by Garry Ryan
Five minutes after McMurphy walked them next door, they were sitting in the principal’s office at the elementary school.
“Deborah Davies.” She kept her hands behind her back and ushered the detectives into her office. Then she stood behind her desk and motioned for them to sit in the chairs facing her.
“We came to inquire about Madeline Jones’ sister. We believe the younger child’s name is Andrea,” Harper said.
“Lovely child.” Davies sat down, leaned over, and looked into the bush outside her window. She used her right hand to rearrange the pashmina scarf on her shoulders.
“Could we speak with her?” Lane asked.
The principal turned her head and pressed her cheek against the window. “I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
“How’s that?” Harper asked.
“Not here. Her father and sister picked her up after school yesterday. Dr. Jones — lovely man by the way — said they’re heading off for a family holiday to Cuba.” Davies frowned and looked at the detectives. “Perhaps you could assist me with another matter?”
“Oh?” Harper looked at Lane.
“A stakeout. You see, the students from the high school are in the habit of copulating in the bushes outside of my window. I would like them arrested!”
×
“No one here.” Harper held his hands out. They met in the backyard of the Jones’ family residence, between the garage and the house. It was an oasis with an apple tree, wild flowers, lilacs, fishpond, and potted plants. The outside of the house was all stuccoed, except for the front, which was finished in river stone. The pillars at the front were coated in copper. The windows were circles of various sizes. Through a window, Lane caught glimpses of exotic woods used to finish the interior, in particular the great room. The three-car garage was bigger than the wartime house across the alley.
“Can’t see anybody inside or out. Mail’s in the mailbox.” Lane took a look around the yard. They must hire a gardener.
“No car in the garage.” Harper leaned over the pond. “Even the fish appear to have left.”
“It looks like we need to get a description out. I wonder where he’s headed?” Lane asked.
“At least we may have a motive now.” Harper took off his jacket and draped it over his arm.
“How’s that?”
“If this is about child porn, and Jennifer Towers found out, it could be the motive for her murder.”
“Or it could be something else altogether. We need to talk with McTavish,” Lane said.
×
Maddy set the bags of new clothes on the bed. For a few hours today, it had felt as if the stepfather she remembered was back. The man she had worshipped as a child. Before. Her life was always before. Before the pictures. Before the lies. Before the threats. Before the nights when he opened her bedroom door.
“How come daddy bought us all new clothes? Why can’t we go home?” Andrea jumped on the bed and sat down next to Maddy.
“He says we’re going on a holiday, and we need new clothes.” Maddy took new socks and underwear out of a bag. She peeled off tags and labels. You know, it would be so easy to walk out that door, she thought.
“How come he said our name is Brown? Our name is Jones,” Andrea said.
Maddy handed her a pair of socks. “Here, put these in your drawer.” I’m beginning to wonder what our name really is. Jones? Brown? Smith?
“Why?” Andrea threw the socks on the floor.
“Because I need some help, and you’re old enough now.” If he does what he’s planning to do to Andrea, she’ll never be the same.
“No! You can’t make me!” Andrea crossed her arms.
Andrea has no idea what it’s like, and it has to stay that way.I can’t let that happen to her.
“I hate you!” Andrea’s foot shot out and caught Maddy in the chest.
Maddy slapped her sister across the face.
For a moment, they both froze. Andrea, with her mouth open and a red mark on her face. Maddy, with her hand stinging and guilt crawling into her gut because of what could not be taken back.
×
They found McTavish around the back of a coffee shop on Nineteenth Street. He sat in a green plastic lawn chair at a green plastic table. His police motorcycle was parked nearby, and his helmet sat on the table.
“Got time for lunch?” Lane asked.
“Already ordered. How about you?” McTavish smiled as his coffee arrived, served in a bowl.
Harper and Lane ducked inside to order coffees and sandwiches from a young black-haired woman wearing a worn Hello Kitty T-shirt and a ready smile.
