Foxed

by Garry Ryan

  But there has been a very subtle change in your tone of voice. You’re saying the right words, you try to sound sincere, but I’m seeing none of it in your eyes. Lane asked, “How can we reach you when we have more questions?”

  Moreau reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a business card, handed it to Lane and said, “This one has my private number.”

  Lane took the card and handed Moreau one of his. “Just in case you have more to tell us. After all, Zander disappeared more than ten years ago. Memory can be a funny thing.”

  Moreau smiled and stuffed Lane’s card in his shirt pocket. “You’re right, of course.” He shifted his concentration to Keely. “Ms. Saliba and I are already acquainted. I hope you don’t mind if I get back to work. I need to get down to the restaurant.” His smile got wider. “Ever since I won the housing awards there has been enormous interest in my houses.”

  “The price is certainly right. How do you manage it?”

  Keely asked.

  Moreau tapped his temple with the forefinger of his right hand. “Business sense and people skills.” He stepped out of the bathroom, then out of the master bedroom and down the stairs.

  “And cash,” Lane said.

  Moreau almost tripped but grabbed the railing and righted himself.

  Lane saw a patch of red at the crown of Moreau’s head where his hair was thinning.

  In less than a minute, Lane and Keely were standing on the curb. The only evidence of their meeting with Moreau was the lingering scent of lavender mixed with the exhaust from his Mercedes.

  Lane looked around at the workers, who were watching the detectives. Sensing Keely’s anger, he said, “Hold onto it until we get to the car.” After Keely closed her door and put the keys in the ignition, she said, “The bastard thinks he’s untouchable.”

  “He may be right,” Lane said. “If he’s guilty, we have to tie him to the murder, and we’ve got nothing but dead witnesses.”

  “Don’t you get it?” Keely started the engine.

  “Get what?”

  She put her seat belt on. “Every time we look for a connection between Moreau and the death of Zander Rowe, someone dies. Don’t tell me you think it’s just a coincidence!”

  “No, but it does mean someone is very afraid of being connected to Zander’s murder.”

  “Still, he thinks he’s way too smart for us,” Keely said.

  “Then his arrogance is a weakness we can exploit. Did you see how he paid the workman in cash?”

  “Yes.” Keely shoulder-checked and turned on the Chev’s turn indicator.

  “The houses and the restaurants allow him to launder his cash. And he was a bit nervous when we walked in on the payment.”

  “So, you’re saying the confident arrogance is a front?” Keely asked.

  “That’s right.”

  Robert Rowe drank from a hose in the backyard of a house on the south side of Airdrie, a city just north of Calgary. It was the middle of the day and the neighbourhood was quiet. Most of the homeowners were at work in the bigger city. When Robert went to jail, Airdrie had been much smaller. Now he could see Calgary from here. He estimated that there were only two or three kilometres separating the two. “Almost there.” He lifted his cap and ran the water over his head.

  He lifted his eyes and wiped the water away from his face. He looked at the back step of the house. Someone had left a dandelion weeder on the second step. It had a forked metal tongue and a long wooden handle. Rowe dropped the hose and walked over to the step. He picked up the weeder. “This’ll do the job.”

  “How are things, Russ?” Moreau asked.

  Russell Lowell looked up from the oak table at Kev’s where he was finalizing an order of fresh fruits and vegetables. “Hello, Kev.”

  Kev Moreau still wore his grey golf shirt and black slacks. He pulled out a chair, turned it around and sat with his elbows resting on the chair’s back.

  “Everything okay?” Russell felt fear gnawing a hole in his belly.

  “Fine. Everything okay with you?” Kev smiled.

  “Fine. Good.” Russell looked over Kev’s shoulder at the etched glass doors opening up to a grotto Kev had designed. He remembered Kev saying it reminded him of the one in the Playboy Mansion.

  Kev leaned into Russell’s line of sight. “Mary and the little guy doing well?”

  “Fine. Just fine.”

