‘November. Herrer has been shot by the suspect, repeat Herrer has been shot. Pulling him to safety, bleeding heavily, looks critical. Suspect is in the store with three hostages. I need an ambulance and backup. Now!’
Hector thought he should take off his shades, because it was too dark. He searched the sky for the sun. Looked for the face. Listened for the voice that was supposed to say I see you. But it wasn’t there. Hector neither heard nor saw anything.
51
Message, October 2016
Jill Patterson felt the warm tears running down her cheeks and lost the sensation as they ran onto the tape. They were cold by the time they ran back onto the skin and down over her chin. She wanted to close her eyes, shut out all this, but forced herself to keep them open, forced herself to look at Simon and Siri, who stared at her from above small, taped mouths, as though she, their mother, was the only person in all the world who could save them. And hadn’t she really always been the only one?
Mike Lunde’s voice beside her was calm, almost like someone talking in his sleep.
‘I’m sorry you had to see that man get shot, Mrs Patterson, I would have preferred things to be different. But as your husband preaches, it is the right of every citizen to protect his house and property against intruders. And there is actually a Closed sign on the door.’
Like someone breaking the surface for a breath of air, Jill closed her eyes. Momentarily.
‘Siri and Simon...’ Mike Lunde began, and Jill at once opened her eyes wide again, seeking to catch her children’s eyes, as though she thought they would be doomed if they so much as looked at him. But she had lost them, their gazes were already on the taxidermist.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ he continued. ‘This will soon be over. I promise, cross my heart and hope to die.’
Jill tried to blink away the tears as Mike Lunde drew his forefinger twice, slowly, across his throat.
Bob was two blocks away now but had to stop when the traffic lights in front of him turned red. He swore. He knew that, at this particular junction, there was always a long wait for the green. A car with zebra stripes pulled up alongside and he heard the sirens at the same time. He lowered his window. The sounds were coming from several cars and they seemed to be getting closer. Bob turned on the radio and tuned in to the local news channel.
‘...at the opening of the NRA conference at the US Bank Stadium. At this moment in time we have no information as to why Mayor Patterson has cancelled his appearance, but our information is that he was at the stadium. And I’m hearing right now that the mayor and his party have just left the stadium with a police escort and sirens going. We do not know what if anything has happened to the mayor. All we know is...’
Bob felt his phone vibrate. He pulled it up. It was Kay.
‘Hey, what the hell is going on?’
‘Mike Lunde,’ said Kay. ‘He has the mayor’s wife and children with him in the store. He shot one of the bodyguards. I’m on my way there now.’
Bob glanced up at the red light, looked left and then right and saw a trailer approaching. He hoped the Volvo was having one of its better days and caught a glimpse of the staring man in the zebra-striped car as he put his foot down hard on the gas pedal.
Bob turned down the street where Town Taxidermy was located at the same moment as an ambulance entered at the other end, sirens blaring. He leaned out of the window and saw two police cars outside the store. They had stopped in the middle of the road, blue lights flashing. Bob drove the Volvo up onto the sidewalk, jumped out and ran past the crowd of onlookers toward the store and ducked under the crime scene tape. Four police officers and a man in a dark suit were taking cover behind the cars. Two had service rifles aimed in the direction of the store, two had service pistols.
‘Get out of here!’ yelled one of the officers, a sturdy man, his face flushed as he waved his arms at Bob.
‘MPD, Homicide Unit!’ Bob yelled back and ducked down behind the police car. He held up his expired ID card, showing it to the guy with the flushed face and the one in the suit, who had to be FBI. ‘Detective Bob Oz. What’s happening?’
‘He’s in there with the hostages,’ said the officer. ‘No sign of life.’
‘What are you doing here, Detective?’ the FBI guy interrupted.
‘I know Mike Lunde. Who are you?’
‘Gerard Zimmer, JTTF.’
Bob nodded at the SUV that stood with both front doors open. ‘Where’s your partner, Zimmer?’
‘On his way to the hospital. Or the morgue, hard to say. Bullet caught him above his vest.’
‘OK. So what’s happening now?’
‘We’re waiting for SWAT. They’re on their way from the stadium. Should be here in about—’ Zimmer checked his watch — ‘four minutes.’
‘Four minutes,’ Bob repeated. He stood up and started unbuttoning his cashmere coat.
‘What are you doing?’ the police officer shouted. ‘Get down! Zimmer says the guy in there has an M24!’
‘I know,’ said Bob. ‘And I know four minutes is a long time and that having SWAT here guarantees nothing.’ He folded his coat and laid it on the hood of the car.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Zimmer.
‘To talk to Mike.’
‘Our orders—’
‘—are your orders, they aren’t mine,’ said Bob.
‘So who gave you yours?’ Zimmer was standing now and blocking Bob’s way.
‘You can shoot me if those are your orders, Zimmer.’
Bob walked round Zimmer and crossed the street, coatless. His shirt was wet with sweat, ice-cold on the shady side, warm on the sunny side. Behind him someone shouted. But it was too late now. He just had to hope that they wouldn’t shoot him.
He walked to the store doorway and stopped. ‘Mike!’ he shouted. ‘It’s Bob. I’m coming in.’
Bob waited. No answer. He pushed open the door.
The bell jangled as he walked in. Four people sat in a circle around something. A dog. The Labrador retriever Mike Lunde had finally managed to get the right eyes for. Mike was holding a rifle pointed at him, but strangely enough Bob felt no fear.
‘Bob,’ said Mike. ‘You’re a little early. We said one thirty.’
‘Sorry about that. OK if I come in a little closer?’
‘Are you carrying?’
‘Not since Frankie died.’
Mike lowered the rifle. Bob took two steps toward the rearing black bear, picked up the stool in front of it, placed it in the circle and sat down.
‘Turned out well,’ he said with a nod to the dog.
‘Thank you.’
Bob took in the circle. Met the red, pleading eyes of the two children and the woman. He recognised her, she was the woman who had come in to talk about the eyes with Mike. Bob nodded to them, trying to convey to them that this would turn out OK, they weren’t about to die. He doubted he’d succeeded. He looked back at Mike again.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘How do you think?’
Bob shrugged. ‘Like me. Angry. Aggressive. That’s the way we get when we don’t take our antidepressants. But you’re better at hiding it than I am.’
‘Maybe.’
Bob folded his hands. ‘What is it you want, Mike?’
‘Hm. You guessed your way this far, you should be able to work out the answer to that one too.’