by Garry Ryan
“I’m going to throw up.” Matt noted two extra clips of ammunition in pouches attached to the devil’s belt.
“Take a few deep breaths,” the devil said.
“I tried that.” Matt swallowed hard.
The devil pulled out a knife, flicked it open, leaned over Matt, released one hand and then the other.
Matt sat up. His hands began to tingle as the feeling returned. The tingling turned to pain.
The devil stepped back, drew his pistol and said, “Undo your feet.”
Matt undid the knot. His fingertips clawed dumbly at the webbing at first, then succeeded in loosening the nylon.
When Matt finished, the devil said, “It’s on your right. Leave the door open.”
Matt tried to walk but stumbled into the wall.
The devil waited.
Matt leaned against the wall with his right shoulder to support him as he shuffled down the hall.
He turned on the light in the bathroom and knelt on the floor. He lifted the lid.
He heard a child’s voice. “Matt?”
Jessica! His stomach heaved and he vomited.
THURSDAY, AUGUST 11
chapter 11
Matt woke to a child crying in the adjacent bedroom. He opened his eyes and studied the room he was in. The walls and ceiling were beige. There was a closet with no doors. The window faced north, and reflected sunlight illuminated the floral curtains. He slept on a single mattress set atop a lightbrown nylon carpet.
He turned to study the door. The hinges were on the outside. There was a deadbolt lock above the doorknob. He licked his lips. God, I need to pee.
He looked at the contusions on his wrists and wondered where the nylon webbing had gone.
The child’s crying was a constant wailing, a wounded sound.
He sat up with his back against the wall. He used his elbows to pound against the drywall.
The crying went on uninterrupted.
The deadbolt lock slid open.
Matt turned to face the door.
The doorknob turned, and the devil’s head looked down on him. “Need to take a leak?”
“Yes.” Matt stood and then leaned against the wall when whirlpools of nausea made his head spin. After a moment, it cleared and he walked out of the bedroom.
The sound of crying was magnified as he walked by the doorway on his right.
The devil followed Matt, pounded on the door as he passed and yelled, “Shut up!”
The crying slowed. A child’s voice said, “I want my daddy!”
It is Jessica, Matt thought. He looked down the hall at the TV. A baseball player stood up to the plate. A pair of wireless headphones sat on a coffee table.
“Come on. Leave the bathroom door open,” the devil said.
Matt thought, Sit down and think! Jessica began to cry again.
The devil leaned his back against the wall. “That fuckin’ kid!”
Matt dropped his pants, sat down and thought. If Jessica’s crying is driving this guy crazy, then use it.
“Hurry up!” The devil looked down the hall at the TV and the headphones.
Take your time and see what happens.
The devil turned to Matt. “You said you needed to take a fuckin’ leak!”
Matt dropped his head and looked at the beige linoleum. On the way back to your room, make your move.
“Hurry up, goddammit!” the devil said.
Matt reached for the handle on the toilet tank and flushed. He pulled up his pants and washed his face and hands. Take your time! He’ll get edgier.
“Come on!” The devil put his hand on the grip of his pistol.
Matt stepped through the doorway.
The devil looked at Jessica’s door.
Matt said, “I could keep her quiet for you.”
“What?” the devil asked.
“Put her in the same room as me, and I’ll keep her quiet.”
The devil kept his hand on the butt of his gun. He took a moment to consider. “No funny stuff?”
Matt shook his head and looked at the floor. “No.”
The devil stepped back so that Matt could enter his room.
Matt stepped inside.
The devil’s hand shoved Matt between the shoulder blades. The door locked behind Matt. The crying intensified, then stopped. A minute later, Matt heard the sound of a key in the lock again. He stood up.
The door opened and Jessica was pushed inside.
“No funny stuff!” the devil warned.
“Matt?” Jessica grabbed Matt around the thighs and hugged him.
“I said none of that!” The devil bolted the door.
