by Garry Ryan
The ancient figure skates had raised a few eyebrows.
So had the black-and-white helmet he’d borrowed from Harper. The rookie referees spent the morning in class learning the rules of the game. Tomorrow, if he passed the test with an eighty-five percent or better, he would be a referee.
“The key to doing the job well is being at the right place all of the time.” Bob was a referee with some international experience. Bob took pains to look the part with a short-short haircut covered by a black helmet with a visor. He wore a black-nylon sweatsuit. He was shorter than Lane and had quick feet and a sarcastic disposition. “Hey toe picks? Show me the best position for a referee if the players are crowded around the net and the puck is loose.”
Lane took a couple of quick strides, reversed so his eyes would still be on the play, and positioned himself to one side behind the net. “Here.”
“Right.” Bob didn’t bother to hide his disappointment. Lane was in perfect position. “Be sure to get a pair of hockey skates before your first game.”
Lane opened his mouth to reply, then thought better of it. His cellphone chirped.
Bob frowned.
Lane picked the phone out of his pocket. He skated toward the penalty box. “Hello.”
“Hey Mr. Hockey, havin’ fun yet?” Harper said.
“Remind me I’ve got to get some new skates.” Lane leaned against the boards.
“Tell me you’re not out there with a pair of figure skates! You said you’d get new skates if I loaned you the helmet. You might as well hang a ‘pick-on-me’ sign around your neck.”
“No time to buy skates. Between the case, the hospital, and going to Matt’s school, there hasn’t been any time.” Lane looked over his shoulder at the other refs in training.
“Just got off the phone with the chief,” Harper said.
Bob blew his whistle. The sound echoed off the arena rafters. Lane stuck a finger in his left ear. He pressed the phone closer to his right.
“She asked how come we haven’t closed the Reddie case. So, I explained about the inconsistencies.”
“What did she say?” Lane asked.
“There’s been some pressure on her end. A few calls from concerned citizens who think Bobbie’s been through enough. They encouraged the chief to hurry it up and close this case since the father is obviously responsible.”
“Go on.”
“Chief seems to think the calls may have some political influence,” Harper said.
“City Hall?” Lane asked.
“And the legislature. Nothing that could be nailed down, otherwise it would become political interference. The calls did come from people who are wellconnected, though.” Harper chuckled.
“What’s funny?”
“The chief can smell fish a long way off. Has a nose for it. This one is beginning to stink. She said to keep on it. If there’s pressure to close this case, we may be on to something. The chief thinks the pressure might intensify.” “I wonder who’s been whispering in the right ears?”
Lane asked.
Harper said, “I was wondering the same thing. Oh, and make sure you read the paper today.”
“What?”
“Read it. Talk to you later.” Harper hung up.
It was after six by the time Lane arrived home. He anticipated that he’d feel some pain when he put the skates back on in the morning. The house was unusually quiet. Riley slept in a tiny patch of sunlight on the front-room floor. He opened his eyes and wagged his tail when he spotted Lane. Arthur said, “Supper’s in the fridge. We took the dog for a walk after we went to the hospital. Matt ate supper and went to bed. The kid’s dead tired. And, by the look of things, so are you.”
“What about you? Those pants of yours look like they’re getting a little baggy.” Lane pulled a salad plate and a beer from the fridge.
Arthur grabbed his belt and hitched up his pants, “If I’d known this would help me lose weight, I
would’ve had a kid a long time ago.”
“Did you read the paper?” Lane sat down.
Arthur shrugged. He looked even more tired. “This time it says that a woman like Bobbie Reddie shouldn’t have to be put through a long investigation. According to the editorial, it’s obvious the father killed the child and himself. Bobbie and her son have had more than enough of their share of pain and suffering.”
“Sounds like someone’s been busy. The chief’s been getting calls.”
“Oh?” Arthur asked.
“Harper called me.” Lane stabbed at some salad, maneuvered it into his mouth, began to chew. “Some influential citizens have expressed their concerns to the chief. They want a quick resolution to this case.”
