WEDNESDAY, JUNE 19

chapter 5

Lane and Arthur walked side by side along the beach. The breeze made their shirts flap, and the spray from the ocean tasted salty on the lips.

Two joggers splashed up alongside on the right. Both women wore bikinis. As they passed Lane saw they were both wearing thongs. Their glutes went concave, then convex as they planted and lifted each foot. Lane looked left and saw some male admirers smiling as the two women continued down the beach.

“Are those what are called badonkadonks?” Arthur asked.

“Or are they called booties?”

“We’re really out of touch. If we ask the kids, they’ll probably laugh. When did we get old?”

Lane shrugged. “It must have happened all of a sudden.”

Arthur frowned. “I still wonder why we turned out the way we did.”

“Why some people find that attractive, yet you and I are simply puzzled because it’s kind of grotesque?” Lane shook his head.

“Actually, I was wondering about the little switch in the brain that makes one thing attractive and another distasteful.”

A wave ran up the beach and splashed their calves. “At least we can agree that the water is warm.”

“Yes, there is that.”

A black-haired woman ran to the water. She stood over six feet, weighed close to two hundred pounds, had a muscular physique and wore a neon-pink bikini. Another wave rolled in and ran up to her knees. She squealed. “It’s so cold!” She danced back out of the water to reveal pink toenails.

“Or maybe we can’t agree about the water.” Arthur nodded up the beach. “Your friend is looking for you.”

Lane looked and spotted Deylis, who held one hand shading her eyes. She waved with her free hand.

Arthur grabbed Lane’s elbow. “The wedding is tomorrow. You will be at Christine’s wedding. You will notice that was not a question.” He walked up the beach alongside Lane.

When they reached Deylis, Arthur held out his hand. “Arthur.”

“Deylis Sanchez. A pleasure.” She shook his hand, then pulled him close to kiss his cheek. “Your niece is getting married tomorrow at five. Correct?”

Arthur nodded and looked sideways at Lane. “How did you know?”

“It is my business to know.” She leaned her head to one side. “My boss promised his boss that your Lane would be at the wedding. And I am promising you that he will be there.”

Arthur smiled. “I will hold both of you to that.”

Deylis turned to Lane. “You will come with me to Matanzas?”

Deylis sat in the passenger seat again as Hector drove the four-lane highway into Matanzas. They could see across the harbour where tankers docked next to the massive fuel storage tanks. Deylis turned to face Lane and asked, “Did you know that this city is named after a massacre?”

Lane looked at the deeper water in the middle of the harbour. “No, I didn’t.”

“In the early sixteenth century, the local Indians offered to help Spaniards who were stranded on the far side of the bay. The Indians were aware of the Spaniards’ brutality by then, so they loaded about thirty into their canoes, then tipped them over in the middle of the bay where it is very deep.” She pointed at the dark green water in the middle. “The men were wearing armour and sank. But two of the women survived.” Deylis pointed left and Hector turned.

They arrived in the town square of Matanzas, where pink and fuchsia blossoms adorned the top of a trellis. “Brett Mara left his resort and was spotted here in the city. I want you to listen while I question him. Apparently he is here with another woman. We believe she is Cuban.” She pointed at a road leading from the square. “There is an apartment above that building. Will you follow us up the stairs and then join us when we question him? My English is good, but not as good as yours. I need your impressions of the story he tells us.” Hector parked the car and they got out. Deylis looked at Lane. “I need to understand his nuances. Is that the right word?”

“It is.” Lane nodded as he leaned back and pressed his hands at the base of his spine.

They walked along the street. Lane looked left at a white building with stained glass and the word FRANCESA set in the middle of one pane. A red motorcycle with a sidecar pumped out black smoke as it rattled past. A heavy green Russian truck followed. More black smoke. Lane turned away from the cloud of diesel exhaust. Hector turned right into a doorway and went up a steep set of stairs. Deylis followed him and drew her handgun. Lane followed as they topped the stairs and went down a hallway. Hector had his gun in his right hand and pounded the door with his left. “Policia!”

They were greeted by silence. Hector tried three more times. He waited while Deylis knocked on a door across the hallway. A white-haired woman answered and a conversation in Spanish followed. The old woman closed her door. Deylis looked at Lane. “They left early this morning.” She walked down the hallway and knocked on another door. A one-legged man on crutches gave her a key, and she handed it to Hector, who opened the door. The room had no curtains on the windows. The double bed was unmade and the wardrobe door hung open to reveal it was empty.

Lane went down the hall, down the stairs, back out onto the street, and headed for the square where he sat on a bench and waited. There is something I need to remember. He watched a tour bus arrive and about fifteen people came out of the building with the stained-glass windows. They followed a tour guide with long dark hair tied in a ponytail. She wore a white blouse and blue pants. She crossed the street with her gaggle behind. As they reached the sidewalk next to the park, a man with a camera bag, a yellow T-shirt and khaki shorts tapped the woman on the shoulder. “Oda?”

