The Detective Lane Casebook #1

by Garry Ryan

  “Don’t worry about Riley, Matt just took him for a long walk. Supper’s in half an hour. The trick-ortreaters should be at the door soon.”

  Riley huffed, turned his back, and sat sulking under the dining-room table.

  “I’m going to have a quick nap on the couch.” Lane sat down. Just twenty minutes, Lane thought.

  Riley barked.

  Lane opened an eye. He looked at his watch, realizing he had been asleep for more than an hour.

  “Trick or treat!”

  Lane swung his legs around and sat up. He tucked his feet into his slippers. Shaking his head, he got up and made for the front door.

  Two tots in dog costumes held pillowcases open, while Matt dropped miniature chocolates inside. “Thanks!” the kids said and ran down the stairs. One skidded, nearly fell, and righted himself.

  Riley cocked his head to one side.

  “Never seen dogs like that before, have you, Riley?”

  Matt rubbed the dog’s head. Riley closed his eyes, savouring the moment.

  The doorbell rang. Lane turned. Riley barked. Matt opened the door.

  Mrs. Smallway stood there with a bag in her hand. She shivered on the top step. The wind whipped at the black silk kimono she wore. “I’m having some friends over.” She used her free hand to keep the front of her kimono closed.

  “That’s nice,” Matt said.

  Lane couldn’t think of one thing to say. He noticed Mrs. Smallway had done her makeup. She reminded him of a television-evangelist’s wife, despite the geisha lipstick. The blizzard could not move one hair in her beehive hairdo. Lane decided that someone might see a certain innocence in her expression, but he knew her better than that.

  “Here are my Halloween candies. Tell the kids not to ring my doorbell.” Smallway handed the bag to Matt, turning her back, and walked away.

  Matt let the door close. “There sure are some strange people living in this city.”

  Lane, still at a loss for words, took the bag from Matt, and set it down around the corner. He thought of at least a dozen things to say before deciding on, “Where’s everybody?”

  “Uncle Arthur’s taking a nap and Mom’s asleep,”

  Matt said. Riley licked his hand. “The storm’s really gettin’ bad.” He pointed at the full-length safety glass in the screen door. Frost coated the bottom half.

  “Any coffee made?” Lane tried not to think too much about the motives behind Mrs. Smallway’s request.

  “Think Uncle Arthur made a pot,” Matt said.

  Lane went to investigate and heard Matt turn the TV on.

  Lane filled two cups, then put his winter boots on. He pulled on a jacket and stepped outside. The wind whipped snow into his face. He made his way across the street where the unmarked police car sat idling. The driver opened her window. He handed her one cup and another to the passenger. “Thanks. I’m Amanda.” She offered her free hand.

  “Lane.” He shook her hand.

  “Frank.” The other officer reached across to shake Lane’s hand.

  “Let me know if you need anything.” Lane spotted a photo of Bobbie Reddie sitting on the seat cushion.

  “We will.” The corners of Amanda’s mouth wrinkled when she smiled. Her hair was red and cut short. Frank’s hair was cut so short, it was hard to see if he usually had any, let alone what colour it might be.

  Lane heard a car door shut and looked to his left. A bull got out of a car parked in front of Mrs. Smallway’s house. At least the head was a bull, the rest walked like a man dressed in black.

  “He’s number four,” Amanda said.

  “Looks like the wild kingdom lives next door to you. First a white stallion then an elephant. The last one was a unicorn. Got a zookeeper next door?” Frank asked.

  “Something like that. I’ll put on a fresh pot.” While Lane crossed the street, he thought about Mrs. Smallway’s glassed-in addition and what Matt might see if he looked out his bedroom window. Lane stepped over a drift running across his sidewalk and opened the front door.

  The TV was on but Riley and Matt were gone. Lane heard a voice in the back bedroom. He took off his boots, put on his slippers, and went down the hall. He peeked in the door. Arthur and Matt stood on the bed, pressing their faces against the window.

  “Maybe we’d better not look,” Arthur said.

  “That’s gross!” Matt said.

  “I’d have to agree with you there,” Arthur said.

  “What’s up?” Lane asked.

