Wolf Hour

32 The Password, October 2016

Bob’s eyelids flickered. It was the light that woke him. It came from a combined alarm clock and lamp he’d given Alice as a birthday present. The soft light came on at the hour the alarm was set for and then gradually grew brighter, like a sunrise. That was the idea. He’d taken it with him after Stan appeared, when Alice told Bob he could take absolutely anything he wanted. Bob probably hoped she would be hurt by the fact that he’d taken her birthday present but instead she seemed relieved, she’d never been someone who needed a gentle wake-up.

The radio turned itself on. Bob dozed as he listened to the newsreader say that the opinion polls were still predicting that within a few weeks’ time Hillary Clinton would be elected the country’s first female president. Then came an interview with an election expert who warned against the Bradley effect, this being when pollsters call people up on the phone who don’t dare to admit they won’t be voting for the politically correct option, as happened a while back in the case of the black California gubernatorial candidate Bradley, or now, with a female presidential candidate. By the end of the broadcast they still hadn’t mentioned the hunt for Tomás Gomez, concluding instead with a report that the NRA conference had sold out the US Bank Stadium quicker than any Vikings home game.

Bob got up. He was cold and had a throbbing headache from yesterday’s drinking but felt revived after a warm shower. He opened the cupboard above the sink, looked at the pink pill tray, took out the tube of toothpaste and closed the cupboard door. He put the coffee on while still brushing his teeth, switched on his laptop and registered that his internet was down. After thinking about it he called Mike Lunde. The taxidermist sounded busy.

‘My internet’s OK, yes, but this Labrador has to be finished today, so I’ve closed the store to be alone here and to give it my full concentration. I’m not letting any Tomás Gomez in here today either. How about tomorrow?’

Bob hung up. Though he much preferred the coffee at Moresite, they didn’t have Wi-Fi like Starbucks.

After a bus ride to Southdale he bought batteries at the mall and picked up the Volvo, complete with parking ticket, and drove into Dinkytown.

‘This isn’t a laptop place,’ said Liza when he sat down on one of the stools and put the computer on the counter at Bernie’s.

‘Sorry, but I couldn’t find anywhere else that offered a combination of decent coffee and Wi-Fi,’ said Bob.

‘You’ve never even tasted our coffee as far as I know,’ said Liza. ‘And what makes you think we have Wi-Fi?’

‘This is right in the middle of student territory — are you trying to tell me you don’t have Wi-Fi?’

‘Not for customers, no.’

‘I can see I’m alone here, so this stays between us. How much do you want for the staff password?’

‘So you think I can be bought?’

‘Not with money, perhaps, but I think you’re open to a bribe for the right price.’

‘And what would that be?’

‘The truth.’

‘The truth?’

Bob took the device from the inside pocket of his coat and put it down in front of her. ‘Radica 20Q,’ he said before she had time to ask. ‘It can read your thoughts.’

‘Right. And if I prefer to keep my thoughts to myself?’

‘I’m thinking not so much of your thoughts as of your son’s. He’s going to love this.’

Liza raised an eyebrow. ‘What makes you so sure about that?’

‘All intelligent children are curious about things that are intelligent.’

She lifted the ball and studied it sceptically. ‘Well, I must say, it looks as if it’s been used a lot.’

‘It was my daughter’s.’

‘You’ve got a daughter?’

‘Had. Frankie. She died. She’d be happy if another child had the pleasure of using her favourite toy. She was like that.’

Liza’s mouth opened slightly. For a moment her eyes went blank. And Bob saw how her face, how the way she was standing, the way she held her hands, how everything about her was changed. Of course, he’d seen the effect before on the few occasions when he’d told someone he’d lost his daughter, how the other person always searched for some kind of adequate response. But never like this. It was as though the words had struck a chord inside Liza Hummels, as though they opened the door to a person Bob hadn’t yet met. She became, thought Bob — for want of a better word — beautiful. And her voice was thicker when, after a few seconds’ silence, she said, very clearly:

‘Hillary Clinton for Prison.’

‘Sorry?’

‘The password. Not my idea. I hope you like your coffee black?’

Bob talked about Frankie and their family of three without the dam bursting. Liza was the one who now and then dried a tear.

‘It was Alice’s idea to call her Frankie. It means “free man”. She wanted every door to be open to her.’

Liza nodded. ‘That’s the same reason I called my son Johan.’

‘Johan?’

‘It’s what people call a high-income name. It doesn’t make the child any more intelligent, but it gives them an edge when they apply for high-income jobs after college.’

‘So Johan’s going to college?’

She shrugged. ‘Why do you think I work twelve-hour shifts?’

‘And if he doesn’t want to?’

‘Then he won’t have to. It’s about keeping as many doors as possible open for them, isn’t it? So what happened after Frankie’s death?’

Bob spoke of the depression, his problems with anger, the separation and his current situation as a detective suspended from duty. And finally, halfway down the third cup of coffee, of his strictly unofficial hunt for Tomás Gomez. By this time two more customers had arrived. One sat quietly reading a newspaper in the corner, while the other was apparently drawing the two of them, now and then looking up from his sketchpad.

‘So you have absolutely no personal information about him at all?’ asked Liza.

‘Nope,’ said Bob. ‘But we know the story of how his family was killed, and we have these images from various security cameras.’

Bob turned the laptop screen so that she could see it. To his relief, not to say surprise, it was obvious no one had thought of blocking his access to MPD’s databases.

‘How old would you say this guy was?’ he asked.

‘Hm,’ she said. ‘Thirty-two maybe? Not over forty anyway.’

