by Garry Ryan
Lane moved closer to the front door while listening to the conversation.
Stephens said, “That’s right.”
“This is his house, then?”
Stephens shook her head. “It’s owned by Mary and Russell Lowell.”
“Who are they?”
“Not sure at this point.”
“Anybody else in the house?” Keely asked.
“I checked for any other victims. I used the back entrance.
That door was left open too. The house was empty except for Pike.” Stephens looked sideways at Keely.
Lane stood on the sidewalk and looked inside the front door. The smell of blood sneaked outside. Pike was sitting on the bottom stair of a two-metre-wide staircase. His head leaned against the wall. His eyes stared at something to Lane’s left. The blood pooled under Pike’s bloody hands, as if he’d tried to stem the flow. A black-handled carving knife lay in the blood pool running from the steps to beyond Pike’s extended left leg. His right shoe was filled with blood.
Keely stood next to Stephens. “What did you find when you went inside?”
“Baby’s room upstairs. No baby. Coffee pot still on in the kitchen. Cell phone on the kitchen table. A load of wash just finished before you got here. The washer’s buzzer scared the shit out of me when I walked past the laundry-room door. Nothing downstairs. No car in the garage. No baby stroller.” Stephens looked at Lane as he turned around.
He said, “Look’s like the knife severed the femoral artery. If the artery was cut at an angle, exsanguination might take two minutes.”
“Exsanguination? Speak English, Detective,” Stephens said.
Lane turned to face the staff sergeant. “We need to get confirmation from forensics but there is separate blood spatter on the floor. It’s away from the main pool by Pike. If it’s another blood type, then we have a better idea of what happened here.”
The Forensic Crime Scene Unit van pulled up and parked in the driveway of the neighbour’s house.
Dr. Colin Weaver looked in their direction, appeared not to see them and began to shimmy his way into a white bunny suit.
Stephens looked at Lane. “You and Weaver still have a problem after that racist remark he made to your niece?”
“Actually, things have been pretty good lately.”
“Pretty good? The guy can’t do enough for you. Fibre always takes real good care of his friend Detective Lane,” Keely said.
“You’re kidding, right?” Stephens asked.
“Not at all.” Keely smiled.
Fibre approached with his eyes on the ground.
“Colin?” Lane asked.
Fibre raised his head. He had three days of stubble on his face. “The fire at the King home was deliberately set. An accelerant was used to surround the house. And, yes, Roberta King died in the fire. Dental records confirm it. Also, it looks like two shots killed Zander Rowe. One shot to the head and another to the heart.” Fibre used his usual monotone before stepping between them and walking toward the house without a word of apology.
Lane caught the scent of body odour and unwashed clothes. He’s usually clean shaven and smelling of soap. “When did you get the results?”
“Yesterday.” Fibre stopped and set a plastic forensic tool kit on the step.
“How come you didn’t phone me?”
Fibre turned to Lane. “I forgot.”
“Really? That’s not like you.” Keely crossed her arms under her breasts.
Fibre looked at his feet. “Where’s the body?”
“Just inside the door.” Lane moved close and glanced to the right to direct Fibre toward the body.
“I need to talk to you —” Fibre lifted his eyes to look directly at Lane “— after.”
Fifteen minutes later, Fibre’s team arrived. They pulled on their bunny suits and walked silently up the steps and into the house.
“What did Fibre mean about wanting to talk with you?” Keely sipped coffee while she watched the forensics team work through the open front door.
“You know as much as I do.” Lane sipped a black coffee and wondered where he could find some cream and sugar.
“So, what’s next?” Keely asked.
“What do you mean?”
“This is murder number four if we include Roberta King. What do you think we need to do to get ahead of Kev Moreau?” Keely watched Lane from over top the rim of her coffee cup.
“This murder is different from the others. Pike was at the top of the Moreau hierarchy. None of the other killings were this close to Moreau.” Lane watched Fibre come through the front door. Dr. Weaver stepped down the front stairs. At the sidewalk, he waved at Lane and pointed at the Chev.
