Smoked

by Garry Ryan

  Lane watched Dr. Jones as he threw his shoulders back to walk tall at five-foot-six. He opened an office and stood outside as Lane and Harper went inside. Jones followed them in, closed the door behind them, hung up his jacket, and sat behind a polished black mahogany desk.

  Putting us in our place. Next he’ll try and show us how busy he is by making us wait here, Lane thought. Before Jones could play the waiting game, Lane said. “We understand that Jennifer Towers is one of your employees. Are you aware that she’s missing?”

  Jones smiled. “Yes, to both statements. And we’re really worried that she might have been hurt. She really is a nice young woman. A real asset to the practice.”

  “We would appreciate any information you can give us.” Lane stared at Jones, who looked back with an expression Lane couldn’t decipher.

  Jones smiled. “There’s not much to tell, I’m afraid. I didn’t see her leave work. I saw her briefly Monday afternoon. She seemed fine. I didn’t see her leave. I worked late.” His smile was replaced by a puzzled frown.

  Lane watched Jones’ eyes. Something doesn’t add up here, he thought. The eyes and the voice are sending different messages.

  “Her parents reported her missing. Her car was found parked outside in your parking lot.” Harper used ‘your’ on purpose to see if it would provoke a reaction.

  Jones frowned some more. “She’s one of our best assistants. We’d be lost without her. We’ve really come to rely on her. I hope she turns up soon.”

  It all sounds rehearsed, Lane thought.

  “Do you have any idea where she might have gone after work?” Harper asked as he lifted his nose and sniffed the air.

  “None. I saw her during the course of the day, and noticed nothing unusual.” Jones leaned back in his chair, crossing an ankle over his knee.

  “Was anyone working late with you?” Lane asked.

  Jones smiled. “No. I sometimes work alone to get my paperwork done. It was one of those nights. I got home around eight. My wife and daughters can vouch for me after that.”

  “We’d like to wait and interview your staff.” Harper made it sound like a fait accompli.

  “Of course. The staff should be here within the next fifteen minutes. We’ll do everything we can to help get Jennifer safely back to her family.” Dr. Jones stood up. As he shook Harper’s hand, Lane studied the puzzled half-smile on the doctor’s face.

  Harper asked, “What’s that smell? It’s sweet.”

  “I don’t smell anything. You must be mistaken.” Jones smiled.

  Lane headed for the waiting room. He sat down and Harper sat next to him.

  “Picking up odd vibes?” Lane asked.

  Harper nodded. “You betcha.”

  They turned at the sound of a key opening the lock. A woman dressed in yellows and whites stepped in. She was approximately five-foot-four, with short brown hair and a sumo wrestler’s physique. She locked the door, turned, and let out a tiny chirp as her hand went to her mouth.

  “Sorry we startled you.” Lane stood and offered his hand. “I’m Detective Lane and this is Detective Harper.”

  The woman kept her hand over her mouth. Her eyes blinked several times, revealing yellow eyeshadow.

  Lane read her nametag. “You’re Ramona?”

  Ramona took her hand away from her mouth. “How’d you know that?”

  Harper pointed at her nametag.

  She covered her tag with her hand. “Jennifer lied.”

  “About what?” Lane asked.

  “About Doctor Joe. Jennifer strutted around the office, advertising what God gave her.” Ramona leaned closer to Harper. “She was only here a month, you know.”

  “Do any other dentists work here?” Lane decided he’d wait for Ramona to tell them what she thought Jennifer had lied about.

  “Dr. Stephen. He and Dr. Joe have been working together for five years.” Ramona walked over to her receptionist command centre. It provided an effective barrier between her and the detectives. She took a breath, put her hand to her throat, fluttered her eyelashes, and smiled at them.

  “What time did Jennifer leave Monday?” Harper stood up and set his pocket computer on the counter.

  “I don’t know. She wasn’t talking to me. She was still here when I left.” Ramona sat in her chair.

  “How come she wasn’t talking to you?” Lane stood next to Harper.