Five minutes later, Jessica was asleep in Matt’s arms. She slept with her right hand in his. He used his sleeve to wipe the tears and snot from her face. Her hair was matted. She wore a denim jumper and a pink T-shirt with a princess holding a wand. Her shoes flashed pink when they touched any surface. Even in sleep she was never completely still.
Matt closed his eyes. A train rattled along the river valley. It must be around seven in the morning. Remember, at home the train horn sounds around seven. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
“Matt?” Jessica asked and squeezed his hand.
Matt opened his eyes and looked at her. “It’s okay, Jessica. Go back to sleep.” How does she sense when I close my eyes?
Jessica’s hand relaxed in his.
He looked at her silver ear stud. She nagged her mom for six months before Erinn finally gave in and got Jessica’s ears pierced.
He licked his lips. Whatever they gave me made my mouth so dry. He looked up at the deadbolt lock. Be patient. Just be ready when the chance comes.
“We’ve been given paid leave. The chief says we’re too close to this.” Harper wore a black running suit and shoes. He sat across from Lane and next to Keely in Central Blends, just on the edge of downtown. The coffee shop had expanded into what used to be an adjacent ice cream parlour.
“All three of us?” Keely wore her working clothes: a dark suit jacket and slacks.
“Lane and me.” Harper pointed at his chest.
“So, what are you going to do next?” Keely asked.
“Find Jessica and Matt.” Harper gave her an enigmatic glance that made Keely uncomfortable.
“What else would we do?” Lane wore his charcoal jacket, a red tie and grey slacks.
“First thing we’re going to do is move to the other side of the coffee shop.” Keely nodded at Elaine, the red-haired barista behind the counter.
“It’s all yours,” Elaine said.
“What are you up to?” Lane got up with his coffee in one hand and a canvas bag in the other.
“Lori and I will be your department connection. That is assuming, of course, that you two want to be involved in the operation?” Keely picked up her cup, stood and walked through the doorway leading to the other side of the coffee shop.
Lane followed. “What operation?”
Keely sat on a bench where five tables ran along the south wall beneath black-and-white photographs taken in Nepal.
Lane sat down across from her. Harper sat next to him.
“How many phones do you have?” Keely asked.
“You know how many phones I have,” Lane said.
“Set them on the table, please.” Keely opened her purse.
Lane reached down for the canvas bag. He felt Harper’s hand on his arm.
“What’s the plan, Saliba?” Harper asked.
“You need manpower. We’ve got a number of cases to solve: the murders of Zander Rowe, Lionel Birch, Roberta King and Stan Pike. It’s likely that if we solve one, we’ll solve all of them. Right now, though, the priority for you two is finding Matt and Jessica. With the complexities involved, we need more people. Saadiq is only one man. He has lots of connections, but he’s not enough.”
Lane turned at the sound of a voice from the other room.
“Do you have soy milk for that?” Christine asked.
Harper agreed. “No way.”
“Listen to what they have to say and then decide,” Keely said.
Harper stood up. “It’s too dangerous.”
Keely grabbed him by the wrist. “Listen to what they have to say.”
Harper winced, and she released her grip. He sat back down, shaking his wrist.
It took ten minutes for all of the tea, coffee and muffins to arrive. By that time, ten bodies were gathered around three tables shoved together to form a wobbly square.
“How did you get here?” Harper asked his wife Erinn, who sat next to him.
She rubbed her extended belly. “I parked at one end of the shopping mall up on the hill. Then I caught a taxi here.”
“You?” Lane asked Christine and Daniel.
Daniel said, “We rode the LRT. No one got off at the stop except the two of us. So we just walked down the hill.”
Arthur said, “I drove downtown, parked at City Hall and got a ride here with Lori.”
“We were careful, but not as cautious as he was.” Lori nodded at Glenn, nephew of Harper and Erinn.
Glenn’s usually carefully gelled hair was stuck to his scalp. “I rode my bike.”