“Could we talk about the case?” Arthur got up, reached into the fridge, and brought out a bottle of white wine.
“As long as we get to talk about Matt and what he’s got on his plate.” Lane pointed at Arthur with his fork.
“For instance?” Arthur’s tone of voice was immediately defensive.
“CP for starters.”
“What are you talking about?” Arthur looked through a drawer for the corkscrew. It sounded more like demolition than searching.
“Cerebral palsy. Look. I like the kid. I want him here. You want him here. No need to get defensive.”
Arthur pulled out the corkscrew, and plunked it and the wine bottle in front of Lane. “So, what is the point?”
The corkscrew squeaked as Lane twisted it into the cork. “We need to talk about what’s going on. You know, discuss things.”
Arthur put two glasses on the table.
The cork popped out of the bottle. Lane said, “Like the fact that we haven’t been discussing major decisions, and what are we going to do if Martha gets sicker?
Things like that.”
Arthur sat down and asked, “What makes you think he’s got CP?”
Lane poured. “It’s the way he moves. There’s a hitch in his walk. Did you notice the way he holds his arm?”
“Shit.” Tears welled-up in Arthur’s eyes. “I thought he was just a little uncoordinated. I missed seeing the kid grow up, and I’m so far out of the loop no one bothered to tell me.”
“Matt’s dad called him a freak, and said it ran in Martha’s family. It looks like the kid needs a place where he’s accepted for who he is. Where nobody cares if he’s got CP,” Lane said.
“How the hell does he play goal?”
Lane shrugged, “I guess we’re going to find out.”
“You know, it’s funny.” Arthur looked at the legs of white wine running down the inside of his glass. “Martha told me that getting cancer was a blessing in some ways. She’d gotten used to being bullied by her husband. She even made excuses for the way he treated Matt. When Martha found out she had cancer, she told herself, ‘No more.’ She said she felt good about herself for the first time in years.”
“So, what’s she planning to do?” Lane asked.
“I helped her hire a lawyer. She’s going after half of everything her husband owns.”
“This could get messy,” Lane said.
“No kidding. Speaking of messy, Mrs. Smallway is building a glass addition to her house. She was hollering at some poor guy in her backyard. It has to be done for Halloween. Apparently, she’s having a few friends over for a party.” Arthur smiled.
“You don’t think it’s another swinger’s party?”
“I bet she’s planning a costume ball,” Arthur laughed.
“Scary.”
“Very. Now, tell me more about the case,” Arthur said.
Sunday, October 18
Chapter 11
AFTER WRITING AND passing his referee’s examination, the newly qualified Lane drove west on Memorial Drive. He was first in line at the traffic lights more times than not. The sun shone just above the mountains in a blue sky. He caught glimpses of the river shimmering on his left. Orange and yellow leaves covered the banks and pathways. A few joggers and cyclists pursued their dinnertime w
orkouts along the river.
After listening to Lane summarize the evidence, Arthur had said one thing last night that bothered Lane that next day. “You may never be able to prove it, but that’s not the worst of it. If you’re right, then Cole is a witness.”
He looked left at Chinatown, then glanced at the clock. I’ll be home by seven, he thought and continued along the north side of the river.
Seven o’clock, Uncle Tran said seven, Jay thought. He found a parking spot on the south side of the river, locked the car, and walked the rest of the way to the restaurant. Tony waved when Jay entered the door. There was a seat next to Tony’s mother. It was across the table from Rosie and her father. Jay dodged toddlers who ran by as he wove his way around and
between tables. He glanced up at the jade elephant before sitting down. Uncle Tran nodded at him from the next table.
“Glad you made it,” Tony said.
His mother smiled. “Hello, Jay.”
Jay offered his hand. She shook it with gentle affection. “You, good boy.” She turned to Tony and said something in Vietnamese.
“She says she wishes she knew more English,” Tony said.
“I wish I knew more Vietnamese.” Jay picked up a menu to hide behind, before he glanced across the table.
