The Detective Lane Casebook #1

by Garry Ryan

  Lane and Harper sat across the table from one another in a small conference room. Harper looked over the top of his laptop. He plugged it into a wall outlet to tap into the Internet. He transferred information from his pocket computer to the larger machine to backup information.

  Harper said, “I checked my e-mail. There’s a quick note from Dr. Fibre. The chief gave him priority on the evidence from the trunk of Bobbie’s car. He’s talking about a preliminary report within twenty-four to fortyeight hours. The e-mail from Jamaica is really gonna blow your mind. The police photographed footprints at the murder scene. They’ve been able to eliminate all but one pair. They’ve couriered us photographs of both unidentified prints. Should be here tomorrow. They want us to eliminate Bobbie as a suspect.”

  “No fax?” Lane felt his pulse quicken. Evidence began to pile up in a case that had previously been starved for hard facts.

  “Their fax won’t pick up the kind of detail we need for a match. They’re in the process of upgrading their equipment. So, they’re sending us a copy of the prints from the crime scene photographs,” Harper said.

  Lane and Harper knew that footprints, like fingerprints were unique to the individual. If they could match Bobbie’s footprints to the scene of the three deaths in Jamaica, they might be able to make a case for five murders instead of two.

  “The next couple of days will be tough.” Lane stood and took off his sports jacket to hang it on the back of the chair beside him. “If Cole will testify, if the fibres in the back of the Chrysler are a match, if the footprints from Jamaica match Bobbie’s . . . if we’re wrong about any of these pieces. . . .”

  Harper locked his hands behind his head, “We’re still way ahead of where we were two days ago.” He smiled.

  Darkness settled around his neighbourhood. Lane studied the unmarked car parked on the south side of the street. Two people in the front seat watched Lane as he drove by. His headlights illuminated the garage door. It lifted, and Lane pulled inside.

  In less than a minute, his key was in the lock. Arthur opened the door, pulling the keys from Lane’s hand.

  “We saw you on TV,” Arthur said.

  “Did you notice the car parked outside?” Lane slipped his shoes off and stepped into the kitchen.

  Peering into the living room, he saw Matt and Riley curled up on the rug. Matt had his head on a pillow and was asleep. Riley was curled up back-to-back with Matt. The retriever’s eyes opened and focused on Lane. Riley’s tail lifted itself off the floor then flopped back. “Hello boy.” Lane bent down and rubbed the dog behind the ears. Riley sighed and closed his eyes.

  Martha was wrapped in a blanket and sitting on the couch. She smiled at Lane. Her head was shaved.

  Martha kept her voice low as she said, “Matt and Riley went for a walk after supper. They stayed up just long enough to catch you on the news.”

  Lane smiled at the scene. It was the last thing he would have expected even two months ago. Previously, Arthur and Lane had fallen into a comfortable routine of work, solving cases, and taking Riley for walks. Now they were making plans for Halloween and talking about a Christmas spent with family.

  Lane backed into the kitchen and heard Arthur opening the oven door.

  “Kept supper warm for you.” Arthur used oven mitts to get the plate out and onto a bamboo place mat.

  “The car?” Lane asked as he sat down, picking carefully at the aluminum foil covering the food.

  “They introduced themselves about an hour ago.

  They were instructed to tell me that the next few days of this case are critical. Chief wants you to be sure about our safety. You’re not to be distracted.” Arthur sat down across from Lane.

  “Why would I worry about home?” Lane smiled when he thought about Jay and Martha and how this house has been turned upside down. He took a deep breath as he uncovered the chicken and baby potatoes bathed in tomato sauce. “I’m starved.” He picked up a fork and knife.

  “Don’t you remember?” Arthur asked.

  “Remember what?” Lane asked.

  “Mrs. Smallway was on Bobbie’s show. It was last week,” Arthur said. “You know what Mrs. Smallway is like. She lives to gossip, and she leaves those underlined articles in our mailbox.”

