by Garry Ryan
“How come you still live in the neighbourhood?” Keely asked.
“It’s my home,” Roberta said.
“Did Moreau have a girlfriend in high school?” Lane asked.
Roberta studied Lane for a full thirty seconds before she said, “Yes, Candace Barnett, very attractive. She dropped out of grade twelve just before graduation. I never heard what happened to her after that.”
There’s something in her voice. Regret? Lane asked, “You know why she left, don’t you?”
Roberta nodded. “Yes, I do. She told me in confidence. She worked so hard to graduate. I think her sister and her aunt know where Candace went, but they probably won’t tell you. It’s a very private matter.” She looked directly at Lane. “The kind of thing a teacher still needs to keep confidential.”
“What was the sister’s name?” Keely asked.
Roberta looked across the river. “Diane.”
“Last name?” he asked.
“Barnett. Do you two mind giving me and Wally a ride home?” Roberta stood up. Her eyes were sunk deep into their sockets. “I need a nap.”
“Won’t Pike’s mother be upset?” Keely asked.
Roberta smirked. “Fuck her and the horse she rode in on. What’s the worst Pike and Moreau can do to me?”
“How about the aunt’s name?” Keely asked.
“Rita is the first name. Can’t remember her last.” Roberta jingled Wally’s leash.
“I saw that puppet chick today,” Matt said as he came upstairs into the kitchen. Lane was eating the supper Arthur had left warming in the oven for him.
Lane covered a mouthful of chicken breast with his hand. “What puppet chick?”
“You know the one — when we went to the rodeo — she put on that puppet show. No, they’re called marionettes.” Matt sat down across from Lane, picked up a chicken breast with his fingers and used his front teeth to rip it in half.
“You mean Aidan?” Lane speared a quartered tomato with his fork.
“That’s her!” Matt popped the other half of the chicken into his mouth. He eyed the remaining chicken breast Arthur had left for Lane’s meal.
“Go ahead and eat it.”
Matt grabbed the breast before Lane could change his mind.
Roz harrumphed from where she sat under Lane’s chair.
“Where did you see Aidan?” Lane leaned back and reached for his glass of beer.
Matt used his fingers to rip a strip of chicken off the breast. “I stopped at a coffee shop. She was in line ahead of me. She’s putting together another show. She was telling me how her first show took her to New York, Toronto and Montreal.”
“Wow.”
“She told me a word in Cree. It’s mahkesîs.” Matt chewed thoughtfully on a strip of chicken.
“What’s that mean?”
“Fox. In the new show all of her marionettes are animals. I told her about the foxes living next to the golf course.”
“She’s very talented, and I admired the way she wouldn’t give up when she got her teeth into something.”
“Kind of like you.” Matt popped the last morsel of chicken in his mouth. “Wanna take Roz for a walk and see if the foxes are about?”
Lane drained his beer. “Sure.”
Fifteen minutes later, they approached the retaining wall near the golf course. They stopped on the far side of the road.
“Uncle Lane?”
Lane heard the anxiety in Matt’s voice, stopped and waited.
Roz hit the end of her leash and growled.
“I still feel bad that I embarrassed you in front of the other officers.” Matt let his head drop.
Lane said, “I’ve forgotten about it, so let it go.”
A woman’s voice interrupted them. “Oh my god! Waverly, come back! There are wild animals there!” Waverly was a bijou poodle with a shining black coat. Waverly had his nose down and his tail up and was running along a strip of grass above the first tier of sandstone. He advanced toward the fox family.
The mother fox appeared to be outweighed by at least fifty pounds. She called once and the kits disappeared into various gaps between the stacked stones.
Waverly barked and growled at the mother fox. The hair along the dog’s spine stood up like tufts of prairie grass.
“Waverly! Come back here! They’re wild animals!” She looked at Lane and Matt. “Help! My dog is going to be killed!”
Lane checked for traffic and crossed the street. Matt and Roz followed.
