The Detective Lane Casebook #1

by Garry Ryan

  “Which way is the stable?” Lane watched Blake carefully.

  Blake said, “Back to the highway, then five klicks west. It’s called Glencoe Stables. Just follow the signs.”

  He continued to smile at Harper.

  “Thank you.” Lane climbed back into the Chev.

  Blake shook Harper’s hand. It took Harper a few seconds to free himself from the grip.

  Rosco ran after them ’til their car passed the gate at the end of the driveway.

  Three kilometres down the road, Lane asked, “Did you notice?”

  Harper looked at his partner. “Notice what?”

  “He was coming on to you. Blake Rogers is gay,”

  Lane said.

  “You’re jokin’.” Harper looked sideways at Lane.

  Lane smiled. “It’s simply an observation.”

  Harper’s face reddened. “What say we visit the Starchild place? It’s on the way.”

  “Think we’ll get more information there than at the stables?” Lane asked. He thought about adding, “big boy,” but decided against it.

  “The dates are bothering me. It can’t be a coincidence that all three occurred on June thirtieth.” Harper pulled a map out and handed it to Lane. “The route is highlighted in blue.”

  They found the Starchild home in twenty minutes.

  It was about one hundred metres off the main gravel road running east and west alongside the T’suu Tina Nation. Trees lined the north and south sides of the house. The fifteen-metre evergreens provided a break from winter winds. A column of grey smoke climbed straight up into the windless sky. Harper maneuvered the Chev along the ridges of a mud-rutted dirt road running between the house and the evergreens. They moved around the back of the faded blue bungalow.

  “What’s that?” Harper asked.

  “Not sure.” Lane looked at a domed, tent-like structure set up in front of a Quonset hut. A man dressed in khaki bib overalls, green shirt, khaki-coloured cowboy hat, and six-gun holster tended a fire burned down to embers. Heat shimmered and distorted the structures behind it. The man turned to watch the detectives as they stopped and got out of the car.

  Harper spoke first. “We’re looking for …”

  “Me,” a woman said. She stepped out of the open door of the Quonset. She wore a zippered sweater open in the front. Under that was a blue nightie reaching from her neck to her ankles. She wore a pair of white running shoes and more than half a century of winters on her face.

  “I’m Detective Harper and this is —” Harper said.

  “I know. You’re the police. Come to ask about that disappeared fella.” The woman’s voice was a combination of soft-spoken command and blunt honesty.

  The man with the overalls and empty holster leaned on a pitch fork. He tipped back his cowboy hat, revealing an asymmetrical forehead with a ridge riding along the crown. The scar revealed itself as he lifted his hat to wipe the sweat from his brow with the inside of his elbow. He pulled the hat back down and tucked the string under his chin.

  “This is Norm and I’m Eva Starchild. I’m Alex’s grandmother. You’re just in time for the sweat. Hope you brought shorts and towels. You can get changed in the back of the Quonset.” Eva turned to the opening of the dome. She adjusted what looked like several blankets arranged carefully over a series of supports intersecting at the top and centre of the sweat lodge.

  “We came to talk,” Lane said.

  Eva didn’t turn around. “We’re just about ready for the sweat. You can sit outside in the car and wait until we’re done or you can come inside. Up to you. If you come inside, you’ll want to change those clothes.”

  Harper looked at Lane.

  Lane watched the old woman as she arranged an altar in front of the dome. He was sure she was smiling even though there was no indication of it on her face.

  “Start the rocks,” Eva said.

  “You betcha.” Norm used the pitchfork to pick a five kilogram rock out of the fire. He guided it inside the sweat lodge and dropped it into a hole in the centre.

  Lane moved around to the trunk of the Chev. Harper followed.

  Lane opened the trunk lid.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Harper pulled back his jacket, revealing his Glock. His fists rested on his hips.

  Lane took his holster and pistol off. He ejected the clip and checked the Glock’s slide before setting it gently on the floor of the trunk.

  “I don’t like it.” Harper looked at the sweat lodge. “You have no idea what you’re walking into.”

