‘But, Mayor,’ said the chairperson, ‘are you aware that in this country, where there are more weapons than adult human beings, figures from 2010 show that a child or young person is getting shot at the rate of one an hour? That more children’s lives are lost from shooting accidents in the home — as many as one every two days — than are saved by all the guns in this country put together?’
‘Yes, sure, I know the statistics, Simon. But in the first place, they are produced by freedom haters—’
‘The figures are from Congress’s own survey—’
‘—and in the second place, that’s not the point. More people die in traffic, but I haven’t yet heard anyone suggest we ban cars.’
‘But theoretically perhaps one ought to consider it, if the deaths from traffic accidents get high enough?’
The mayor laughed. ‘I guess “theoretically” is the key word there, Simon. And as you know, I’m a practical mayor, I think and act on practical grounds. And I think the principle through. If banning guns means only the criminal element will use them, doesn’t that mean we’re depriving our citizens of the right to defend themselves? Then what’s next? The right to vote?’
‘Is that why you’ve accepted the invitation to open the NRA’s annual conference? Or is it because of the 40,000 dollars they’re contributing to your campaign?’
‘I have a number of viewpoints in common with the NRA and it was natural for me to accept the invitation, for that reason, and because the conference attracts a lot of people to Minneapolis, and the publicity is good for our city.’
Bob turned off the radio and called Kay Myers.
‘Yes, Bob?’
‘Sorry to be calling so late, but do you feel like a coffee?’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know. Talk about the Gomez case. If you have the keys, I could take another look around his apartment. Maybe he’s been back.’
Kay Myers’s sigh sounded like a drip in a well. ‘Even if I did have the keys, you’re suspended from duty. What are you up to, Bob?’
‘That,’ said Bob, ‘is one helluva good question.’
They hung up.
Bob searched his memory. It was his habit to use a system of associations to store information. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t, like with Dory. An actor who plays the part of an insane captain, plus a man who really is insane. Gregory Dupont. Simple.
24
Recoil, October 2016
It was starting to get dark as I watched Cody Karlstad walk through the parking lot. In the half-hour I’d been waiting up there on the roof there had been a lot of activity down below, cars coming, cars going. Through the telescopic sights I followed Karlstad until he reached the big blue pickup, unlocked it and climbed in. My pulse rate was low, even though I hadn’t taken the beta blockers as I had considered doing yesterday. I’d worked out that the reason I didn’t hit Dante properly was because my pulse rate had been too high.
The interior light came on.
I knew that gave me seven seconds. I knew because this was the fourth day I’d been there at the same time, and each time he had carried out exactly the same ritual. He put his briefcase on the floor in front of the passenger seat, slipped the key in the ignition, fastened his seat belt and turned on the ignition.
Cody Karlstad was a white, middle-class part-owner of an agricultural machinery dealership. He had three children and a wife who worked in the local church. Cody Karlstad was a frugal man. Despite the fact that his car was worth 50,000 dollars he parked it every morning in the free parking slot at Southdale Mall. That was seven o’clock, before the mall opened; he had five thousand vacant parking slots to choose from but he always picked the same one, just about in the centre of the desert. After that he headed over to the machine outside the mall to buy a packet of chewing gum. I guessed he did that so he could tell himself and any parking warden who checked that he was a customer at the mall and qualified to park there free. But of course it could also have been just that he liked chewing gum, or had chronic bad breath. Then Cody Karlstad headed over toward the building where he worked. It shared a parking lot with the women’s hospital, and he’d have had to pay a monthly rent of 155 dollars to park there. I knew this because the prices were posted on a yellow metal sign outside the main entrance. I had no idea why the sign was made of metal — did they maybe think the price would never go up?
I was lying on the roof of the parking garage now. Between me and Cody Karlstad was a busy road and a lot of parking lot. Altogether the distance was almost exactly four hundred yards, but through the telescopic sights it looked a lot less than that. With the silencer and the roar of traffic below me no one was going to hear the crack if I squeezed the trigger. When I squeezed the trigger. When!
So, I had seven seconds.
Seven seconds before the engine turned over, the headlamps lit up and the interior light automatically went out. But for the seven seconds before Cody Karlstad was wrapped in darkness the lighting would be perfect. On the windshield, positioned above the light, was that white three-by-three square I covered with the cross hairs as I slowly pulled the trigger back. Owing to the angle all I could see were the hands fastening the seat belt, not his face. Perhaps that’s why I didn’t feel nervous. But I wanted him to fasten his seat belt first, I didn’t want him slumping forward and leaving his upper body pressing the horn, which would immediately have drawn attention to the scene. Three seconds. Two. He’d fastened the seat belt.
The rifle butt imparted its slight kick to my shoulder.
I saw a black mark in the white square.
A perfect shot.
I lowered the sights.
In the interior, which was still illuminated, I could see Karlstad’s body shaking.
It shouldn’t have been shaking. I’d done all the calculations; the distance, the angle, the thickness of the glass, the height of the seat, the length of Cody Karlstad’s body from the hips upward. Cody ought to have been sitting motionless with a hole in his forehead. But there he was, shaking like he was strapped to an electric chair.
I loaded the rifle. Took aim again. Calmly. Pulled the trigger. The kick against my shoulder was almost pleasurable. Once again, the shot hit the taped square, an inch higher this time.
And Cody Karlstad stopped shaking.
25
Night-Vision, October 2016
Olav Hanson took another cast with the rod. Saw nothing, could just hear from the reel that the line had run out. He was no fisherman, never would be. But he could cast a long way, and that was something. Pity he was alone here with no one else to see — or more properly hear — the line as it sizzled toward the far bank of the river. The line was still travelling when he felt his phone vibrating. It made him jump. The same way he’d been jumping every time the phone rang following his conversation with Die Man yesterday. But right now he was fishing, so to hell with Die Man, every man had a right to one place where he’s his own boss. He let the phone ring three more times before he took it out. He read the name on the display: Joe Kjos.
‘Yeah?’
‘Hi, Olav, where are you?’
‘Never mind. What is it?’
‘You asked me to tell you if anything new came up about Tomás Gomez.’
‘So?’
‘Why, can I ask?’
‘None of your business. What you got?’
‘Something came in just now, a man shot in the parking lot at the Southdale Mall. There’s a couple of patrol cars there and from what I’m hearing Kay Myers thinks it could be Tomás Gomez. Rifle shot from a distance.’
Olav Hanson began reeling in as fast as he could. ‘Any detectives on the scene yet?’