by Garry Ryan
“There are some inconsistencies.”
“Go on,” Lane said.
“There are no fingerprints on the duct tape used to seal the cab of the truck.”
“Why would he go to the trouble of leaving no prints, if he was about to commit suicide?” Lane asked.
“Exactly. There are more contradictions. We’ll have to wait for the autopsy, but I don’t think the father died of carbon monoxide poisoning,” Lisa said.
“What about the child?”
“The cause of death will have to wait for the autopsy,” Lisa said. “But, I did find a torn piece of plastic in the waistband of her pants. It looks like it came from a garbage bag.”
“She was wrapped in it?” Lane had a flashback of finding Candy in the garbage bag.
“It looks like her head and torso were wrapped up. Then the bag was tucked into her waistband.”
Lane remembered Kaylie’s shoes. “Did you see the soles of her shoes?”
“Too clean for a kid on a camping trip?”
“Yes,” Lane said.
“That’s about all I have right now. Just thought you’d want to be kept up to speed. You didn’t stick around for very long.”
“No.”
Lisa waited for an explanation that wasn’t coming, then said, “Say hello to Arthur for us.”
“You bet. And pass on our regards to Loraine.” Lane hung up. This could get really messy, he thought.
Fifteen minutes later, the phone rang.
“Lane?” There was an anxious excitement in Arthur’s voice.
“What’s the matter?” Lane asked.
“I’m signing Matt up for hockey.”
“Oh. That’s nice.”
“The team is run by volunteers,” Arthur said.
“And?” Lane became anxious with where this conversation was headed.
“They’ve already got a coach and a manager.”
“That’s good.” Lane was relieved but still uneasy.
“The team needs a referee.”
“You’ve got to be kidding!” Lane said.
“You can skate,” Arthur said.
“Figure skate.”
“Exactly. They need a person who can skate.”
“I don’t know the rules,” Lane said.
“They have a course.”
Lane heard the voices of parents talking over each other. “No way.”
“You’ll be going to Matt’s games anyway. This way you can get some exercise at the same time. Get your mind off work. Besides . . .”
“Besides?”
Arthur said, “I already signed you up. And, they gave us free tickets. We’re going to a hockey game tonight.”
“CKKY, KY Radio, regrets to announce that Bobbie will not be on the air today. She’s taking time off due to the death of her daughter. Bobbie sends her appreciation for the kind wishes and prayers of her listeners. We’ll be playing The Best of Bobbie until she returns.”
Jay surveyed the kiosks on either side of Mac Hall. The lineup at The Noodle House was at least fifteen minutes long. Other lineups formed at burger, coffee, and taco shops. I beat the rush, he thought, while using chopsticks to maneuver noodles, beef, and mushrooms into his mouth. For five bucks he could eat and watch the people go by.
“Hey cracker, you’re pretty good with chopsticks,” Tony said. He sat down next to Jay and leaned his back against the table. Tony set his backpack on the floor.
“You’re late.” Jay slurped an especially long noodle.
“This guy in the front row kept asking questions.” Tony used his fingers to grab the last piece of beef from Jay’s plate.
“Hey!” Jay tried to stab Tony with the chopsticks.
“Too slow. We still on for Rex’s game tonight? I’ve got the masks,” Tony said.
“You ever gonna let that guy off the hook?”
“No. Not after he got my cousin pregnant, and the way he treated Uncle Tran.”
“How’s your cousin doin’?” Jay wiped his chin with a paper napkin.
“Okay. The baby’s getting big. Uncle Tran got them a place. He’s helpin’ out with school and daycare,”
Tony said.
“Uncle Tran’s restaurant must be doin’ well. He got you and your mom a house and helps you with school,” Jay said.
Tony laughed, “His money’s in elephants.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The lucky elephant in the restaurant,” Tony said.
“Yeah, I saw it. Uncle Tran said he picked it up in Saigon and carried it onto a plane.”
“That’s right. And, on the long ride over here he found out the elephant was hollow,” Tony said.