“There’s no way this can work. It’s too dangerous,” Harper said.
Lane nodded. “I don’t like it.”
“I don’t like it either. Someone thinks he can take Matt and Jessica and get away with it? No way,” Christine said. She had a tiny white moustache from the soymilk foam on top of her latte.
Erinn put her coffee down. She took a breath but her voice still shook. “Quite frankly —” she pointed at Harper and Lane “— this isn’t your call. Uniformed officers are watching both of our houses. They’re gonna be pissed at me because I ditched them. So what? They’ll get over it. I want my daughter back.” She pointed at Lane and Arthur. “You want Matt back. Jessica will be scared. I want her back sooner rather than later. Stop the bullshit and give me a job to do.”
“What’s my job gonna be? I want my brother back,” Christine said.
Lane opened his mouth to answer and closed it when he realized that she’d called Matt her brother. That’s a first.
“I’ll coordinate with Lori,” Arthur said.
“How will we communicate?” Glenn asked.
This time Arthur reached for the phones. “Each one has its number taped on the back. Under that are the names and numbers assigned to each of the other phones.” He picked one out and read the label. “This one’s yours, Erinn.” He handed it to her. “Keep your phones with you at all times. And make sure they’re always charged.”
“When did you do this?” Lane asked.
“While you slept last night.” Arthur handed a phone to Harper. “All of our numbers are on speed dial on each phone. Still, I suggest we memorize all ten numbers as soon as possible. And if you think your phone has been compromised, let someone know. We’ve got more.”
“You’ve got it all planned out already?” Harper asked.
Keely said, “Not all of it. We need you two to work out our first move. Arthur is running the command centre out of his house.”
There was a tapping on Mary’s door. She checked on Joshua, who had just fallen asleep again after a restless night. Then she got to her feet and opened the door.
A black-haired woman stood there. She wore a pair of blue working gloves, a sky-blue cotton sweatsuit, rubber boots and a tight perm. She asked, “You the girl who’s running from Kev Moreau?”
Mary looked down at her own borrowed T-shirt, grey flannel pajama bottoms and red toenails.
“I’m Rita, and I wanna keep an eye on you if that’s okay.” She backed up a step as if sensing Mary needed some space and time to think.
“How do you know about me?” Mary put her hands on her hips.
“I volunteer as a gardener. Sometimes people who work here talk and forget their windows are open.” Rita cocked her head to the left.
“Why do you care?” Mary asked.
“Moreau hurt my niece real bad when she was in high school. She left school, left the country and ended up working for MSF. I haven’t seen her in more than ten years. He did something to her. Something she doesn’t talk about. Something she’s spent the last few years trying to make up for. She was my favourite, you see. Now she has a son of her own. A little boy she adopted the day he was born. Someday I hope to meet him. Maybe they’ll come home for a visit or maybe I’ll go and see them. Anyway, I just wanted you to know I’ll be looking out for you and your little boy. If you feel like going outside, the backyard is real private. I won’t bother you again unless you decide you wanna talk. The next move’s up to you.” Rita turned and walked down the hall and down the stairs.
Mary closed the door then checked to see whether Joshua was still asleep. What’s MSF? If this woman knows I’m here, who else knows?
“It’s not a problem, trust me.” Kev Moreau sat behind the five-centimetre-thick glass table he’d bought for photo opportunities. It was meant symbolize the new transparency he wished to portray to the city’s more patrician citizens. He wore a black suit, white shirt and blue tie. “I know you had nothing to do with what happened to Stan.” He indicated with an open hand that Russell should sit down. The cuff of Kev’s shirt displayed his embroidered initials.
Russell did as he was instructed. “I don’t know where they went. I’ve been calling her family, everyone we know. They’ve disappeared.” He looked at his hands as if they could offer him some answers.
“They’ll turn up.” Kev appeared to be looking at the ceiling.