“Talk to me.” Fibre walked past them. Keely and Lane followed. Fibre waited for them to unlock the car before getting in the back and shutting the door. Lane got into the front seat on the passenger side. Keely got in behind the wheel and closed the door. Fibre pulled his white hood back then combed his hair with his fingers. “I’m in trouble.” Lane looked at Keely, who made an almost imperceptible shrug of the shoulders.
“What kind of trouble?” Lane caught the intensely sour smell of Fibre’s atypical lack of hygiene.
Fibre looked out the side window. “I’m going to be a father. The mother wants child support.”
I would never have guessed that was what Fibre was about to say. “When is the child due?”
“Children. It’s a multiple birth. The mother was on fertility drugs. We met at a convention in Seattle. She invited me to her hotel room. We had sex. Lots of sex.” Dr. Weaver did not smile.
“How many children?” Keely asked.
“Three.” Fibre stared out the side window again.
“What do you want to do?” Lane asked.
Fibre focused on Lane before he answered. “Be a father.”
“Where does the mother live?” Keely asked.
“Here. In the city.”
Keely looked at Lane.
“What kind of help can I give you?” Lane asked.
“She invited you up to her room?” Keely asked.
Fibre nodded.
“Where were you when that happened?” Keely asked.
“I was eating dinner in the hotel restaurant and she asked if she could join me. We finished dinner. Then we went for a walk.” Fibre watched Keely more intently.
“She told you she was on fertility drugs?” Keely asked as she looked at Lane.
“Not until she phoned this week,” Fibre said.
Lane frowned and asked Keely, “What are you saying?”
Keely looked at Fibre. “Had you met the woman before the convention?”
“At the university. Sometimes I’d see her at lectures or readings.” Fibre frowned and looked from Lane to Keely. “Why are you asking me these questions?”
“Just a few more. She ever talk to you?” Keely asked.
Fibre nodded. “Sometimes.”
“You ever talk with her?” Keely asked.
Fibre blushed. “I’m not very good at conversation.”
“Is she married?” Keely asked.
“No.”
“Then why was she on fertility drugs?” Keely raised her eyebrows. Fibre looked at Lane.
Keely said, “There is a very high probability that she planned to meet you at the convention and that she planned on getting pregnant.”
“Planned?” Fibre asked.
“Yes, planned,” Lane said.
“She was hot for you.” Keely pointed at Fibre. “It’s very probable that she wanted to get pregnant, and she made sure she found you at the convention.”
“Why?” Fibre looked at Keely in stunned amazement.
“Dr. Weaver, you’re apparently not aware of it, but you are a very attractive man,” Keely said.
“I am?” Fibre leaned to look at his face in the rear-view mirror.
“Are you rich?” Keely asked.
Fibre’s lips pursed and his eyebrows met as he considered th
e question.
“How much money do you have in the bank?” Keely asked.
Lane thought, She’s good with him. Blunt when she needs to be and gentle when need be.
“Today?” Fibre asked.
“What do you mean?” Keely asked.
“How much money do I have today?” He frowned and appeared to do a mental calculation.
“How much money did you have yesterday?” she asked.
“My lawyer says I shouldn’t divulge that information.” Fibre crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat.
“You asked us for help,” Keely said.
“Enough. That’s all I’m going to say about my finances.” Fibre closed his mouth tight.
Keely looked at Lane.
My turn! Lane said, “You have a lawyer, so make an appointment. Find out what the woman . . . What’s her name?”
“Gaia. It means Earth Mother in some cultures.”
Lane looked at Fibre to see whether he was going to continue, but Fibre closed his mouth again and looked out the window. “Ask your lawyer to find out what Gaia wants. When are the babies due?”
“In four months.”
“Do you have a house?” Lane asked.
Fibre frowned.