  Lane looked at the food on his plate. His appetite disappeared. He thought, What did Smallway tell Bobbie? He looked at Arthur.

  Arthur was up and looking in at Martha. Without looking at Lane, he said, “The long-range forecast is predicting a major snow storm on Halloween.”

  Friday, October 30

  Chapter 22

  CLUES, FACES, AND words swirled around Lane’s mind like moths pulled to a porch light. At two o’clock he gave up trying to sleep and went to read in the living room. These past few weeks, this routine had become maddeningly familiar. The only difference was that tonight’s sleeplessness was not caused by nightmares of crucified children. Cole was safe for the moment. But, it appeared, everyone and everything else was now at risk.

  He put on a housecoat and stepped into the hallway. The furnace hummed and forced air through the vents. A pale glow reflected off the hallway wall.

  Martha sat on the couch, wrapped in her yellow blanket, staring at the TV screen. She had the closedcaptioning on. There was a head and shoulders shot of a man with perfect hair and perfect teeth. The caption read, “Real power is about becoming the person you were born to be. The person God meant you to be.”

  He sat across from her.

  “Matt has a game tonight. You able to make it?”

  Martha’s voice sounded strong even though the shadows cast by the TV deepened the lines around her eyes and mouth.

  “I’m going to try.” Lane propped his feet on the coffee table.

  “Matt told me you stuck up for him,” Martha said.

  “Well . . .”

  “His father, Alex, never once stuck up for him.

  After the first couple of hockey games, he was always too busy to make it. Took me a while to understand he was ashamed of Matt and of me. Matt will never forget the first time someone stuck up for him. I only wish it had been me,” Martha said.

  “Why would Alex be ashamed of either of you?”

  Lane asked.

  “It’s hard to explain,” Martha said.

  “We’ve got time.” Lane smiled.

  “It was my fault.”

  Lane said, “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “One imperfect child. Matt was a constant disappointment to Alex.”

  “Why was it your fault?” Lane asked.

  “It wasn’t, I was just lead to believe that was the case. That’s the beauty of cancer. It makes you take stock. It makes you see what’s important in life. It’s almost like God sent me a gift. I realized that there was no reason for blaming anyone. Matt is just fine the way he is,” Martha said.

  “That’s the difference between you and me,” Lane said.

  “What? I believe in God and you don’t?”

  “I just think people are responsible for most of the terrible things done in this world,” Lane said.

  “So you have given the good Lord some consideration?” Martha sounded triumphant.

  “Of course.”

  “Go ahead. Say it,” Martha said.

  “Say what?” Lane asked.

  “That you’ll give yourself over to the Lord. Become his servant.”

  Lane looked at Martha as if seeing her for the first time. He wondered what was godlike about abandoning your brother and being blissfully unaware of the resultant damage. It had been twenty years since most of Arthur’s family had washed their hands of him. Lane had seen how their cruel rejections had scarred Arthur.

  “Just be careful you don’t run out of time before you give God a chance,” Martha said.

  Lane said nothing. He was afraid that all the anger over what had been done to Arthur would come crashing out.

  Martha said, “I’ve got time to convince you. I know this cancer won’t kill
me. God told me.”

  The house was quiet except for the spluttering of the coffee machine. Lane was on the phone a little after seven-thirty. Loraine was an old friend and a child psychologist hired by the police in cases like this where a minor witnessed a crime.

  “Hello.” Loraine sounded like she was sipping a drink.

  “It’s Lane,” he said.

  “I’m going to phone around eight o’clock and arrange a time with Jay and Cole. Do you want to be there?” she asked.

  “It’s not a problem?” Lane wondered how Cole would respond to having a detective there.

  Loraine read his mind. “You’re a familiar face. He may trust you. I need you there.”

  Lane said, “Call me with a time, please. Is Lisa there?”

  “Just a minute. It’s for you, honey.” Loraine set the phone down.

  Lisa picked it up. “Lane?”