She turned and waited for the last of her tour to step on the sidewalk, then said, “Yes.”

“You said something about Dr. Triolet’s first wife? I missed it. She died unexpectedly when she was twenty and he was over fifty. He said she died of pneumonia, but you said that she didn’t. Two months later, he married her sister.”

Oda looked at the man who was a foot taller and twice her weight.

“Are you saying he killed her?”

She lowered her chin and lifted her eyebrows. “What do you think?”

Lane saw the man holding his camera and its long lens. Lane’s eyes opened wide. “Shit.” He turned to his right and saw Deylis walking toward him. She looked disappointed. He waved at her. “Come on!”

Deylis held her hands out as she crossed the street and gave him a quizzical look.

“Hurry!” Lane walked toward the car.

“Did you see Mara?”

He reached for the back door of the car. “No! I just remembered a kid and a camera.” He climbed in the back seat.

Deylis opened her door. “I don’t understand.”

“There was a kid on the Havana tour. He had a telephoto lens and he was shooting pictures nonstop. He’s staying at my resort. We need to look at his pictures.” Lane reached for his seat belt. “Let’s go! Get on your phone and tell them we need to talk with a ten-year-old boy. He’s from Toronto. His name is Jamey.” I hope he hasn’t left.

It took three calls and twenty minutes before Deylis was able to track down Jamey from Toronto. “He and his family took a tour to the Dolphinario and they leave tomorrow. We are close to where they are supposed to be.” She said a few words in Spanish to Hector. Lane understood only one.

It took ten more minutes to arrive at the Dolphinario. Then there was an argument at the ticket wicket. Lane gathered that the woman behind the window thought Lane should pay before they were allowed inside. He pulled out fifteen pesos. The dispute ended. Lane followed Deylis past the souvenir shops and toward the stands set up on one side of an inlet. On the far side, dense foliage reached to the water’s edge. Music blared from an ancient, overworked sound system. A pair of dolphins raced across the hundred-metre-wide enclosure. Their speed made the crowd gasp. Deylis took a right, went down the back of the stands and headed for the far end. Lane saw a pair of men exchanging money. They ducked around the end of a small building when one spotted her uniform.

Deylis stopped at the end of the stands and waved Lane ahead. He walked down a narrow concrete sidewalk with the stands on his left and mangroves on his right.

Stepping carefully, Lane walked up to the front where a fence and Plexiglas marked the edge of the lake. A pair of dolphins pushed one of the trainers into the corner where mangroves, dock and fence met. The resultant wave washed up over Lane’s shoes. He didn’t notice. Instead he looked at the crowd and spotted Jamey almost immediately. The boy held his left eye to the viewfinder of his camera in anticipation of the dolphins’ next move.

Lane felt Deylis at his elbow. He said, “Jamey is right here. Now’s not the time to interrupt. Let him finish with his pictures. Then we will talk with him.”

Deylis frowned.

“Do you know where Mara is?”

She shook her head.

“Jamey will talk after the show is finished. Not before. The kid is really into photography. If we interrupt, we’ll get attitude. It will take a little time to save us time.”

Deylis raised her eyebrows. Lane waited. Two dolphins launched the trainer into the air. She did a somersault, then jackknifed into the water. One dolphin offered its fin and towed the waving trainer back to the dock. Lane watched dark-haired Jamey, who smiled when he caught a pair of dolphins in mid-air as they flew through two hoops. The detective smiled seeing Jamey held down the shutter so the camera could take multiple frames.

After the show, the detectives waited for the crowd to thin. Jamey sat scrolling through his photos. His father stood up. Lane touched the man’s elbow; he looked like a taller, balder version of his dark-haired son.

Deylis asked, “Mr. Colin Anderson, could we talk with your son, Jamey?”

The father frowned. Concern sharpened the focus of his brown eyes when he recognized Deylis’s uniform. He looked to see where his son was. “How do you know my name?”

Lane kept his tone even and low. “We were hoping to ask Jamey if we could look at his pictures.”

“My son has done nothing wrong.” Anderson’s response hung somewhere between a statement and a question. He stared at Lane. “Where are you from?”

“Calgary. You’re from Toronto?” Lane glanced at Deylis, who watched Jamey.

“You know a lot about me and my son.”

Just level with him. He will respect that. “We were hoping that Jamey’s camera might hold the answer to a question. It’s about what happened on the Havana tour. You and your son are not suspects, but his pictures may hold some answers for us.”

“You work down here?” Anderson asked.

