Restrooms. No cameras there. No witnesses if the arrest took place in one of the stalls.
Olav Hanson put his hand inside his jacket again. Fought his way down the corridor. The door to the bathroom swung open, a man walked out and Olav caught a glimpse of the backs lined up along the washbasins. He picked up the sound of men in a hurry and thought of running water, slamming doors, movements that attracted attention, that here was the perfect camouflage. He no longer felt the pain in his knee, just a rush, a delicious free fall, a certainty that the moment had come, the seconds were ticking down to the final whistle at what might possibly be a defeat, but that it was his turn to tackle someone out of the life they were dreaming about.
‘Hanson!’
The voice came from behind and cut through the steady buzz of noise from Track Plaza. Hanson cursed inwardly. It was Kay Myers’s voice.
Bob walked two paces behind Kay and one step ahead of O’Rourke. Two uniforms behind them.
They stopped in front of Olav Hanson, who gave them a look like a man who had just lost a poker pot.
‘Have you seen Gomez?’ asked Kay.
Olav Hanson gave a regretful shake of the head.
‘That’s funny,’ said Kay. ‘Because it looked like you were on your way to the restroom where the video centre says Gomez just went in.’
‘Really?’ said Hanson, and Bob registered that the older detective was an even worse actor than he was himself. At the same time something seemed to be going on behind that stupid, staring gaze.
Hanson pulled a face. ‘Well, I saw Gomez,’ he said. ‘But I lost him. Did he go into the bathroom?’
‘You have trouble with your hearing?’ asked Kay and turned to one of the uniforms. ‘Keep people away. No one is allowed to enter this bathroom.’
Hanson looked at O’Rourke. ‘If you go in there, remember the guy is armed and dangerous. A lot of people might get hurt, so I wouldn’t exactly hesitate to... you know—’ Hanson raised his right hand and crooked his index finger.
O’Rourke nodded and looked questioningly at Kay Myers.
She bit her lower lip.
‘Let’s wait and we’ll get him when he comes out,’ she said.
The restroom was big, big as an airport restroom, with eight urinals, most of them occupied. Further in at least a dozen stalls. There were no windows in here. I walked past the men standing and washing or drying their hands at the basins in front of the mirror. Stopped at a stall with a handwritten note taped to the door, OUT OF ORDER. The O in the middle had an eye, a nose and a smiley mouth drawn on it. A large fan whirred in the ceiling above the stall. I tore off the note, pushed open the door, stepped inside, locked it and unwrapped the gun and the leather case from the bubble wrap. Then I started to strip the weapon, breaking it down to its component parts.
28
Skyways III, October 2016
Bob had taken up a position some distance from the SWAT team that was waiting in readiness outside the door to the restrooms. Men who emerged at irregular intervals through the swing door jumped at the sight of those black-clad men with automatic weapons pointing in their direction. Kay, Hanson and O’Rourke stood behind them and watched. Behind Bob, curious passers-by stopped to watch, even after being told to move on.
One of the SWAT team pushed a thin wire through the door. Bob knew there was a micro camera on the end of it. Kay approached him.
‘What’s up?’ she asked.
‘What?’
‘You’re shaking your head.’
‘Am I?’
‘Yes. So what is it?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Bob. He saw Hanson say something to O’Rourke, who turned and looked in Bob’s direction. ‘It just... it feels wrong. As though...’
‘As though what?’ asked Kay. She was standing next to him. Her arms were folded, same as his.
‘As though he’s playing cat and mouse with us. And he’s the cat.’
‘Why—’ Kay began, but Bob interrupted her.
‘Wait a moment.’ He ran after a man in a grey Minnesota Twins sweater who had just emerged from the toilet and was being waved on by the SWAT men. Bob caught up with him outside the bag store. ‘Excuse me, sir. MPD. Did you see anything in there?’
The man looked at Bob. ‘Like what?’
‘A Latino carrying something wrapped in bubble wrap?’
‘No. What’s going on?’
‘You’ll see it on the news. When you say no, do you mean he might have been there but that you didn’t see him?’
The man hesitated. ‘He could have been in one of the stalls, I guess.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
Bob ran back.
O’Rourke and one of the SWAT team were studying a phone screen that was relaying a feed from the micro camera.
‘We have to go in and take him now,’ said Bob.
O’Rourke glanced at Bob then held up his palm like a Stop sign. As Bob waited for the SWAT chief to finish looking at the screen he saw that the man in the Twins sweater had stopped next to a guy wheeling a cleaner’s cart who looked like Super Mario. He was saying something, then pointing to the toilet, then up at the roof. Super Mario nodded like he understood.
‘We need you to get out of here.’
Bob turned, realising that O’Rourke had been talking to him.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘You’re under suspension, Oz, only serving police officers are allowed on the scene. Get out of here. Now.’
‘Listen, I’m starting to understand Tomás Gomez. He knows what he’s doing.’
O’Rourke looked over Bob’s shoulder, pointed at Bob and made a signal.
‘Listen to me, O’Rourke. Gomez has a plan. He has to be taken now!’
O’Rourke licked his lips. ‘That will be all thank you, Oz.’
He felt a heavy hand on each shoulder. Turned. Two sturdy uniformed officers were standing behind him.
‘Come on, Detective, we’ve got orders to escort you out of here.’
Bob looked past them, saw Hanson standing a few yards behind with a mocking grin on his lips. Felt that rushing start up. Saw Kay spread her arms in exasperation. Told himself he mustn’t lose control. Not now.
‘I’m leaving,’ said Bob, and tried to push away the hands clutching his shoulders.
They stayed where they were, just as heavy.
‘Escort you,’ one of the two said curtly. Bob guessed by the looks on their faces that they weren’t interested in discussing it. He bunched and then opened both his hands. Breathed regularly and counted.
‘Take him now,’ Bob managed to say in a low voice to O’Rourke before one of the two uniforms dragged him almost off-balance and he was led from the scene.
‘There’s no need to hold me,’ Bob said as they crossed the skyway to the neighbouring building.
Still they kept a hold of him, one on each arm.
Think before you speak, think before you act. Tell yourself you can control your anger.
They didn’t let go of him until they reached the other side, and Bob realised that he’d managed it. He really had surprised himself by proving that he didn’t have to go berserk every time. It was just a pity there was no one he could share it with.
What looked like people from a TV news team came hurrying in their direction. In the lead was a female reporter holding a microphone, with two men behind her, one carrying a camera with KSTP-TV on it. They disappeared onto the skyway leading to the Track Plaza building.
‘We’ve got orders to arrest you if you try to come back,’ one of the officers said. ‘Got that?’
‘Got it,’ said Bob, who was trying to keep track of where the reporter had gone.
The two officers left, and Bob pulled down the sleeves of his cashmere coat and straightened his tie as he looked around. Met a couple of curious stares but did his best to ignore them. Dignity — what the hell does a man need with dignity? This was obviously the floor for places to eat. And drink. Directly in front of him was a flashy sports bar with giant screens all showing the same baseball game. He had a quick think. Then he took out a loop from his coat pocket, took out the ID card, fastened it to the loop and hung it round his neck.