Indiana Pulcinella

by Garry Ryan

  Indiana Pulcinella

  OTHER DETECTIVE LANE MYSTERIES

  Queen’s Park

  The Lucky Elephant Restaurant

  A Hummingbird Dance

  Smoked

  Malabarista

  Foxed

  Glycerine

  OTHER NEWEST MYSTERIES

  Business As Usual, by Michael Boughn

  The Cardinal Divide, by Stephen Legault

  The Darkening Archipelago, by Stephen Legault

  A Deadly Little List, by K. Stewart & C. Bullock

  A Magpie’s Smile, by Eugene Meese

  Murder in the Chilcotin, by Roy Innes

  Murder in the Monashees, by Roy Innes

  West End Murders, by Roy Innes

  FOR MORE ON THESE AND OTHER TITLES,

  VISIT NEWESTPRESS.COM

  Garry Ryan

  INDIANA

  PULCINELLA

  A Detective Lane Mystery

  COPYRIGHT © GARRY RYAN 2016

  All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication — reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system — without the prior consent of the publisher is an infringement of copyright law. In the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying of the material, a licence must be obtained from Access Copyright before proceeding.

  LIBRARY AND ARCHIVES CANADA CATALOGUING IN PUBLICATION

  Ryan, Garry, 1953–, author

  Indiana pulcinella / Garry Ryan.

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-926455-57-0 (paperback). — ISBN 978-1-926455-58-7 (epub). —

  ISBN 978-1-926455-59-4 (mobi)

  I. Title.

  PS8635.Y354I54 2016 C813’.6 C2015-906552-6

  C2015-906553-4

  Editor for the Board: Leslie Vermeer

  Cover and interior design: Natalie Olsen, Kisscut Design

  Cover photo: Natalie Olsen, Kisscut Design

  Author photo: Luke Towers

  NeWest Press acknowledges the support of the Canada Council for the Arts, the Alberta Foundation for the Arts, and the Edmonton Arts Council for support of our publishing program. We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund for our publishing activities.

  #201, 8540–109 Street

  Edmonton, Alberta T6G 1E6

  780.432.9427

  www.newestpress.com

  No bison were harmed in the making of this book.

  Printed and bound in Canada

  for

  KARMA,

  BEN,

  and

  LUKE

  CONTENTS

  Monday, January 20: Chapter 1

  Tuesday, January 21: Chapter 2

  Wednesday, January 22: Chapter 3

  Thursday, January 23: Chapter 4

  Friday, January 24: Chapter 5

  Saturday, January 25: Chapter 6

  Sunday, January 26: Chapter 7

  Monday, January 27: Chapter 8: Child Abductors to Appear In Court

  Tuesday, January 28: Chapter 9: Accused Child Abductors Remanded

  Wednesday, January 29: Chapter 10: Institute Promises to Pay Legal Fees for Trio Accused of Abduction

  Thursday, January 30: Chapter 11

  Friday, January 31: Chapter 12: Institute Backs Out of Defence for Accused Abductors

  Saturday, February 1: Chapter 13: Red Cross Rejoices At Abnormal Influx of Donations

  Sunday, February 2: Chapter 14

  Monday, February 3: Chapter 15: Accused’s Donation Clouds Legal Process

  Tuesday, February 4: Chapter 16: Calgary Lawyer Donates to Red Cross

  Wednesday, February 5: Chapter 17

  Thursday, February 6: Chapter 18: Psychiatric Evaluation Ordered for Accused Child Abductor

  Friday, February 7: Chapter 19

  Saturday, February 8: Chapter 20: Accused Child Abductor Offers Information On Trafficking of Underage Girls

  Sunday, February 9: Chapter 21: Fugitive Polygamist Arrested At the Border

  Monday, February 10: Chapter 22

  Tuesday, February 11: Chapter 23

  Wednesday, February 12: Chapter 24

  Acknowledgements

  “That is the life.”

  — Mafalda Stamile

  MONDAY, JANUARY 20

  chapter 1

  “What are you doing here?” Lori leaned on the doorframe marking the entrance and exit to Lane and Nigel’s office. Lori wore a pair of red knee-high boots, a black skirt, a blue satin blouse, and an attitude. She ran the office, keeping detectives in line and taking a few under her wing.

  Lane — remarkable because the six-foot-tall detective appeared so unremarkable — looked at Nigel Li, who sat at the next desk. Nigel raised his black eyebrows, locking his hands behind his neck then rubbing the back of his close-shaved head.

  I’m on my own, Lane thought.

  Lori shook her head, sighing. “Your nephew Matt called. Your presence is required at the hospital.”

  Lane stood up, reaching for the inside pocket of his grey sports jacket. He pulled out his phone. Its face told him he’d missed multiple calls. He looked at Lori, holding up the phone. “But it didn’t ring.”

  Nigel rolled his office chair next to Lane and took the phone, flicking a switch on the side. “Ringer’s off.” He handed the phone back to his greying partner and looked at Lori. “He just got it yesterday.” Nigel tapped Lane on the arm of his mauve shirt. “You’ve also got a text message.”

