‘No. Myers is on the phone right now, but she’s going up there directly after.’
Southdale wasn’t too far away, about midway between where he was and city hall. He might make it.
‘See if you can delay her a little, Joe.’
‘What?’
‘You heard me.’
‘But... why you want me to do that?’
‘I want this case.’
‘You?’
Olav knew why Joe was asking; Olav wasn’t exactly known for taking on more cases than he strictly had to.
‘Yeah, me,’ said Olav Hanson and hung up.
There were no indications in Gomez’s apartment that he had been back. The couch was still pulled halfway out onto the floor. Bob was sitting on it while checking the cheese melting in the oven. He’d found the landlord Gregory Dupont’s phone number, picked up a set of keys from him and bought a semi-cooked pizza in a box from a 7-Eleven.
What do you think you’re doing?
What was it about the Gomez case that had him sitting here now, risking the little that was left of his career? It wasn’t the victim. Was it Gomez himself, the points of similarity? Was it because he knew how Gomez was feeling? That Gomez had actually done something he had imagined doing himself, and even felt close to doing, waging an all-out war, with no thought of the consequences for himself? But if it was true that he identified with Gomez, then why was it so important for Bob to stop him, of all people? Because it would be the same as stopping himself?
The phone rang. He checked the screen and took it.
‘You saying yes to coffee after all?’
‘No,’ said Kay Myers. ‘I need to talk with you.’
‘Oh?’
‘We’ve had a sort of execution-style killing at Southdale Mall. I think there are clear similarities to the attempt on Dante’s life, I want to know if you see it the same way.’
‘I thought I was suspended.’
‘Of course we can’t put you on the case, but there’s nothing irregular about consulting with someone who has relevant information and insight into a case.’
‘And if I say no?’
‘See you at Southdale,’ said Kay Myers and hung up.
Bob stepped out into the cool evening air. He looked across the parking lot. Or parking lots, for it was divided up into several sectors that surrounded the shoebox-like buildings in the centre.
The asphalt was still wet following a shower of rain. Bob headed toward the centre of the parking lot where he saw blue lights flashing up into the sky like Morse signals. But the only sound was the even rumble from Highway 62, which could take you all the way from here into the next county. If that was where you wanted to go. If you thought things might be better there.
Olav Hanson was standing by the band of crime scene tape surrounding the Chevy Silverado. He held up his palm when he saw Bob approaching.
‘You’re suspended, Aaa-ss. Go home.’
‘Myers called me in,’ said Bob without looking at his colleague. The doors of the Chevy were open with crime scene techs swarming around it. They looked like beekeepers in their all-white suits. The body had already been moved from the scene.
‘Myers isn’t here yet, so I’m handling this case and I’m telling you we don’t need your help, Aaa-ss.’
Bob registered the strips of white tape and the bullet holes high in the windshield as he took in the scene. Parking garage on the other side of the road. From the angles it was obvious that’s where the shots came from. Somewhere high up, probably the roof.
‘Did you check to see if they have CCTV cameras over there?’
‘We’re not idiots, but we do things one at a time. Right now we’re trying to find people who might have been here.’
‘Been here? And seen what? A bullet going through a windshield? If they didn’t get in touch with the police then, what makes you think they’ll want to talk to you now?’ Bob had promised not to let himself be provoked when he saw Hanson there, but the repetition of that Aaa-ss had started up the rushing sound again. ‘You need to do things in the right order, Hanson, don’t you get that? You need to check the—’
‘Officer!’ Hanson waved his hand at one of the uniformed officers. ‘Remove this person from my crime scene, would you please?’
Bob turned and walked away. Crossed the road between cars blaring horns.
At the entrance to the large parking facility he saw the first of the CCTV cameras.
The security room was on the ground floor, a strange oblong shape, with a low ceiling, like something left over after the architects had drawn in the other things they needed. Bob showed the ID card to the two men sitting there. One introduced himself as the duty officer. He had skin with deep, large pores that made him look as if he was composed of pixels. He said he knew there had been a murder out on the parking lot and he had no objection to showing Bob footage from the cameras.
‘I’d like to see the roof,’ said Bob.
‘We don’t have a camera there,’ said the security guard. ‘We have IP cameras, so the weather’s too rough for them, especially in the winter. But we’ve got all the floors covered.’
‘Can we go to five thirty and play back all recordings from all cameras at high speed? Simultaneously, I mean. We don’t have a lot of time.’
‘Sure, but that stuff is old school.’ The security guard grinned his satisfaction. ‘Check this.’
He typed in a few commands on his keyboard.
‘We got two cameras for each field,’ he said. ‘One that’s on all the time and an IPCC-9610 camera that’s motion-activated. It has night-vision and—’
‘Very impressive, but like I said, we don’t have much time.’ Bob glanced across at the blue lights in the parking lot.
‘OK, OK, then we’ll use the IPCC camera here.’ The guard tapped in a few more commands. ‘See? We skip the pauses, it’s non-stop action and the camera automatically zooms in and follows anything that’s moving. Check this woman here, for example.’ He pointed to one of the tiny images in the mosaic that covered the screen.
‘Does the elevator go all the way up to the roof?’ asked Bob.
‘That and the interior staircase stop at the top floor. From there, there’s a separate staircase up to the roof.’
‘Perfect. Can we limit what we’re seeing to the elevator and the stairway door on the top floor?’
‘Sure. Check this.’ The guard tapped away with an alacrity that made Bob realise he’d made at least one person happy this week.
The camera followed people and cars as they came and went. As soon as Bob was satisfied a recording didn’t show what he was looking for he would ask the guard to fast-forward to the next one. After a dozen of these forward jumps the guard suppressed a yawn.
‘Sorry, it’s been a lo—’
‘Stop!’ Bob said. ‘Switch to normal speed here.’
The guard tapped on the keyboard and Bob looked at the person coming out from the stairway door. Someone wearing a top with the hood pulled up and shades. He was carrying an oblong package swathed in bubble wrap.
‘There you are...’ whispered Bob. He felt his heart beating a little faster.
The person stopped at the foot of the stairs leading to the roof, turned and looked round.
‘Freeze it there!’
The guard’s reaction was instant.
‘You want him close up too?’
‘Please,’ said Bob.
Despite the fact that the face on the screen was in partial shadow beneath the hood, and the eyes hidden behind the sunglasses, Bob Oz was in no doubt. This was the man in the composite. This was Tomás Gomez.
‘Can you mail me that picture?’
‘Sure.’ The guard clicked on the Share icon. ‘Where to?’