  “We’re not going to learn much out here.” Lane grabbed his black gym bag.

  “I’ll keep an eye out and call it in. I’m just not sure what to call it, exactly.”

  “Thanks.” Lane made his way to the back of the Quonset, where he saw a table saw, mitre saw, router, various drills, sanders, and a couple of work tables.

  The place smelled of wood and stain. A carpenter lives here, he thought.

  Harper watched two pickups arrive. One hit a dip in the road and its driver’s side fender flapped like a chicken wing. There were four people sandwiched into each cab. The men got out. They wore sweatpants and T-shirts while the women wore sweaters and nighties.

  One of the men looked at Norm and then at Harper.

  “Hey, Norm.”

  “Hey, Leo.” Norm nodded at the men as they walked toward the sweat lodge. He tipped his hat to the women.

  Eva crawled out of the lodge on hands and knees. “Just two more stones, Norm. Hey, everybody. Alex would appreciate this.”

  Lane walked out of the Quonset in bare feet, shorts and a t-shirt. He took in the scene and the new arrivals, who showed not a hint of surprise on their faces.

  Eva said, “Time to smudge.” She lit the end of what looked to Lane like a short piece of braided rope and set it in a bowl. He watched the others. One by one, they bent over the bowl and guided the smoke over their heads, bodies and arms. Then they crawled inside.

  Lane inhaled the pleasant scent of the smoke while imitating their actions before ducking inside the womb of the sweat lodge. He was in the middle of the group of ten. He sat with his head close to the roof and his toes warmed by the heated rocks stacked in the hollow at the centre of the circle.

  He watched as Eva crawled in and sat cross-legged next to a man who held a drum. Norm passed a five gallon pail of water in and closed the flaps over the opening. Lane was enveloped in total darkness. He felt sweat running down from the edge of his hairline. He pulled his t-shirt off and used it to wipe sweat from his eyes. His lungs filled with moist air as water was poured onto the rocks. The steam was scented with tobacco and tasted sharp on the tongue.

  “So, you’re a cop?” Norm sat in a lawn chair two metres from the fire pit. He stretched his legs out, crossed one cowboy boot over the other and interlocked his fingers across his belly.

  “Yes.” Harper pulled up a vacant chair. He moved back as the heat from the embers cooked his face and hands. “How long will they be in there?”

  “Depends,” Norm said.

  “On what?”

  “If your friend can last four rounds or not.” Norm looked at Harper and smiled.

  Harper heard the sound of a drum coming from inside the sweat lodge. He looked around the yard and spotted a row of six evergreen trees running along the southern edge of the property.

  “Alex started plantin’ those six years ago. Planted a new one the beginning of every summer. Each year he picked out a tree that was six feet tall and watched it grow. Used to water each one twice a week. Now I do the waterin’ and the plantin’.”

  Harper looked closely at the trees as they went from tallest to shortest. The most recent one was staked and tied to keep the north and west winds from blowing it over. On this side of the trees, honeysuckle formed a white and red foreground. Something hovered in front of a red flower.

  “What’s that?” Harper pointed.

  Norm looked right. “You mean the hummer?”

&n
bsp; “Hummer?”

  “Hummingbird. Only place I know ’round here where hummers stay all summer.” Norm pointed at the trees. “Planted that one just a couple of days ago.” He pointed at his chest with a purple-bruised fingernail.

  “How come the next to last tree isn’t the same height?” Harper asked.

  Norm looked at the tree. It stood between eight and nine feet tall. The tips of the branches were a brighter shade of green where new growth added to the tree’s girth and height. “Must be the water. Artesian.”

  The back screen door of Eva’s house opened with a creak. Both men turned.

  A young woman backed out of the door carrying a wooden case. She wore white coveralls, tan work boots and a red silk shirt. Her blonde hair was tucked under a black ball cap.

  “Need a hand, Aidan?” Norm was on his feet and moving toward the house.

  Harper followed. As he watched her carry the case, he thought, I’ve never seen anyone look so elegant in work clothes. He watched her move with the grace and poise of an athlete.

  “Aidan used to be in the ballet.” Norm took the case from her.

