MONDAY, JUNE 24

chapter 8

Lori looked over from behind her computer. Her hair was blonder and her face was tanned so the smile creases at her eyes seemed white. “Did you bring pictures?” she asked as she leaned back in her chair.

Lane sat down in the chair next to her desk. His mind was fuzzy from yesterday’s return flight. “I forgot.”

Lori leaned forward, stood up, looked around to see if anyone else was about and handed him a bag. “For Christine and Dan.”

Lane took the bag and looked inside. A deep-blue background was dotted with other vibrant colours on a handmade quilt. “This is beautiful.” He reached to pull the quilt out.

She touched his hand. “Quick. Go put it away. It’s a special gift for your family. Trying to keep a secret from a bunch of detectives can be easy as long as you keep your mouth shut.”

Lane stood up, walked over and kissed her on the cheek. She smelled of suntan oil and strawberries.

Lori blushed. “It’s a good thing you’re not in the RCMP or we’d both be in trouble.”

Lane smiled and went into his office to tuck the package behind his desk. He came back out. “Can I get you a coffee?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Fifteen minutes later, she sat in Nigel’s chair sipping a cappuccino and Lane sat at his own desk slurping a moccaccino. Lori asked, “Lots of drama at the wedding?”

Lane rolled his eyes and nodded.

“Lola?” Lori crossed her left leg over her right and plucked at her ankle-length red skirt.

“I guess we should have realized when Lola said she’d pay for the wedding with no strings attached, she really meant that the wedding would be all about her.”

“You mean it wasn’t?” Lori smiled and set her cup down on Nigel’s desk.

Lane swung his chair around to face her. He cradled his coffee in both hands. “Nope. Christine and Dan did get married after some drama. Indiana steals every show just by being Indiana. And then Dame Alexandra arrived.”

“The southern belle made it, did she?” Lori nodded. “Lots more drama?”

Lane looked at the ceiling. “You know, I’ve been to gay weddings and straight weddings and I think this one was the most dramatic by far. Maybe that’s why Arthur and I have never tied the knot — too much drama.”

“Arthur can be pretty dramatic.”

Lane looked at her and blushed.

“So you two are not going to tie the knot because of your aversion to drama?”

“Who’s got an aversion to drama?” Nigel stuck his head inside the office.

Lori began to stand up. Nigel said, “Stay where you are.”

Lane pointed at a cup on the corner of his desk. “That one’s for you.”

Nigel stepped inside wearing a purple shirt, black pants and black shoes. He took the cup and sipped. “Thanks. Did you get the messages from your old partner?”

Lane asked, “Harper or Keely?”

Nigel wiped his mouth with the back of his left hand. “Keely. She was asking if I knew what you were up to in Cuba. Said they were getting reports you were into something with the local police and some Cuban officials were checking up on you.”

Lori turned to Lane. “So Lola wasn’t the only one who was causing some drama.”

Lane blushed. “It’s not like I went looking for trouble.”

“Are you going to fill us in?” Nigel asked.

“Actually I was going to ask for your help. A Brett Mara flew from Calgary to Varadero on WestJet. I need to know what you can find out about him.” Lane wiped away the moisture gathering along his hairline on his forehead. Why am I sweating?

Lori stood up so Nigel could get at his computer. She moved to the chair tucked up against the wall. “Are you going to tell us or not?”

Lane took ten minutes to fill them in about the murder of Mara’s wife Camille.

“So you think Mara came back here?” Lori asked.

Lane shrugged. “It’s a possibility.”

“Holy shit!” Nigel looked at Lane.

“What?” Lori leaned forward.

“This guy was a person of interest in a drive-by killing.” Nigel turned his screen so that Lane and Lori could see a picture. “Is this him?”

Lane leaned over to look and nodded. “That’s the guy. No fixed address, right?”

Nigel nodded. “That’s right. Was a member of the FKs.”

“Was?” Lori sounded surprised.

I thought you only left that gang when you’re dead.

“According to this, he was a member of the FKs for ten years, was a suspect in two other drive-by shootings, then dropped out of sight.” Nigel frowned at the screen.

“What?” Lane asked.

“Give me some time to look this over. This guy may have an alias or two.”

Lori stood up. “I’ll call the parole office to see if Lisa has any background on the FK connection. She’s the one who usually deals with the gangs.” She stepped out the door.

Nigel said, “You really know how to take a vacation.”

Lane lifted his eyebrows, took a deep breath, exhaled slowly and said, “Cuba was full of surprises.” The phone rang. He picked it up. “Lane here.”

Lori said, “Lisa can meet you in half an hour at Higher Ground if you’re buying.”