“How many houses do you have?” Lane asked.
“Ummmm.”
“Can you afford to buy a house big enough for three babies and a full-time nanny?” Lane asked.
Fibre considered the question.
Let him do the math. He’s probably better at it than I am, Lane thought.
“Yes.” Fibre looked out the window again.
“So you can afford to take care of the kids on your own if you need to. All you have to do is find out what this Gaia wants. Let your lawyer work it out for you. Just make it clear that you want to play a big part in the lives of your children.” Lane tapped the back of his seat to get Fibre to look at him.
A frown lined Fibre’s forehead as he turned to Lane. “That’s all I have to do?”
Lane shrugged. “Well, yeah. That’s all for now. Pretty soon you’ll be a very busy man.”
Fibre rubbed his nose. He closed his eyes and inhaled.
Now that that’s taken care of, I bet he’ll shift right back to the case, Lane thought.
Fibre wrinkled his nose. “I smell bad. About the deceased. His ID says that he is Stanley Pike. It appears the femoral artery was cut at an angle. He may have bled to death in less than two minutes. Also, I took scrapings from under his fingernails. There was the lingering odour of what might be gasoline on his hands and shoes.”
“Do you think he set the fire at Roberta King’s house?” Keely asked.
“I’m going to take samples from the accelerants used at the King fire and compare them with the residue on Pike’s hands and shoes to see if they’re similar. Also, I have his wristwatch. It smelled strongly of gasoline; the strap was saturated with it. We may have a link between the two crimes.” Fibre reached to open the door.
“Where are you going?” Keely asked.
Fibre looked back at her. “To phone my lawyer.” He opened his door. There was the scream of brakes and a horn blasted the inside of the Chev. Fibre closed his door. “Oh my goodness.”
Keely looked over her shoulder as a man of about thirty climbed out of the car that had nearly hit the doctor.
“What happened?” Fibre asked.
Lane opened his door, got out, looked over the roof of the car and asked, “Is there a problem?”
The young man was as tall as Lane and wearing a chef’s white jacket. He said, “That’s my house!” He pointed at the open front door where Pike’s body was being manoeuvred outside on a gurney. The body was covered with a red blanket.
“What is your name?” Lane asked.
“Mary? What happened to Mary?” the man asked as he stood paralyzed.
“The victim is a male.” Lane watched the young man’s eyes look right and left.
“Where’s Mary? Where’s Josh?” The man tried to walk around Lane.
Lane put his hand up. “What’s your name?”
“Russell Lowell. I live in that house with Mary and Joshua.” Russell attempted to push Lane’s hand away.
Lane stepped in front of Russell. “There was only one person found in the house. The body is not your wife’s or your son’s. You can’t go in there right now.”
Russell shook his head. “Where are they?”
Lane watched Fibre get out of the back seat and walk to the FCSU van.
“We don’t know that. All we do know is that a man bled to death at the bottom of the stairs, just inside your front door.” Lane watched as Keely came around to the other side of Russell.
“Who is the dead man?” Russell asked.
Lane thought, This might help us. “Perhaps you could help us with identification. Are you willing?”
Keely opened her mouth to say something and stopped when Lane glared at her.
Russell looked at his house and the body being loaded into the back of an ordinary-looking red minivan parked beside the larger blue-and-white FCSU van. “Okay.”
Lane walked on one side of Russell, Keely on the other. When they got to the van, Lane faced the driver. “We need to take a look at the victim.”
The driver of the red minivan was about forty, wore a white shirt and jeans and played with the keys. “I’m supposed to deliver this one right away for an autopsy.”
Lane ignored the driver and untucked the red blanket, revealing the face of the victim and his open-eyed stare.
Russell asked, “Was there a gift near Pike’s body?”
“A what?” Lane asked.