  Harper opened the tailgate of a nearby pickup. He grabbed one end of the case and helped Norm slide it into the back of the truck. Harper noted that the truck box was coated with a plastic liner and thick blankets were carefully laid out on the bed to protect the finish of the wood.

  “Careful,” Norm said, “These are Aidan’s mary … marion …”

  “Marionettes,” Aidan said.

  Norm talked as they worked. “Aidan talks to Alex now. At first I thought she was talkin’ to a ghost, but she says it’s just a way to keep him alive in her mind. And she says it’s art. Some people just don’t understand art, I guess.”

  Aidan glared at Norm. His mouth closed.

  Harper helped carry the next four cases to the truck.

  He saw that each was made of maple, engraved with a stylized, long-beaked bird and finished with a clear stain. “These are beautiful.”

  “Aidan made ’em.” Norm looked at Aidan. “Sometimes when I watch her talk, I think that Alex is alive. It’s like magic. I just love watchin’ the mary …”

  “Marionettes,” Aidan said.

  Norm scratched his head. “Can never remember that word. Too long for me.”

  They gingerly loaded the last box.

  “How come you’re not in there, Aidan?” Norm nodded in the direction of the sweat lodge.

  “A cop’s in there.” Aidan waited for Harper’s reaction.

  Norm turned to Harper. “Aidan hates cops. Don’t mind ’em myself. At least you seem like a nice fella.”

  Harper studied Aidan. She weighed maybe a hundred and twenty pounds, yet there was something in the way she looked back at him that said she was someone who was ready to fight if need be. She was a tiger.

  Norm adopted a deeper, more official tone. “She got arrested for protesting downtown ’cause the Premier called Alex the victim of the week. Then a city cop said, ‘Why didn’t the dumb wagon burner just get out of the way?’ Aidan got arrested ’cause she punched the cop in the mouth.”

  Aidan stared Harper down.

  “Cop’s name was Stockwell. Aidan just calls ’im The Asshole,” Norm said.

  “Then we agree.” Harper smiled.

  “On what?” Aidan looked directly at Harper.

  “Stockwell’s middle name.” Harper thought, Oh shit, did I actually say that? For an instant it looked like Aidan might be about to smile.

  She glared at Harper. “Don’t patronize me.”

  “Just telling you what I think.” Harper stared back at her with frank interest.

  “The Asshole pushed my face down on to the ground and broke my nose. He put his knee in my back and cracked a rib.” Aidan stared back.

  “I understand the charges against you were dropped.” Harper closed the pickup’s tailgate.

  “Yes, but he’s still a cop.”

  “And he’s still an asshole.” Harper backed away from the truck.

  “Thanks for helping with my stuff.” Aidan walked to the cab of the truck, got in, started up, and drove away.

  “She and Alex were friends at school. She learned sign language so they could talk. She was with ’im when he was killed. He never heard the truck comin’. Born deaf. That’s why he never got out of the way. She took it the hardest. At least that’s what people say. Aidan and Alex were like brother and sister. Now she talks to Alex the mary …”

  “Marionette.” Harper followed Norm back to his lawn chair where heat still made the air shiver above the embers.

  “So, she saw who ran Alex down.” Harper sat down next to Norm.

  “Yep. Come on. I need some help with the barbecue.” Norm walked into the Quonset and pulled out a barbecue with one of its two wheels missing. Harper grabbed the other end and helped carry it outside. Norm used a block of wood to level the barbecue before starting it up.

  “What was Alex like?” Harper watched as Norm lit the barbecue with a match.

  “Trickster. Used to play jokes on people. Never played no jokes on me.” Norm closed the lid when the fuel ignited.

  “Trickster?” Harper studied the deliberate way Norm moved.

  “You never heard of the Trickster? Eva tells me stories all the time. Funny stories about how Trickster is smarter than everyone else.” Norm sat down. “Let it heat up for a minute.”

  Harper sat down. This is like talking with a kid, he thought. “You live with Eva?”

  “Nope. Got my own place.” Norm reached into the cooler, got a can of Pepsi for himself and handed one to Harper.