  Lane took a second look at the face of his phone, seeing the message from Matt. The text message window asked, “Where the hell are you?”

  “Foothills Medical Centre. Fifth floor. They’ll direct you from there.” Lori turned sideways in the doorway. “Repeat it.”

  Lane put on his sports jacket, then his winter coat. “Foothills, fifth floor.”

  Nigel stood, adjusting the back of Lane’s collar as he made for the door. They were about the same height with a twenty-year age difference.

  Lori put her heels against one side of the doorframe. Lane turned sideways to go through the doorway. For an instant they stood eye to eye.

  Lori smiled. “Don’t worry. You’re not my type.”

  Lane began to laugh. When he got into the Chev parked at the fenced-in police lot, he was still smiling. Why am I so wired? He manoeuvred his way out of downtown by driving under the Centre Street Bridge and over the Bow River. He turned west onto Memorial Drive, thinking about how he’d come to this point. He and his partner Arthur had inherited nephew Matt and then Christine, a niece. Both were teens discarded by their families. Now Christine and boyfriend Daniel were having a baby, and life was about to become even more complicated.

  Fifteen minutes later he was parked out front of the Foothills Medical Centre. Within the cluster of buildings stood the original hospital, its three wings roughly in the shape of a Y. Lane locked the car and headed for the entrance, careful not to slip on patches of ice or get run over by people searching for parking spots while talking on their phones. He passed a man wearing a housecoat sitting in a wheelchair. An oxygen tank hung off the rear of the chair. The man lifted a lighter from his lap, lighting what appeared to be a cigarette. He closed his eyes as he inhaled, exhaling smoke and vapour to cloud the mountain air.

  Lane recognized the pungent aroma of marijuana. The man pressed the joint between his index and m
iddle fingers, giving Lane a wave with his free hand.

  Lane nodded, crossed the street in front of the hospital, and stepped inside. He stamped the snow off his feet under a blast of hot air between the two sets of automatic sliding glass doors. Inside, people lined up for coffee to his right, walked the corridor to Emergency, walked the hallway to the Tom Baker Cancer Centre, bought cards and gifts at a tiny shop, stood waiting in front of the elevators.

  Lane stood behind a pregnant woman whose male attendant carried an overnight bag. The woman was taller than Lane and wore a pink T-shirt with a white arrow pointing to BABY. The fabric on the T-shirt was stretched so the arrow was distorted at its point. The woman bent forward, putting her hands on her knees and moaning while her companion rubbed her back. Lane tried not to notice the crack in her backside when the top of her sweatpants drooped.

  He followed them into the elevator.

  “Fifth floor! Robbie! Fifth floor!” the woman said. Robbie pressed the button. “OOOOOOH!” she said as the doors closed and the elevator climbed. “Ooooooh.” The elevator bounced to a stop, and the doors opened.

  Lane followed Robbie, who followed his mate.

  The men were content to trail in her wake until Robbie slipped and recovered, Lane veered to one side, and the woman stopped. “My water broke!”

  A pair of metal doors stood in her way. On the right was an admittance window.

  “Comin’ through!” The woman punched the big round metal button and the doors opened.

  “Wait!” The woman behind the counter grabbed the phone and said, “She just went right through!”

  Lane followed the pair to the nurses’ desk.

  The woman said, “We need a room!”

  A tiny grey-haired nurse stood up from behind the counter, looked at the pregnant woman, saw the wet crotch of her sweatpants, and smiled. “A little late for that, wouldn’t you say?” The nurse focused on Robbie and pointed left. “Five zero two. A nurse will be there right away.”

  Lane looked up at the names on the white board, spotted Christine’s, then headed for her room.

  He found his partner Arthur in the hallway. Arthur was looking thinner around the middle and his scalp shone on top. His brown eyes stared at a closed door. He turned as Lane approached. Arthur’s face was drawn, and there were dark patches under his eyes.

  “You’re here.” Arthur held out his hand. Lane took it.

  A nurse rolled a cart down the hall, parking it in front of the door to Christine’s room. Lane and Arthur stared at a pair of paddle-shaped metal instruments.

  “What are those?” Lane asked.

  “Forceps, I think.” Arthur released Lane’s hand.

  Lane nodded, tried looking away from the forceps, found he could not. His index and forefinger worried away at what was left of an earlobe. “Where are Matt and Dan?”

  “Dan’s in the room. Matt’s gone to get some coffee.” Arthur resumed staring at the door.

  “So you walk right by and pretend like you don’t know me.” Matt walked or rather shuffled/skipped/hopped down the hallway; his CP gait was so unique it was often hard to tell what exactly he was doing. Still wearing his winter jacket, he held out a tray of coffees. When everyone had taken a cup, Matt turned to dump the tray in the garbage.

  Lane asked, “What about a coffee for Dan?”

  “I’m not going in there!” Strawberry-blond, brown-eyed Matt stood about the same height as Lane and about three inches taller than Arthur, but he was obviously intimidated by whatever was happening behind the closed door.

  Arthur said, “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “Yes, thank you.” Lane took a sip.

  The three of them stood watching the door while nurses walked in and out of Christine’s room. A doctor arrived. She looked to be about thirty-five and weighed about one hundred thirty pounds, with red hair and a face that would launch more than a thousand ships.