  “I need to know that everything is good with you. This restaurant needs a top-notch chef and you’re it. Patrons keep telling me you’re the best in town. I like hearing that, and I need to keep on hearing that.”

  “Good to know.” Russell waited for what he knew would come next.

  Kev dismounted the chair, slapped Russell on the shoulder and said, “We gotta watch out for each other, you know. You and me, we’re family.”

  Russell ducked his head. “You know it.”

  “I’d be real disappointed if I found out something was going on and you knew about it before I found out.” Kev walked behind the bar and into the kitchen.

  Russell felt his stomach heave. He just made it to the bathroom before he spewed breakfast and lunch into one of the Italian marble sinks.

  Mary had her red hair tied back into a ponytail. She was throwing a load of wash into the machine when the doorbell rang.

  She added detergent, closed the door and started the machine. As she walked across the kitchen, her feet felt cool against the tile. She listened to hear whether Joshua was stirring from his nap.

  Mary opened the door.

  A smiling Stan Pike stood on the step. His close-cropped hair, grey golf shirt and black tailored slacks looked as if they’d just been pressed. His face was round and smiling. The smile caught her by surprise.

  “What’s the matter?” Mary looked over Pike’s shoulder and saw his mother sitting in the passenger seat of his Mercedes.

  “Mary.” Pike touched her arm.

  She caught the raw stink of gasoline and soap on him, and stepped back as his manicured fingers touched her flesh. The feeling of revulsion was overwhelming. Every year you look more and more like a miniature Kev Moreau. She tried to focus on his faux smile.

  “We’ve decided to transfer Josh to a safer location.” Pike smiled with his whitened teeth and opened his hands as if to show what he was doing was for the best and he held no weapons. He looked over his shoulder. “My mom will take good care of the baby. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

  Mary wrapped her arms around her ribs. “What’s this about?”

  “Just keeping everyone safe, nothing more.” Stan kept smiling as he looked past her.

  “I’ll keep my son safe.” Mary felt her hands forming fists.

  “We’ve got more experience at this kind of thing. Kev wants me to take care of the situation.” Stan let his hands fall to his sides. His smile was gone.

  “Like you and Kev took good care of Zander Rowe?”

  She saw his fist the instant before it broke her nose. The blow stunned her.

  Mary heard Pike when he said, “Bitch!”

  She felt her knees hit the marble floor. The toe of Pike’s shoe kicked her in the ribs, and she rolled up against the wall. For a minute, she couldn’t catch her breath. She inhaled, coughed and spit blood. Mary heard Stan’s shoes on tile and oak as he searched the main floor. Then she heard him as he ran up the stairs.

  Breathe! she thought. Mary got onto her knees and hands. She saw the blood from her nose spattering the floor and thought, I’ll clean that up in a minute. Mary stood up.

  Move! She went into the kitchen. Mary swallowed the vomit at the back of her throat. You’ve been hit before! You’ll survive. Move now or you’ll never see Joshua again!

  Mary was waiting at the bottom of the stairs when Pike appeared at the top with Joshua tucked under his arm like a football. Joshua looked at his mother. The baby’s trembling lower lip and wide eyes told her he was about to cry.

  “Move!” Pike said to Mary. This time he didn’t smile.


  Mary kept the kitchen knife hidden behind her right leg. She braced herself by putting her left foot in front of her right. She saw tears filling Joshua’s eyes. A tear dribbled down his cheek and fell onto the carpet. His mouth opened and he howled.

  “I guess you’re a slow learner.” Pike came down the stairs with Joshua held out at arm’s length.

  Joshua reached for his mother.

  Pike’s right foot reached the last step.

  His left foot stepped onto the slate.

  Mary glanced at Pike’s leg. Her right hand swung the knife so it went under Joshua’s feet. She felt the knife slow down as it cut into flesh. It stopped when the hilt and her fist hit Pike in the balls.

  Mary looked up.

  Pike’s face blanched.

  She released the knife handle.

  Pike took a step forward. He looked down.

  Mary reached for her son.

  Pike released Joshua and reached for his leg. Mary took her son. Not so strong now, Pike.

