Indiana Pulcinella

by Garry Ryan

  Deputy Chief Harper would not comment when asked if the CPS believes the city faces the threat of a serial killer.

  Shazia Wajdan, CBC News, Calgary.

  “We get the day shift. Phelps and his partner will take nights.” Lane made a sideways glance at Nigel, who wore a purple shirt and sat behind his computer.

  “A friend told me I needed more colour.” He looked down at the new shirt, flicking away a speck of dust.

  “It works for you.”

  Nigel nodded. “So, what happened?”

  This is fucking annoying! It’s okay when I’m reading minds, but having mine read is pissing me off. “Toilet paper.”

  Nigel looked sideways at Lane. “You’re going to explain, right?”

  “I got home last night and the pine trees at the front of the house were decorated with toilet paper.”

  “Arthur wouldn’t like that.”

  Lane looked at his computer screen. “Christine says it’s a warning. People from Paradise are saying they can get at Indiana anytime they want.”

  “Toilet paper?”

  “Apparently toilet papering someone’s property is a prank played by people from her old community.”

  Nigel’s eyebrows met in the middle. “How did Christine react?”

  “It’s funny. It kind of made her more resolved. Like they’d gone too far. Now there’s no way in hell anyone from Paradise will get near Indiana.”

  Nigel tapped the space bar of his computer. “You can tell her she has nothing to worry about. Things will work out.” He turned to face Lane. “It will just take a little time, that’s all.”

  Lane read the certainty in Nigel’s eyes and in his voice. What are you up to? “What do you mean?” He glanced over at Nigel’s screen. VENEER & PLASTIC was written on a green sticky note stuck to the near side of the monitor.

  “I’m just saying things like this have a way of working themselves out.” He pointed at his computer screen. “Harper’s message is hitting the news. Maybe it will lull Cori and Andrew Pierce into a false sense of security if they believe we have no leads.”

  Why did you change the subject, Nigel?

  Cori Pierce sat in the passenger seat of the Porsche Cayenne. Her husband drove as they eased their way along 17th Avenue SW. Western Canada High School, a hodgepodge of connected buildings, was ahead. A white war memorial stood out front of the main building.

  “I applied there, but they wouldn’t let me in. I’ve done well for myself despite them.” Cori looked sideways at her husband, frowning as he looked side to side for a place to park. “I want to get a pair of shoes before we leave.” She pointed at the retro windows of a shoe store.

  “Okay.” He stopped, putting on his signal light. A car ahead of them was pulling out of a parking space in front of the restaurant.

  “What day do I sign the papers for the house?”

  “Tuesday.” He pulled ahead, shifting into reverse, then turning to look over his shoulder.

  “We’ll have enough?” Cori began to button up the front of her white winter jacket.

  “More than enough. All we’re taking with us is the X5.” He grimaced when the right rear tire rubbed against the curb.

  “Careful. This one’s already sold.” She caressed the leather seat. “I’m going to miss these heated seats.”

  “We won’t need heated seats anymore.” Andrew shifted into drive, easing ahead.

  “How about we do a two-fer on Saturday night?”

  Andrew looked right at her. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Two houses. Two families. Two jobs. A two-fer. Then we get in the car and leave for Cancun.”

  “Two families? I’ll have to get two kits ready, then. Tell me more.”

  Cori looked at the crowd jammed inside the nearly opaque front door of the restaurant. “Did you make a reservation?”

  Lane and Nigel parked a block away from the Pierces’ Porsche. Snow and ice stuck to the roof and hood of the detectives’ grey mid-sized Ford. Lane watched from the passenger side as Cori and Andrew stepped onto the sidewalk and into a restaurant.

  Nigel left the engine running to keep them from freezing to the seats.

  A stroller with three large wheels passed on Lane’s right. The toddler held a bottle between hands covered with blue mitts. The child was bundled in a snowsuit and blanket. A pair of adults followed. The mother pushed with one hand, sipping steam from a white paper cup. The father followed, took a white cup away from his mouth, smiled, exhaling warm air. There was a relaxed way about them as the stroller bumped over the uneven, snow-cleared sidewalk. The woman leaned into the man, then leaned over to check on the child.

  “Don’t worry. Your niece and her baby will be fine. I’ve got a good feeling.” Nigel looked left down the length of 17th Avenue. The road rose up to intersect with 4th Street.

  Lane turned, studying his partner. “I’m the one who runs on intuition, not you. What the hell is going on?”

  Nigel smiled, pointing ahead. “They’re getting back into the Porsche. Maybe the restaurant is full.”

  Lane stepped through the front door of his house, noting the kitchen was filled with family even though it was after eight o’clock. Matt turned right. Lane saw his nephew was holding a plastic bag of ice against a red and swollen left eye and cheek.

  Lane kicked off his boots, dropping his winter jacket on the front room easy chair. “What happened?” He moved into the kitchen where Arthur, Matt, and Dan sat. Indiana was sucking eagerly on a bottle. Sam lay on the rug by the door, watching Lane without lifting his chin off the floor.

