by Garry Ryan
Harper nodded. “Yep.” He reached for the key in the ignition. “We need another set of wheels. People around here will recognize this truck tomorrow.” He started the engine.
Matt watched Jessica as she slept. She lay sprawled across the pillow, leaving a small corner for his head. From time to time during the night, she would kick him in the face. He took to sleeping with one arm tucked in front of his nose.
There was a knock on the apartment door. He heard footsteps and a wordless exchange. A minute later, there was the scent of fresh coffee. Same routine as yesterday morning, Matt thought. He could hear the rumble of the train heading west.
“Hey, kid.”
“What?”
“Want a cup of coffee?” the devil asked.
“That would be nice.” Matt watched the deadbolt slide back. The doorknob turned. The devil handed Matt a paper cup. The door closed. Matt sipped his coffee and waited. The deadbolt did not slide to anchor itself in the doorframe. Matt looked at Jessica and stared at the door. Then he looked at his cup and the cardboard heat sleeve. He looked at the wall. Reflected light was shining on the paint through a gap in the curtains. A rainbow the size of a business card had formed on the wall over Jessica’s head. Her eyes opened. He took her hand and held it up to the wall. The rainbow was in the palm of Jessica’s hand. She looked at her hand and smiled.
“Detective Saliba?”
Keely recognized the voice and felt tension run up her back. “Chief Simpson.” She held the phone tightly, trying to interpret the formality in his voice. She gripped the steering wheel with her left hand and looked though the windshield. The Chev was parked with its front right tire nudged up against the curb. Four people stepped out of the coffee shop on Parkdale Boulevard. They sipped their cups and smiled.
“The body of a male in his late teens or early twenties was discovered this morning. The victim was dumped in a parking lot just below the Bearspaw Dam on the north side of the river. No ID on the body. I need you to attempt to identify the victim. This is top priority. Phone me back at this number.”
Keely reached for the keys. What’s the quickest way there?
“There’s more,” Simpson said.
“What now?”
“Robert Rowe is still at large and may be headed for Calgary.”
You’re telling me this why?
“It’s a complication you need to be aware of. His description is being forwarded to you as we speak.” Simpson hung up.
Ten minutes later, with lights flashing, Keely looked for the turnoff to the Trans-Canada Highway as she headed west toward the dam.
The Trans-Canada was a parking lot due to construction, so she turned down a residential street.
She approached a controlled intersection. The light was red. The vehicles in either lane parted to allow her through. She turned on the siren and nosed into the intersection.
A green import ran through the intersection. Keely jammed her foot on the brakes.
The other driver looked straight ahead. Keely caught a glimpse of a mother driving with a cell phone in one hand and the other raised off the wheel as an exclamation point. A child in a car seat stared open mouthed at the police car.
“Keep your eyes open.” Keely checked to see that everyone else in the intersection had stopped. She followed the road to the right and headed for a second bridge over the Bow River.
“It’s Arthur.” He answered the phone while taking a fresh look at the charts on the wall.
“A young man’s body has been found,” the voice said.
Arthur heard electronic distortion in the man’s voice.
“The face on the body has been badly damaged. It’ll take time to identify him. Late teens. Black hair. Medium build. Sound familiar?” The voice hung up.
Arthur turned as the doorbell rang. He looked at the phone and then out the front-room window. Erinn held her hands protectively over her belly. He walked to the front door and opened it.
“You’re pale. What’s happened?” Erinn asked.
“Another warning.”
A shiver went through her. “Jessica?”
“No,” Arthur said. “It was about Matt.”
Arthur looked past Erinn and saw Maria approaching the front door. She was wearing jeans, a white blouse and red oven mitts. She danced on the front step with a large pan. “It’s hot. Can I put this in your kitchen?”
“Sure.” Arthur stood to one side while Maria rushed past in an aromatic cloud of citric perfume, tomato sauce, Parmesan Romano cheese and garlic. He followed her into the kitchen.