Outside, they sat down with McTavish, who asked, “How’s your niece doing?”
“Better, I think.” Lane looked at Harper. “As far as I know, she hasn’t been out late at night working on her graffiti.”
McTavish nodded and smiled. “You wanted to know about Dr. Paul Stephen?”
Harper said, “It looks like his partner, Dr. Jones, is into some nasty stuff. Jones may have skipped town.”
“Nasty stuff?” McTavish turned his head to one side.
“Kiddie porn is one possibility. Murder is another.” Lane waited for McTavish’s reaction.
“Shit.” McTavish put his coffee down. “If I’m right, Paul Stephen is the money behind a car-theft racket. Working alone or with his brother, Stephen takes a look at what vehicles are hot around here, has them stolen down east, then sells them in the city.”
“How’s it work?” Harper asked.
“They steal vehicles that are less than a year old and have low kilometres. They have the vins changed, ship them out here, and price them to sell. They make a tidy profit on each vehicle, especially considering they pay nothing for the cars. By the time we’ve caught up with the vehicles, the curber has moved on, or the used-car dealership is out of business. It looks like one of Stephen’s brothers handles the eastern end while another handles this end.”
“And Dr. Stephen launders the money through Jones’ practice,” Lane said.
Their coffees arrived, along with McTavish’s sandwich.
Harper and McTavish watched Lane enjoy his first sip of coffee.
“Man, you love that stuff,” McTavish said.
“You have no idea,” Harper said.
“Any idea how we can get a hold of the good Dr. Stephen?” Lane asked.
“He and his brother move farther west every time there’s any hint of heat, so they both may be gone along with Dr. Jones or…” McTavish stopped to consider another possibility. “Stephen has a girlfriend. High end. High maintenance. Lives in a house in Mount Royal. If you hurry, you might catch him there.”
“How come you haven’t pulled him in yet?” Harper asked.
“He’s always kept enough distance from the stolen car operation. We haven’t been able to prove a link yet.” McTavish took his sandwich in two hands and bit into it.
“Got an address on the girlfriend’s house? We could bring him in and question him about the murder,” Lane said.
McTavish put the sandwich down and pulled a notebook from his jacket pocket.
Harper said, “I can’t find any record of Stephen ever graduating university with a degree in dentistry.”
Lane smiled at his partner. “So, we can talk with him about his phony credentials too.”
×
Lane shut off the engine and sat listening to the end of a rhythm-and-blues tune. He glanced at the front door of his house. Just sit still for a minute, he thought. If you don’t move, and breathe slowly, it doesn’t hurt. A noise attracted his attention. He looked at the front door of his house. The door swung open. Alexandra stepped out with her suitcase and overnight case, with Arthur in tow carrying two oversized bags.
Alexandra’s face was white-red with anger. Arthur looked over his shoulder and came close to tripping down the stairs.
Lane thought about getting out; instead, he reached for the switch for the passenger window. The window hummed o
pen. “Need a lift?”
Alexandra’s eyes swung around to meet his.
Don’t mess with her, he thought.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” There was fire in Alexandra’s voice.
Pour water on it, he thought. “Wherever you’re going, I don’t think Arthur will be able to carry those very far.” Lane glanced in the direction of her luggage.
Arthur set the bags down and wiped sweat from his forehead.
Alexandra looked behind her, laughed and turned back to face Lane. “How do you put up with that niece of yours?”
“I saw her being born. Loved her ever since,” Lane said.
Alexandra’s mouth opened.
Arthur stepped back as if shielding himself from an imminent explosion.
Alexandra looked at Arthur, then turned to Lane. Tears rolled down her face.
Lane and Alexandra sat in the Jeep for ten minutes. Arthur brought out a box of Kleenex and went back inside.