  “Two guys jumped Matt,” Arthur said.

  “Where are Christine and Alex?” Lane stood at Matt’s shoulder.

  “They went shopping. Matt took the dogs out for a walk.” Dan spoke quietly. Indiana released the bottle. There was a sound of hissing air. His eyes closed, opened, then he resumed eating.

  Something is missing, Lane thought. “You okay?” Lane looked down at Matt.

  “I’m fine. Just got punched once. Then Roz went after the guy. Sam thought it was a game and jumped in as well. I took out the second guy’s knee just like you taught me. Then this lady in an SUV drove up. She started honking her horn. There was a baby in the back seat of the vehicle. The one guy helped the other into a pickup. He shouted they’d be back with more guys to take care of me. Then they drove away. The lady in the SUV — she said she knew you — helped me put Roz in the back of her truck, then drove us to the vet’s.”

  Lane looked around and under the table. “Where’s Roz?”

  Arthur said, “Roz is dead. One of the guys kicked her. The vet says it broke a couple of ribs. A bone fragment penetrated her heart.”

  Lane felt his shoulders drop. Matt stood up, got his uncle a chair, waited for him to sit down. “When did this happen?” Lane asked.

  Arthur said, “A little over two hours ago.”

  Matt pulled the ice away from his eye. “I don’t know what else I could have done.”

  Sam rubbed up against Arthur, who scratched the dog behind the ears. “The woman who helped Matt, her name is Donna. She got the licence plate of the attacker’s pickup. She drove Matt to the vet’s and then home. I called it in. The officer took the information and said he’d call back. I left a message with Erinn. About twenty minutes after that, Harper phoned, asking what happened. He said he would call back.”

  Lane looked at Indiana, now snoring in Dan’s arms. The baby had a smile on his face.

  MONDAY, FEBRUARY 3

  chapter 15

  Accused’s Donation Clouds Legal Pro
cess

  Efram Milton of Paradise, Alberta, has made a major gift to the Alberta Children’s Hospital’s Neo-natal Intensive Care Unit in Calgary.

  Rhonda Kruden, spokesperson for the Alberta Children’s Hospital, confirmed the contribution. “Last Friday, a donation in the amount of one million dollars was made in the name of Mr. Milton. Needless to say, we’re thrilled.”

  Crown Counsel Robert Wilson was asked how Milton could afford a donation of one million dollars when has he previously requested legal aid.

  At a court appearance in January, Milton testified that he was unable to afford legal representation. Wilson says, “If the report on the donation is confirmed, then Mr. Milton will also be charged with perjury.”

  Milton’s current attorney, Joseph Lane, says, “Mr. Milton made a substantial contribution to a worthy charity. He deserves praise for his generosity, not threats of prosecution.”

  But Milton’s actions may not be so clear-cut, says Mount Royal University law professor Lyle McDougal. “If this is an attempt by Milton to garner public support for his fight to protect his ‘religious freedom’, after his alleged involvement in an attempted child abduction, the tactic appears to have backfired.”

  Lori poked her head into Lane’s office. “Harper and Simpson want to see you as soon as possible.”

  “Me?” Lane pointed at his chest.

  “Both of you.” Lori pointed at them with the first two fingers of her right hand.

  Ten minutes later, they waited outside of the Chief’s office where his secretary tapped at a keyboard and answered the phone.

  Chief Simpson’s door opened, and he poked his head out the door. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Come in.”

  Nigel followed Lane inside where Deputy Chief Cam Harper sat in one of four chairs set around the coffee table. Dwarfing everyone else in the room, Harper stood to shake hands with the detectives. He had apparently surrendered to the inevitability of an ever-expanding bald patch by shaving his head.

  All sat down and Simpson started the meeting. “We’ve been gathering information on the assault involving your nephew.”

  This isn’t what I expected. “What have you found out, exactly?”

  Harper glanced at a sheet of paper on the coffee table. “Two men were taken into custody last night at the Rockyview Hospital. One had injuries to his knee. The other had dog bites to both legs.”

  There was a knock at the door. Harper rose, returning with a tray of four cups of coffee, sugar, and cream.

  Nigel leaned forward, grabbing a cup.

  “What are their names?” Lane asked.

  “Robert Pratt and Michael Milton, both of Paradise. Their story is they were assaulted by a man with two dogs.” Harper reached for his coffee.

  Simpson sat back.

  Lane looked out the window at the white smoke rising

  from the heating-plant chimney across the street. The sky behind the smoke was winter blue.

  Simpson said, “An independent witness named Donna Laughton made a report indicating Pratt and Milton pulled up in a truck, exited the vehicle, and proceeded to assault Matt.”

  “It matches with what Matt told me last night.” Lane looked at the coffee, decided to wait.

  “Is Matt okay?” Harper asked.

  Lane nodded. “Black eye. Tommy Pham called last night and wants pictures. He wants evidence because he thinks the assault and the attempted abduction are connected. And now it appears that’s what you are saying.”