The mother fox nimbly leapt up the sandstone wall and looked down from two metres above Waverly. The poodle attempted to climb the wall and managed to reach a metre and a half with his front paws stretched up the sandstone while his rear paws stayed on the grass.
One of the kits rushed out from its hiding place and bit Waverly’s right flank. Waverly yelped. The kit disappeared back into an opening among the rocks. The mother fox bared her teeth. Her screeching bark made the humans shiver.
“Do something! They’re killing Waverly! He’s got papers!” The woman’s eyes were open wide and magnified by a thick lenses set in designer frames. She was frozen in place.
Lane handed Roz’s leash to Matt.
Lane hopped up over the first sandstone retaining wall and walked toward Waverly.
Another kit appeared, nipped the back of Waverly’s leg, and then ducked back into a tiny cave.
Waverly yelped and his owner screamed. “Stop those killers!”
Lane grabbed Waverly by the collar and pulled him back from the wall. Lane then looked up at the mother fox, who yawned before disappearing from the edge of the rock wall.
Waverly growled, snapped and tried to bite Lane’s hand. Lane dragged the dog over to his master. He stopped, looked at Waverly’s tag and moved closer to the owner. She attached a leash to her dog’s collar. “I’m gonna have the city exterminate those foxes! Waverly is a purebred!”
“Do that and I’ll have animal control put Waverly down for biting me.” Lane covered his right hand with his left.
“You’ll what?” The woman began to back away.
“And I’ll have you charged. Those foxes are endangered!”
The woman pulled Waverly along. “Asshole!”
“Back off!” Matt said.
“I got your phone number off the dog’s collar!” Lane said.
They watched Waverly and his mistress step off the grass and onto the sidewalk. The owner’s angry heels made an important announcement as she walked away.
“Is your hand okay?” Matt asked.
Lane held up a tattered sleeve. “Waverly got my shirt but she doesn’t know that.”
“Are those foxes endangered?”
“I don’t know, but neither does she. I just made her believe what I wanted her to believe.”
“I’ve never seen you bluff like that,” Matt said and he smiled. “Those kits sure did a number on poor old Waverly. Just like you did with his owner.”
“Lane?” Arthur asked.
Lane opened his eyes. His tongue felt like a beach towel.
Arthur, lit by soft shadows from the bedside light, had the phone in his hand. “It’s Cam Harper.” He handed the phone to Lane.
Lane closed his eyes, opened them and thought, How come I didn’t hear the phone ring? “Cam?”
Harper said, “Sorry it’s so late. Roberta King’s house is burning. The fire department just arrived. Initial reports say the house burned from the outside in. I need you and Detective Saliba to meet me at the scene.”
“Thirty minutes?” Lane asked.
“Thanks.” Harper hung up.
“What is it?” Arthur asked.
“The woman we interviewed today. Her house is on fire.” Lane pulled on pants and a shirt.
He phoned Keely before he left.
Lane pulled up to the scene. The flashing blue-and-red lights, the roar of engines pumping water and the heat of the fire on his face took him back to the night his own former home burned. He stepped outside o
f the Jeep and saw Keely waving him over. How’d she get here so fast? He saw that she had her nightie tucked into a pair of jeans and was wearing sandals. She’s back with Dylan.
“I just got here.” She pointed to one of the fire trucks. “Deputy Chief Harper is over there talking to one of the firefighters.”
Lane sniffed and caught the stink of gasoline. “Any sign of Roberta or Wally?”
“None.” Keely shook her head. Her eyes were black with rage when she said, “Roberta didn’t deserve this.”
Harper walked toward them. He shook their hands. “The captain says the house was fully engulfed when they arrived. The outside of the house went up first and there is a strong smell of a petroleum accelerant in the air. He’s going to have to wait for the arson unit’s investigative report, but he suspects someone created a perimeter of fuel around the house.”
Lane looked at the houses near to the burning shell of Roberta’s home. Roofs steamed while fire hoses wet them down. The nearest neighbours were sitting on a city bus as firefighters fought to stop the fire from spreading. All but one of the other houses on the street had its lights on. Most homes had faces in the windows. One bungalow had a light on in a back room. Lane walked toward the house.