“So?” Jay asked.
“The plane landed at night. Uncle Tran slipped away. He disappeared with the elephant.”
“What are you sayin’?” Jay asked.
“Uncle Tran lost everything and everyone in Vietnam. He picked up a lucky elephant and started a new life,” Tony said.
“How can he be your uncle if he lost everyone?”
Tony appeared to be staring at the spiral staircase leading to The Aboriginal Friendship Centre. “He’s not my real uncle. My mom and I are refugees. Just the two of us. My cousin with the baby, she’s not my real cousin. She and her mother were in the same situation. Uncle Tran adopted us, and we adopted him. Now, we’re a family and help each other out.”
“So, how does the elephant fit in?” Jay asked.
“It’s Uncle Tran’s story to tell.” Tony stood up.
“Come on. We’ve got some planning to do.”
“Want some popcorn?” Arthur asked Matt as they entered Father David Bower Arena.
“And a hot dog?” Matt wore a new blue T-shirt, red jacket, and black running shoes.
Lane watched the boy closely. There was a slight hitch in the way he walked. He hardly talks when he
walks because he’s so busy concentrating on not falling, Lane thought. Arthur has been waiting a long time to spoil a nephew or niece. I wonder what will change between them when Matt finds out his mother has cancer? Lane watched Arthur, and his nephew, and felt a mixture of joy and foreboding.
“You want something?” Arthur asked.
“No, thanks,” Lane stepped close to a cinder-brick wall. The arena brought back memories of early mornings and figure skating. Jibes from boisterous hockey players jogged his memory. One particularly vicious experience surfaced. A dark-haired, teenaged hockey player once used the blade of his stick to jab a twelve-yearold Lane just below the ribs. Lane remembered gasping for air and dropping to his knees. The player then said, “Just another fag in tights.”
Lane looked up. He saw tonight’s fans arriving in dribs and drabs. They bought food and drinks at the concession before wandering through the heavy metal doors to the stands.
By the time Arthur found a place to sit near centreice, Matt had finished the hot dog and was half-way through an industrial-size popcorn.
Players warmed up on the ice. The red and white uniforms of the Dinos circled one half of the rink, while Edmonton’s green and gold university team shot pucks at their goalie at the other end.
“Hey, look at that.” Matt pointed across the rink. His right arm came up a little too quickly. He spilled some popcorn.
The Dinos’ mascot, a red-and-white dinosaur named Rex, stood behind the crowd and did a series of cartwheels. The antics were made all the more amazing because of Rex’s tail. It was at least as long as he was tall.
Lane watched Arthur beaming and enjoying Matt’s company. Matt pointed again. Lane’s eyes followed.
Two men in masks ran along the aisle behind Rex. Both wore latex masks—presidential caricatures, Lane realized—running shoes, and Speedos. The crowd was momentarily silent. One president looped a necklace the size of a Hula-Hoop around Rex’s neck. Lane stared at what was attached to the front of the necklace.
“It’s a dildo!” a fan said.
When he spotted the pair of presi
dents, Rex turned to the right. The dildo swung a millisecond later.
“Rex’s got a dick around his neck!” another fan said.
Hearing his name called, Rex swung to the left. The dildo stopped at the top of its arc, then flopped back around. The crowd roared with laughter.
A camera flashed.
Lane headed for the door followed by Matt and Arthur. The presidential impersonators will be headed for the parking lot, he thought.
Outside, Lane watched a vintage Lincoln race out of the parking lot.
“That them?” Matt asked.
Lane looked at Matt.
Arthur looked worried as he stood behind the boy.
“Did you get the plate?” Arthur asked.
“Nope.” Lane looked at Matt. “Did you?”
Matt said, “Too far away. How’d you know to look out here?”
“Think like the guys in the Speedos. They had to have planned an escape. So, just think ahead a bit.”
Matt smiled, “Cool.”
Lane looked at Arthur. A frown darkened Arthur’s face.