‘I agree,’ said Bob. ‘Let’s say that at the earliest he had children when he was fifteen or sixteen. I’ve searched the database with all murders since 1990 both in Minneapolis and in Saint Paul, and in those twenty-six years there have been four instances of two children and a woman being shot in connection with a gang shootout. But Gomez’s name isn’t mentioned in any of the newspaper reports. Three involved black families, only one Latino. They were killed in the Fourth Precinct, but here it says their name was Perez and they were Spanish.’

‘You think this might be them?’

‘Could be. As an illegal immigrant it’s not surprising he gave a name like Perez and claimed to be Spanish. At least that made sure they wouldn’t be transported back over the border and into the hands of the cartel they were running from.’

‘Are there really no more details of the killings?’

‘Nix. Deaths involving minorities in the Fourth Precinct have always had less media coverage, and this was in 1995, the worst year ever for murders.’

‘I was hardly even born then, baby.’

Bob tapped a number on his phone and held it to his ear. ‘That was the year they started calling the city Murderopolis.’ He signalled that he had someone on the other end of the line. ‘Hi, Kari, how are things in the Fraud Unit? Listen, could you check something for me? A multiple homicide from 1995? Perez. I need the report. And the name and address of the father.’

Bob could hear that Kari at the other end wasn’t taking notes the way she usually did.

‘Kari?’

‘I’m sorry but I can’t help you, Bob.’ Her voice sounded pained.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Walker’s given me orders not to do anything for you as long as you’re suspended. I think it’s because of that TV thing of you on YouTube. Even the chief of police is furious — they think you’ve embarrassed the whole police department. I’m sorry, Bob.’

‘I understand. Sorry if I’ve embarrassed you too, Kari.’

‘Me?’

‘You in particular, Kari. Have a nice day.’

‘You too, Bob.’

Bob hung up, tapped in a new number, got an immediate reply.

‘Bob...’

‘Hi, Kay. Listen, I think I’ve got something.’

‘Bob, you listen—’

‘Murder case. Perez. 1995. Can you send me the report and—’

‘Walker’s given everybody orders not to—’

‘Fuck Walker. All I need is the—’

‘I’m going to hang up now, Bob.’

‘Kay!’

The line went dead.

‘Can’t pull the women any more?’ Liza asked.

‘It’s been going on for a while now,’ said Bob. He put his elbows on the counter and rubbed his skull hard. ‘Excuse me.’

Bob made his way to the men’s room. Though he had the whole trough to himself he still entered the only stall there and locked the door. It was a peculiarity of his; if he didn’t feel certain he would be alone when urinating he would end up just standing there, pressing away at his bladder. When he was finished and buttoned up he remained standing and looked down at the slider bolt for a moment before exiting, washing his hands and splashing water on his face. When he got back to his stool at the counter he saw that Liza had poured him another cup of coffee.

‘Liza?’ he said quietly, so that she automatically took a step closer to him.

‘Yes?’

‘What we said about holding the doors open — when you enter a stall in a restroom where there are other people, don’t you automatically lock the door?’

She looked uncomprehendingly at him.

‘And definitely if you’re preparing to make your escape through a ventilation shaft,’ he said. ‘Gomez hadn’t locked the door of that stall. Isn’t that odd? I mean, you don’t want to be caught in the act now, do you?’

‘Maybe.’

‘You maybe lock the door?’

‘Maybe you want to be caught in the act. If you’re committing a criminal act.’

‘Would anyone want that?’

‘To be caught in the act? Oh yes.’ Liza leaned across the counter and put her chin in her hands. ‘I got into the habit of stealing small change from my father’s wallet. I felt so ashamed I started stealing larger and larger amounts so that he’d notice.’

‘And did he?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe he punished me by pretending he hadn’t found out. Let my own conscience torment me.’

‘Did that work?’

‘Apparently. I stopped doing it.’

Bob cleared his throat and nodded slowly. ‘It’s grounds for hope to know that at least we are potentially capable of stopping. Can you get me a whisky?’

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘No, you can have more coffee. What is it you’re hoping to stop doing?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Come on, Bob. Like you said, this is part of my job.’

‘What is?’

‘Listening. Pretending to understand. What is it you’re hoping you can stop doing?’

Bob smiled and looked down into his coffee. Drew a breath. ‘Alice. I give her hell. The divorce papers, the division of property, this new guy of hers — all of it. Even though I know it hurts me most, that my self-contempt just grows and grows when I make myself a worse man than I already am. Sometimes I wonder if what I’m doing is asking for pity. It’s as though I want her to see that the man I once was is going to pieces in front of her eyes. I’m a prick, and my own conscience torments me over it, but I just can’t seem to stop it the way you did. Just the opposite, in fact — I’ve turned into a fucking stalker.’

‘Have you asked yourself why you’re stalking her?’

‘Actually I don’t think it’s her I’m stalking, it’s more the places where I was once happy. Where I lived with her and Frankie. Where I picked her up from work. I’m stalking the memories. You know, like those people who have their pets stuffed, to recreate something that’s gone from their lives.’

‘Do people stuff their pet animals?’

‘Oh yes. Even a killer like Tomás Gomez wants his cat back. Incredible, isn’t it?’

Liza dealt with two customers who had come in and ordered beers.

Bob watched her. The friendly, professional manner; the quick, assured movements. An efficiency he was sure made her feel good, the pleasure of doing a job well. The pleasure. I’m stalking memories. Suddenly it lit up for him, as clear as the answer on the Radica 20Q display.

‘Where are you going?’ asked Liza.

Bob was on his feet and buttoning his coat. ‘I think I know how I can find him.’