25

The sun was just beginning to rise over the river bluffs when Magozzi and Gino crossed the Mississippi on the Lake Street Bridge. The streaks of pink and gold in the sky reflected on the dark surface of the water, rippling like shimmering ribbons of champagne.

‘Boy, would I love to be able to put that on canvas,’ Magozzi murmured. ‘Look at the water, Gino. It’s beautiful.’

Gino grunted. He had some serious bags under his eyes this morning, and his cropped blond hair looked angry. ‘Beautiful, my ass. You wouldn’t think so if you’d had my night. The Accident got into a box of that kids’ cereal with all the different-colored animals, and threw up rainbows for about three hours. Looked just like that water.’

‘The kid’s kind of young to be eating that stuff, isn’t he?’

‘The kid will never eat that cereal, if Angela has anything to say about it. It was my secret cache. You know those rubber-bandy things you kid-proof your cupboards with?’

‘Nope.’

‘Well, they don’t work, or else the Accident’s a genius.’

‘You have to quit calling him that. He’s going to get a complex.’

‘I would never call him that to his little, sweet, drooling face. Man, I’m starving. Would you please tell me why traffic is stopped dead in the middle of this bridge at six o’clock in the morning?’

The legendary body of water they were suspended over was the geographical division between Minneapolis and its twin city, and after Magozzi had seen a repeat of Kristen Keller’s report this morning, he’d understood why Malcherson had chosen a hole-in-the-wall diner in St Paul as the venue for this morning’s emergency briefing. Word was that the press had already set up a full ambush at City Hall in Minneapolis. St Paul was the last place they’d be looking for them.

‘Oh, man, would you look at this?’ Gino grumbled, getting out of the car. ‘There are people trotting around all over the road up there. Slap on the roof light, I’m going to go push my weight around.’ He stalked away up through the lines of motionless cars, and Magozzi said a silent prayer for all the motorists who had come between Gino and his breakfast.

He was back in under five minutes, sliding into the car, wearing a silly little smile. ‘That was pretty cool.’

Magozzi gave him a sidelong once-over. ‘You’ve got feathers on your shirt.’

‘Huh. How about that.’

‘You didn’t eat a bird or anything, did you?’

‘Nah. It was one of those suicidal mother ducks, leading her kids across the bridge like she owned the place. You got any idea how fast those little yellow buggers can run? We had a heck of a time catching them all. Some guy had an empty beer case in his truck, so we stuffed them all in there and he’s taking them to the other side. Traffic should start moving in a minute.’

Basil’s Broiler was a dimly lit greasy spoon that catered to all-night types, most of whom had already straggled home to bed if the empty stools and tables were any indication. The only person at the front counter was a spike-haired kid with an unbelievable amount of metal bristling from his ears, eyebrows, lips, and nose. He looked up briefly when Magozzi and Gino entered, then went back to staring into his coffee cup.

‘You see that kid?’ Gino whispered once they were out of earshot. ‘Get yourself a little red ball and you could play jacks with his face. I’m telling you, that’s what happens when you let your kid pierce her ears. They start out with a cute little gold button, then it’s a hoop, then it’s two hoops, and before you know it – jack-face.’

‘Helen got her ears pierced?’

‘Over my dead body.’

They found Malcherson at a far back table. He had a tablet, two cell phones, and one of those nasty red homicide folders fanned out in front of him.

He looked up when they approached and nodded once. ‘Good morning, Detectives.’

‘Good morning, Chief,’ they replied in unison, sounding like schoolboys greeting a scary headmaster.

‘You’re late.’

‘Mother duck and her babies on the bridge,’ Gino explained, earning a rare smile from Malcherson. Anyone who’d lived a single spring in Minnesota knew about ducks crossing the road, freeway traffic coming to a halt, and frazzled motorists who probably wanted to shoot each other morphing instantly into a happy group bent on animal rescue.

‘I trust you were able to get them across safely?’

‘We did, sir.’

‘Good.’ He gestured for them to sit, and nudged a metal coffee carafe toward them. ‘There is no menu. There is no waitress. There is, however, a hulking brute in the kitchen who said he would bring out three breakfasts. I have no idea what that might consist of.’

‘It’ll be great,’ Gino said. ‘Viegs told me about this place. They cook everything in lamb oil.’

Malcherson sighed. ‘How… unusual.’

Gino poured himself a cup of coffee, took a noisy sip, then studied the chief’s suit with a slightly puzzled expression. He was wearing the double-breasted dove-gray this morning with a pale blue tie.

Don’t ask, Malcherson told himself, pretending not to notice, but finally he couldn’t stand it anymore. ‘All right, Rolseth, what’s the problem with my clothes?’

‘Well, that is truly one of my favorite suits, sir, but… it’s not one of your murder suits.’

‘I see. I have murder suits. Which ones would those be?’

‘You know. The aggressive ones. The black for sure, and the charcoal, even the pinstripe works when you’re really hot to trot after some lowlife. But this one is kind of upbeat. Hopeful. You usually only wear the dove-gray when we’re wrapping things up.’

Malcherson released a weary sigh. ‘I find it strange that a man who wears food on forty-dollar sport coats takes such an interest in analyzing the psychology of my wardrobe choices.’

‘Well, you’re kind of my fashion idol, Chief.’

Malcherson’s eyes were the same color as his suit. He turned them toward Magozzi. It was simply too early in the morning to even try to talk to Rolseth. ‘I’ve been getting calls since last night’s late newscast. I thought we were going to try to hold back the information on the tattoos.’

‘Yeah, well, that was a great idea, but Kristin Keller and her gang of henchmen were interviewing neighbors before we even zipped up Ben Schuler’s body bag,’ Gino said. ‘Besides, we knew from the get-go we weren’t going to keep that detail under wraps for long. Anyone who knew any of the victims knew they’d been in the camps. Hell, anyone who ever saw them in short sleeves would have seen the tattoos, and that’s the kind of thing that comes out when you get the media interviewing friends and neighbors.’

Malcherson assented with a slight tip of his head. ‘True enough. But now the pressure is on. As of last night, the entire city knows that we have three concentration camp survivors killed for no apparent reason, and every broadcast I listened to this morning – including CNN – was either implying hate crime, or suggesting it outright.’

Gino shook his head firmly. ‘We’ve been over that, sir. Hate crime doesn’t fit for a lot of reasons. Besides, two of these three people knew each other, and our feeling is that they were involved in something that got them killed.’

Malcherson smiled at Gino, which was pretty terrifying. ‘I can hardly wait. Tell me, Detective Rolseth, what sort of nefarious activities do you think these senior citizens were involved in that made them murder targets?’

‘Well… we don’t exactly have a handle on that yet…’

He was interrupted by the gunshot sound of the hulking brute’s boot hitting the swinging door from the kitchen. The closer he came to the table, the higher Magozzi had to lift his chin to see the guy’s craggy, scarred face. Seven feet minimum, he thought, with the coiled musculature of an ex-con who always got the weight bench in the exercise yard. He unloaded the huge tray he was carrying, setting a meat platter in front of each of them. Eggs, sausage, cottage fries, biscuits and gravy towered and steamed.