Indiana Pulcinella

by Garry Ryan

  Lane spotted the house and parked behind a red pickup truck. “Maybe the contractor is already here.” He shut off the engine. They pulled on gloves and mitts, stepping out of the car and doing up their jackets.

  “Shit, that wind is cold.” Lori led the way to the side of the two-car garage so they could get out of the wind. “Donna said to go around back to the shop.” They walked along a freshly shovelled sidewalk and around the corner of the house.

  “Hang on.” Lane touched her elbow. He stepped into the snow at the side of the walk, walked in front of her, and promptly ran into a man wearing overlarge winter boots, tan cotton overalls, an open green military jacket, a toque, and a week’s worth of beard.

  “Sorry, man. You here to see Donna?” the man asked.

  “Yes.” Lane stepped back and onto Lori’s toe.

  “Hey! These are my new boots.” Lori’s voice held the hint of a smile.

  The contractor stepped around them. “I wouldn’t go in there just yet. She’s having an argument with her kid.”

  Lane turned the corner and into the wind. It cut into the flesh of his nose, chin, and cheeks. He pulled up the collar of his jacket to cover his ears, turning his back to the wind. He saw Lori tuck her head down inside of her red coat. He knocked, then opened the back door.

  Donna stood inside. “You are not going back to playing hockey with your team.” She wore a black dress, black tights, and a high-stepping pair of black boots. She faced a twelve-year-old boy with black hair and a white plastic brace around his neck. He wore a blue T-shirt and red sweat pants with HAWKS in white letters down one leg.

  “Mom! My friends are on the team!”

  “How many of those friends came to see you in the hospital? How many of those friends know you have a cracked vertebra in your neck? How close did you come to being in a wheelchair? You’re not playing fucking contact hockey anymore!”

  “I wanna play in the NHL!”

  Lane and Lori could hear the exasperation in Donna’s voice. “Fuck the NHL! If you survive to make it to the NHL, then what? What kind of life is that for anyone? They buy and trade you like a fucking slave! You want to be a slave?”

  “Mom! You’re such a drama queen! That’s not what it’s like!”

  “Look, Hansen, when you’re healed up, maybe in the fall, you can play volleyball at school.”

  “Volleyball is for douches!”

  “Well at least you’ll be a live douche who can use both arms and both legs!”

  “I don’t care what you say! I’m gonna play hockey!” Hansen turned, stepped through the open side door, and slammed it.

  Donna took a step toward the door and stopped. She looked at herself in the full-length mirror. It stood in front of one of the black chairs her customers would eventually sit in. She shook her head, taking a deep breath.

  Lori said, “Maybe this isn’t such a good time.”

  This could be a very good time. Donna is upset and more likely to say whatever is on her mind.

  Lori looked at the snow on her boots.

  Donna turned, glaring at them, her back rigid with anger.

  She’s wondering what else could happen today. Lane stepped inside, closing the door. They stamped their feet on a leftover patch of carpet. The room smelled of fresh paint and the adhesive used to glue linoleum to the floor. Lane looked around at two new sinks for washing hair, two new black chairs for customers to sit in. Both chairs faced large, well-lit mirrors. A hair dryer sat above another chair along the far wall. The room was painted in tasteful colours. He said, “It looks like it’s almost ready.”

  “This is Detective Lane.” Lori pointed at him as she took off her gloves.

  Lane offered his hand. Donna shook it. He felt the heat of her anger in the fierceness of her grip. She turned to Lori. “You’re a cop.”

  “Actually I’m his secretary.” Lori smiled, pulling off her gloves and opening her coat.

  Donna shook her head, chuckling. “They’ve been doing budget cuts again?”

  Lori smiled. “Somebody has to keep the boys on their best behaviour.”

  Lane unzipped his jacket. “I asked her to go and see you. We’re investigating the Randall and Newsome murders.”

  “And you think I killed them?” Donna crossed her arms under her breasts, tapping the toe of her boot.

  “Did you?” Let’s go with this and see where it leads.

  Donna cocked her head to the right. “The night it happened I was in Emergency with my son.” She looked at Lori. “You got kids?”

  “Three.” Lori’s fingers struggled with a stubborn button.

  “You?” Donna looked at Lane.

  “A niece and a nephew.” Lane watched Donna warily.

  “And a baby. Don’t forget him.” Lori turned to Lane. “They all live with him and his partner.”

  Donna studied Lane for a minute. “How come they’re living with you?”

  “It’s a long story.” This isn’t going the way I’d hoped.

  Donna waited.

  What the hell. “My nephew’s mom died of cancer, and his dad started a new family. Matt needed a place to live. Then my niece ran away from Paradise.”

  “That’s the polygamist community near the US border, right?” Donna asked.

  Lane nodded. Don’t push her. Just take your time.

  “They tried to take her baby from the hospital?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Read about that in the paper. I have a sister who went all religious on us. Married a guy who likes to use the Bible to keep her under his thumb. Is it like that?” Donna asked.

  “More or less.” Don’t say it. “My sister is pretty fucked up.” Why did you go ahead and say that?

