Kovac’s second wife had never allowed him into the house wearing the suits he had worn to murder scenes. His “corpse clothes,” she had called them. He had had to take them off in the garage and leave them there and walk through the house in his underwear to get to the shower. Then, instead of sending the clothes to the cleaners or throwing them into the trash, she would box them up and take them to Goodwill. Like the disadvantaged people of Minneapolis didn’t have enough going against them, they had to go around smelling of corpses.
After the disappearance of three suits, he had wised up and kept a change of clothes at the station and made friends with the guy who ran the dry cleaners down the street.
Liska sighed. “Let’s get it over with so I can go home and lie awake all night feeling guilty that I had to question these people.”
Wayne Haas came to the front door looking like he wanted to hit somebody. He was a rawboned man with big hands and big shoulders from moving beef carcasses and slabs of meat. Stress and grief and anger had cut such deep lines in his ruddy face that it looked as if it had been carved of redwood.
“What the hell kind of show are you people running?” he demanded, glancing at the ID Liska held up for him to see. “It’s all over the TV. That murdering son of a bitch is running loose. How the hell could you let this happen?”
“I can imagine how you must feel, Mr. Haas,” Kovac started.
“The hell you can! You’re not the one walked into this house and found half his family butchered! And now the bastard is running around loose, free to kill-”
“Every cop in the city is looking for him,” Kovac said.
“That’s supposed to make me feel better? You people lost him in the first place!”
Kovac didn’t bother to tell him it was the sheriff’s office that had lost Karl Dahl, not the police department. Wayne Haas wouldn’t appreciate the difference. The only thing that mattered to him was the end result.
“You’re right,” Kovac said instead. “I’m pissed off about it too. It was the cluster fuck of the century. Believe me, my partner and I sure as hell didn’t want to come here tonight and tell you Karl Dahl escaped. We didn’t even want to come here to tell you about Judge Moore’s ruling on that evidentiary hearing.”
Haas shook his head and stepped back a little from the door. Kovac took advantage and moved inside. Liska, who was the size of a minute, slipped in behind him and around him and did a quick survey of the place.
“What’s wrong with that woman?” Haas asked. “How could she say what Dahl did in the past didn’t have anything to do with this? It just proves what a sick bastard he is. The jury should hear about it.”
“I know,” Kovac said. “I’m with you. The guy didn’t just wake up one day and decide to kill. These mutts work their way up to it.”
“It’s a goddamn nightmare,” Haas said, almost to himself.
“We can put a squad car on the street in front of your house if you’re worried about Dahl coming back here,” Liska offered.
Haas looked over at the television, where a reporter was coming live from outside the ambulance bay at HCMC. Amber, blue, and red lights from the cop cars and emergency vehicles gave the scene a carnival atmosphere. But it didn’t look to Kovac like any of it was registering on Haas. His mind had gone somewhere else, probably somewhere worse.
“I don’t want anything from you people,” he said at last.
“Mr. Haas?” Liska asked. “Is your son at home?”
“He went to a basketball game at his school. Why?”
Kovac grimaced and looked embarrassed. “This stinks. Believe me, we know it. If it was up to me, I wouldn’t ask, but we have to answer to the higher powers.”
Haas looked suspicious but said nothing, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“I’m sure you heard, Judge Moore was attacked in the parking ramp at the government center earlier tonight,” Liska said. “We need to ask you and your son where you both were at the time.”
“Get out of my house,” he said quietly, though the rage was building visibly inside him.
“It’s routine, Mr. Haas,” Kovac said. “No one really thinks you had anything to do with it. We just have to put it on paper.”
“Get out of my house,” he said louder. His neck was red, and Kovac could see a big vein pulsing on one side. “Get out of my house, goddamn you!”
He went to the front door and yanked it wide so hard that it hit the wall and rattled the front windows.
Bobby Haas stood on the front porch, looking bewildered and worried, brown eyes wide. “Dad? Dad, what’s wrong? Who are you people?”
“We’re with the police,” Liska said, but the boy was looking at his father as Wayne Haas raised a hand to his temple and gritted his teeth.
“Dad!”
“Mr. Haas?” Kovac moved toward him at the same time the kid did. Haas bent forward in obvious pain.
“Get him to a chair,” Kovac ordered, and he and the boy each took an arm and moved Wayne Haas to a worn green armchair a few feet away. Kovac looked at Liska. “Call an ambulance.”
Even as Liska was pulling her cell phone from her coat pocket, Haas was waving off the order.
“No. I’m fine,” he insisted.
“You don’t look fine,” Kovac said.
Bobby Haas squatted down beside his father. “It’s his blood pressure. It spikes like that when he gets upset. He’ll be okay in a minute. Right, Dad? You’re gonna be okay.”
Haas blew out a couple of big breaths and nodded wearily, his eyes focused on the floor. He was pale now, and damp with sweat.
Kovac looked at the boy. “Why don’t you get your dad a glass of water?”
Liska followed him down the hall.
Kovac knelt down on one knee by Wayne Haas’s chair so he could see the man’s face more clearly. “You’re sure you don’t want to go to a hospital?”
“Just go,” Haas whispered. “Just go away from here.”
“I’m sorry we upset you like that,” Kovac said. “There are some times this job sucks, and this would be one of them. But the questions have to be asked. If we don’t touch all the bases, a case can get dismantled. You’ve seen for yourself, the system isn’t there to help guys like you or cops like me.”
“I just want this all to be over,” Haas said. “I wish I’d died that day too.”
“You’ve got a son to live for.”
Haas just hung his head.
Bobby Haas and Liska returned then, and the son handed the father half a glass of water. Liska gave Kovac a look and nodded toward the door. They stepped out onto the porch, and Kovac drew the door shut behind them.
“The kid’s going to get our answer and come out here,” Liska said. “I figured that would be a hell of a lot easier than us making the guy stroke out before our very eyes.”
“What does Junior have to say for himself?”
“He hung out with a buddy after school, and they went to a basketball game tonight. He’s worried about his dad, says his health isn’t good. The stress of it all has taken a toll on him.”
“Poor bastard,” Kovac murmured, digging a finger in an inside coat pocket. Jackpot. He pulled out a cigarette and rolled it between his fingers like he was rubbing a rabbit’s foot for luck. “What about the boy? How’s he holding up?”
“He’s rattled. Could be because of his father. Could be because of us. He’s seventeen, he has a penis, definitely qualifies him for being stupid enough to mug a judge.”
Kovac cut her a look of annoyance. “Don’t take your shitty love life out on me, Tinks. You ought to know better than to go out with a lawyer.”
“Just shows how desperate I am,” she muttered. “Scraping the bottom of the barrel.”
“Nah… You haven’t dated me yet.”
“Maybe I should. You’re the only guy I know who returns my calls.” She flicked a glance at his hand. “Didn’t you quit smoking, like, three hours ago?”
Kovac scowled. “Three days, and I’m not smoking it.”
Liska craned her neck to get a peek into the living room to see what was going on between the Haas men.