Erinn ambled after them. “Is Matt okay?”
Maria set the dish on top of the stove. “You were so kind to help me out. I was making lasagna, so I made two batches.” She turned to look at Erinn, who sat down carefully in a kitchen chair. “I’m Maria.”
“Erinn.” Her red hair was in need of a wash. There were dark half circles under her eyes.
Arthur stood next to the fridge. “Thank you for the food. It smells wonderful.”
Christine pounded up the stairs. “Did they find Matt?” She landed on the kitchen floor, looked at Maria and stuck her hand over her mouth.
“I noticed the police officers patrolling the neighbourhood.” Maria looked around the room at each of the three faces.
Daniel ran up the stairs to stand behind Christine. “Are they okay?” He saw Maria and blanched.
Maria looked at Arthur. “It seems that you and I are destined to meet at very awkward times.”
Erinn wrapped her hands around her belly. “They took my daughter, Jessica. She’s three. And they took Matt.”
“Who are they?” Maria asked.
Keely stopped as the gravel road opened up into a spacious lot lined with wooden telephone poles set on their sides to act as dividers.
A police cruiser and the Forensic Crime Scene Unit van were parked at the west end, closest to the dam. At the base of that solid wall of concrete, the water boiled deep, white and fast.
Next to the FCSU van, a body lay covered with a yellow tarp. Dr. Colin Weaver stood between Keely and the body. He was dressed in his white bunny suit. He held his hands at his sides as the detective got out of her car and approached the scene.
“I was hoping you could help us identify the body,” Fibre said. “Actually, I was hoping you could tell me this isn’t Detective Lane’s nephew because he fits the description of Matthew Mereli: late teens, five foot ten, one hundred seventy pounds, black hair, brown eyes.” Fibre hesitated, then added, “At least, I think his eyes are brown.”
Keely felt drawn to the tarp. She wanted to be anywhere else but here, yet she felt she had to get closer to the body.
Fibre lifted a corner of the tarp. “The body was discovered by a couple out for a walk with their dog. There was no identification on the young man. And —” he pulled the tarp back fully “— he was shot at close range.”
Keely crouched to get a closer look. Her knees cracked. She reached into her jacket pocket and brought out a pair of surgical gloves.
The victim had a third eye near the centre of his forehead, just above the eyebrows. Below the eyes, the face had been smashed. The teeth had obviously been knocked out. She lifted the tarp to see the hands. Each hand was a meaty stump relieved of fingers and thumbs.
Keely closed her eyes. Think! Rely on your training. You know what to look for. She lifted the tarp higher. Another bullet hole stained the victim’s blue T-shirt. The hole was on the left side of the chest just over where the heart should lie. She stood and walked around the body. The sole of one black shoe was visible at the bottom edge of the yellow tarp.
“What do you see?” Fibre asked.
“One shoe.” Keely lifted the tarp to inspect the feet. Both soles were so worn that the heels were free of tread.
“We may have to use DNA to identify him. That could take a week.”
Keely studied the wear on the sole of the right shoe and then the left. “Matt has a mild form of cerebral palsy. These shoes lo
ok to be at least a couple of months old. The wear pattern is relatively even. Look at the heels.”
Fibre came around to look over her shoulder. “Of course.”
“Matt has a hitch to his walk. That means the wear pattern would be asymmetrical if this was him.” Keely let the tarp drop.
“These wear patterns are symmetrical,” Fibre said. She could hear the relief in his voice.
Fibre stepped back from the body. “If you don’t think it’s Matt, we will still have to check DNA and the victim’s tattoo to find out who this is.”
Keely looked at Fibre. “A tattoo?”
“Yes. On his back.” Fibre stepped forward, lifted the tarp, rolled the body and lifted the blue T-shirt so that she could see the back of the victim’s torso. A pair of monkeys eyed each other from opposite shoulder blades. In between them — next to the spine — was the tip of a bullet poking out of an opening in the skin.
Keely stepped back from the body.