“I’m here for my niece’s wedding.”

Anderson shook his head. “So do you work down here or not?”

Lane shrugged. “Yes.” And no.

“Jamey, will you talk to the police?”

Jamey was focused on scrolling through his pictures. His father touched his son on the shoulder. Jamey looked up in surprise. “You gotta see this shot, Dad.”

“The police are asking if they can look at your pictures.”

Jamey held his camera close to his chest.

Lane said. “We just want to look.” He glanced at Deylis. “We might ask you to download a photo or two if we find what we’re looking for. That’s all.”

Jamey looked at his father, who shrugged as if to say Okay with me if it’s okay with you.

“There are some tables around back. We could sit there while you show us the pictures from Havana,” Lane suggested.

“Sure.” Jamey followed Deylis as she led the way to a table under an umbrella.

Jamey sat down with Lane and Deylis on either side. The boy began to scroll through the images on the screen at the back of his camera.

“Do you know what a moto volqueta is?” Lane asked.

Jamey looked at Lane and smiled. “You mean that little dump truck that made so much noise?”

“That’s the one.”

Jamey stared intently at the screen, stopped at a series of images, leaned over to show the camera to Lane, then said, “Just press this button.”

Lane looked carefully at the images of the moto volqueta, the woman in white, the street; then he stopped. “Is it possible to magnify this one?”

“Sure,” Jamey said in a way only a young person with intimate knowledge of technology could while barely masking his disdain for the ignorance of his elders. He pressed a button. Lane moved the image around until he could see a hand and a woman’s shoulder. He looked at Deylis. “You need to see this.”

“What do you see?” Deylis leaned close to see what Lane was pointing at.

Deylis got a call just before reaching the traffic circle out front of Playa Alameda Resort. “Si?”

Lane saw her sit up straighter in her seat. “Matanzas.” She pressed end then pointed for Hector to park.

She waited until they stopped. Lane got out and she asked, “Could we get a cup of coffee?”

“Vivian makes a great cappuccino over here.” He pointed to the right of the lobby and led the way. They sat down at a table with a round granite top and cast-iron frame.

“What about Hector? Does he want a coffee?” Lane held out a chair for her.

Deylis smiled. “You don’t need to worry about Hector. He will find someone to amuse himself.”

“Casanova?”

She nodded.

Vivian arrived in her blue and yellow uniform. She smiled. “Cappuccino?”

“Please.” Lane smiled, held up two fingers, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a peso.

“I should be putting the money down.” Deylis reached into her pocket.

Lane shook his head. “Not on your salary.”

Deylis smiled. “That is why Cubans like Canadians. You understand.” She frowned, then continued. “The body of Robert North was discovered in Matanzas. It appears he died two days ago.”

“Camille Mara’s friend?”

Deylis looked at him closely before she nodded.

“Cause of death?”

“It will take an autopsy to confirm, but he was beaten first.”

The coffees arrived. Lane stirred in a packet of sugar. “Is there any connection to Brett Mara?”

“They were seen together the night before North’s body was discovered. They were drinking at a bar. They left after midnight. North wasn’t seen alive after that.” She sipped her coffee.

“Any idea where Mara is now?”

“I have an educated guess.”

Lane sipped his coffee and waited.

“In the waters between Florida and Cuba it is easy for two ships to find each other and trade cargo. There is a black market in Cuba. I think Mara found someone in Matanzas who would take him to a ship bound for the US in exchange for money.”

“Do your navy and the American navy patrol these waters?”

“We have a small navy. They have a large one. Still, the ocean is bigger than both and the coastline very long.” She smiled and took a sip.

“The driver of the moto volqueta is going home?”

She nodded and tapped her breast pocket where she kept a memory stick. “I will show these to my boss.”

“Do you have an address for Brett Mara in Calgary?”

“What does RR mean on an address?”

Lane smiled. “He probably lives on an acreage. You will send me his address and his passport number?”

She nodded. “You will go after this man when you get back to Canada?”

Lane nodded in turn.

“And you will let me know if you find him so that he can be brought back here?”

“I will.”

She stood up and handed him her card. “It is time for you to get ready for your niece’s wedding.” She picked up her cup and drained her coffee.

Lane sat, watched Deylis leave, then finished his coffee. The door to the bar opened and Gloria walked in with a young woman who looked to be fifteen or sixteen. The women turned. Gloria spotted Lane and smiled. She walked over.

“How are you?” Lane asked.

“You remember me now?” Gloria gripped her bottom lip between her teeth.

“I always remember you as you were. It took me some time to see you as you are. This is your daughter?”

A whisper of pain flashed across her eyes. “My niece, Ella. This is Paul Lane.”