“I told her she was lucky. At least she has a family. Then Christine told me to mind my own business, that I wasn’t abandoned by my father and mother.” It took a couple of minutes for Alexandra to continue. “Then I told her I’ve hardly seen my mother since she got remarried, and my father is always traveling. When we’re together, he hardly talks to me anyway. I thought if I really did have a sister at least then…” A fit of crying interrupted the rest.
Christine stormed down the steps and opened the back door. “What’s she telling you?”
Lane turned and froze her with a stare. “Stay.”
“No.” Christine stood outside the door with her arms crossed over her breasts.
Lane glared at her.
Christine got in.
Lane thought, I’ve handled domestic disputes before. I can handle this. “You’re sisters. You had a fight. Sisters do that. So, are you going to finish this relationship with a fight? Or are you going to talk and with the understanding that you are more similar than different?”
“Talk.” Christine opened the door.
“Good. That’s what this family does,” Lane said.
“This family?” Alexandra asked.
“Well, you’re here aren’t you?” Lane looked at her and then at Christine. “Are we going to sit down for dinner or not?”
After they put Alexandra’s bags back in the guest room, ordered pizza, talked some more, and got Alexandra unpacked, the sisters fell asleep leaning against one another on the couch.
Matt came in the back door, looked at them, looked at his uncles and said, “Interesting evening?”
Lane and Arthur looked at one another. They nodded silently with the intense fatigue following the explosion of the sisters’ now-spent emotions.
“It’s eleven o’clock.” Arthur said, waiting for an explanation for Matt’s late arrival.
“Dress rehearsal,” Matt said.
“I’ve got to be up at five.” Lane yawned.
×
Maddy pulled a chair over to one of the windows on the west side of their hotel room. The glass stretched from floor to ceiling. The top and outside edges were stained glass. She looked down at Ninth Avenue. Headlights shone down the street at infrequent intervals.
She leaned forward to look down. Someone walked across the street against the traffic light. The pedestrian was illuminated by the glare of a car’s headlights. The pedestrian ran to the curb.
Maddy sat back down. She looked out over the lights and silhouettes of buildings. The lights of an aircraft flashed red in the sky.
Andrea talked in her sleep.
Maddy looked around.
Andrea stuck her thumb in her mouth.
On the phone, he said he had to be at the border at six o’clock Friday evening. He had to wait because of the schedule. It was the only way he could get safely into the States. Then he said two people were crossing. Only two of them. Which two did he mean?… You know, Maddy thought.
She looked down at the street. An idea blossomed and she smiled.
THURSDAY, MAY 15
chapter 17
Lane dreamed of a phone just out of reach. When his fingers finally touched the plastic, and the phone flipped open, his fingers only found wrong numbers. Finally, he was able to dial, but no one answered.
He opened his eyes. Around the edges of the curtains, light illuminated the wall and the ceiling.
The phone rang.
He reached for it and groaned from the pain of bruises, sore joints, and damaged muscles left over from the accident. The phone fell to the floor. “Shit!” Lane sat up.
Lane found the phone on the floor with his right foot and picked it up. “Hello!”
“That you, Lane?”
“What is it?” Lane asked.
“You okay? Sounds like you just fell out of bed or something,” Harper said.
“Lane? What happened?” Arthur asked.
“I’ve got it,” Lane said.
Arthur tapped Lane on the back. “What happened?”
Their door opened and the light came on.
Lane squinted.
“What happened?” Christine asked. “Oh my God! Put some clothes on, Uncle Arthur!” She slammed the door.
“Lane?” Harper asked.
“Go ahead,” Lane said.
“Looks like our friend the artist is still in town.”
“And?” Lane asked.
“This time there’s been a change in location. Wrote the message in ten-foot letters down the middle of Stephen Avenue Mall.”
“What’s it say?” Lane asked.
“Jennifer’s killer leaves Friday. The media’s all over this one.”
“No kidding.” Lane sat up and groaned.
“I’ll be there in ten.” Harper hung up.
