by Garry Ryan
“And two years older than my eldest boy. I brought my son here once. Never again.” Donna sat Lori down in the chair, removing the towel. She began to trim Lori’s hair. “That chick is always after something.”
“On the prowl?” Lori watched as Donna’s scissors snipped here and there.
“Let’s just say I wouldn’t want her around my boys. There’s something really twisted about her.” Donna looked at Lori in the mirror. “Her husband is a professor at the university. She manages to mention he’s a PhD in almost every conversation, that he went to Queen’s, was a student in her dance class, and he’s almost ten years younger than she is.”
“How old is she?” Lori watched Cori as she talked with Robert at the front of the store.
“Mid-forties. Travels to all of the hot spots. Has a loyal troop of customers who like to hear about her exploits. Most of them are women whose husbands have done well.” Donna reached for the hairdryer.
Lori watched as Cori walked back through the salon, making her way to the washroom.
Donna finished with the dryer and brush, removing the black cape. “Happy?”
Lori looked at the way Donna had framed her face. John had better notice the new style if he knows what’s good for him. She nodded. “I like it.”
Donna smiled, handing Lori a card. “I’m opening my own shop in about six weeks. Call me if you want to set up another appointment.”
Lori took the card, stashing it in her purse. She stood up. “Moving on?”
“Something like that.” Donna looked at Lori, dropping her volume. “Four months here convinced me to have a shop built in my house. It’s more than halfway done.”
Go for it. Lori nodded in Cori’s direction. “Can’t stomach that one going after boys the same age as your son?” She reached into her purse for her wallet.
“Pretty much.”
Nigel drove them north along Macleod Trail. Traffic was gathering itself, building up to rush-hour intensity. Lori sat in the back seat of the Chev. “So, I would say Cori is a suspect and Donna is not. She senses something is wrong in the salon, sees Cori as the source of it, and is getting out of there.” She leaned over to check herself in Nigel’s rear-view mirror. “John better notice the new hair or he’ll be sleeping on the floor with the dog.”
Lane asked, “You’re happy with it?” If Donna made a mess of Lori’s hair, I’ll never hear the end of it.
“She’s very good. I’ve been looking for a new hairdresser, and I think I’ve found her.” Lori looked up at the driver of the pickup next to them. “You know what they say about big twucks?”
“What do they say?” Nigel took his foot off the brake as the light turned green.
“Teeny tiny tallywackers. Speaking of tallywackers, Cori appears to prefer hers young — early teens, in fact. I would call her a predator. She did say something rather unusual as well. Let me see if I can recall the exact words.” Lori looked left at Chinook Mall as they passed it. “Sure you guys don’t want to take me shopping too? I’ll buy the coffee.”
Lane looked at Nigel, who raised his eyebrows.
“I remember now. Cori said, ‘I go along on his excursions and he allows me my diversions.’ It was the way she said it that kind of stuck with me. Like she had some big secret and was telling only a bit of the story.” She tapped Nigel on the shoulder. “Home, Mr. Li.”
An hour later, Lane and Nigel sat looking at the wide screen on Lane’s desk.
Nigel said, “I thought I was on to a pair of suspects after checking the passenger lists. They were on two of the flights around the time of the murders in Toronto and New York. The problem is the IDs are bogus.”
“Do you have the names?”
“Karly A. Williams and Clayton Olson.”
Lane frowned. What is it about that name?
Nigel looked at Lane. “I’ve been thinking about it for the last couple of hours. Do you see it?”
“The Olson is obvious. What about hers?”
“Karly A. as in Karla Homolka and Williams as in Colonel Russell Williams.”
“Shit.” Lane entered the names on his diagram.
“Exactly.” Nigel rubbed his forehead. “What’s our next move?”
Lane looked out the window of the LRT car. It rocked from side to side. The wheels hummed as they rolled above the Bow River. The ice on the river wore a fresh coat of snow, softening the rough edges of ice packed up along either side of the river. It had been left there after an early January chinook bathed the city in warm winds and the resultant melt. An overnight drop to minus twenty-five left the middle of the river open in a few places where steam rose into the night. He studied the houses and apartments on the right. In front of one building, a barge of a sedan wore a knitted car cover topped with a red pompom. He smiled.
His phone rang, and he reached for it.
“Where are you?” Matt’s voice carried an air of authority.
“On the LRT.”
“Where?”
Lane looked out the window at the lights of the Alberta College of Art and Design, a brick building next to an approaching train platform. “ACAD.”
“I’ll pick you up at Brentwood.”
Lane heard and felt the train began to slow. “Which side?”
“The Co-Op side. I’m on my way.” Matt ended the conversation and was waiting in the BMW as Lane came down the stairs after crossing the pedestrian bridge over Crowchild Trail. The January wind stung his face as he opened the passenger door and climbed in. He closed the door, feeling the warmth of the heated seat.
“We need another car.” Matt pointed over his shoulder at the empty car seat in the back. “I’ve been driving all over the place. Christine decided she wanted to get out of the house. And Arthur wants to buy some stuff for the baby. Naturally, everyone wanted to come along.”