  “I’ve got a question about the Reddie crime scene,”

  Lane said.

  “I hear you found the car,” Lisa said.

  “Yes. Finally, a break. About the campsite. Were you able to find any footprints?” Lane asked.

  “A couple of partials. Bobbie and Charles had similar shoe sizes. The partials were indistinct, but I do have photographs. What have you got?” Lisa asked.

  “Footprints from a crime scene in Jamaica. Three deaths at a resort. It’s confirmed that Bobbie was there at the time,” Lane said.

  “Can you send me copies?” Lisa asked.

  “Yes. Why?” Lane asked.

  “We’ve got a guy working on footprinting. He’s good. He might be able to tell you more than you’d thought possible.”

  “Are we talking smoking gun?” Lane asked.

  “Perhaps,” Lisa said.

  “When they arrive, I’ll get Harper to send a copy your way. Thanks, Lisa,” he said.

  “Lane?”

  “Yes,” Lane said.

  “If you’re right, you’ve got at least five deaths attributed to this individual. I’d be very careful,” Lisa said.

  “It may be as many as seven,” Lane said.

  “All the more reason to be careful,” Lisa said.

  Lane’s next call was to Harper.

  “Hello, Lane,” Harper said.

  “You’re psychic,” Lane said.

  “Caller ID. Old technology,” Harper said.

  “When the footprints come in, make copies and send them to Lisa. You’ve got her number?” Lane said.

  “Yep. You goin’ to see the kid?” Harper asked.

  “You need to be there too. We need a recording,”

  Lane said.

  “I’m on it. What time?”

  “Be ready and I’ll call you,” Lane said.

  “Right.” Harper hung up.

  The phone rang before Lane could call to see if Jay and Cole were up.

  “Hello?” Lane said.

  Chief said, “It’s me.”

  “Good morning,” Lane said.

  “Bring me up to speed.”

  “The car, which may have transported Kaylie Reddie’s body to the crime scene, is being analyzed now. We may be able to prove that its contents have been undisturbed. Footprints from the Jamaica crime scene are set to arrive today and copies will be sent for RCMP analysis. A psychologist is standing by to interview Cole Reddie. Some of the evidence might offer a plausible explanation for the anomalies at the crime scene. So, we have the potential for a strong case against Bobbie Reddie,” Lane said.

  Chief’s anger was barely under control.

  “Unfortunately, we can’t take potential to court. We may need to have overwhelming proof. Did you hear Ms. Reddie’s radio show yesterday?”

  “No,” Lane said.

  “She is doing her best to create a public uproar over her son being in police custody. I’ve got a press conference in two hours,” she said.

  “We need Bobbie to provide copies of her footprints,” Lane said.

  Chief asked, “How many murders might be attributed to Ms. Reddie?”

  “Seven,” Lane said.

  “Go through it again for me,” she said.

  “Bobbie’s parents, the three victims in Jamaica, Kaylie and Charles Reddie,” Lane said.

  “That’s it?”

  “Yes,” Lane said.

  Chief asked, “The footprints will tie Ms. Reddie to three deaths?”

  “Perhaps as many as five. There are partial footprints from the Charles and Kaylie Reddie crime scene,” Lane said.

  “Good. I’ll request that Ms. Reddie voluntarily present herself for footprinting in order to eliminate herself in the investigation of the three deaths in Jamaica,” she said.

  “Taking the offensive?” Lane asked.

  “I think it’s time. We’ve been taking it from Ms.

  Reddie. Now it’s our turn. There is a problem, however.”

  “What’s that?” Lane asked.

  “If you are correct in your suspicions, then we may be pushing a multiple murderer into a corner,” she said.

  “So far, her reactions have been very predictable,”

  Lane said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “She either bullies, manipulates or plays the victim,” Lane said.

  Chief said, “You’re forgetting that she kills.”

  “No, I’m not,” Lane said.