  Matt and Arthur turned. They looked at Lane, then at each other. Matt started to laugh.

  “Actually, that’s a good question.” Arthur stepped off the bed. Matt followed.

  “Some kind of party.” Matt moved past Lane.

  “That’s right. A social gathering,” Arthur said.

  “Not much doubt what they’re doin’,” Matt began to laugh again. His runners squeaked as he went down the hall.

  “Not much doubt at all,” Arthur said.

  Riley followed Lane down the hall and into the kitchen.

  “New shoes?” Lane asked.

  “Yep,” Matt said.

  Lane said, “I’d better make a fresh pot of coffee.”

  He followed Arthur, who sat down at the kitchen table.

  Matt squeaked all the way to the front door to see if any more trick-or-treaters were arriving.

  Riley went to the dining room and curled up under the table next to the window.

  Amanda sipped her coffee. “Not bad.”

  “What’s this?” Frank nodded at the black Acura parking around the corner in front of Lane’s driveway.

  A person dressed in black stepped out of the car.

  “The ninja outfit will fit right in at the neighbour’s party,” Frank said.

  The ninja went to the back of the Acura and opened the trunk.

  “It’s a woman,” Amanda said.

  “How can you tell?” Frank asked.

  “I just can.”

  The woman stepped from behind the trunk. In her right hand she carried a bottle with a flaming wick. She put another bottle in her jacket pocket and a third in her left hand.

  “Shit. Molotov cocktails!” Frank spilled coffee in his lap when he reached to open his door.

  Bobbie walked closer to the dining-room window. She touched the flaming wick to the bottle in her left hand. With an underhand toss, she threw one bottle through the window.

  Riley was startled by the sound of shattered glass. He stood, then darted from under the protection of the table. The retriever’s back was showered with glass, gasoline, and flame.

  Lane turned as the glass broke. He heard Riley howl.

  Arthur stood.

  The dog was a fireball. Riley hit Arthur behind the knees. Arthur’s head caught the edge of the table as he fell to the floor. Riley careened down the hall, then launched himself through the glass of the front door. The safety glass exploded into pebble-sized bits.

  “Riley!” Matt jumped through the empty aluminum door frame and ran out into the storm.

  Flames spilled onto the floor. The dining room filled with black smoke. The air was tainted with the stench of gasoline.

  Lane ran down the hall and opened Martha’s door. He threw her blanket back, pulling her to her feet.

  “Wha . . . ?” she asked.

  “Move!” Lane pushed her toward the door.

  “My head’s spinning,” Martha said.

  Lane tucked his head under her arm and halfcarried her down the hall. He saw Arthur on the floor. “Arthur! Jesus! Arthur, get up!” Smoke and flame filled the dining and living rooms as he turned right, stepping over the broken glass.

  “My feet!” Glass ripped the soles of Martha’s feet.

  Lane heard two gunshots.

  “Stay still!” Frank ordered. He pulled his Glock from its holster and pointed it at Bobbie. Wind-driven snow obscured his vision.

  Bobbie looked directly at Frank, pulled another bottle from a jacket pocket, touched it to t
he lit wick, then stood with her arms extended.

  “Stay still!” Amanda stood about five metres to the right of Frank. Her Glock was ready.

  Bobbie tossed one bottle at Frank’s feet. The glass shattered. Liquid fire poured over his shoes and licked up his pant legs.

  “Oh, Jesus!” Frank jumped left into a snow drift.

  Bobbie cocked her arm to throw the remaining cocktail at Amanda.

  Amanda fired twice. Both rounds hit Bobbie in the chest. Bobbie looked down at the front of her jacket. She sat down in slow motion, then leaned to the right.

  The cocktail in her hand tilted. The wick ignited the gasoline. It glowed under the snow as it ran down into the gutter.

  Bobbie looked at Amanda and said, “How could you shoot me?” Bobbie stared at the bottle and reached for it.

  Amanda kicked the bottle away from Bobbie.

  Lane sat Martha down on the sidewalk. He looked up the street. Through the blowing snow, he spotted Riley. The dog was a yellow flame disappearing around the corner.

  “Riley!” Matt’s voice carried on the wind.

  Martha said, “Arthur! Where’s Arthur?”