“Where are you going?” Keely asked.
“I think we know who lives there.” Lane pointed at the bungalow.
Keely and Harper followed.
Lane strode up the front walk, took the concrete stairs two at a time, rang the bell and then pounded the door with his palm. He kept banging until the front light came on.
The front door opened. The woman wore a blue housecoat, curlers, blue slippers, three chins, makeup and an attitude.
Lane didn’t smile. “I’m Detective Lane.”
The woman shrugged and rolled her eyes.
“Did you see anything, Ms. Pike?” Lane asked.
“Not a thing.” She shut the door in his face.
“A real sweetheart,” Harper said.
“She’s afraid,” Keely said.
Lane and Harper stared at her.
“Isn’t it obvious to you two?” Keely asked.
“No,” Lane said.
“She’s afraid of what her son did to Roberta King and could do to her,” Keely said.
“How do you know that?” Harper asked.
“I just know, the same way Lane just knows when he’s getting close to a killer,” Keely said.
Harper turned to Lane and asked, “Why did you go after Pike’s mother like that?”
“Just wanted to give Pike, Moreau and the gang the message that I’m knocking on their door. I’m coming after them.” Lane turned back to Roberta King’s house. Its roof collapsed and a shower of sparks burst into the sky.
Harper pointed at his chest. “Don’t you mean we’re coming after them?”
Mary woke up. Her leg ached. She opened her eyes to the soft green light of the alarm clock.
“Zander!” Russell’s voice was oddly childlike as he lived the recurring nightmare.
Mary moved away from him in case he connected with one of his flailing arms or legs. He was on his back, his legs and arms working the way Joshua’s often did.
“It was Kev and Pike!”
Mary slipped out of the bed and turned on the light.
Russell’s eyes were closed. His fingers were rolling up into fists. “They told me it was no big deal!”
Mary stood there, feeling familiar helplessness.
“I thought it would be okay!”
Mary heard Joshua crying.
“They said they wouldn’t hurt you!”
Mary went to the door and opened it.
“They said you wouldn’t be hurt!” Russell said.
Mary watched the sweat roll down her husband’s face. Anger and self-loathing made her chest tight, and she felt the familiar heat of indigestion. I should have made you move away when we were first married. We could have left the city. We would have been free of Moreau. Now you’re tied to him. Joshua’s crying became more intense as she closed the door behind her. She left the light on. Remember, you can walk away. You did it before. You left your parents before the booze could drink you up. To save Joshua, you might have to do it again.
WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 10
chapter 10
“Want to go to Matt’s hockey game tonight?” Lane asked.
Arthur sniffed the air in their kitchen. “What is that?”
“It’s me. I smell like smoke. Another person who might tell us more about Kev Moreau has conveniently died.”
“So, what are you going to do?” Arthur poured himself a cup of coffee.
Lane thought, Why not? “I think it’s time to pay Mr. Moreau a visit.”
“You think that’s wise?” Arthur poured a cup for Lane.
“You don’t?” Lane accepted the cup and began to add cream and sugar.
“I don’t. From what you’ve told me about Moreau, he’s very consistent when it comes to dealing with threats.” Arthur sat down at the table.
“You think I’m poking him with a stick?” Lane asked.
“Something like that. He’s predictable and he’s ruthless. And it seems he’s willing to do whatever he needs to do to distance himself from the killing of Zander Rowe. Of course, the obvious conclusion is that Moreau killed the boy. And from the articles in the newspaper and that magazine, it’s logical to conclude that Moreau has a rather sizable ego.”
“And?” Lane asked.
“If you are able to link him to the killing of Zander Rowe, Moreau’s freshly minted image will be destroyed. The city will forgive a reformed bad boy. It will not forgive someone who was involved in the execution of a child.” Arthur lifted his cup to his lips.