“Hi. This is my father, Hieng.” Rosie wore a white blouse and a gold chain around her neck.
“Hello,” Jay said, while thinking that Hieng must be close to sixty years old.
Hieng nodded at Jay.
Jay nodded back.
“My father is glad to meet you.” Rosie used her elbow to jab her father in the ribs. Hieng smiled obediently. The waiter arrived as soon as Jay set his menu down. He took a look around the restaurant and counted four empty chairs.
Food orders came and went. The air filled with the scent of noodles, chicken, beef, peanut sauce, peppers, ginger, curry, and salt.
“My Mom says you’re our guest today,” Tony said.
“Shouldn’t I be paying?” Jay asked before remembering he only had enough money for some gas and one meal a day until payday. He had been dreaming about tonight’s satay soup while studying in the university library.
Tony ignored his friend’s offer. “On a day like today, all of the money is put into an account. If anyone here has to make an emergency trip to Vietnam, then this money is used.”
“I should . . . ” Jay began.
Rosie said, “Auntie is very stubborn. Just smile. Say thank you.”
“Thank you,” Jay said.
Tony’s mother said something to her son. Tony said, “My mom asks why are you turning red?”
Who knows, Jay thought. Their orders arrived before he could be expected to answer.
He hardly looked up from the bowl. Jay used chopsticks to gather up noodles and fill his mouth.
The clatter of conversation and eating died away to a murmur. Jay looked up from what was left of his soup. A noodle reached from his lower lip to the bowl.
Tony’s mother smiled at Jay when he slurped up the noodle and wiped his chin with a napkin.
Rosie giggled.
Jay looked left.
Uncle Tran was standing right next to him.
Uncle Tran put his arm on Jay’s shoulder.
The restaurant was silent except for the voice of a toddler who said, “How are you? How ARE you! How are YOU!”
Even though he was sitting and Tran standing, Jay and Uncle Tran were nearly eye to eye.
Tran put a jeweller’s box in front of Jay.
Jay looked at Tony for help.
“Open it,” Tony said.
Jay found himself unable to speak. His fingers fumbled to open the box. In between two layers of white cotton, he saw a gold elephant on a gold chain.
Tony said, “Uncle Tran wants me to explain because you’re my friend and you have watched out for me, treated me like an equal. If you put the elephant on, it means you’ve accepted us, all of us, as your family. In one way or another, we’re all orphans, and you’re being invited to join this family.”
Jay’s fingers fumbled with the clasp. He dropped the chain. Panic gripped him. Even the children were quiet now. Jay shoved his chair back, fighting the urge to run.
He glanced at Rosie who glared at him.
Jay picked up the chain.
His fingers refused to work.
There was the soft touch of a woman’s hand on his. Jay looked up into the face of Tony’s mother. He recognized the emotions of grief and love. She took the chain and opened the clasp. He felt the cold of the chain at his throat, and the warmth of her hands at the back of his neck. She closed the link then rested her hands on his shoulders.
Jay used his right hand to touch the elephant at his throat.
“You’re family now,” Tony said.
Monday, October 19
Chapter 12
“ARTHUR? HARPER JUST called. Things are really hopping. I’m meeting him for coffee. Are you and Matt going to be okay?” Lane was just out of the shower, and he noticed a few damp spots coming through the front of his shirt as he was knotting his tie.
“I’ll drive Matt to school,” Arthur said.
Matt sat eating cereal, across the table from Arthur. The boy nodded at Lane.
The phone rang.
Arthur reached for it. “Hello? Lisa. Yes, we’re fine.
It has been interesting. Yes, I’m sorry too, but . . . Lane’s right here.”
Lane took the phone. “Hello, Lisa.”
“I just got a call from Dr. Fibre. You know, the forensics genius with absolutely no social skills. He looks like something out of a male model magazine but can’t pick a pair of pants to match a shirt or tie,” Lisa said.
“I met him once.” Lane took a sip of coffee.
