vivid and the eyes so lifelike he wouldn’t have been all that surprised if the bird had suddenly taken off from the pedestal on which it stood. ‘So you know Tomás Gomez? As more than a customer, I mean?’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Tomás Gomez is a very common name. There was no photograph or drawing in the newspaper, and yet you knew that the man in question must be your Tomás Gomez. You call in with information, but now you express doubt about whether it really was Gomez who did the shooting. And you referred to him by his first name just now.’
The taxidermist rubbed his chin. ‘My wife always tells me I’m a terrible liar. She says I should practise more.’ He gave a resigned smile. ‘So yes, I do know Tomás as rather more than just an ordinary customer.’
‘Why didn’t you say so straight away?’
Mike Lunde sighed. ‘I thought it would be enough if I did my civic duty and reported something I supposed would be relevant to the case.’
‘So he’s a friend?’
‘Not a friend. I...’
‘Yes?’
‘I like to get to know a bit about my customers. See what it is they want when they come here. What it is they’re really looking for. Even when they’re not entirely clear about it themselves.’
‘And what is Tomás Gomez really looking for?’
Lunde moved his hand and started rubbing his neck. ‘It’s rather a long story, Detective Oz.’ He gave the name its correct Norwegian pronunciation. ‘One that he told me in all confidence. And one which I doubt would bring you any closer to your goal.’
‘Let me be the judge of that, Lunde.’
‘Of course, but should I not make my own judgement too? I accept that one has a civic duty to provide the police with information that can help them catch dangerous criminals, but I have to weigh that up against the fact that what Tomás Gomez told me about himself he told me on the understanding that it would remain between us.’
‘To the best of my knowledge taxidermists are not bound by any oath of confidentiality, Mr Lunde. And we have an innocent man fighting for his life in a hospital bed.’ Bob saw no indication that Lunde saw through the untruth. ‘Have you any idea where Tomás Gomez might be?’
‘I have his address in Jordan. That was how I knew it had to be the Tomás Gomez referred to in the newspaper. But I presume he isn’t there now.’
‘No.’
‘Then beyond that I haven’t a clue as to where he might be, alas. Or fortunately.’
‘Fortunately?’
Mike Lunde sighed again, raised a glove to dust off the owl’s beak. ‘I’m in a dilemma here. I must confess I did consider not calling the police.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I like to think he’s a good man.’
‘A good man doesn’t try to kill people.’
‘That’s a valid objection.’
‘And yet you did call us, Mr Lunde. So that must mean that you understand Gomez has to be arrested.’
‘Oh indeed yes. The trouble is, one’s intellect and one’s feelings aren’t always in agreement with each other.’
‘Well, we certainly can’t let our feelings decide.’ Bob took out his notebook. ‘What can you tell us?’
‘Hm. Are you so sure about that, Oz?’
Bob looked up. ‘That we can’t let our feelings decide?’
‘Yes. Can you be sure it isn’t the feelings that decide, and that we afterward employ our intellect to rationalise the choice to the point at which we believe it was actually the intellect that made the decision?’
‘I’m pretty sure about that, yeah.’
‘Yes, you do look pretty sure of yourself.’ Lunde smiled. ‘The first time Tomás Gomez came here was three months ago. He wanted to have his cat stuffed.’
‘It was... eh, dead?’
Lunde gave a short laugh. ‘Yes. It’s in the freezer in the basement if you want to look. Sickness, so natural causes.’
‘And?’
‘He could not afford to pay what I charge for such a job.’
‘Are you very expensive?’
‘That depends.’
‘On the animal? A canary can’t cost all that much.’
‘On the customer. If it concerns a pet that was very dear to them then I have to lower my price.’
‘So you dropped your price. Feelings took priority over common sense?’
‘Perhaps, but I still have to make a living. Six months ago I received a large, lucrative commission which has led to me putting everything else aside while I finish it, so hopefully I’m not too naive. Anyway, the result is that Mr Gomez has had to wait.’
‘When was the last time you were in contact with him?’
‘I’ll need to check in my diary.’
‘What about the call log on your phone?’
‘We’ve never spoken on the phone — I don’t know whether he has one. Just a moment.’
Lunde disappeared, and again Bob Oz was struck by the silence. Why did he like it so much? Was it the feeling of time standing still, of discovering a moment in which it moved neither forward nor backward, in which nothing happens? In which everything feels safe?