“How about we go get something to eat?” Lane asked.
“I’m starved,” Matt said.
“Good idea,” Arthur said.
Matt’s growing on me, Lane thought. This could get complicated.
Matt was asleep on the couch. Arthur had covered the boy with his mother’s quilt then promptly fallen asleep on the recliner.
Lane watched the TV. Text ran across the bottom of the screen. CNN was describing the latest US military adventure. A reporter wearing a kevlar helmet stood in front of a tank.
The phone rang.
Lane picked it up right away, hoping it wouldn’t wake the sleepers. “Hello?”
“It’s me,” Harper said.
Arthur snored.
“What’s that?” Harper asked.
“Arthur’s asleep.” Lane kept his voice low so as not to wake him.
Harper laughed. “Hope you two have separate bedrooms. Sounds like a freight train. Look, I just got a couple of interesting calls. Thought you’d want to know.”
“Go.”
“I called Bobbie’s church. The minister called me back about an hour ago. He went on for fifteen minutes about how Bobbie was his idol. Kept calling her a saint. Ever since Bobbie’s name went up on the sign outside of the church, it’s been packed on Sundays. Did I mention that he said she was a saint?”
Lane said, “Go on.”
Harper said, “Here’s where it gets interesting.
About twenty minutes after that, I got a call from a woman. She must have been calling from a pay phone, because there was the sound of traffic in the background. She told me to check into a resort in Jamaica. Said it might help me to find out the truth about Bobbie. She wouldn’t leave a name and hung up when I asked for one.”
Lane watched the muzzle flash of a tank on the television. “Won’t hurt to check the resort out.”
Arthur snored. Matt made it a duet.
“I wonder who it was who called from the pay phone?” Harper asked.
“My bet would be the minister’s wife,” Lane said.
Wednesday, October 14
Chapter 8
LANE DROVE UP the 14th Street hill south of 17th Avenue. He turned right, onto a street lined with apartments and four-plexes. Just across from Buckmaster Park was a four-suite apartment. To Lane, it looked early ’50s, which the white stucco and green trim confirmed. He and Harper had divided up the interviews to save time. Harper was trying to find out if there was anything to yesterday’s Jamaica tip.
Lane thought about the telephone conversation he’d had with Charles’ sister. She’d said, “You come to my place and we’ll talk. But you’d better be prepared to listen.”
He walked up to the door then downstairs to her apartment. The moist scent of mould reached out to him. The woman who opened the door was a little taller than 150 centimetres. Her hair was somewhere between brown and blond. She had a round, no-nonsense face and might have been thirty or thirty-five. But that was a week ago, Lane thought. Grief had added a decade to her age.
“Are you Lane?” she asked.
Lane heard the exhaustion in her voice. He thought, She’s cried herself out. “Yes, Ms. Reddie.”
She took a deep breath before she said, “Call me Denise.” She closed the door behind him, then pointed at the living room. “It’s tiny. I like it that way.”
There were two chairs in the room. Lane took one.
“I’m gonna have a cup of coffee. You want one?”
Denise said.
Lane hesitated, then said, “Please.”
“Cream and sugar?”
“Black,” Lane said.
She shuffled back with a cup for each of them.
Lane took a sip. “Good stuff.”
“Charles liked the way I made coffee. Aren’t you gonna ask me any questions?” She sat across from him.
“You said you wanted me to listen.”
“That’s right,” Denise said.
Lane waited.
Denise watched Lane for at least a minute before saying, “My brother had to work for everything he got. Bought an old welding rig and built up his business until he could afford a new truck. Then he built a house. Did a lot of the work himself or got friends to help out. That’s the house Bobbie and Cole live in.”
There was something about the way she said “Bobbie”, Lane thought. It was a curse on Denise’s lips.
“He and Bobbie met at my wedding.” Denise laughed. It was laced with irony. “A bad omen. My marriage lasted for three years. Anyway, Charles and Bobbie got married six months later, and six months after that, Cole was born. Charles told me he was getting ready to break it off when they found out she was pregnant. After they got married, I saw less and less of Charles. Bobbie wanted him all to herself.