  “Because I told her to button up her blouse. Some of the male patients were becoming quite distracted.” Ramona pursed her lips and shook her head.

  “You had complaints about her from the patients?” Lane asked.

  “No. But you could see the men’s eyes when they came in. Watching the way she traipsed around here in her tight little uniform.” Ramona rolled her eyes. “That’s why I knew she was lying.”

  “About what?” Harper looked up from his computer.

  “About what the patient said.” Ramona looked at them as if they should already know what she was talking about.

  “What did the patient say?” Lane looked over his shoulder as a patient opened the door.

  “I’m not talking about that!” Ramona looked over Lane’s shoulder at the man who was shutting the door.

  “Could you tell us what time Jennifer left here on Monday?” Harper smiled at the patient, who attempted to smile back.

  Ramona flipped pages in her appointment book. “Don’t know exactly, but her last appointment was at three.”

  “Was it for a cleaning?” Lane asked.

  Ramona stuck her finger on the page. “Yes.” She looked away and addressed the patient. “Now, Mr. Francis, it’s time for your appointment.”

  “One more question.” Lane held eye contact with Ramona. “How long would that appointment have taken?”

  Ramona said, “Forty minutes.” She flapped a hand at Mr. Francis. “Come right this way.”

  ×

  “Madeline?”

  She felt his hand on her shoulder and was immediately awake. Maddy looked around. The classroom was empty. Sunlight drew a line through the room. Dread almost overwhelmed her. She felt her eyes filling with tears.

  “You fell asleep and class is over.” Mr. Hugh watched her closely.

  Maddy hated it when he looked at her like that. He can see right through me. I’m afraid he’ll make me talk. Maddy sat up. She stood up and reached for her black jacket. “Am I late for my next class?”

  “Don’t worry; I’ll write you a note if you need one.” Hugh stepped back, still watching her.

  Maddy picked up her books and stuffed them into her bag.

  “How come you’re so tired?” he asked.

  “My little sister…” She stopped herself and thought, Don’t go there!

  Hugh waited for her to go on. He scratched his white beard.

  You’re just too smart for an old man, she thought. “I’m late,” she said.

  “Take care,” he said. “And get some sleep.”

  “Whatever you say.” Maddy hefted her bag and left.

  ×

  “How did rehearsal go?” Lane asked.

  Matt blew his nose and put the tissue in his pocket. He shrugged, put on his seat belt, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. “Fine.”

  “Feeling okay?” Lane stopped the car, waiting for traffic at the exit to the high-school parking lot to clear.

  “I’m getting a cold. The first performance is next week.” Matt leaned forward to wave at a girl wearing a white winter jacket and blue jeans.

  Lane pulled out into the street. He glanced at Matt, who wore a scarf, a tight-fitting grey toque, a black greatcoat he’d purchased at a secondhand store, and blue jeans. Matt had gone through a wide variety of styles over the last two or three months as he tried on an actor’s skin.

  Lane said, “Can’t wait to see the play.”

  “Really?” Matt looked at Lane.

  “Of course.” Lane stopped at the lights. “Who’s the girl?”

  “Carol.” Matt looked away
.

  “She in the play?” Lane tried not to notice Matt’s sudden nervousness, or the embarrassment that shaded his neck and worked its way to his scalp.

  “She’s one of the crew.” Matt’s breath fogged the passenger window.

  “Do you miss hockey?” Lane accelerated as the light turned green. He turned north on Shaganappi Trail. Traffic is lighter now that it’s almost seven, he thought.

  Matt looked at Lane. “Do you?”

  “I miss seeing you on the ice.” Now, that surprised me, Lane thought. “And I miss how I feel when I’m skating.”

  Matt smiled. “Never thought you’d miss hockey.”

  “Supper should be on when we get home. It’ll be nice to relax for a few minutes.”

  “Good luck,” Matt shook his head.

  “What do you mean?”

  Matt shook his head again. “There’s always some kinda drama at home.”

  They walked in the door fifteen minutes later.

