Mike Lunde stopped spraying and looked up with a sad smile. ‘We talked about loneliness.’
Bob Oz nodded.
As he emerged into the main road the sun was shining over the whole city.
16
Alice, October 2016
Kay Myers stood in the doorway of an office that was being decorated. In her hand she was holding a coffee mug with I LOVE CHICAGO written on it. She watched the man painting the ceiling. He reminded her of a crime scene technician, masked and dressed in white. Maybe that was why she had decided she liked him even though they had only said ‘Hi’ to each other when she passed the office. He climbed down from his ladder and turned to her.
‘It’s going to be nice,’ she said. ‘You’re good.’
The dark eyes behind the mask twinkled as though he was laughing. ‘This is just a job. You should come see my art.’
She liked his deep, calm voice too.
‘You paint... er, paintings?’
He shook his head. ‘Not quite. I can show you.’ He spoke with a very slight accent. She wondered how old he might be.
‘OK,’ she said and took a sip of her coffee. ‘So you’ve got an exhibition?’
He laughed. ‘Yes. Soon. Very soon.’
‘Whereabouts?’
‘Can’t tell you yet. I’ll let you know.’
Kay saw Bob enter the reception area and instead of taking the shortest route to his place he walked in her direction. He didn’t look happy, and she figured it had something to do with what she’d heard about the previous evening.
‘Hi, Bob. How’re things?’
‘I’ll find out soon enough,’ he said. ‘Walker wants to see me.’
He carried on walking. She turned to the painter, but he was busy painting again. Kay sighed and went back to her desk.
‘Tony Stärk has reported you for attacking him,’ said Walker as he stood by the window with his back to Bob. Bob had worked out that this habit must have developed because the chief felt more comfortable talking to the view, or maybe his own reflection, than he did face-to-face with his own subordinates.
‘Bullshit,’ said Bob. ‘It was self-defence. He was the one who attacked me. Take a look at me, chief.’
Walker turned reluctantly. He looked on indifferently as Bob pointed to the lump on his forehead which had now assumed the familiar blue colouring.
‘Tony Stärk should be relieved I’m not fucking reporting him for violence against an officer in the performance of his duty. But if he doesn’t withdraw his complaint then obviously that’s what I’ll do. If you tell him that then I think this case will just fade away.’
‘Tell his lawyer, you mean? He is of the opinion that your professional status is irrelevant since his client came to see you as a private individual.’
‘Tony Stärk came here to the Homicide Unit, chief.’
‘Because you are no longer living at your registered address. The lawyer is claiming that you provoked his client to strike the first blow specifically so that you could then attack him without the risk of legal action. Tony Stärk hasn’t any martial arts training or anything suggesting he’s skilled in unarmed combat.’
‘He weighs twice as much as me, chief.’
‘The lawyer claims that the fact that it took three of your colleagues to pull you off him is proof enough of your use of excessive force. I’ve got statements from Olav Hanson and the others, and they confirm the lawyer’s account of what happened. I’m sorry, Bob, but I’m going to have to suspend you while this matter is thoroughly investigated.’
‘But—’
‘No buts, Bob, my decision is made.’
Bob stared at Walker. The superintendent looked like a man who at that particular moment hated his job but had absolutely no intention of not doing it.
‘You’ll hear from me when we know more. In the meantime you’ll have to hand over your ID and your service weapon. Plus the keys to your service car.’ Walker coughed. ‘I’m sorry.’
Bob opened his mouth and then closed it again. Wondered how things could have worked out any differently. If things could have worked out any differently. And even if he actually would have wanted them to. When you start falling into the abyss you might as well enjoy the free fall as best you can. He stuck his hand into the inside pocket of his cashmere coat and placed his ID card on the chief’s desk. Followed by the car keys.
‘You have a car of your own, right?’ Walker sounded troubled. ‘A Volvo?’
‘Correct,’ said Bob. ‘But I don’t have a gun, it’s—’
‘I know that.’ Walker’s voice was a little shaky. ‘I know that when something like that happens it can make a father hate his own service weapon.’
Bob looked at his boss. Was the bastard standing there empathising with him? He felt the rushing sound start up in his head.
‘That business with the gun,’ said Walker, and had to clear his throat again. ‘A thing like that can destroy a relationship. It happens time after time. It isn’t anyone’s fault, it’s just the way we are as human beings. But you just have to accept it and move on.’
‘What are we talking about now, chief?’ Walker’s features and his body, the features and body of a man Bob respected, some days you would even say liked, seemed to be changing before Bob’s eyes into something reptilian and repulsive, the kind of thing that should be beaten to death with a stick.
‘Alice,’ said the reptile. ‘It wasn’t easy for her either. Forgive her, Bob. Let it go. If you don’t you won’t be able to move on. Perhaps you should look on this as a kind of holiday. Take the chance to think about what you want to do with your life.’
‘Jesus,’ said Bob. ‘You’re not only the superintendent, you’re a psychologist too. Or is that just stuff they teach you on leadership courses?’
Bob saw Walker’s jaw muscles tighten. ‘I mean it, Oz. Take it easy. Free yourself. Move on.’
‘On where?’ Bob said loudly as he blinked away tears of rage. If there was an answer he never heard it, he’d already left the office without closing the door behind him. He didn’t look either right or left but headed straight for the elevators, punched the button and waited. Turned, walked back through the office, registered that Hanson and Kjos weren’t at their desks. He opened the bottom drawer of his desk and took out an old ID card he had reported as lost to the MDP, only to get a phone call two weeks later from a brunette in Near North who told him he’d left it behind in her apartment after using it to cut cocaine. She’d returned it to him in the post, and he’d hung on to it without telling anyone, on the principle that you never know.
Bob took a last look at his place of work.
Was there anything else here he might be needing?
His gaze took in the notes pinned to his desk divider.
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
He hurried back to the elevators, changed his mind, retraced his steps and pulled out the pin holding the fixture list for the Vikings.
He reached the elevators just in time to see the doors sliding shut.
He felt a strange impulse to laugh as he slowly trudged down the stairs.
Exiting into the square in front of city hall he stopped, breathed in deeply, closed his eyes and summed things up. He was a man with no woman, no job and no car. In other words, he was finished. He tried to think. Then he headed off in the direction of the bank.
The Minneapolis communal impound yard was located at the roughest end of Colfax Avenue, with scrap-metal dealers and used-car sellers as its neighbours. Stella Cibulkova sat in the booth and checked the ID the man in the orange coat had just shown her.
She looked back at the computer screen where she’d typed in the number he’d given her.
‘You are aware that there is 2,300 dollars owing on this vehicle, Mr Oz?’