  Simpson nodded. “It looks like it. Pratt and Milton have been tightlipped, but we have established they are well connected in Paradise.”

  Harper crossed his right leg over his left. “We want to know how you and your family are doing.”

  Lane shrugged. “It’s tough. Christine finally got out last night and then this happened. She was pretty upset when she got home. At least now she’s wanting to fight back instead of hiding out.”

  “And Arthur?” Harper asked.

  “Looking after everyone else.” Lane gave in and leaned forward, adding sugar and milk to his coffee. He sat back and sipped.

  “Dan and the baby?” Simpson asked.

  “Seem to be okay. Dan’s kind of hunkered down. Indy is oblivious and pretty content.” Lane wrapped his fingers around the cup. “In fact, Indy keeps us laughing.”

  “There have been related developments.” Simpson nodded at Harper.

  “At least two sizable withdrawals have been made from Milton’s bank accounts. One was the donation to the Children’s Hospital. People who regularly contribute to the Red Cross made a series of donations that total up to the other. A sample was contacted. None could recall making the donations. Milton’s lawyer has some questions about the transfers.” Harper studied Lane, then Nigel.

  Lane said, “That’s odd. I’ve been wondering about that as well. Especially since the donations indicate Milton perjured himself when he requested legal assistance. He claimed he didn’t have the financial resources to fight a polygamy trial.” He looked back at Harper and then at Simpson.

  “What about the Randall investigation?” Harper asked.

  Nigel said, “We are tracking two persons of interest.”

  “Cori and Andrew Pierce?” Simpson asked.

  Nigel nodded. “That’s correct.”

  Harper leaned forward. “So it’s clear Byron Thomas is in jail for a crime he didn’t commit?”

  Lane put his cup down. “We’re both convinced Thomas is innocent. At this point, our focus is to prevent any further murders and gather sufficient evidence to arrest those responsible. We have added another team to follow the Pierces.”

  Nigel said, “We also discovered they’ve recently added a second mortgage to their house, effectively removing equity from their home. Border authorities have been alerted to their status and their identities.”

  “So do we have them on false identities?” Simpson asked.

  Nigel shrugged. “Probably.”

  Harper glanced at Simpson before saying, “We need as many teams as possible to track the suspects without jeopardizing the investigation. The first priority is to prevent further killings. The second is to arrest the actual killers this time. There will inevitably be fallout, because the wrong man was arrested and other murders have occurred as a result. We need to deal with that. You two need to get the killers off the street.”

  Lane looked at the Chief and Harper in turn.

  Simpson asked, “Phelps is on this?”

  “Night shift,” Lane said.

  “All of the other murders took place at night?” Harper asked.

  “That’s correct.” Lane waited, then asked, “What about Roz?”

  “What?” Harper asked.

  Simpson studied Lane.

  “Either Pratt or Milton killed my dog,” Lane said.

  Simpson said, “Your home is covered. There will be no more threats.”

  Lane stood. “If that’s all, we need to get back to work.”

  Nigel remained quiet for the next few minutes as they made their way back downstairs, then sat at their desks. Lane waited.

  “They killed your dog? How come you didn’t tell us?”

  Lane looked at the wall. “I just got in when we were called to go upstairs. You can imagine how my family reacted. Even Sam, the other dog, is in shock. By the way, you didn’t have much to say at the meeting. Not like you at all.”

  “Don’t change the subject. You nailed me with the comment about how I’m punishing myself for not being able t
o save my mother. So answer my question.”

  Lane looked at Nigel’s face, seeing the resolve and a bit of a smile at the corners of his mouth. “It’s hard to talk about Roz. She was part of the family. My family is threatened, and I feel like there isn’t much I can do to help them.”

  “Was that so difficult?”

  Lane tried to smile. “Yes.”

  It was a couple of hours later, while they were waiting outside of Platinum Hair Salon, that Lane wondered, Why did Nigel change the subject when I asked him why he was so quiet in the meeting?

  The streetlight cast a soft glow on the pavement where Lane walked next to Matt. Sam pulled on the leash when he spotted a dog across the street.

  “No!” Matt growled.

  Lane used his right hand to grab hold of Sam’s leash. They walked on a patch of pathway that hadn’t been shovelled. The snow was compacted into a slippery crust, making footing precarious.

  The dog across the street passed. Sam tried to turn but found himself caught between two humans who were ready for him. He reared up on his hind legs, whimpering, then surrendered to walking between Matt and Lane.

  “He’s a handful.” Lane exhaled. His breath formed a cloud in the minus-fifteen-degree air.

  “You didn’t have to come, you know. I can take care of myself.”

  Lane looked right at the dark shadow of the bruise just visible between Matt’s toque and the turned-up collar of his winter jacket. “I needed a walk.”

  “You’re missing Roz too?”

  “Yep. She had attitude. I liked that in her.” He smiled.

  Matt chuckled. “A lot like Christine and Alex.”