“He lived next door to you in the old house?” Ella looked at her aunt. The resemblance between the two was in the eyes and the chin. The niece had dark black hair, was taller than her aunt and weighed about the same.

Lane smiled.

“We should talk,” Gloria said.

“Do you have any idea what they did to her?” Ella asked. Lane saw the rage in Ella’s eyes.

Gloria took hold of Ella’s elbow. Ella shook her off. “You lived next door. You must have seen something. Known something.”

“He was a child. Maybe five or six.”

My mother took a belt to me for asking about Gloria. After that I knew I couldn’t trust anyone in my family. Lane watched Ella, then Gloria.

“Nobody helped her. Nobody cared what her mother did to her and the baby!” Ella was red in the face. She stepped closer to him.

Lane took a breath before he looked at Gloria. “Your mother killed the baby?”

The words came choking out of Gloria as she nodded. “She said it was for my own good, then told everyone it was crib death. What we now call sudden infant death syndrome.”

“And she made your brothers bury the baby in the backyard?” Gloria nodded.

Ella pounced. “Why did you do nothing?”

Lane kept watching Gloria, and when he spoke, his voice was as dead as the baby who was buried so many years ago. “I was six years old. I told my mother. She took a belt to me. The cries of the baby have haunted me ever since.” And the smell of death. I’ve been haunted by that, too.

Gloria swiped her nose with a tissue. “They were good friends, our mothers.”

Lane looked back at her but could think of nothing else to say.

“Her mother made it so she couldn’t ever have children again!” Ella shouted. The women behind the bar turned to watch.

“What are you doing to him?” All heads turned to the woman in the doorway. Christine stood with her feet apart. Her hair was long and loose, her toes and fingernails were shiny blue and white tipped, and she wore white shorts and white blouse. She scanned the room as she moved closer. Her eyes locked on Ella and Gloria. “What are you doing to him?”

Lane stood up and put himself in front of Ella and Gloria. “Gloria is from my old neighbourhood.”

“Why is that one yelling at you?” Christine’s voice was low, dangerously slow.

Lane smiled. “Protecting her aunt, just like you are protecting your uncle.”

Gloria asked, “Alison’s daughter?”

“Yes. Christine, this is Gloria and her niece Ella. Gloria and I —”

“— had similar experiences growing up.” Gloria shook Christine’s hand. “Do you have time to sit down and talk with us?”

Christine looked at Lane. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Lane looked at the women behind the bar, who were suddenly occupied in polishing the espresso machine. There were the sounds of the clinking of glass on ceramic and the low chatter of Spanish.

“You don’t look fine.” Christine looked sideways at Ella.

“We were catching up. They weren’t exactly the good old days for either of us.” Lane pulled out a chair and indicated Christine could sit if she liked. He sat down and Gloria sat down across from him. Christine remained standing across from Ella.

Gloria looked at Lane. “You are a homicide detective?”

Lane nodded. “How about you?”

Gloria looked at Ella. “It’s okay. You can sit.” She turned back to Lane. “I work at a bank.”

“She’s a manager.” Ella sat down and looked up at Christine.

Gloria looked at Christine. “What is your mother up to?”

“She’s locked up. It’s where she belongs right now. My uncle and Arthur took me in when I got excommunicated from Paradise.” Christine sat down.

Gloria leaned back as if to get a better look at Christine. “That’s that polygamist community in the south of the province. Seems I read something a while ago in the newspaper about a woman from Paradise trying to abduct her daughter’s baby. That was your mother?”

Christine raised her eyebrows. “That’s her. Good ol’ mom.”

Ella sat up straight. “And I thought our family —” she pointed at her chest “— was fucked up.”

Lane rolled his eyes and smiled. “Lots of people call them the good old days.” He pointed at Gloria. “Not me, and I suspect not you.”

Christine turned to Ella. “What happened in your family?”

“My grandmother killed my Aunt Gloria’s baby, called it SIDS, made her brothers bury the body in the backyard and then had a doctor sterilize my aunt.”

Gloria shook her head. “This isn’t a contest to see who has the most messed-up childhood.”

“I burnt down a house to escape Paradise.” Christine gave Ella a look that said I can match you at any game if you’re going to mess with my uncle.

“Okay if we dial down the estrogen just a bit?” Lane held his thumb and forefinger a millimetre apart.

Gloria smiled. “It appears you and I have been fortunate with our nieces. They are very protective and fiercely loving.”

Change the subject. “Christine is getting married tomorrow.”

Christine turned to face her uncle. “Are you going to be there?”

Lane found himself the focus of attention in the room. All sounds from the bar stopped and the three women at the table waited for his answer. He held up his hands. “By now the entire resort will be making sure I will be there. So chances of my not being there are remote.”

Ella asked, “So, will you be there?” and laughed.