Chapter 33
I had my face turned to the sky and my eyes closed against the bright morning sun.
It was still warm, but at sunrise there had been a thin layer of ice on the puddles.
I inhaled the air, felt my lungs expand, felt that my body was ready.
Felt the slight pressure of the hypodermic with its long point in my breast pocket. I opened my eyes again.
U.S. Bank Stadium.
It looked like a ship. No, a submarine. Or a black iceberg.
I was standing on Medtronic Plaza, beside the big Viking ship, and looking up at the black zinc facade.
Behind it sixty thousand seats waited to be filled.
The stadium had a glass roof that kept the NFL fans from freezing.
There had been mixed reactions to it, both while they were building it and afterward, once it had opened in the summer.
Some hated it and said they should never have pulled down the old Metrodome stadium, but it was always like that with places people had good memories of.
I had slept well in the woods that night, with my memories.
I needed it, needed it to keep me steady.
I saw the WCCO-TV and the KSTP buses, the cables being unfurled and readied for live coverage of Mayor Patterson’s opening of the NRA convention tomorrow.
I had made a circuit of the stadium and the security looked unimpeachable.
It was impossible to get into the stadium without proper accreditation, and there were security cameras above every entrance.
Especially here in Medtronic Plaza, which was where most of the audience would be lining up the following day.
I closed my eyes again.
Saw the mayor standing there, all eyes on him, all cameras focused on him.
The way his facial expression kind of freezes when he gets hit.
The chaos. The anarchy. Running footsteps.
Sirens. That whole apparatus we trust in, that we believe can protect us, and save us, and the lives of those we love, is set in motion.
But mixed in with the certainty that no matter what any of us do now, it’s already too late.
My despair had finally become theirs too.
—
Kay Myers sat in Walker’s office looking at the superintendent’s back as he stood in front of the blind.
“How d’you like this city?” he asked.
Kay thought about it. It hadn’t seemed all that different from the place she’d come from.
Pretty similar climate, the lakes, same mix of people, same flat landscape.
It had taken her a while to notice all the small differences in the social codes, like Minnesota nice, a friendly, polite surface obscuring a conflict-averse and passive-aggressive undercurrent.
But even though they were a little more closed and a little less direct than where she came from, the people she met were, in general, decent and righteous people.
Of course, that didn’t include those she encountered in most of the murder cases that came her way—but then she suspected that was true of any city.
“Basically I like it just fine,” she said.
“Good,” said Walker without turning around. “It may not be as attractive as Chicago, but I see this city as being oriented toward the future. It’s a city where people are willing to think new thoughts. A city where someone like you can enjoy a good life and a rewarding career.”
Kay moved uncomfortably in her chair. It wasn’t that she had expected the turn the meeting appeared to be taking, but at the same time it wasn’t completely unexpected. She’d picked up on the signals, as people say.
“I’ve learned that I’m being considered for the position of leader of the Investigative Division,” said Walker.
He parted two strips of the blind with his fingers.
“That means that someone will have to take over this office. The position will be advertised, and others will have the responsibility of deciding who gets the job. But if I offer an internal recommendation then that will obviously count for something. Count for quite a lot, I guess we could say.”
Seeing no reason to respond Kay remained silent.
“Now of course there’s a certain risk attached when a departing head offers a recommendation,” said Walker.
“If in due course it turns out that there’s something shall we say untoward about the person recommended, then obviously that will reflect badly on the one who offered the recommendation.
Right now, for example, I’ve got the chief of police on my neck following these problems with Detective Oz.
What I need to know, Myers, is that you won’t be giving us any surprises. ”
“I understand,” said Kay.
Walker turned to her. “You understand?”
“Yes.”
Walker smiled broadly. “You’ve come far, Myers. Not bad for a girl from Englewood. But you’re not finished yet. You can be an example for other girls from places like Englewood. The way ahead lies open for you. The only thing that can get in the way is if you mess up and fall.”
Kay nodded.
“I won’t keep you any longer, Myers. You look like someone who wants to get back out there on the job.”
As Kay walked back to her desk, she wondered which had been more important for Walker to convey, the promise or the warning.
On her way she glanced into the office that was being painted.
The job wasn’t finished yet, cans still standing there, but the painter obviously had the day off.
On a chair she saw something that looked like a furry brown rodent but was probably a mitten.
She almost asked at reception if they knew when the painter would be back, but she didn’t.
Approaching her desk she saw Olav Hanson pulling on his jacket as he hurried out from behind the partition separating their desks.
“Where’s the fire?” she asked Joe Kjos, who she could see was playing poker on his computer screen.
“The video center,” he said. “Gomez has been seen at the U.S. Bank Stadium.”
Kay grabbed her jacket and ran toward the elevators.
“Hey!” she called as the doors were about to shut. “Wait for me!”
A hairy arm shot out between the shiny surfaces and the elevator doors slid back open.
She stepped in, nodded her thanks to the man with the hairy arms and fixed her eyes on Olav Hanson, who was standing at the back of the elevator. She moved next to him.
“Why didn’t you tell me about Gomez?” she asked quietly.
“I tried, but you weren’t at your desk,” he said, his voice equally low.
She nodded slowly and tried to read his flushed face. “Well, I’m here now, Hanson.”
“Good,” he said.
—
By the time Kay and Olav Hanson jumped out of the car by the Viking ship outside the U.S. Bank Stadium three police cars had already arrived.
“Well?” said Hanson to the police officer who stood waiting for them.
“He isn’t here.”
“Which cameras picked him up?”
“All the external ones around the whole stadium. It looks like he did the circuit twice before he lit out.”
“Twice?” said Kay. “He’s planning something.”
Kay looked at the two TV buses parked outside one of the entrances. She spoke the thought aloud almost before she’d finished thinking it:
“Patterson.”
“What?” Hanson stared at her.
“Patterson is due to open the NRA conference here tomorrow. Gomez is going for the mayor.”
“Are you crazy?”
“I think Gomez is crazy,” she said and pulled out her phone. “Think about it. There’s a pattern here. He starts small and gets bigger. Like ripples in a lake.”
“Who’re you calling?”
Before Kay could answer she got a reply.
“Minneapolis City Hall.”
“This is Detective Kay Myers, MPD. Can I speak to the person in charge of security at the mayor’s office?”
As she waited, she saw the officer had just taken an incoming call.
“New sighting of Gomez,” he said to her. “Not far away.”
—
I heard the sirens getting closer. The street I was standing on consisted of low, two-story buildings on both sides.
On the sidewalk across from me was a man wearing a fur cap with a cart and a sign that said he was selling kielbasa starowiejska—Polish sausages.
When I was here earlier checking out the area I had bought one of those U-shaped sausages from him.
It came served with kapusniak, a kind of sauerkraut, and it was delicious.
Behind the cart was the entrance to a movie theater with a large vertical sign in red neon, Rialto.
The sirens were closer now. One or two of the cars had turned them off.
Maybe they thought they could surprise me.
I breathed in the smell of sausages, boiled cabbage, exhaust fumes and testosterone. Then I crossed the street.
—
Officer Fortune drove and listened to the female voice in his earpiece as it gave him a running appraisal of where the facial recognition program had last located Gomez. He knew she could also switch to an individual security camera to see where Gomez was headed as long as he was in frame.
“Thanks, we’re there now,” said Fortune as he came to a screeching halt at the curb beside a steaming sausage cart and the startled street vendor. Fortune turned to the two detectives in the backseat and saw that both had drawn their service pistols.
“The camera has just seen him enter this building here, but we…eh, I guess we should wait for SWAT?”
“No,” the detectives replied in unison as they opened the doors and jumped out.
—