They walked over to where Ridley was trying to tear the duct tape off the fence and extricate the umbrellas. “Hey Ridley, you know who called it in?” Sandovan asked.
The kid shook his head. “Yeah, hang on while I get these down. Borrowed them from the little bookstore across the street.”
They waited as Ridley did his best to leave no trace of tape behind. Finally he jumped down from the wrought iron perch and removed the latex gloves from his hands. He opened a notebook and riffled through it.
“Henry Jonsard Junior. Works not far from here at the Duke of Cuke—a vegetarian place on 14th.”
“Yeah, I know it,” Mitchell said. He motioned to Sandovan. “Come on Sandman. Let’s go see what Mr. Jonsard can tell us.”
They covered the four blocks in a couple of minutes. Sandovan bitched about not taking their prowl car, but Mitchell insisted. They tried the door to the restaurant but it was still locked. Inside, a woman at a counter waved them off, pointing to her watch. Sandovan waved back, pointing to his badge. She came to the door and opened it enough to talk. Her head was festooned with blond dreadlocks. A tattoo of spinner dolphins leaping through foamy blue surf wound its way up one of her arms.
Mitchell spoke. “Nice ink. You get that from Chi-lights?”
She smiled. “From Chi himself. Did a couple of sea turtles on my back as well. What about you? If I had to guess, I’d say you look like the Kanji type.”
Mitchell shook his head at the reference to the ubiquitous Chinese characters. “Nah, I wouldn’t trust Chi to do that. I’d ask for ‘peace’ and he’d probably give me ‘bok choy’. Years ago when he first opened up he did a Scottish thistle on my right shoulder. Still looks pretty good.”
Sandovan nodded, “Appropriate too. You remind a lot of people of a weed.”
The young woman laughed. “Actually, the thistle is a symbol of pride, toughness and determination. But I doubt you’re here to talk tattoos.”
“Right you are…
“Shevawn.”
“I’m Detective Mitchell. This is Detective Sandovan. Is Henry around?”
The woman opened the door wide and beckoned them inside. “In the bathroom. Came in this morning even paler than normal—which would make him almost translucent.”
Sandovan took a seat at the counter. “Mind if we wait?”
“Not at all,” the dreadlocks shook. “Want coffee?”
Mitchell joined Sandovan at an adjacent stool. “That would be great.”
Shevawn set them up with coffee. “I’ll be in and out of the back. I have to prep for the lunch crowd.”
“By all means,” Mitchell added. “Could you let Henry know we’re here?”
“Will do.”
Five minutes passed and a man in his late twenties came out of the back. Translucent was an apt descriptor. He was slightly taller than Mitchell but thin as a female fashion model on catwalk day.
“Henry,” Sandovan began.
“Yep. You guys want to know about the head, right? I told the other officer everything.”
Mitchell opened a notepad anyway. “First off, are you okay?”
Henry grabbed a glass and filled it with water. After a couple of swallows he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “About as okay as I could be after that. I mean, I love slasher films and I’m a chainsaw master in Gears of War, but a real human head, geez…”
Mitchell empathized. “We can recommend a counselor if you’d like. We’ve seen our share of trauma injuries and homicides. Including a kid who was half eaten by the tiger at the zoo last year during a drug war. Trust me, you never get over it.”
“Give it to us exactly as you happened upon it, just one more time please. It’ll help to talk it through,” Sandovan added.
Henry drained the glass of water. “I was out until two thirty last night and I had to work at eight this morning. So I was drinking an herbal energy boost as I was walking to work. I tilted the container up to get the last of the drink and that’s when I noticed the head on the gate.”
Mitchell made a note. “Anyone else around?”
“Nope. Like, nobody hanging around anyway. There were probably a few people walking by on the sidewalk.”
“What’d you do when you saw the head?” Sandovan asked.
“I yacked my biscuits in the gutter, that’s what. Seriously. It was disgusting.”
Mitchell couldn’t help but smile. “And you called it in when you were finished yacking your biscuits?”
“Once I got clear of there, I called it in. No point in some little kid seeing that and having nightmares for the rest of his life.”
Mitchell flipped his notebook shut. “Thanks Henry. You prefer ‘Henry’ or ‘Hank’?”
“I had Henry drilled into my skull by my mom when I was a kid. She freaked if anyone ever called me Hank. So yeah, it’s Henry. Had an Aussie girlfriend once who called me Hens.”
“Okay Henry,” Sandovan stood up. “If we need anything, you’ll be here?”
“You betcha. I own the place.”
Mitchell put his notes away. “The woman who let us in, she makes a good cup of coffee. I’m a bit of a coffee nut, so I’m tough to please.”
“We’re fair trade organic out the wazoo. So tell your friends. Pretty tough for an independent cafe to make it in a corporate world.”
Sandovan and Mitchell left the shop and started back to the precinct. It was a strange way to begin the day, and both had a feeling it was only going to get stranger.
In addition to my wife Amy, I have to thank my Mum—the most voracious reader I know. After reading the manuscript she offered one sentence: “When’s the sequel?”
Everyone needs a friend like my buddy John Sheridan. John, thanks for the encouragement and the patience as you juggle one of the busiest lives I know.
Thanks to Keli Pollock for a great cover and Jason Stang for a great cover photo. It’s always fun working with you guys.
Two teachers ignited my love of writing: Ron Erskine during elementary school in Winnipeg and Brian Doyle during high school in Ottawa.
Finally, thanks to the folks at Bumpy’s Cafe in Calgary, home of the best espresso in the universe. Comes in handy.
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