Fibre gently rolled the body onto its back and re-covered it with the tarp. “Again, there are similarities to the Rowe and Birch killings. Both were shot once in the forehead and once in the heart.”
Keely reached into her pocket for the phone.
“You will inform Detective Lane?”
Keely nodded. “Please do the ballistics match as quickly as possible. We need to know if the weapon and bullets are a match with any of the other victims.”
Fibre nodded and waved his crew closer. “As soon as I get the body to the coroner and get back to the lab with the bullet.”
Lane climbed out of the truck. He looked through the chainlink fence surrounding the city’s impound lot.
Harper locked his door and pocketed the keys. “See anything you like?”
Lane nodded in the direction of a late-model Cadillac. There was a layer of black dust on the silver paint and windows, but what was under the grime looked intact.
Harper shook his head. “That one.” He pointed at a green Jeep. “It’ll go anywhere we need to go.”
Lane’s phone rang. He reached into his pocket grabbed the phone and put it to his ear. “Lane.”
Harper mouthed, Okay with you?
Lane held his hand up. “That’s right, he has cerebral palsy. . . . Yes, the soles of his shoes wear unevenly. We have to buy him new ones every three months or so. . . . No, no tattoos and certainly none depicting monkeys on his back.” He nodded, closed the phone and looked at Harper. “The body isn’t Matt. But it looks like Moreau sent us another message.” He choked on the last word. He looked through the tears at Harper. Not now, Lane thought. You can do this after Matt and Jessica are home and safe. He took a long breath. “Okay, let’s go with the Jeep.”
Mary sat in the common room. Joshua slept in the crook of her arm with one hand on her breast. She looked at his angel face. Mary put her hand on his chest just to see whether he was still breathing. You’re perfect and you look so much like Russell. I hope he’s okay, she thought.
Mary heard a sound and looked up at a woman with long brown hair who was twice her age. She sported rainbowbruised cheeks and a crooked nose that had met up with a fist on more than one occasion.
Mary nodded and thought, She’s wearing long sleeves today.
“I’m Dee Dee,” the woman said. Her tone of voice was overly sweet and there was something dark hiding behind her smile. She stepped closer and ran a fingernail down the baby’s cheek.
Mary’s protective instincts caused her to shiver. She stood. Keep him away from Dee Dee! “I’d better get him off to bed.”
“Pretty baby.” Dee Dee followed Mary. “I’m the resident social worker around here. Everybody talks to me. Shares their problems. You can talk to me any time you like. I’m even training to be a doula.”
“What the hell is a doula?” Mary headed for the stairs.
“I’ll work with mothers before and after they give birth.”
Mary went upstairs, down the hall and opened the door to her room.
Dee Dee was a step behind. “We could talk right now. Maybe you need some postpartum support.”
Mary turned and smiled. “He needs his sleep and so do I.” She stepped inside her room, closed the door and locked it. She waited five minutes until she heard Dee Dee’s retreating footsteps.
“I don’t get it. You’re all calm and cool. It’s not like you to be this way,” Christine complained.
Arthur looked at her, tried to speak but found that he could not. Instead, he pointed at the charts on the living room wall.
“You think you have it narrowed down?” Christine asked.
Arthur nodded. “We’re getting closer to some definite possibilities.”
“Are you going to tell Uncle Lane?”
Arthur went to the chart and pointed at an address. Christine stepped closer, looked at Arthur and saw the tears in his eyes.
“There’s an anomaly here.” He put his finger on the sketch of an apartment building. “I’ve collated all of the information from his various properties — there are over twenty of them. This one, this apartment building, isn’t far from here. It’s close to where Matt was taken. Down in the river valley, just next to the park and the river. The units on this floor all have lower power consumption than the units on the other floors.” He glanced at another chart.
“Go on.” Christine sat on the couch opposite the charts.