“Where’s Alex?” Lane did up his seat belt while they waited at a stoplight.
Matt blushed. “At the mall. Indiana has four bodyguards.”
The entourage surrounded Indiana when Lane and Matt found the five having something to eat at the food court in Market Mall. Christine was wearing black pants and a blue sweater. He noted the admiring glances from a table of nearby teenaged boys who looked from Christine to Alex and back again. Then he saw Christine and Dan’s eyes constantly monitoring the crowd. A passerby came within a metre of the baby stroller. Christine placed both of her hands on the stroller’s handle, and Dan stood. The passerby passed on by. Dan sat. Lane thought, Alison, you nasty, self-important, self-righteous zealot. He said, “Anyone else want a coffee?”
“I win!” Dan threw his arms in the air.
Arthur smiled. “We had a bet going on about how long it would take before you wanted a coffee.”
“I’d like a hot drink.” Alex said.
Lane smiled, seeing Alex in a fleece bomber jacket zipped to the chin and leaning into Matt sitting next to her. “Warm me up.” Then she looked at Lane. “Tea, please.”
Lane walked over to the coffee shop, placed the orders, paid, and waited while he inhaled the aromas from the espresso machine. He looked around at the others waiting for coffee, fixing coffee, paying for coffee. A woman had her purse open, her change purse and a credit card in her left hand. Her left thumb held a Canadian passport against the change purse. Lane thought about another case.
When he returned and distributed the three drinks, Arthur asked, “What?”
Lane looked at Arthur, who held Indiana. The baby seemed content to doze in the crook of his partner’s arm. “What are you asking?”
Arthur used his free hand to
point at Lane. “You’ve got that look on your face. Either you’ve got indigestion or you’ve had some kind of epiphany about your case.”
Matt said, “Looks like gas to me.”
Dan said, “Or he’s had one too many coffees.”
Christine said, “He’s always had one too many coffees!”
Alex asked, “You’re on a case?”
That’s when the laughter began. Then Indiana woke up and started to cry, setting off a flurry of activity around him.
“What’s going on here?” Arthur wore his glasses, sitting up in bed with a book on his lap.
“Could you be a bit more specific?” Lane lifted the covers, sliding in on his side of the bed.
“Matt and Alex went to a movie.” Arthur took his glasses off.
“Yes. The baby is asleep, and Christine and Dan are as well.” Where is this going?
“I’m worried about Matt, and I’m worried about what will happen when Alison gets out of jail.”
“She could get six months or she could get ten years.”
Arthur stuffed a bookmark in the novel. “Or she could get nothing.”
Lane shrugged. “That’s out of our hands — unless of course we’re called to testify.”
“So we just sit and wait?”
“We can’t very well tell Matt and Alex not to be attracted to each other. And we can’t control what my sister will do. I suspect she’ll open her mouth and dig herself into a deeper hole in court, but that’s really up to her. So all we can do is pick up the pieces when Alex goes home. In the meantime, the five of us will all keep Indy safe.” Lane looked at the ceiling.
Arthur smiled. “Who knew breeders lived such complicated lives?”
Lane laughed.
Arthur began to chuckle. “I mean Alison fucks up her own life, and she’s determined to do the same to Christine. Then Lola tries to turn Christine white so she’ll be more acceptable to her country club friends. Now Matt is snuggling up to his cousin’s sister. Sometimes I feel like we’re preparing a real-life reality show!”
“You know this case Nigel and I are working on?”
Arthur turned to face his partner.
“A person of interest is a forty-five-year-old hairdresser who likes boys in their early teens.”
“Kind of ironic when you think about it.”
Lane looked at Arthur. “What do you mean?”
“Some people think we’re abnormal.”
TUESDAY, JANUARY 28
chapter 9
Accused Child Abductors Remanded
Efram Milton, Alison Milton, and Lyle Pratt of Paradise, Alberta, will remain in custody until their trial dates. The three members of a polygamist community are accused of attempting to abduct an infant from the Neo-natal Intensive Care Unit at the Foothills Medical Centre. The judge agreed with the Crown Prosecutor Lilian Choi that the three pose a flight risk.
Choi said, “The accused planned to take the infant across the border and into the United States.”
“I have an idea for our next move,” Lane said as Nigel came into the office and hung up his winter jacket behind the door.
“I’m listening as long as it doesn’t involve sending Lori back to the hair salon.” Nigel sat down at his desk, rubbing his hands together, then cupping them over a pair of red ears.
“We need the driver’s licence photos of Cori Pierce and her husband.” Lane tapped his mouse, the fan whirring as the computer woke up.
“What for?” Nigel reached for his mouse and typed in a password.
“First we need to put them up on this page next to Peggy Carr.” Lane pointed at the screen.
“Just a second.” Nigel tapped his keys. “One photo is on its way. Here comes the other.”