Russell felt compelled to break the silence. “What was Stan doing at my house, anyway?”
Kev dropped his chin and his eyes. “Don’t know. Stan was kind of a loose cannon.”
Stan Pike did only what you told him to do, Russell thought.
“We just need to keep our cool and keep our mouths shut. You can do that, can’t you?” Moreau’s words carried an undertone of threat.
Russell nodded automatically. That’s what I’ve done for the last ten years. What have you done with Joshua and Mary? “Don’t worry about me, Kev. I know how to keep a secret.”
Former Gang Member Turns to Philanthropy
Self-confessed former gang member and long-time city resident Kevin Moreau revealed plans to sign over the title of a west-side apartment building. Residents are asking why.
“People in this community supported me when I was growing up. It’s time for me to give back,” Moreau announced at a news conference at his flagship restaurant, Kev’s. Moreau plans to offer ownership opportunities to the residents of his fourteen-storey apartment building. Individual units will be signed over to long-time tenants provided they have been residents in good standing.
“I’m rewarding long-time tenants because they are the kind of people who work hard but will never be able to afford a place of their own,” Moreau explained. “I’ve done well by this community and it’s time to share my good fortune.”
The apartment building overlooks the river and a city park.
The mayor welcomed the news, saying, “The city is behind Mr. Moreau’s plan. Affordable housing is an issue in this city, and Mr. Moreau is offering a workable solution.”
Moreau plans to hand over ownership of the apartments to residents at a New Year’s Eve ceremony.
“Where do we start?” Keely drove west along the river valley. On the sidewalk to the left, a woman in a skin-tight, multicoloured synthetic outfit jogged behind a stroller. It was a metre-wide, chrome-plated affair. She forced cyclists, walkers and joggers off the pavement while listening to music only she could hear.
“How many cases do we have to solve?” Lane sat in the back seat.
“Explain?” Harper sat next to him.
“Zander Rowe, Lionel Birch, Roberta King, Stan Pike and the kidnapping of Jessica and Matt,” Lane said.
“I think we’re
working on one. We solve Zander’s case, and we’ll know what happened in each of the other cases.” Keely changed lanes and turned right to head north toward the hospital.
“What about Mary Lowell and the baby? What’s its name?” Harper asked.
“Joshua.”
“That’s right. Baby Joshua may have been Moreau’s third bit of insurance, after Jessica and Matt. If we’re being told to back off or Matt and Jessica will be hurt, then who is being warned by having Joshua taken away?” Lane asked.
“Do you think Mary’s husband Russell knows something?” Harper asked.
“So, we’re working on the assumption that Matt and Jessica are all right?” Keely asked.
“I’m working on that assumption.” Lane looked at Harper.
Harper looked out the window. “You think Fibre will help us?”
Lane’s phone rang. He pulled the burner phone out of his pocket. “Hello.”
Harper watched Lane.
Keely stopped at a red light. She too was watching Lane in the rear-view mirror.
Lane nodded and ended the call. “Arthur got another message on our home phone. The caller said, ‘Back off the Rowe case, and the boy and the girl will be released in a week. Otherwise, the devil takes his mask off.’ Word for word.”
Harper nodded and continued to look out of the window.
“What do we do?” Keely asked.
“Find Matt and Jessica and solve the murders,” Lane said.
“Aren’t you guys worried about your jobs if you don’t stay out of this?” Keely asked.
Lane and Harper looked at each other. Both said, “No.”
Harper said, “The last thing the chief said to me before I left his office was, ‘Wear your vest and tell the other two to do the same.’ So — if I read between the lines — he can tell everyone else we’re on leave, but he knows we’ll be working to solve this one. He can’t tell us to keep working on the case, but he’s given us the time to concentrate on it.”
“Okay, then. Where do we meet Fibre?” Keely asked.
Ten minutes later, Fibre walked up the slope of the car park on the north side of the Foothills Medical Centre. He held a paper bag in his hand.