  Fifteen minutes later, Dan opened the door, smiling. “He’s here.” Then he stepped back into the room.

  A nurse pushed a cart topped with a clear plastic crib out of the room. A head full of black hair was visible at the top of a blanket.

  Lane looked at the pale face of a boy, frowning at the lights.

  The nurse said, “Don’t worry, we’ll get him cleaned up. He’s going to NICU. You’ll be able to visit him soon.” She wheeled the cart down the hall.

  Lane’s phone beeped.

  Matt asked, “Uncle? You okay?”

  Lane wiped the tears from his cheeks, nodding. His phone beeped again. He pulled it from his pocket.

  Arthur shook his head, reading the number on Lane’s phone. “Kharra alhikum. They can give us a fucking hour, can’t they?”

  Matt grinned at Arthur. “Way to tell ’em, Uncle!”

  The text message was from Chief Jim Simpson. “See me ASAP.”

  Dan opened the door again and stepped out. He was taller than the three other men and had brown hair. His eyes were underlined with fatigue.

  “How is she?” Lane asked.

  “Tired and happy.” Dan let his chin drop.

  “Congratulations, Dad!” Matt said.

  Dan raised his head and smiled. “He’s beautiful.”

  Lane’s phone rang. He looked at the number, then looked at Arthur, who shook his head then sighed. “It’s Lori.” Lane answered. “Hello.”

  “Well? Is the baby born yet? You said you’d call as soon as you knew,” Lori said.

  “Yes. The little guy was just born.” Lane smiled at Dan.

  “Good. Congratulations. I was asked to get hold of you. We need you,” Lori said.

  Chief Jim Simpson’s administrative secretary Jean had immaculate short grey hair. She waved at Lane while pointing at the Chief’s door.

  Lane nodded, opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it.

  Simpson frowned from where he sat across the coffee table. His close-cut blond hair and thin face gave him a boyish quality, despite some grey, but his eyes were a different matter. There was determination there, and an underlying anger.

  Nigel Li sat across from the Chief. His head shone beneath the five o’clock shadow of thick black hair. He was tall and barbed-wire thin with a long-standing reputation for his prickly tongue. “There you are.”

  Is that relief I hear in your voice? Lane wondered.

  There was a knock at the door. Lane turned, Jean handed him a cup of coffee, he took it, and the door shut once more.

  “Sit down, please,” Simpson said.

  Lane sat down between the pair, putting his coffee on the table.

  Nigel said, “We’ve got a —”

  Simpson threw his hand up, snapping the palm open in Nigel’s face. Nigel’s eyes narrowed.

  Lane looked at Nigel, nodding. Just listen. This isn’t the time to piss off the Chief.

  Nigel sat back.

  Simpson said, “We have a double murder, husband and wife, last name Randall. He’s the CEO of an energy company, and she’s a benefactor of the arts. The pair were executed, the house was robbed, and their dog was nailed to the wall.” He waited.

  Lane looked out the window and across to the curved glass of the city’s tallest building. The words of an old friend, Deputy Chief Cam Harper, came back to him: “We keep turning over rocks and finding another pile of shit left by Smoke.” Then Lane remembered former Chief Smoke facing the cameras when he said, “The speedy arrest of the suspect in these murders means Calgarians can sleep easier tonight.”

  Simpson wa
tched Lane make the connection to similar murders, then nodded.

  Nigel opened his mouth.

  Simpson held up his hand again.

  Lane turned to Nigel. “Three years ago, a well-connected couple was killed, their dog hung on the wall, and the house robbed. A schizophrenic homeless man named Byron Thomas confessed to the crime. It was a feather in Smoke’s cap. His guys made the arrest and got a confession. Thomas ended up in jail.”

  It was Nigel’s turn to look out the window at the city’s tallest building.

  Simpson said, “I need you on this case but can’t tell you to take it. Whichever way it goes, it’ll cost you. Smoke’s old-boy network is still entrenched, and this case has the potential to embarrass them. If you take it, there will likely be a price to pay somewhere down the road.”

  Nigel said, “Not everyone looks at it that way.”

  Lane sat back and thought, Okay, Nigel. Go with it. I just hope this doesn’t blow up in your face.

  Simpson’s face flushed. He turned his eyes on the young officer, taking a deep breath. “What does that mean?”

  Nigel looked Lane in the eye and said, “Most of the younger members of the CPS have a different take on this.”

  Simpson reached for his coffee, taking a sip.

  Nigel continued. “Most of them have worked with Smoke’s good ol’ boys. A few liked being part of the network, but most welcomed the change after Smoke resigned. And you might be surprised at how many of the older officers like the way Lane stood up to Smoke.” He looked out the window as if waiting to be contradicted.

  Simpson put his coffee down, taking another long breath. “Will the pair of you take this one on?” He looked at Lane and waited.

  Lane looked at Nigel, who nodded. Lane said, “Okay.”

  Simpson put his coffee on the table, looking at Lane. “I hear congratulations are in order. Your niece had a boy?”

  Lane smiled. “Just saw him this morning.”