  “Good, because we have a reliable source who disclosed that Ms. Reddie knows where you live. Bobbie was tipped by a caller and a guest. Our source made a point of warning me to watch out for you.”

  “What else do you know?” Lane asked.

  “That I’ve never experienced more pressure than I have with this case. The more pressure we get, the more I’m convinced you’re on to something.”

  “We’ll keep on it,” Lane said.

  “And you’ll listen to the news conference?”

  “I will,” Lane said.

  “So, where are the footprints?” Lane asked.

  They sat in their Chevy outside the condominium where Jay and Cole were staying. The complex was located close to the river. Across the water, the banks rose to a bluff. Douglas firs grew up the steep bank helping to keep it stabilized and green year-round.

  “As soon as it arrives at the station, we get a call,”

  Harper said. “It’s on the way.”

  “Loraine’s been inside at least an hour,” Lane said.

  Harper sipped his coffee. “At least the coffee’s good.

  Since I partnered with you, I haven’t had a bad cup of coffee. Are you all ready for Halloween?”

  “Halloween?” Lane asked.

  “Don’t tell me.” Harper looked at Lane like he had forgotten to put on a pair of pants.

  “It’s tomorrow night?” The look on Lane’s face told Harper all he needed to know.

  “Arthur’s got it covered, right?”

  “I sure hope so,” Lane said.

  “Probably won’t be too many kids. That storm is supposed to hit by noon. They’re forecasting fifteen to twenty centimetres of snow,” Harper said.

  The phone rang.

  Lane said, “Hello.” He nodded at Harper. “We’re on our way up.”

  Five minutes later, when they stepped inside the living room, both boys were watching TV. Jay waved. Cole was transfixed by what he saw on the screen. He sat with legs crossed and back straight.

  Loraine sat at the kitchen table. She was dressed in neutral colours; greys and browns. Next to her was an officer dressed in street blues. Harper sat down across from the officer and said, “Harper.”

  “Andrea.” She shook hands with Harper.

  “We’re waiting for the news conference,” Loraine said.

  “The kid insisted,” Andrea said.

  “Jay?” Harper asked.

  “No, it was Cole,” Loraine said.

  Lane watched the child. Cole didn’t move and blinked only occasionally.

  They waited that way for more than ten minutes.

  J
ay shifted his weight a few times.

  Cole blinked.

  “This is a V Channel news special,” the announcer said.

  Every eye in the room focused on the television.

  “The Calgary Chief of Police has called a news conference to explain the decision to place Cole Reddie, son of Bobbie Reddie, in protective custody. We are live.”

  Chief Wyatt stood behind a cluster of microphones. She stood erect and stared back at the camera.

  “It’s time to release the facts. The tragic deaths of Kaylie and Charles Reddie have resulted in an extremely complex and difficult investigation. Police practices and procedures require that we be as thorough and cautious as possible with this type of crime.

  “A number of facts have been uncovered to this point. Kaylie Reddie died of Shaken Baby Syndrome and was dead at least twelve hours before her father. Charles Reddie died from an allergic reaction to penicillin. More recent evidence has come to light and is in the process of being evaluated.

  “Both Jay Krocker, Ms. Reddie’s brother, and Cole Reddie, Ms. Reddie’s son, are under protective custody. Since Cole Reddie is a minor, this is as much information as the police department is able to share even though Jay and Cole’s pictures have already been released through the media. It must be made clear to the public that Jay and Cole are being held for their own protection.

  “In a related matter, Bobbie Reddie’s lawyer has been contacted. I am requesting that Ms. Reddie submit to a footprinting in order to eliminate her as a suspect in a separate murder investigation. Further details related to the case will be released at a later date. Thank you.”

  Chief Wyatt turned away from the microphones, and the camera shifted to a V Channel news reporter.

  Jay reached up and switched the television off.

  Cole stared at the blank screen.

  Harper said, “That’s sure gonna get people talking.” “Mommy said there’d be a fire if I said anything,”