  Donna nodded.

  “Why are you moving out of Platinum?” Lori asked.

  Donna considered the question for a minute. “I don’t like working at a place where a forty-five-year-old woman preys on boys a little older than my son.”

  “And?” Lane asked.

  Donna looked past Lane into her backyard. “I get a bad feeling.”

  “Anything specific?” Lane asked.

  “Yesterday Cori’s husband arrived to pick her up. He was driving a brand-new BMW. Sometimes he picks her up in an Aston Martin. When the roads are really bad, he drives a Porsche Cayenne.”

  “You sure know your cars,” Lane said.

  Donna laughed. “I have two sons. It’s what they like to talk about.”

  “Anything else?”

  “They live in a palace in Mount Royal.”

  Lane waited.

  “I work in the same shop as she does. My husband has a good job. We’re doing okay and we can afford this place. Cori likes to brag that when they go to buy a car, the salesmen are there to open their doors when they arrive. She says it’s because they’ve bought five vehicles and always pay cash. Then she has high-end customers who keep getting killed. Melissa Randall invited Cori to a party a couple of months ago. Now Melissa is dead.”

  “What are you saying?” Lane asked.

  “That something stinks. I’ve been working with her for a few months, and I get this creepy feeling. That’s what I’m saying.” Donna raised her eyebrows, let her arms drop to her sides, and shrugged. “It’s fucked up.”

  Ten minutes later the car was warming up again while Lane drove them back down the hill toward the river valley. The sun was bright, surrounded by a sundog’s halo.

  Lori turned to him. “What did
you bring me along for?”

  “I thought I might need an icebreaker. Donna might have been angry because I sent you to her under the pretence of getting your hair cut. People react in all sorts of ways to being a suspect. She’s smart and way ahead of us. She told us what she thought instead of what she thought we wanted to hear. Not all interviews go that well.” Lane shoulder checked, easing around a small silver car doing ten kilometres under the speed limit. A person of indeterminate sex wearing a black toque drove staring straight ahead.

  “Got a death grip on the wheel.” Lori watched the driver as they passed. “Winter just freaks some people out.”

  “I thought you hated winter.” Lane checked in his mirror before moving back into the right lane.

  “I hate the icy roads.” Her phone rang and she reached into her purse. “Hello, Arthur. Your policeman is right here with me.”

  Lane smiled.

  Lori said, “Arthur says Thomas Pham phoned to say he’ll represent you.”

  “How much?”

  “Your honey asks how much?” Lori listened for a minute. “That much!” She turned to Lane and started laughing.

  This is Shazia Wajdan outside Calgary Police Service headquarters, where Chief Jim Simpson finds himself under intense pressure. The recent murders of Robert and Elizabeth Randall and of Megan and Douglas Newsome have drawn negative attention on the Service for the potential wrongful arrest and conviction of a homeless man named Byron Thomas. Thomas is currently serving twenty-five years for murder. It now appears Thomas was convicted for a crime he did not commit.

  CUT TO DETECTIVE NIGEL LI, CALGARY POLICE SERVICE “Mr. Thomas confessed to the murder of Irena and Rodney Wiley three years ago. Physical evidence linked Mr. Thomas to the crime scene. At the time Thomas was homeless and suffering from mental health issues.”

  Police sources say the Wiley, Randall, and Newsome murders may be linked to at least two other homicides. But Chief Simpson is downplaying the possibility.

  CUT TO CHIEF JIM SIMPSON, CALGARY POLICE SERVICE “All avenues must be explored. It is our job to protect the citizens of Calgary and arrest those responsible for these murders.”

  The Newsomes’ deaths marked the sixth murder of a prominent Calgarian couple in only three years.

  Shazia Wajdan, CBC News, Calgary.

  Lane sat at the conference table with Thomas Pham, Arthur, Christine, Dan, and Indiana, who slept in his car seat next to his mother and father. The sunlight from the south-facing windows made it feel as if, at least in this room, winter was under control.

  Tommy, as always, was dressed elegantly in a navy-blue suit and a red tie. Lane noticed there was a little grey at the edges of his thick black hair. Tommy was also getting a bit round in the face. I heard you got married last year.

  Tommy looked at the notepad in front of him. “Just a moment. Before we begin, I’ve asked my legal secretary to join us.”

  A moment later there was a knock at the door and a solidly built woman with red hair, an emerald-green jacket, a white blouse, and black wool slacks walked in, sitting next to Tommy. “Hello. My name is Sylvia. Tommy speaks well of you. He says you’re part of the family.”

  Lane saw the jade elephant nestled between her breasts, and the engagement and wedding rings on her left hand. He looked at Tommy’s hand, noting the wedding bands matched.

  Christine opened the conversation. “My mother tried to take my baby away, and now she’s got the CCI involved.”

  “The Canadian Celestial Institute?” Tommy asked.

  Christine nodded. “It’s run by one of Milton’s polygamist buddies.”

  “Polygamists?” Sylvia asked.