×
Lane watched the pedestrians walking on either side of the avenue. Stephen Avenue Mall was taped off to traffic. Some people stared at the red letters painted on the pavement. Others sipped their coffees and listened to music, oblivious to the warning.
TV crews were set up at either end of the barrier. One camera operator stood on top of a van in order to get all of the words in her frame.
Lane scratched the back of his head, sipped at his coffee, and thought, Was that three or four hours of sleep?
“It was around four this morning.” Harper lifted the lid on his cup of coffee. “The patrol car spotted the paint, but not the painter.”
“So, if Malcolm’s right, the artist is staying around here somewhere because she works whatever neighbourhood she’s in. That means,” Lane turned around to look at the hotels within sight, “she’s within walking distance. It appears we need to find her by noon on Friday, or sooner. And we need to get some officers checking each of these hotels.”
“What about Mount Royal?” Harper asked.
“Want to go and take a look?”
×
“Get packed!” Joseph Jones, wearing his bathrobe, stood in the doorway to Andrea and Maddy’s room.
Maddy was instantly awake. She gauged the distance to the bathroom, then, looked to see how close Andrea was in case she needed to grab her little sister and run.
“Why?” Andrea asked.
“Never mind!” Jones turned his back on them. “We’re leaving in fifteen minutes!”
×
The two-storey house was made of brick. Its roof was tiled red. Each window was clad with white metal. The driveway was a semicircle of pebbled concrete. Two gold Mercedes were parked in it. The front yard, except for the fir trees, was concrete and interlocking brick. Other houses on the block displayed manicured lawns, tulips, and trees.
“Boy, this house stands out.” Harper parked behind a bmw. He could see the front door through the windshield of the bmw and Lane had a good view between a pair of lilac bushes.
In a few days the lilac blossoms will be out, Lane thought.
“That’s one maintenance-free property,” Harper said.
Lane took another look at the neighbour’
s place. Sprinklers popped out from under the trees, sending a fine mist into the air. Sunshine created a series of rainbows.
“What haven’t we thought of?” Harper asked.
“Sounds like we were too late getting to the hotel. A man and his two daughters checked out fifteen minutes after the media reported the message on Stephen Avenue. It looks like Jones has access to more than one identity because the description matches him but the name doesn’t. And we haven’t interviewed Herrence from Maddy’s school.” Lane took a small sip from his coffee. He winced when his arm ached and his shoulder complained. Make the coffee last; we could be here a long time.
“I don’t understand why Jones is hanging around town. He knows we’re looking for him, but he’s still here. Doesn’t make sense.”
“It doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense. One phony dentist is into selling stolen cars, and the other looks like he’s into kiddie porn. All they have to do is stick to the practice, and they’d make plenty of money.” Lane looked at the house and thought for a moment. We’re wrong; it’s beginning to make sense. “So, what’s the connection?”
“We have to look at this from another angle.” Harper flipped down the visor and looked at his reflection. “Jones has disappeared with the two girls. The porn shots of Maddy were taken when she was about the same age as the youngest is now.”
“That might explain the Maddy’s graffiti warnings. The assistant principal at the school heard rumours about the pictures, and Madeline had an argument with her guidance counselor. She might be trying to protect the little sister. But why not just come to us?” Lane watched as the front door of Stephen’s girlfriend’s house opened. A slender woman wearing a red blouse and blue shorts stepped through the doorway and made her way down the stairs with two suitcases. She opened the trunk, dropped the bags in, and repeated the ritual three more times.
“She matches the picture on her license. Her name’s Stephanie,” Harper said.
Lane looked at the picture.
Stephanie closed the trunk, climbed into the car, and started it up.
“Wanna see if she takes us to her boyfriend?” Harper asked.
Lane nodded.
They waited until she turned the corner at the end of the street before following her. Harper managed to keep Stephanie in sight when she turned onto Fourteenth Street and travelled north down the hill.