  “You’re gonna kick me out anyway, so I might as well leave!” Christine pushed past Lane and Matt as they took off their shoes.

  They looked at one another.

  Christine hooked the backpack over her shoulder, shoved her feet into running shoes, and slammed the door behind her.

  “She failed a Math test.” Arthur’s eyes told the sad story of his evening. He focused vaguely on Lane.

  Lane shrugged. “That’s not so bad.”

  “She came in the door about two hours ago.” Arthur sat on the couch.

  The dog scratched at the back door. Matt went to open it. He bent to wipe the snow from her paws.

  “Aren’t you going after her?” Arthur asked Lane.

  “No.” Lane took his winter coat off and hung it in the closet.

  “But it’s cold out.” Arthur stood up, pulled back the drapes, and looked outside.

  “Maybe she’ll cool off sooner.” Lane rubbed his hands together to warm them.

  Arthur didn’t look convinced. “Supper’s ready,” he said.

  Roz scampered inside, followed by Matt.

  Five minutes later, they sat down to dinner. Arthur’s pattern was to take a mouthful, look at the back door, look at Christine’s empty chair, and begin chewing. “Aren’t you worried?” he asked.

  “She left her stuff here. She’ll be back,” Lane said.

  Roz barked.

  They heard a key in the front door lock.

  Arthur stood up.

  Christine stepped inside. Her face was red from the wind.

  “The food is still hot.” Lane felt his stomach twist into knots. His appetite disappeared.

  Arthur took Christine’s coat. She washed her hands in the kitchen sink and sat down at the table. “I want to try to get in touch with my father.”

  Arthur handed her the chicken. Lane passed the rice. They ate the remainder of the meal in silence.

  THURSDAY, MAY 1

  chapter 2

  “Recently, she and her boyfriend broke it off. Apparently, he’s been hanging around after work waiting to talk with her.” Harper wrapped his hands around the steering wheel as they coasted down the hill. His kubasa fingers gave the impression he was incapable of being delicate. His black hair was greying a bit. He wore sunglasses to shield his eyes from the white glare of sunshine on melting snow. Harper turned on the wipers to clear the spray left by the vehicle in front of them. Outside, the river valley stretched west and east. The spring snowfall had painted the grass on the far side of the valley in an emerald green that peered out from under a layer of white. “You look like hell, by the way,” Harper said to Lane.

  Lane closed his eyes, hoping they’d stop for another cup of coffee before meeting the ex-boyfriend. “What’s his name?” “James Sanders. Works at City Cycle in Bowness.” Harper turned left, then left again. They paralleled the railway tracks before turning onto the bridge.

  Lane looked down into the water. It was running brown. The shrubbery on the island in the middle of the Bow River leaned with the current. “Water’s pretty high.”

  “It’s snowing and melting in the mountains.” Harper looked ahead to the three-way stop on the far side of the river.

  It took another five minutes to get to the motorcycle shop.

  Lane opened the front door of City Cycle. The inside smelled of rubber, oil, leather, and freshly machined metal. They looked around at the motorcycles and four-wheelers on display.

  Toys for boys, Lane thought.

  “Always wanted one of these.” Harper said as he walked over to a touring bike.

  “Can I help?” asked a woman wearing jeans and a sleeveless red blouse. Her hair was shoulder-length and black.

  Lane noted the hitch in her walk. He looked for tattoos but couldn’t see any. “I’m Detective Lane, and this is Detective Harper.”

  The woman put her hands on her hips.

  “And, you are?” Harper asked.

  “Carley.” She shrugged as she said her name.

  Lane studied her as she put her weight on one leg.

  “We need to talk with James Sanders.” Harper said as he moved to stand next to Lane.

  “He in trouble?” Carley’s tone of voice had gone from welcoming to challenging.

  Lane thought, It’s time to change the way this conversation is going. “How did you lose your leg?” he asked.

  Carley cocked her head to one side. “How’d you know?”

  Lane shrugged. I just know, he thought.