  “Yes. I lived in the Paradise community with my mother for eight years. I was on one of their fuck charts before I left.” Christine glanced at Dan.

  A shudder worked its way around Sylvia’s shoulders. She looked sideways at Tommy, mouthing the words fuck chart. Tommy nodded to her.

  He looks like he might be looking forward to meeting Milton in court, Lane thought as he turned to his niece. “You told me a different story.”

  Christine turned to him. “I didn’t tell you all of the story. I left just like I told you. I just never told you about the chart.”

  “Are you willing to testify in court about the chart?” Tommy asked.

  “Will it help me keep Indiana?” Christine asked.

  “Your mother will probably say she believes the child is in danger of being neglected or abused. Your testimony about your name on such a chart will raise doubts about the safety of your mother’s home. Is there anyone who can corroborate your statement?” Tommy looked at Sylvia.

  “I don’t know. It’s a closed community. The woman who left at the same time I did might testify. Then again, she might not. The last I heard, some of her children were still in Paradise.” Christine shook her head. “Even after you leave, they have the ability to intimidate you by threatening to punish the people remaining in the community or preventing them from communicating with you.”

  “That may work for us, actually.” Tommy tore a piece of yellow paper from his pad. “Would you write down the name of the woman who left with you, and the names of any other individuals who might be able to support your testimony? Were any other forms of abuse prevalent during your time there?”

  “Yes. But the thing is —” Christine looked sideways at Lane and Arthur “— I had to create a diversion so that I could escape Paradise.”

  “Diversion?” Tommy’s eyes narrowed.

  Lane noticed Sylvia leaning in closer as she waited for Christine to continue.

  “I set one of the houses on fire so we could get away.” Christine looked at the ceiling.

  “Was anyone hurt as a result of the fire?” Tommy asked.

  “I don’t think so. The place was empty.”

  “No charges were ever laid. I checked,” Lane said.

  Tommy made a note on his pad. “Still . . .”

  “Her mother can use it against her?” Arthur asked.

  Alison thinks God is on her side. She’ll use it, Lane thought.

  “We’ll see. I just like to know everything there is to know so I can prepare for any and all eventualities.” Tommy sat back.

  “What I did . . . .” Christine faltered. “Will it mean they can take Indy from me?”

  Indiana farted. Lane looked over at the baby, who smiled. A tiny fist appeared next to his cheek.

  “It appears your son isn’t worried, and is perhaps even a bit dismissive of the possibility.” Tommy smiled. “He may have a point. They attempted to kidnap your child. I suspect they will be so busy defending themselves that any attempt to discredit you will only make our case stronger.”

  Dan asked, “Would it help if we were married?”

  “Will you talk with her? Christine listens to you.” Arthur stood next to Lane at the front door.

  “What happened?” Lane bent to unlace his boots.

  “She thinks she’s going to lose Indiana.” There was emotion in Arthur’s voice, and his hands shook as he spoke.

  Lane straightened, slipping out of his boots and taking off his coat. He took Arthur’s hand. “Alison’s only weapon is fear. We have documentation signed by Alison stating she has no interest in raising her daughter. We have witnesses to say she excommunicated her daughter and cut Christine off from her family. And for four years she has not contacted her daughter. There is also the issue of the Lost Boys, who will be brought up if this ever goes to trial.”

  “Can you tell her that?” Arthur put his hand on Lane’s shoulder, steering
him toward the top of the stairs leading to the family room.

  Lane felt almost overwhelming dread. What happens if I’m wrong? He nearly missed the top step. Grabbing the railing, Lane closed his eyes and took a breath, then made his way down to the oak hardwood floor of the family room. Christine sat in the oversized chocolate-brown leather chair with Indiana asleep in her arms.

  Lane heard movement on his left. He turned to see Dan on the couch. His eyes were wide, underlined with fatigue. Dan nodded.

  “Just tell me.” Christine stared straight ahead at the muted TV. “How long do I have with Indy?”

  “The rest of your life. He will always be your son.” Lane sat down on the arm of the chair. Christine, you could use a bath. The scent was a warning bell in Lane’s mind.

  “But how long will he be with me?” Christine turned to look at her son.

  “Two things. And I want you to remember them when Indy has his first temper tantrum. And I want you to go and soak in the bath while I hold the baby.” Lane put his hand on her shoulder.

  Christine’s eyes were overflowing with tears. “Why does she want him and not me?”

  Indiana brought his knees up. He grimaced, beginning to cry. Christine put him on her shoulder.

  “Your son may be trying to tell you something,” Lane said.

  “What’s that?” Christine asked.

  “He needs you. And don’t forget about the two things. Alison is the one charged with child abduction. And Tommy is the best. That’s why we hired him.”

  “But they say they have the right to take him away.”

  Lane took a long breath. “They can say what they like because it’s all they can do. They talk because they have no other recourse, and they’ve proved they think they have the right to take the law into their own hands.”

  “You don’t know how they operate.” Christine rubbed Indiana’s back with her right hand.

  Lane lifted his eyebrows. “I don’t?”

  Dan began to laugh, and Christine smiled. “I’m scared.”