  Lane looked at the house. It glowed from the inside. Smoke was beginning to billow out the top of the broken front door.

  Lane followed Martha’s bloody footsteps back into the house. He stepped through the aluminum frame. Inside, he dropped to his knees. The smoke was just above his head. He crawled into the kitchen. He looked into the dining room. Oxygen was being sucked in through the broken windows. He found Arthur in the kitchen. Lane grabbed Arthur’s shirt-collar and dragged him down the hall.

  Lane coughed. The smoke grew thicker. The hair on his head and arms felt as if it might burst into flame.

  Still on his hands and knees, Lane backed out the front door, lifted Arthur under the arms, and hauled him down the stairs.

  Someone grabbed Arthur’s feet.

  It was the police officer, Amanda. She said, “Get him in the car! I’ve called for help. Anybody else inside?”

  “No,” Lane said.

  They carried Arthur to the car. Martha was already inside. Lane caught a whiff of burned flesh. Frank sat in the front seat and moaned.

  “Help’s coming Frank! Hold on!” Amanda said.

  “Arthur?” Martha asked.

  They propped Arthur in the back seat. He leaned up against his sister. There was a bump the size of a plum on the side of his head.

  Lane and Amanda looked at Bobbie lying on the sidewalk. Both opened their doors. Amanda went to the trunk and pulled out a blanket. Lane picked up the first aid kit. They walked across the street.

  Bobbie was on her side. She looked at Amanda. “She shot me! I was unarmed and she shot me.” The voice was cotton candy sweet.

  Amanda leaned and put the blanket over Bobbie’s feet. Then the officer pressed her hands against the wounds to slow the blood loss.

  Lane opened the first-aid kit.

  Bobbie said, “I’m going to destroy both of you!”

  Lane looked at Bobbie.

  She was staring at him. “I know everything about you, you pervert. How’s your boyfriend? He’s still inside isn’t he? Serves him right!”

  Bobbie turned to Amanda. “And you, you bitch, you shot me for nothing! Once I get back on the radio, you’re going to have to crawl into a hole! I’ll destroy you!”

  Lane looked at Amanda. There were tears running down her cheeks.

  Lane pulled out two sterile bandages. He ripped open the packages. The wind whipped the wrappings away. Amanda’s sobs reached him. He looked at Amanda, then to Bobbie whose mouth was open. Her eyes were unfocused and staring into the storm.

  “Amanda?” Lane said.

  She looked back at him.

  “We think Bobbie killed seven people. One was a child.”

  “I think her heart stopped.” Amanda lifted her bloody gloves away from the body. She checked for a pulse.

  “She’s gone. Let’s get back to the blue and white.” He walked beside her back to the car. She got into the driver’s seat.

  “Where’s Matt?” Martha asked.

  Lane leaned on the open passenger door. “I’ll go get him.”

  “What happened to you?” Martha asked.

  Lane looked at his hands. They were bleeding.

  Blood dripped and was carried downwind where it spattered the fresh snow. He looked at his knees. His pants were soaked with blood. “Glass.” Lane wondered why there was no pain.

  “Where’s my Matt?” Martha began to scream.

  “Matt!”

  Lane said, “Martha! He’s all right. He went after Riley.”

  Lane looked at the house. It was fully engulfed now.

  Flame rolled out the front door. All of the windows were glowing. The snow on the roof was turning to steam.

  To the right of the house, on the sidewalk, there was the glow of flame from the Molotov cocktail next to Bobbie’s body.

  Lane could hear the sirens now. He pulled down the sleeves of his shirt so he could grip the cuffs in his palms and slow the blood flow. The wind-driven pellets of snow stung Lane’s face. He prayed that Matt had managed to find Riley and put out the fire. He walked past Mrs. Smallway’s house.

  The front door opened. Mrs. Smallway was wearing a different kimono. “Is a little privacy too much to ask for?”

  Lane looked at his house, then back at his neighbour. “You’d better get out!” He pointed at the flames.

  Mrs. Smallway’s mouth opened and closed. She stepped outside to get a better look.