“He said he got some fibres off of Kaylie’s clothing. A few were animal; canine. And some were consistent with the material used to carpet the trunks of latemodel cars. He’s confident he can make a match, if you can find the vehicle. Fibre confirmed that her upper body was wrapped in a plastic consistent with the material used to manufacture garbage bags.”
Lisa sounded better today, more optimistic, Lane thought. “The car’s a problem. Bobbie had her old car shredded. She’s already bought a new one.”
Lisa said, “The car was only a couple of years old. Sounds like a calculated move. Destroying evidence. Staying one step ahead of you.”
“Looks like it,” Lane said.
“Pretty damning when you think about it.”
“Damning but not the kind of evidence that would be damning in court,” Lane said.
“Probably not. I’ll keep you informed from this end. Something else may turn up.”
“I’ll keep you up-to-date on what we find,” Lane said.
“Good. Take care.” Lisa hung up.
Lane and Harper met twenty minutes later at a coffee shop on Kensington. A table by the window offered privacy.
Lane sipped a Rolo, with its delicious blend of espresso, chocolate and caramel.
Harper said, “We may have caught a break. Bobbie has a brother. Name’s Jay Krocker. He’s nineteen. Problem is there appears to be no fixed address. It may take a while to track him down. And get this, their parents died when Jay was fifteen. It was a house fire attributed to careless smoking. Jay claimed his parents had quit smoking. Still, the investigators couldn’t find a cause other than careless smoking. I’ve asked for the file so we can take a look.”
“That’s three,” Lane said.
“Three?” Harper asked.
“Two fires attributed to careless smoking and a burned-out cigarette butt in the camper. It’s beginning to look like a pattern.” Lane stirred the whipped cream and caramel into his coffee.
“I got two more messages from the vet. She wants us to call her,” Harper said.
“We’ve got to find the brother. He may be able to give us some insights into Bobbie. The vet may have to wait.”
“So, I hear you’ve got a big game
tonight. First night as a ref. Nervous?” Harper asked.
Lane thought for a moment. He remembered he still had to get new skates. “Arthur’s buying me a referee’s jersey and a pair of pants. But I’ve got to get a new helmet and skates.”
“Have you ever skated without toe picks?” Harper smiled.
“No.”
Harper smiled some more.
Harper continued smiling for the rest of the day until nearly four o’clock. It was a day of phone calls, faxes, and computer searches. As planned, they met in a conference room to compare notes.
Lane set several folders down on the table. Harper did the same. They sat next to one another with sleeves rolled up and jackets on the backs of their chairs.
Harper opened his top folder. “I’ve got a driver’s license and photo of Jay Krocker. He’s fifteen years younger than his sister. Owns a twenty-year-old Lincoln. I phoned the address on his driver’s license. The woman who lives there said he drops by every month or so for mail. Apparently, he hasn’t lived there for several years. Another place we might be able to find him is the university. He’s registered there, and I’ve got a copy of his timetable. We should be able to wait around one of his classes, pick him out, and sit him down for a chat.”
“And the report on his parents’ house fire?” Lane asked.
“I did find some notes. The kid was barely fifteen at the time. He said his parents quit smoking. Bobbie had fought with them over money a couple of days before the fire. The firemen were able to save Jay because he was sleeping downstairs. But his parents died of smoke inhalation. According to the report, the batteries in both fire detectors were dead,” Harper said.
“Who did the kid live with after the fire?”
“That’s something we’ll have to ask him,” he said.
“We’re short on physical evidence. Dr. Fibre has some physical evidence. Until we can supply him with evidence connecting individuals to crime scenes, he’s not going to be able to help us much,” Lane said.
“Aren’t you gonna ask about the cops in Jamaica?”
“Well?” Lane asked.
“The officer I talked with has a cousin who works at the resort. There was a fight when Bobbie arrived for the second time. It was an argument between Bobbie and the twin sisters who died in the fire. Later, Bobbie was seen drinking with Frank—the GO—and the famous twins.”