Lane downloaded the photos and put them on the screen. “We’ve got three suspects. We’ve seen two. Now let’s take a look at Dr. Andrew Pierce.”
“Before we go there, we need to work out some details.” Nigel picked up a file from his desk.
“Like what?” Nigel’s enjoying this.
“We need to know who we should concentrate on. These killers — and it looks like there are two — are certain to kill again.”
“I was thinking that they probably have false passports but their credit cards may be legit. They might have made a mistake there. The way Lori described her, Cori strikes me as a person who likes to enjoy the spoils.” Lane looked at Cori’s picture on the screen.
“And I know someone who can check on that. There will be no way the Pierces will know they are suspects.”
Lane said, “We risk tainting the evidence. We can’t take that risk if they walk because of it.”
“It’s just a way to check and see if they used their credit cards while they were in New York, Toronto, or Playa del Carmen at the time of the other murders. If we can confirm they were there, and they travelled under different names, then we will have a pretty good idea they are the ones we should be watching.”
“How are you going to do this?” Lane watched Nigel flip a pencil back and forth across the knuckles of his right hand.
“I have a friend. I’ve known her since high school. She’s very good and very discreet. That’s all you need to know.”
Lane lifted his eyebrows, looking at his partner.
“She got suspended from school for hacking into the school board’s computer system. She still believes she was being unfairly treated by a teacher who we all knew was a misogynistic prick, but the administration wouldn’t take her complaint seriously. So she got their attention. She has a very highly developed sense of right and wrong, and she sticks strictly to her laws of fairness. She did wonderful work on various websites to promote awareness on a wide range of social and environmental issues, but wouldn’t hand them in for marks. She believed it was about educating people about the issues rather than self-interest. After my mom was killed, she helped me track down the assets my father hid. She did it because she believed it was the right thing to do.”
Lane held up his hand. “Where do we meet her?”
“We don’t.” Nigel pointed at Lane. “I do.” He pointed at his chest.
Lane frowned. “I need to take a look at Dr. Pierce anyway.”
Nigel looked at his partner. “I’ve got his teaching schedule.”
“How did you get that?”
Nigel rolled his eyes.
“Okay. Just don’t jeopardize the investigation.”
Nigel frowned. “You don’t trust me?”
Lane opened his mouth to reply. What can you say about that without putting your foot in your mouth?
Nigel got up, grabbing his coat. “Make sure you change your clothes if you decide to go to Pierce’s afternoon lecture. Maybe take a backpack and a computer to hide behind. There are one hundred thirty-two students registered in the session. Sit at the back and keep a low profile.” He put on his coat and left.
Nigel stepped between the sliding glass doors at the Nose Hill Public Library with its red brick and ample glass. He was warmed by a blast of air, unzipping his jacket before stepping inside of the library proper.
It took a minute to find Anna at the back, sitting in a chair with a laptop on her knees. She kept her blonde hair cut short, weighed about one hundred twenty-five pounds, stood about five ten, and appeared to be an island of tranquility within the bustle of the library.
Nigel took off his coat and sat across from her. He noted the pink hand-knit mittens and toque sitting on the table next to her. She wore a pair of blue overall-style ski pants and a pink knitted sweater.
He sat there for five minutes as her fingers tapped on the keyboard. He wondered about the VENEER & PLASTIC, PLASTIC & VENEER label on the back cover of her screen. She stopped, looking up. “What’s up, Nelly?”
That’s the way it always is with her. Ever since she found out my middle name is Evan and my initials are NEL, she calls me Nelly. To her, the joke never gets old. “Things are good, Anna. How are you?”
She looked at his hands. “You’re still boxing.”
He nodded.
“The risk of brain injury is substantial.”
He nodded again.
“Stop.”
“I need your help with a problem.” Nigel leaned forward in his chair.
“Yes.” Anna studied him.
“I have copies of five IDs. I need to know if any of them used a credit card near any of these three locations during specific time frames.” Nigel reached into the pocket of his winter jacket, pulling out three sheets of paper.
Anna took the papers, looking at each one. “Why?”
“I need to know if we’re looking at the right people.”
Anna nodded. “Bad people?”
Nigel raised his eyebrows and his shoulders.
“Well?”
“They may be very bad people. You need to be very discreet.”
Anna nodded, stood up, and closed her laptop, slipping it into its pink sleeve, tucking the sleeve into her backpack, and pulling on a red winter jacket. “I’m going home now. I’ll phone.” She picked up her mitts and toque, then walked away.
Lane picked up a coffee at a kiosk on the foyer on the main floor of the University of Calgary’s Education Classroom Block. The architecture had a dark, mid-last-century feel. He watched young people walk past or around him without taking much notice. They look so young! He caught the scent of a citrus perfume, then the stronger scent of cologne. It tickled his nose, and he sneezed into the crook of his elbow.
For an instant there was quiet. People turned, noticing him in his open-necked blue shirt and black pants. Then their eyes glazed over and they turned away. Except for one young woman, who smiled. “Bless you. You’re Christine’s uncle.”