“So I should leave him alone?” Lane felt his anger taking hold.
“I didn’t say that. What I’m saying is that Moreau has been successful doing what he does for many years. To take him on, you need to be proactive.” Arthur looked directly at his partner.
Lane opened his mouth and closed it again. I hate it when he’s right. “The problem is that we don’t have physical evidence or witness statements to tie him to the crimes.”
“You’re forgetting who Moreau is dealing with.”
“What do you mean?”
“You and Keely won’t give up. You’ve already proven that. Don’t be surprised if Moreau is aware of your reputations.” Arthur took another sip of coffee.
Lane and Keely walked single file along the wooden planks leading up to the front step of a nearly finished home. It was situated on a lot in an established neighbourhood close to the centre of town.
They reached the concrete stairs, and Lane stepped up. Keely followed, and they turned to take in the surrounding activity. A bricklayer was working his way around a pillar supporting an overhanging roof protecting the front entrance to the two-storey home. The red bricks reached about halfway up the pillar. At the curb, the finish of a metallic black Mercedes salon car glittered in the summer sun.
None of the men made eye contact with the detectives.
Lane turned toward the door.
“Lori figured we’d find him here.” Keely stepped up to the door with its sandblasted glass. She opened the door, and Lane followed her inside.
The front foyer had tiled flooring and an open ceiling. The stairway had wrought-iron railings and allowed anyone going up the stairs to look down on the foyer.
Lane led the way into a combination kitchen and family room where Kev Moreau wore a grey golf shirt and black slacks. He was peeling bills from a wad of cash and placing them in the hand of a man who wore a white T-shirt and tan-coloured bib overalls. Both men turned when they saw Lane and Keely.
For an instant, Lane saw anger in Moreau’s green eyes. Then Moreau smiled. “What can I do for the city’s finest?”
Lane sensed Moreau’s confidence, but there was underlying anger in the way he folded up the cash and slipped it back into his pocket. Lane said, “I’m Detective Lane and th
is is Detective Saliba.”
Moreau looked at the workman. “I’ll get back to you.”
The workman nodded, went out the back door, stepped onto the deck and disappeared around the side of the house.
Moreau turned toward the detectives and opened his arms. “How do you like the house? I designed it from the ground up.”
Lane looked at the nine-foot ceilings and the walls painted seafoam green. The floor was naturally finished birch, the kitchen appliances stainless steel and the countertop black granite. Everything fit together perfectly. “Very nice.”
“We were wondering if you could tell us what you know about the disappearance of Zander Rowe,” Keely asked.
“And the murder of Lionel Birch,” Lane added.
“Did you hear about the death of your former English teacher, Roberta King?” Keely continued.
Moreau smiled. “Zander Rowe disappeared more than ten years ago. I went to high school with his brother and with Lionel Birch. Ms. King, yes, she was my English teacher in high school.” He turned his back on them and looked out the windows along the north wall of the house. “What do you think of the way the light works in this room?” He turned and walked between the detectives.
Lane caught the scent of lavender.
“Come on up and I’ll show you the rest.” Moreau did not look behind him as he kicked off his loafers and climbed the stairs. He waited for Lane and Keely to do the same.
The steps were carpeted with thick nylon broadloom. Lane thought, He could have done better than beige. Still, we’ll play along, then hit him with another question. He followed Moreau up to the top of the stairs where the entrepreneur waited and looked down on the foyer.
“The master bedroom has walk-in closets.” Moreau led them into a spacious room with plenty of light and an attached bathroom with a Jacuzzi and separate shower.
Lane began again. “Zander Rowe’s body was discovered in a building that was leased to your grandfather.”
Moreau crossed his arms and stood with his feet shoulder width apart. “That’s correct. The building used to belong to my grandfather, and yes, I worked for my grandfather for a year. I can assure you I had nothing to do with the tragedies that happened to these people. I think it’s obvious I’m being very forthcoming with both of you. I’m hoping you will find whoever is responsible for these crimes.” He looked directly at Lane.