“Then, Charles got in touch with me a couple of months ago. I hadn’t heard from him in almost a year. He came over here and started crying. You see, Bobbie had gone to Jamaica with a bunch of fans from some radio-show contest. It was one of those deals where women phoned in to win a free trip to a resort. Apparently, that really helped Bobbie’s ratings.”
Lane leaned closer to hear all that Denise said. Tone of voice was crucial. She wasn’t looking at Lane now.
She was seeing her dead brother the day he had come to visit her months earlier.
“She went on her trip. Charles stayed home with the kids. They picked her up at the airport. Right in front of the kids she told Charles she’d found someone else. Told him she was going back to meet this guy—I think his name was Frank or something. Bobbie was bringing him back to Canada. And that was it for Charles, his kids, and the house he built.”
“Did this Frank come to Canada?” Lane pulled out a notebook and began to write.
“No, Bobbie went back to Jamaica a week later.
Returned alone. She acted all sorry. Said she wanted to patch things up with Charles, but he wasn’t having any of it.”
“What happened then?” Lane asked.
“Things got nasty.”
“How do you find these places?” Harper asked. He looked around. They were at the back of Colombian Coffee House. The white, eight-foot fence gave them plenty of privacy. They sat in green plastic chairs and sipped coffee. None of the other three tables were occupied. The owner was inside making their sandwiches.
“I don’t know. I just keep my eyes open,” Lane said.
“So, what did Charles’ sister have to say?” Harper took a sip and looked at Lane over the rim of his cup.
“She said Bobbie wanted a divorce after she went on a trip to Jamaica. Met some guy named Frank. She went back to Jamaica to get Frank but came home alone. She wanted Charles back. When he said no way, she started making threats,” Lane said.
“Like what?”
“Guess she kept it vague but Denise, Charles’ sister, said Bobbie had Charles convinced the lives of his children were going to be hell
if he didn’t play by Bobbie’s rules.” Lane lifted his cup.
“You believe the sister?”
“She was pretty convincing. Seemed to be very careful about sticking to what she saw and heard. The funny thing was she didn’t try to convince me that Charles couldn’t have killed his daughter. I kept expecting her to say it. The way she talked about Charles, it was obvious she thought he was not a killer. But she never came out and said he didn’t do it. It was very odd,” Lane said.
“Here you go.” The owner slid two plates onto the table. They were stacked with kettle-bread sandwiches skewered with toothpicks.
“Looks good,” Harper picked up half a turkey sandwich.
“Always is,” Lane said.
“Enjoy.” The owner went back inside.
“That’s not the only odd thing,” Harper said.
Lane didn’t talk. Instead, he chewed a mouthful of sandwich.
“I checked out the trip to Jamaica. It was the last week in July. One of those radio promotions where the twelfth caller wins a trip. Bobbie went with about 120 other women on an all-expenses-paid vacation to a singles resort.” Harper waited for a reaction from Lane.
Lane put his right hand over his mouth, chewed, and shrugged.
“Man, you’ve got a swinger living next door, and you don’t know it. I mention singles resort, and you don’t get it.”
Lane swallowed before he said, “Get what?”
“An all female trip. Singles resorts often hire buff guys to work the resorts. Some women go just to get the “big bamboo” and a tan.” Harper shook his head in frustration with Lane’s bewilderment. “Do I have to draw you pictures?”
“You mean?” Lane was beginning to get the picture.
“Some women go to singles resorts for a sex holiday. Denise’s story jives with what I found out. Bobbie did return to the resort for a week in August. I’ve made a series of calls. The resort staff puts me on hold, or someone takes a message, then no one gets back to me. I’ve been playing a marathon game of telephone tag.”
“Why would they avoid you?” Lane asked.
“I’m not sure. It’s not likely I’ll get a ticket to fly down there to find out. I’m gonna have to get the information some other way.”