  He turned into the wind and walked north. His ears were beginning to freeze. His toes were numb. He found Matt and Riley two blocks away in a neighbour’s front yard. Riley had dropped into the snow next to a parked car. Snow was covering his blackened fur and flesh.

  “Riley must have been blinded by the fire, because he ran right into the side of the car. He hasn’t moved since,” Matt said.

  Riley’s fur had been burned to the skin. Lane saw that his ribs weren’t moving.

  The wind shifted. Lane inhaled the stench of burned hair and flesh.

  Matt began to weep.

  Lane put his hand at the back of Matt’s neck. Then, remembering his wounds, pulled way, leaving a bloody hand-print on the back of Matt’s shirt. Snow coated Matt’s hair.

  Matt patted Riley’s nose, then tried the dog’s paw, hoping for some kind of response.

  “Matt, he’s dead.”

  Matt’s head dropped.

  Lane clenched his hands against the pain. “We have to get back, Matt.”

  They left Riley where he’d fallen and walked back to the fire.

  When Matt and Lane reached the house, the street

  was blocked with fire trucks, police cars, ambulances, a rescue truck, and reporters.

  “Look at that!” Matt said.

  Mrs. Smallway’s house was burning. She stood across the street in her borrowed kimono. Four men stood beside her. They wore kimonos and animal masks. A reporter aimed his camera. Its light pushed back the darkness to shine on Smallway and her escorts. “Piss off!” Mrs. Smallway said.

  A gust of wind blew the kimonos open. The four men stood at attention. The camera panned from left to right capturing the image of the four in masks; a horse, elephant, unicorn and bull with their erect, out-of-season Maypoles blown sideways by a gust of wind. The four members were quickly covered up when Mrs. Smallway said, “Christ you guys! Use your manners!”

  A reporter turned to the woman with the camera and asked, “Did you get that?”

  Lane and Matt walked past. Only the far wall of Lane and Arthur’s house stood. Firemen aimed their hoses at Mrs. Smallway’s house. Smoke rolled under the edges of her roof, before curling up to be carried away by the storm. The night was filled with the sound of diesel engines running water pumps. Blue and red lights reflected off the snow. Lane stared at the Go Flames Go! poster in the window of one fire truck.

  “Hey, Lane!” a police
officer said. “We’ve been lookin’ for you! Get yourself looked after!”

  Two officers in blue nylon jackets grabbed him by the elbows. They guided him to the back of one of the ambulances.

  An officer said, “You! We’ve got another injured cop here. Move!”

  A paramedic opened the back door of the ambulance. Lane was heaved up and in through the back door. The paramedic sat him down.

  “Where’s everyone else?” Lane asked.

  “The policeman with the burns is on the way to the hospital. Some guy and his sister are in another ambulance. They just left for the hospital. The one on the ground was pronounced dead at the scene.”

  One of the officers poked his head in the back of the ambulance. Lane said, “See the body over there?

  Disturb the scene as little as possible. Did you check her?”

  The officer looked over his shoulder and spotted the yellow blanket coated with snow. “She took two in the chest. She’s dead. The paramedics checked her out too.”

  “The crime scene needs to be taped off. Double-check to make sure the fire’s out. We need her footprints,” Lane said.

  “Footprints?” the officer asked.

  “That’s correct,” Lane said.

  “Okay.” The officer left.

  “I need a phone, please,” Lane said.

  “Got one up front,” the paramedic said.

  Matt pulled himself into the back of the ambulance.

  The door closed behind him. The paramedic examined Lane’s hands. “Looks like you’ll need stitches.” He tore the wrapping off a packet of bandages.

  “Where’s the phone?” Lane asked.

  “Here.” The driver passed the phone back.

  “Matt, take it.” Lane told Matt the number.

  “Okay.” Matt dialed and put it to Lane’s ear.

  “Hello?” Harper said.

  “It’s Lane. I need a favour. Riley’s dead. I need someone to pick up the body.”

  “Where?” Harper asked.

  Lane looked at the paramedic, “Where are we going?”

  “Foothills.”

  “Can you pick Matt up at the Foothills Hospital?

  He’ll show you where.” Lane handed the phone back to the driver. “We can leave as soon as the Forensic Crime Scenes Unit arrives.”