  “Motorcycle accident on the highway. I was eighteen. Lost it just below the knee. Want to see?” Carley bent over to lift her pant leg.

  “We would really like to see James.” Lane kept his tone even so there was nothing but sincerity in his voice.

  Carley stood up and stared back at Lane. “He’s upset. He had nothing to do with Jenny’s disappearance. You won’t believe me, but that’s the truth.”

  “We need to hear that from him,” Harper said.

  “You can use my office.” Carley turned and they followed her to a metal spiral staircase. She took the stairs one at a time. At the top, they stood eye-to-eye with antique motorcycles lined up along a balcony outside of the office. Once inside the office she said, “Have a seat. Coffee’s there.” She pointed at a carafe sitting atop the counter running under windows that looked down on the sales floor. “Help yourself. I’ll get James.”

  Lane and Harper fixed their coffees. Lane sat. Harper stood so he could look down at the motorcycles.

  Harper said, “It’s awfully quiet all of a sudden.”

  Lane took a sip of coffee and closed his eyes. I hope I can get some sleep tonight, he thought.

  “Here he comes.”

  There was the ring of feet on the metal steps of the stairway.

  Harper stood to one side as a young man walked into the office.

  Lane stood. “James Sanders?”

  James nodded. His hair was close cut. A black t-shirt covered a barrel chest. He wore black jeans and stood a head shorter than either of the detectives.

  Harper closed the door.

  James’ face flushed red as he looked up at Harper.

  Lane read James’ reaction and nodded at Harper to sit down.

  James sat on the edge of the desk.

  “I’m Detective Harper and this is Detective Lane.” Harper sat, took a sip of coffee, and studied James.

  “You had a relationship with Jennifer Towers?” Lane studied James’ body language and read the tension there.

  James nodded. “Yep.”

  “The relationship ended recently?” Lane watched as James leaned back on the desk.

  “We had a fight.”

  “You’re aware she’s missing?” Harper seemed to be studying his coffee cup.

  Lane thought, Listen carefully for a change in James’ tone of voice.

  James scratched his head like he wanted to strip away bits of flesh. “We were going to make up. But that’s not why you’re here, is it?”

  “We want to loc
ate her.” Lane watched James’ eyes fill with tears.

  “And you think that because I’m the ex-boyfriend I’m responsible! That I couldn’t accept the fact that she broke up with me. You know, the old stereotype — if I couldn’t have her, then no one could.” James stood up. “You cops are so stupid!”

  Harper began to stand.

  Lane saw James’ eyes switch from rage to fear.

  James lunged at Harper with the palm of his right-hand pushing forward, propelling Harper back into his chair.

  Harper leaned into the blow, all arms and legs, trying to get back on his feet without spilling his coffee. James shoved him back into the chair again.

  Lane grabbed for James’ arm.

  The right angles of the back of Harper’s chair hit the safety glass. It bowed and sang before exploding and cascading into pebbles.

  James was off balance, but managed to kick Lane in the face and Harper in the belly.

  Coffee splashed against the wall.

  James ran out the door.

  Stunned by the blow, Lane fell back into the corner. He sat up, put his hand to his face and crawled to his feet.

  Harper was on his back, taking in great gulps of air. Lane offered his hand. Harper pushed it away. Lane rushed down the spiral staircase. There was no sign of Sanders below.

  Lane hit the floor at the bottom of the staircase, and his knees nearly buckled. He regained his balance and ran down a hallway leading to the back of the shop, where he found a door opening to the alley. Outside, two men looked at each other and then at the detective. A woman on a bicycle coasted past them. Lane could hear the high-pitched acceleration of a motorcycle racing toward the city centre.

  Harper came out the door. He leaned against the wall, looked at Lane, and they ran in opposite directions.

  Carley was sweeping up glass when they returned several minutes later. Harper stood at the bottom of the staircase and shook bits of glass from his hair and shoulders.

  Lane walked up to Carley, who handed him a bag of ice. “Comes in handy around here. Always keep some in the fridge.” She leaned on the push broom.