“Lori got us copies of the various power, gas and water readings from each of his properties. I was able to compare them to the norms. The energy company keeps track of those. They can tell when someone is likely to have a grow-op, for example. This apartment building has just the opposite problem. Too little consumption on this one floor.” Arthur walked over to the phone. He picked it up. His eyes filled with tears and he took several long breaths. He handed the phone to Christine. “You tell him.”
Christine stood up, took the phone and felt the weight of responsibility in her knees.
“Lane here.” He ducked his head as he looked for a clear spot through the river system of cracks in the Jeep’s flat windshield so that he could see where they were going.
“Uncle Arthur thinks he knows where Matt is being held,” Christine said.
“Where?” Lane looked across at Harper in the driver’s seat.
“It’s an apartment building on the south side of the river at one corner of the park. You know the one by the river? The one where we go to skate on the lagoon?” Christine asked.
Lane nodded. “Got you.”
“Our best guess is that they’re being held on the ninth floor. It appears that all the units on that floor are empty. We’d like you to take a look and see whether any of the units are being used now.” Christine inhaled.
“We’ll probably have to wait until it’s dark and see whether any of the units have their lights on.” Lane looked at Harper. “I’ll call you back.” Lane tapped the phone. “We’re going to need a few things.”
Harper listened and concentrated on keeping both eyes on Crowchild Trail as it curved around the naval reserve and descended into the river valley. A sandstone school was on their right. The road headed north and west toward the mountains.
“We need to hear from Saadiq’s friend Hussein so we know who’s doing the deliveries for Moreau. And we need to hear from Uncle Tran’s cleaning connection. Then, if we still think we’ve got the location, we need McTavish to help us out.” Lane looked down on the Bow River as they travelled over the bridge. He looked east where a kayaker paddled toward the Tenth Street Bridge.
“You sure we need McTavish?”
Lane rubbed the hair at the side of his head. “Yes. We can trust him to keep quiet, and he can get us the hardware we’re going to need to make this work.”
Jessica was crying. Matt wasn’t sure for how long. Time was becoming elastic. He knew when it was night and when it was day because of the room’s window. Besides that, he knew that morning brought the smell of coffee followed by the devil on the toilet.
; “Shut her up!” the devil said.
“I’m trying.” Matt rocked her and she looked up at him. He nodded at her. She continued to cry.
“Try harder!” The devil pounded on the door.
“Maybe a Popsicle will work,” Matt said.
“Wuddya mean?” the devil asked.
“Popsicles. She loves those lemon ones from the supermarket.”
“Okay, I’ll put an order in if she’ll shut up!”
Matt smiled at Jessica, lifted his hand and closed the distance between his index finger and his thumb.
Jessica dropped the volume.
With Matt acting as her crying conductor, Jessica cried for another minute before she stopped and promptly pretended to fall asleep.
“Next time, we’ll try for pizza,” Matt whispered to her.
Jessica smiled as she snuggled up to Matt. “Then Daddy will find us.” She crossed one ankle over the other. The red soles of her running shoes flashed once.
They met McTavish for coffee and sandwiches at a café on Bowness Road. It was nearing dark — past the hour when joggers would stop to fuel and hydrate their toned bodies. The officers had the restaurant to themselves.
McTavish was dressed in casual clothes, as they were. His hair was greyer, but he still had a steady, focused presence.
“We’re planning to hit the place if we get confirmation from one more source. And we need a favour.” Lane took a mouthful of sandwich as his mind raced. I’ve got to keep eating. This is my first food since breakfast.
McTavish leaned a bit closer. His chair creaked. “Go on.” He looked sideways at Harper.
Harper’s right hand tapped the table. “We’re waiting for some information on Moreau’s drivers. He gets family members to do drug runs and deliveries for him. The kidnapper and our kids will need to eat. We also have a contact at a nearby restaurant. So, when the call comes, or we spot one of the delivery vehicles, we’ll be in position to get the kids out. We’re pretty certain about which floor they’re on and we think we may know which room. We want to hit him when he’s expecting someone else at the door.”