Russell looked away from the corpse. “We used to joke because Pike had his own tanning bed so that he could look more like Moreau. But Moreau was almost a foot taller.” He looked at Lane and continued. “I told Kev he had nothing to worry about, that I would keep my mouth shut. But Kev always needs to have insurance.”
Listen to him carefully. Let him ramble if he wants, Lane thought.
Russell turned away from the body.
Lane and Keely followed him.
Lane heard the gurney sliding over the floor of the van. Then the rear door shut.
“Who has nothing to worry about?” Keely asked.
Russell looked at her. He shook his head. “No one.”
“If we find Mary and Joshua safe, will you talk with us then?” Lane asked.
Russell shrugged and walked toward his house.
“Why did you ask if there was a gift by the body?” Lane called after Russell, who stood at the foot of the stairs and looked inside of his house.
Keely leaned close to Lane. “Sorry. I thought I could get him to talk.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Lane’s phone rang. He picked it out of his pocket. “Lane.”
“Harper.”
There’s something wrong. It’s in his voice.
“Lane, Jessica’s missing,” Harper said.
“What?” Lane asked.
“Erinn took her shopping. She thought Jessica was right behind her. We’ve turned the mall upside down. Jessica is gone.”
“What happened?” Keely asked.
Lane held up his left hand.
“Find out if Arthur, Christine and Matt are all right,” Harper said and hung up.
“What?” Keely asked.
Lane continued to hold up his left hand while he dialed with his right. “Arthur?”
“Are you going to be home for supper?” Arthur asked.
“Where are the kids?” Lane asked.
“Christine and Dan are downstairs watching TV. Matt’s gone to his hockey game. Remember, he asked us to go. What’s the matter?” Arthur asked.
Think!
“Lane?” Arthur asked.
“I’ll call you back.” Lane tapped the face of the phone with his thumb and looked at Keely. “We have to go.” He dialed Matt’s cell. It rang three times. The connection opened and closed. Lane dialed again. It rang five m
ore times before a recorded voice said, “The customer you are calling is not available.” Lane dialed the number of the dispatcher, then turned to Keely. “You drive.”
“Calgary . . .” the dispatcher said.
“I need units at the Crowchild hockey arena,” Lane said and gave her the address. Then he looked at Keely. “You need to call your family.”
It was a fifteen-minute drive to the twin arenas. Keely got them there in ten. Three cruisers were already on the scene with their lights flashing. They blocked each of the exits to a brown-and-grey building near the crest of a hill.
Keely stopped at the front door and followed him. He pulled the arena door open and checked the arena assignments on the whiteboard. Matt’ll be in net and it’ll all be okay. He turned right, walked through a second set of doors and into the rink area. The cold, dry air enveloped him. A goalie was in net at this end. His helmet was a solid blood red. Lane stepped up into the stands so he could see the other net from above the distortion of the Plexiglas. The other net was empty. He ran to the second arena. The Zamboni was layering a fresh coat on the ice. Lane ran down the hallway, pushing and pounding each of the dressing room doors. Only two were opened. At the first, startled players looked up as he asked, “Is Matt here?” They shook their heads. The reaction was much the same at the second dressing room.
Outside, they found Matt’s equipment bag in the back of the Jeep.
Keely interviewed the members of Matt’s team and then the opposition. No one had seen him arrive. No one had seen him leave.
Lane found himself standing outside the front doors staring at the Jeep where it was parked under a street lamp.
A uniformed officer parked his car behind the Jeep.
What am I going to say to Arthur?
The officer got out of the cruiser and tied yellow tape around the light pole, then tied the tape to the mirror of the cruiser. He moved to the left. In another minute, the Jeep was bordered by a triangle of tape.
I saw Zander’s body in that hole.
The officer looked at Lane and nodded as if to say, We’re with you on this one.
I saw what happened to Lionel Birch.
Keely walked up and said, “We’ve talked to all of the players and the guy who works the rink.”
Lane closed his eyes. When he opened them, he asked, “Are your mother, father, brother and Dylan okay?”