  Pike sat down on the bottom step and looked at her. “You bitch, you stabbed me. You know what that means, don’t you?” He looked at the erect knife sticking out of the inside of his thigh. He looked at the blood on the carpet and the floor. Pike pulled the knife out. Blood spurted in an arc through the tear in his slacks. His eyes followed that first spurt of blood. His heart pumped. There was another spurt. Stan Pike stared dumbly, waiting for the next arc of blood.

  Mary covered Joshua’s eyes and walked to the phone. She dialed 911 and set the phone on its back.

  She looked over her shoulder at Pike. He was slumped against the wall with his hand covering the wound. Blood soaked through his fingers, ran down his leg and along the instep of his shoe.

  “An ambulance is on its way.” Mary held her son closer, leaned over and put on her shoes. She walked into the kitchen, grabbed a baby bottle of milk from the fridge, picked up a handful of fresh diapers, stuffed the diapers and milk into a bag, grabbed Joshua’s favourite blanket and walked out the back door. The stroller was on the deck. She put Joshua in the seat and strapped him in.

  I need to call Russ and warn him. Mary eased the stroller down the steps and moved to the side of the house. She peered over the fence and around the corner. Pike’s mother sat in the car, staring at the front door.

  Joshua put one end of the nylon seat belt in his mouth.

  Sirens sounded in the distance.

  Ms. Pike looked over her shoulder.

  The sirens moved closer.

  Ms. Pike got out of the passenger door, walked around the front of the Mercedes and opened the driver’s door.

  The fire engine was the first to arrive. It pulled up behind Pike’s black Mercedes.

  The firefighter stepped out of the cab as the Mercedes drove away. Another firefighter pointed at the car. The others stopped to look as Pike’s mother drove away.

  Mary pushed the stroller down the driveway to the sidewalk. She turned left and walked away from her home.

  A police cruiser approached with headlights and emergency lights flashing.

  Mary knelt behind the stroller, reached for Joshua’s diaper bag and hid her face behind the baby.

  The cruiser passed her and blocked the road behind the fire engine.

  Mary opened a package of baby wipes and used one to wipe the blood from her face and where the blood had spattered her feet and shins. Stars appeared in front of her eyes when she wiped the blood from her nose. She wiped her hands, stood up and walked down the street. An ambulance flashed past her twenty seconds later. The wind from its wake helped evaporate the moisture on her face. She checked her purse and realized that her phone was still in the kitchen. Get Joshua away from here, then phone Russell, she thought.

  Russell placed a garnish of cilantro on shrimp flambéed in a butter, garlic and whiskey sauce. He cringed when four fingernails and a thumb dug painfully into the flesh between his shoulder and neck.

  “We need to talk,” Kev Moreau said.

  Russell saw the black of Kev’s pupils and felt a clenching just under his ribs as he turned to follow Moreau.

  Moreau kept an office at the back of the kitchen. He opened the door for Russell and closed the door behind them.

  “Sit down,” Moreau growled. It was the sound a predator makes at the back of its throat when it is about to attack.

  Russell sat in front of a desk made of polished Argentinean wood. Kev had bought the black mesquite desk in southern California and had it shipped north. It took six of us to haul this desk from the truck into the office, Russell thought. Kev sat behind the desk in a black leather chair, rubbing his hands over the polished wood surface.

  Russell looked at the poster Kev had made of his cover on City Insider magazine. It was three times the size of the regular Kev. “We’ve got a bit of a situation. Pike and his mom went over to your place with a gift for the baby. His mom just called me. The police showed up at your house, so she had to leave without Pike.”

  Russell shook his head. “What are you talking about? Are Mary and Joshua okay?”

  “Now I’m hearing is that Mary’s not in the house, the baby is gone and Pike is dead.” Kev leaned forward, his green eyes focused on Russell.