Lane managed to make it to Kensington and found a place to park behind Pages Books. He parked beside a Volvo with LVS4VR on its licence plate. He went around behind the shops and walked down a metre-wide walkway between two buildings until he could see Kensington Road. He crossed the road and dodged a cyclist who ignored the fact that Lane was in the crosswalk. Then he walked east toward the coffee shop. Ahead, a group of four people and their dogs sat at the black metal tables and sipped iced lattes. At nine in the morning, the sun was already making the dogs pant. Their tongues dripped saliva onto the concrete. Lane went up the stairs and inside the coffee shop where painted mountain landscapes in rich colours adorned the walls. He spotted Lisa at a table up against one of the bay windows that looked out onto the street. She had long black hair and grey eyes and looked to be in her mid-forties. Lisa lifted her eyebrows, checked the collar on her blue blouse and waited. “What would you like?” Lane asked.

“A latte and one of their ginger cookies with the white icing, please.” She smiled at him and Lane turned to order the coffees. He returned with a dessert plate bearing a cookie only slightly smaller than it. He sat down and she eyed the cookie. “I hear you want to know about Brett and the FKs.” She crossed one leg over the other, leaned back and straightened her blue-and-red floral skirt.

“I was on a tour bus with him in Havana. His wife didn’t make the return trip. Then she turned up dead.”

“Brown hair, gathered at the back, flirty, liked to share her opinions with anyone in earshot?” Lisa asked.

Lane nodded.

“Her name was Camille Desjardin when I knew her.”

“Large latte and large mocha for Lane!” the barista said.

Lane got up and returned with the coffees.

“Thanks.” Lisa watched as he set the latte in front of her.

“How did you know Camille?” Lane sipped his moccaccino and smiled.

“She and Brett were boyfriend/girlfriend in high school. He got involved with the FKs and she told me she liked being a gangbanger’s girlfriend because nobody would dare fuck with her and she got a nice car to drive.” Lisa watched Lane’s reaction to her tell-it-like-it-is approach with an intensity that made him look away and smile. “What’s funny?”

“I’m usually the one doing the sizing up.”

“Sorry. Occupational hazard. I needed to get out of there. One of the FOBs was shot outside my office last week. I must still be coming down from it.”

“I’m just catching up on what happened while I was away.”

“Word got out that Roland Lee was at my office, texts were sent and they were waiting for him when he left the building. Two shots to the head.” She shrugged.

“Brett Mara was involved?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Brett dropped off the grid four or five years ago. His friend was killed in a drive-by. Brett was in the same car and must have figured he was next. I still get reports of sightings, but nothing solid. It’s thought he and Camille are still together, though.”

“Until about a week ago.” Lane drank his moccaccino and marvelled at the magic of chocolate on the tongue.

“Lori said Brett is a person of interest in a killing. So it was Camille?”

“That’s right.”

“How did you get to be involved?”

“The Cuban police interviewed us all, then found out I was a homicide detective. We worked together a bit.”

Lisa nodded. She frowned as she dipped the cookie into her coffee. She managed to get the soggy section of the cookie into her mouth before it disintegrated.

“Any idea what Brett is into now?”

“I did hear one rumour, but it was kind of out there.”

Lane took a sip of coffee.

“One of my clients said that he saw Brett at one of those seniors residences.”

“Did he mention which one?”

“Somewhere in the north. The client was a gang member who was visiting his grandmother. The client tried to get out of the gangs but was gunned down in a restaurant last month.” Lisa looked at Lane and shrugged. “Sometimes the aftermath of this violence gets to me.”

What do I say to that?

“I’ll check with some of my contacts and see if I can get a line on Brett.” Lisa dipped another corner of her cookie in the cup.

Lane looked out the window at the people and their dogs sitting near the sidewalk. Most people live their lives without any firsthand experience of gangs or violence. Sometimes I wish I were one of them.

Lane stepped back into the office. Lori was away from her desk. He stepped closer to the open door of the office he shared with Nigel, who was saying, “I’m not sure what time I’ll get off work. Can I phone you when I know?”

Lane stepped into his office. Nigel leaned back in his chair, held his cell phone in his left hand and worked the computer mouse with his right. He lifted his chin in greeting to Lane, who sat down at his desk and switched on his computer. “Love you too,” Nigel said and hung up.

“No.” Lane felt a mixture of fear and anger boiling up inside of him. Not this time. It’s too dangerous.

“What?” Nigel looked at Lane.

“You’re not going to get Anna to help us track Mara down.” Lane pointedly made direct eye contact with his partner. Anna, Nigel’s girlfriend, had helped them in the past, although always unofficially.

Nigel looked away and fiddled with the collar of his shirt.

“Anna has been good for you, and I assume you’ve been good for her. Your style has certainly improved.” Lane pointed at the colourful shirt Anna had bought for Nigel. “We’re dealing with gangbangers. They have their own rules. They have eyes and ears in unexpected places. Some of them are cold-blooded killers. There are no rules as far as some of these guys go. If Mara or his buddies get an inkling Anna is looking into their operation, she’ll be a target.”