  “Thanks.” Harper opened the can and took a sip. “What do you do?”

  “Hired hand.” Norm put his pop on the ground. He held his callused hands out. “Got good strong hands.”

  “In the winter?”

  “Got a TV.” Norm stood up. “You watch the news?”

  “I try not to.” Harper studied Norm who looked intently back.

  “You know about the problems with gangs?” Norm tipped his hat back.

  “Yes.” Harper thought, I wonder where this is going?

  “Lotta people around here worried about gangs. The city just keeps pushing closer.” Norm looked at the fire and frowned.

  “You worried?” Harper watched the way Norm’s forehead furrowed when he was thinking.

  Norm nodded. “Them biker gangs. Saw them on the news. They buy a place out in the country, then trouble starts. Ain’t right.” Norm pointed with his index finger. “Around here we keep an eye out for trouble. Gotta keep an eye out for guys like that.”

  “Any bikers out here?”

  Norm shook his head as he considered the question. “Not yet. There’s just a group of young fellas.” Norm pointed in the general direction of the mountains. “Caused some trouble a while back.”

  Harper waited for Norm to continue. When he didn’t, Harper asked, “Who?”

  “Not sayin’. Time to get the meat started. Wanna help?”

  “What kind of policeman are you?” Eva sat with a plate of barbecued buffalo ribs, pasta salad, and home-baked bread on her lap. Her black, braided hair hung off either shoulder, framing her round face.

  Lane had just taken a sip of water, intent on replacing the moisture he’d sweated out. He choked. Harper patted his back.

  Lane looked around the circle of people in lawn chairs. No one laughed or smiled at his predicament. They were, he could tell, waiting for an answer.

  “You okay?” Harper asked.

  Lane nodded. His senses were filled with what had happened inside the sweat lodge. There are no words to explain what happened in there, he thought.

  People ate quietly, expectantly.

  Harper looked at the buffalo ribs on his paper plate, then at the plastic fork and knife in his hands. He put the utensils down and picked up the meat with his fingers.

  “I look for missing people,” Lane said.

  “So you’re lookin’ for those
missing cow …” Eva hesitated intentionally, “… boys.”

  “That’s right.” Without thinking, he asked, “How come you’re talking to me and wouldn’t talk with the other officers?”

  “They only talked at me. You started by listening to me and respecting the sweat lodge. This is Alex’s sweat. It’s the anniversary of his funeral.” Eva sat without touching her food. “You knew it was his sweat?”

  “No.” Lane shook his head.

  “After we eat, there is something for you to see,” Eva said.

  Lane watched the conversation turn to other matters. There was more and more laughter as Alex was remembered through the stories people told. While Norm sat next to Eva as if guarding her, others went to the tailgates of the pickups where the food was.

  After she finished eating and was able to extricate herself from the various eddies of conversation in that river of talk, Eva stood and walked over to Lane. He was wiping his fingers on a paper napkin. “Come on,” she said to Lane and Harper.

  They followed her to the house. She had a rolling, brisk way of walking. The detectives had to hurry to catch up.

  The back door opened into a kitchen with a maple table and eight oak chairs from different families and eras. Along one wall there were pictures of a dancer and others of frozen hummingbirds with their beaks into the white and red of honeysuckle. “Aidan took those pictures.”

  In the corner, a computer sat on a desk near the window. Eva sat down in front of it and tapped the mouse with her index finger. “Alex got this for me for Christmas a few years back. Wanted me to keep up on the powwows, news, and land claims. He was teaching me how to use it before he died.” The screen resolved itself into the image of a dancer frozen in a swirl of reds, greens, and white. She pointed at the dancer. “Alex.”

  Lane and Harper stood on either side of Eva, looking over her shoulders. The room filled with the scent of smoke, sage, sweat, and tobacco. It’s not unpleasant, Lane thought.

  Eva used two fingers to type in her password. “Been getting one of these every couple of days.” Eva clicked on an email message. In a couple of seconds it resolved itself into an image:

  Hockey Star Disappears

  Rodeo Rider Disappears