  Russell looked to Moreau’s right. He saw the cardboard filing boxes stacked in the corner. He remembered the day Moreau had called him into the office and reached into the top box. Moreau pulled out stacks of twenty- and fifty-dollar bills. Kev had set them on the desk, placed the money in two grocery bags and said, “This should cover the cost of furniture for the new house with a bit left over. I always take care of my people.”

  Russell looked at Moreau.

  “Where would Mary go? To her mother’s?” Kev asked.

  “I don’t think so. And she hasn’t called me. I don’t know where she is.” Russell stared at the dark surface of the desk.

  “You know that if you hear anything, I’m the first person you should talk to. Right?” Moreau tapped the top of the desk with the index finger of his right hand.

  Russell nodded. “Right.”

  “Good. We need to count on one another. Just remember, I’ve got your back.” Kev pushed his chair back and stood.

  Russell also stood and walked out the door. He felt a drop of sweat running down his spine. He went back to the table to finish the order but couldn’t focus on the paper. He kept wondering why Pike and his mom had gone to see Mary in the first place.

  “You coming to my game tonight? It’s an early one.” Matt wasn’t able to keep the expectation from his voice.

  “Seven o’clock, right?” Lane asked. Ever since you got that new phone, I hear from you at least twice a day. He looked out the window of the Chev. Lane saw the dual wheels of a semi in the next lane.

  “See you there.” Matt hung up.

  Lane’s phone rang again immediately. He looked over at Keely, who accelerated along Glenmore Trail and across the causeway. On his left he could see the sails of boats scattered across the width and breadth of the reservoir.

  He tapped the face of the phone with his thumb and put it to his ear. “Hello?”

  “It’s Harper.”

  “Oh, Cam, what’s new?” Lane asked.

  “I need you and Keely to head over to an address in the northwest. Stan Pike is the initial ID on the deceased. First reports indicate it’s a homicide. The forensics unit is on its way.” Harper gave Lane the address.

  “How come you’re calling me directly?” Lane asked, then looked at Keely. He pointed at an approaching interchange and indicated that she needed to turn right.

  “Stan Pike’s brother is on the force. I need to know as much as possible about Pike’s death, and I need it right away. The information needs to come directly from someone I trust.” Harper hung up.

  Lane turned to Keely. “We need go to Nose Hill Drive. I’ll direct you from there.” Twenty minutes later, they pulled up in front of a two-storey house overlooking the river valley and the mountains. An ambulance
and police cruisers were parked out front, blocking the driveway. Keely parked in front of a house at the neck of the cul-de-sac. She nodded in the direction of the house where the body was found. “Who owns the house?”

  “Not sure yet,” Lane said. They got out of the car and looked ahead at the home with an open front door. “If it’s Pike who’s dead, then the game has changed. Things could get even more vicious from here on in.”

  “I thought it was pretty vicious already.” Keely walked beside him.

  “Pike is Moreau’s man. If Moreau was getting itchy when we started looking into Zander Rowe’s disappearance, he’ll be scratching now and his claws will come out. Moreau’s a predator. His instinctual reaction is to eliminate threats. We have to be ready for almost anything.” Lane gestured for Keely to go first as they passed the ambulance with its open back doors. A female staff sergeant with black braided hair approached them. “Stephens, this is Keely Saliba.”

  Staff Sergeant Kaye Stephens offered a hand to Keely. “Good to meet you, Detective.”

  “Likewise,” Keely said.

  Stephens nodded in the direction of the open front door. “It was open when the firefighters arrived. They could see he was dead: eyes open, pupils fixed and dilated. I took a look inside the door and could see who it was. So I told everybody else to back off until you could get here.”

  “The forensics unit is on its way. Mind if we take a peek?” Lane asked.

  “Up to you. It looks like he was stabbed in the leg. My bet is it was a woman who got him.”

  “What makes you think that?” Keely asked.

  “Pike was cut high up on the thigh. It’s hard to tell for certain with all the blood, but it appears he was stabbed close to the balls. Looks like a woman’s work to me.” Stephens waited for a comeback from Keely.

  Keely frowned. “Pike is — or was — Moreau’s right-hand man, right?”