“It was about a post office box.” Nigel scratched his cheek.

Lane waited.

“I’ve spent the last hour tracking down last known addresses and the one on his vehicle registration. They’re all bogus. The only lead I have right now is a post office box. Anna was going to take a look.”

Lane shook his head. “I said no. It could put her in danger. If you know where the PO box is, then we’ll head out there and talk to the employees. I have a lead that Mara may be working at a seniors residence. We can work on both of those.”

Nigel blushed.

“The last time I tracked down a gangbanger, he kidnapped Matt and Harper’s little girl.”

“You’re joking!”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Lane heard the quiet anger in his voice.

Nigel took a breath and released it slowly.

“Call Anna right now. I want to talk with her.” Lane crossed his arms and waited.

Nigel picked up his phone and began to dial.

“Sorry it took so long. The longer I do this, the busier it gets.” Harper came around from behind his desk and shook Lane’s hand. “How was the wedding, and your holiday?” Harper wore his dress uniform. The jacket hung on the back of his chair. The top of his desk was scattered with multicoloured files. Lane could see Post-it notes stuck all around the edges of his computer monitor. He also saw that Cam’s belly stretched tight against his belt and his hair was trimmed short, due, at least in part, to an ever-expanding bald spot.

Lane felt the firm grip of his friend’s hand, squeezed back and smiled.

“Well?” Cam asked.

“The wedding went off with a hitch or two, but it went off.” Lane smiled at the memory of the sun, Christine in her wedding gown and Indiana in his tiny tux.

Harper used his right hand to indicate that they should sit in the leather chairs arranged in a circle around a knee-high coffee table. “What happened?”

Lane sat. “Mother-in-law drama and a murder.”

“Someone murdered Christine’s mother-in-law?”

Lane laughed until he wheezed, then began to cough. “I’m sure that more than one person was tempted, but no, it wasn’t her. Arthur and I went on a tour to Havana. One of the guys on the bus shoved his wife into what’s called a moto volqueta. She died of head injuries. We were able to track down a photograph of the husband shoving her. The Cuban police have a copy of the photograph.”

“What the hell’s a moto volqueta?” Harper leaned back in his chair.

“Like a tiny dump truck with a box out front.”

Harper tapped his fingertips together.

“The husband’s name is Brett Mara. He used to belong to the FKs.”

Harper leaned forward and his eyes narrowed.

“He left Cuba somehow, and we’re working on the assumption that he’s either back here or on his way.”

“Any leads?”

Lane shook his head. “No fixed address.”

“You need protection for your family.” Harper stood up and went to his desk.

Lane nodded. You don’t need to remind him what happened last time.

Harper picked up his phone and pressed a button. He looked at Lane.

This job has aged him.

“Mark? I’ve got a priority for you.” Harper nodded at Lane. “I want twenty-four-hour surveillance for a homicide detective’s home and family.” He hung up. “Now you won’t have to worry.”

When it’s family, you always worry.

Lane opened the door. Sam poked his nose around the corner, then moved into a downward dog. Even his tongue curled. Lane rubbed the side of the dog’s head and scratched him behind the ear. Sam raised his right hind leg and scratched a rib. A clump of hair was dislodged and floated to the floor. “Come on outside!” Lane said and went to the back door so Sam could shed in the yard. He closed the door and listened to the silence. Everyone must be asleep. I wonder how long it will take for them to spot the unmarked vehicles? He opened the fridge door, grabbed a sweating jug of lemonade and went looking for a glass. He could hear Arthur snoring as he drank the lemonade.

Sam scratched at the door. Lane opened it and Sam sat. Lane closed the door, put his glass down on the counter, went to the closet and grabbed the leash.

Five minutes later they were walking along a sidewalk running between backyard fences. They walked through an opening and followed the sidewalk that paralleled John Laurie Boulevard. Lane found his mind settling into the rhythm of the walk and began to relax. Traffic whispered by. A Jeep rolled by with its top down, a man driving and a pair of toddlers strapped into car seats in the back. A motorcycle crackled. Its rider wore a red mask over his face, a red helmet, red leather jacket and pants. His knees were at right angles from the gas tank. Looks like Spider-Man. A silver BMW sedan approached. Its windows were heavily tinted. The car slowed down and signaled a move into the nearest lane. Lane’s breathing slowed. He waited for a window to roll down. He glanced left at the six-foot fence. He forced himself to take a slow, deep breath. The car rolled on by. Lane looked over his shoulder and watched the BMW stop at the traffic light. Brett Mara doesn’t know you exist. Keep it that way. No one in that car was trying to hurt you or your dog. Be ready for the real threats, not the imagined ones.