‘OK.’
Bob watched as two of O’Rourke’s men helped him up until he grabbed hold of something inside the ventilation shaft and managed to pull himself up into it. Once he was up they handed him his helmet with the headcam and flashlight and his pistol.
‘Radio silence?’ one of the men asked.
‘If he’s there then he’ll hear me coming a mile off,’ said O’Rourke. ‘Just listen in and I’ll try to give you guys a good show.’
They heard a rumbling in the shaft and then O’Rourke was gone. One of his men held a phone as the others gathered round. Bob went over and looked at the screen. The mere sight of it gave him claustrophobia. In the cone of light cast in front of O’Rourke’s camera all that was visible were his hands and the cylindrical walls of the shaft, and now and then the jerking of the light flashed on the pistol he was holding in one hand. The panting and grunting grew heavier, drowning out any sounds that might be made by someone waiting for him. Every so often O’Rourke stopped and then everyone listened out. But all they heard was a regular whirring noise.
‘There’s a fan up ahead here,’ O’Rourke whispered.
Soon those gathered around the phone saw the same thing, a large fan at the end of the shaft where it split left and right at a T-junction.
‘He must have got out this way,’ said O’Rourke. ‘The shafts going the other way get narrower.’
The SWAT leader pushed the fan several times before it swung out and down on its hinges. He put his head out. On the screen Bob saw the deserted yard with trucks and loading bays closed up for the night. Two uniformed officers came running into the yard with walkie-talkies crackling and guns drawn.
‘Gomez must be a tough guy,’ said O’Rourke, turning his head downward so that his audience could see it was a drop of at least eight yards to the asphalt. ‘Either he knows how to fall properly or he’s out there somewhere dragging a broken leg behind him.’
I walked quickly through the downtown streets, between the deserted office blocks, past the empty alleyways where it wasn’t safe after dark. But I wasn’t afraid. Not any more. They were the ones who should have been afraid. My racing pulse told me only that I was alive, I felt things, and for the first time in a long time. This was dangerous, enjoyably dangerous. The only thing that worried me was that I’d made it a little more exciting than necessary. As though something in me wanted to give them the chance to stop me. Is that what I wanted? Of course not. I had given myself a task. Or had I? Was I even really the one who had given me the task? What I did know was that it had to be completed, that I mustn’t give in to the temptation of peace, of at last being able to sleep in the same bed as you, my beloved, of holding our children. Nor could I let myself be distracted by moral queasiness and short-sightedness. The sum total of suffering for all innocents would be so much greater if I failed to complete the task than the suffering it would cause to a handful of innocent people. I had to steel myself. Only two days to go now.
A family came walking toward me along the sidewalk. Talking and laughing, they sounded happy, maybe they’d been to the movies, or eaten out at a restaurant. Maybe they thought nothing bad could happen to them because they did everything right; they worked hard, helped out in the community, helped those who carried a heavier burden than themselves.
‘Hola,’ I called out as I passed them. But got no response this time, just looks of mild surprise, as though they couldn’t work out if it was some kind of joke.
I swallowed. Had to keep my concentration up. Couldn’t relax. Even a slight mistake could tip the whole thing over. But, afterward, let it all fall down.
29
Feeling Minnesota, October 2016
Kay entered the almost empty sports bar, saw the mustard-yellow coat and slipped onto the bar stool next to him.
‘Sorry,’ she said.
‘For what?’
‘For letting them run you off like that.’
‘Not your fault. SWAT make the rules when they’re leading the operation.’
‘I could have protested, but it wasn’t the time or the place.’
‘Agreed. Don’t think about it. You made sure they listened to me about the fan.’
‘They should have listened to you and gone in immediately.’
Bob took a sip of his whisky and nodded in the direction of the news broadcast on the screen behind the bar. ‘Rick there has just explained to the viewers that the MPD managed to lose the murder suspect Tomás Gomez while they had him surrounded in a public restroom.’
Kay groaned. ‘Guess I need a drink too.’
Bob signalled to the bartender. ‘A Johnnie Walker for the lady.’
The bartender repeated his trick of grabbing the bottle without looking.
‘Not bad, eh?’ said Bob.
‘He must’ve practised,’ said Kay and waited impatiently for the glass in front of her to be filled.
‘Apropos,’ said Bob. ‘I’ve been thinking about what O’Rourke said about how it almost seems as though Gomez has had some kind of training.’
‘What about it?’ said Kay.
‘Gomez is strong and supple. He got up into that shaft where O’Rourke needed two guys to help him up. And so quietly that no one else noticed anything. Before he dropped down into the yard he must have been hanging by his fingertips, pulled himself up again and used his head to snap the fan back into place. Not something you or I could have managed. And not O’Rourke either, even though he’s in good shape.’
‘Well, some people are just stronger than others,’ said Kay. She emptied her drink, nodded to the bartender and pointed at the glass.
‘I think Gomez has planned this whole thing very carefully. He’s been working out with precisely this end in mind. And just the same way both murders were carefully planned, this last little game of his was planned too.’
‘You think so?’
‘Don’t you see? That it’s just a little bit too much of a coincidence he ends up in a restroom where the ventilation shaft leads out into an empty backyard. That the fan is just high enough up on the wall for it not to be welded in as a precaution against somebody breaking in that way but low enough to make it possible to drop down from, provided you have training in how to fall, like a paratrooper. Maybe he had the foresight to place something on the ground to break his fall, some kind of mat or something.’
‘Where are you going with this? That we should be looking for Tomás Gomez among elite soldiers or police officers?’
Bob took the vibrating phone out of his jacket pocket and checked the display.
‘More Walker,’ he said as he tapped the keypad and took the call. ‘Good evening, chief.’
‘Oz,’ rumbled Superintendent Walker. ‘Did you see that item on KSTP?’
‘Should I have?’
‘It was broadcast live and you were on it, Oz.’
‘Well, then of course I haven’t seen it.’
‘Of course?’ snorted the superintendent.
‘You said yourself, chief, it went out live and I was too busy being on it.’
‘I mean, have you seen it afterward? It’s all over the internet.’
‘Honestly, chief, I did not know it was an interview, she sneaked up on me.’
‘What the hell were you even doing at Track Plaza? You’re suspended, Oz! And you were drunk, dammit.’
‘I had a Johnnie Walker to deal with, chief. I drank it. I drink. I’m suspended, dammit.’
In the ensuing silence Bob listened to the superintendent’s puffing. The next time Walker spoke he had lowered the volume but not the intensity:
‘I want you to stay well clear of this case, Oz. Do you hear me?’
‘Aye aye, chief. I promise. Starting now. Got to go.’ Bob hung up.