THURSDAY, JULY 4

chapter 18

Lane sat up, swallowed to get some moisture in his dry mouth and looked at the clock. He squinted. “Ten o’clock. What day is it?” He got up and seven minutes later was in the shower.

Arthur was in his office working on a client’s account as Lane went to the top of the stairs. He went into the office and put his cheek against Arthur’s.

“You think I’m that easy?” Arthur asked.

Lane shrugged. “This case —”

“I know. We’ve been watching it on the news and reading about it in the paper. The kids have about a million questions, so be prepared for the interrogation when you finally get home for dinner. I’ve been handling things while you’ve been busy. Be ready, there’ve been some major developments. And Lane?”

“Yes?”

“What kind of shit storm have you walked into?”

Lane looked at the shiny top of Arthur’s head.

“Do you really think these three guys were the only ones involved in the deal?”

Lane shook his head. “No.” Don’t tell him about the list just yet.

“Just watch your back.”

Major developments? The doorbell rang. Lane’s ride was waiting.

Lane set a cup of tea down on Lori’s desk. She mouthed a thank you, then continued with her phone conversation. He walked into his office and set a coffee on Nigel’s desk.

Nigel looked up, smiled and said, “I lost the bet. I’m supposed to be buying coffee. How did you know that Rogerson would deal first?”

Lane sat on the edge of his desk, set his moccaccino on the corner, then shrugged. “I just got the feeling he was tired of hiding and wanted to come clean. Bertoulli and Mara were using him and his position. They threatened to leak the information about the Kalyk shooting to pressure Rogerson into playing along. It looks like Bertoulli and Mara planned the killing and Rogerson was not in on the conspiracy. He gave the impression he was relieved when he told me about his role. Relieved the story was out and he didn’t have to cover it up anymore.”

Nigel sipped his coffee, then set it down. “Funny. I got the feeling Bertoulli could argue black was white and have me halfway convinced after five minutes. The guy is a compulsive liar. I figured he would be the first to spin some kind of yarn implicating everyone else.”

Lane laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“He’s kind of a caricature. One of those guys who is all hair and teeth and sells self-help advice.”

“The bullshit never really stops with Bertoulli. I think he convinces himself he’s telling the truth when he’s lying.”

Lane smiled. “Exactly.”

Nigel’s eyes opened wide. “I was supposed to remind you to phone someone in Havana.”

Lane tapped his forehead with his open palm. “Deylis. I need to call her and let her know what’s happened.” He sat behind his desk and picked up the phone. “Without her help, Brett would still be out there and the people behind MCSC might have been able to go ahead with their plans.”

“After you make that call, we need to head over to Phoenix Kitchens. I’ll let them know we’re coming.”

Forty minutes later they passed through Inglewood, past coffee shops, restaurants and funky boutiques. Nigel was driving. “What did Deylis have to say?”

Lane looked out the window at Spolumbo’s, known around the city for its sausages. “She was a bit shocked to find out how many deaths Brett was responsible for. And she seemed pleased to have played a role in the whole thing. She’s going to get back to us with the details on Sonja’s return.”

Nigel turned south onto Blackfoot and drove under the railway bridge along the narrow lanes on their way up the hill. The view of downtown and the Stampede Grounds kept Lane’s attention until Nigel turned left into Highfield Industrial Park. Nigel parked out front of Phoenix Kitchens next to the green metal garbage bin tagged with white graffiti. It took a minute to manoeuvre their way along the wooden planks leading to the temporary entrance, then upstairs. Heads turned from four desks set in four corners of the room. Samples of granite, cabinet doors and fixtures leaned against walls. Neville stood leaning against the door-frame of the private office. Aunt Rose stood beside him. Anita tucked hair behind her shoulders as she got up to greet the detectives. “You have news for us?”

Lane looked at Anita. “We came to thank you for the information that led to the arrest of the people responsible.” He looked at each face in return, their eyes locked on his. He waited while Neville quietly translated for Aunt Rose before continuing. “Brett Mara was arrested and he confessed.”

Aunt Rose kept her eyes on Lane and Nigel as she spoke to Neville, who asked, “My aunt asks why you refer to more than one person.”

Lane nodded. “May I ask for an assurance that none of you will talk of this outside this office?” He made eye contact with each person in the room.

Neville spoke. Lane looked at Nigel, who said, “It’s Mandarin. He’s telling them to keep their mouths shut.”

Neville said, “We promise.”

Lane asked, “You will not talk to the media? There will be court cases. One of the men responsible is very slippery. You don’t want him squirming out of prison.”

Neville translated.

Aunt Rose spoke in Mandarin. Nigel translated. “She says we promised, now get on with it.”

Lane said, “Brett worked with others who were planning to exploit seniors.”

Aunt Rose spoke. Neville smiled. Nigel said, “She called them pigs.”

Lane smiled at her. “The pigs will be facing various charges and it will be in the news.”

Anita asked, “How did Ayah die?”

Lane said, “He smothered her.”

Anita wiped at a tear as Neville translated. There was a howl of grief. Lane watched as Aunt Rose cursed, then pulled Neville closer. He said, “She thanks you and asks you to come with us.”

Lane asked, “Where?”

Neville wiped his eyes with fingertips. “Rose wants to take you to a restaurant we know. She wants you to be our guests.”

It took less than half an hour to reach the restaurant in Chinatown. It was nearly fifty metres from Centre Street and the Bow River. Lane walked alongside Aunt Rose up the long flight of stairs to the restaurant. He held the door for her. Inside, she took his elbow past the gold dragons guarding the entrance. They sat at a table in the corner of a room, which Lane estimated could seat over a hundred. Nigel was asked to sit on the other side of Rose. Anita was directed to order and by the time the first plate arrived, Lane was famished.

He was taking his second bite of garlic chicken when Nigel said, “Hey, Paul!”

Lane looked up. The room was half full. Nigel said, “Aunt Rose had them —” he pointed at Anita and Neville “— call everyone close to Ayah to come and celebrate her life.” Lane looked around the room where waiters swam between tables, children sat on laps or in booster chairs, families chatted with one another.

Aunt Rose spoke. Nigel translated, “She says she thought Ayah’s killer would never be caught because she’s Asian and the police wouldn’t look very hard.”

Lane shrugged, “That thought never occurred to me.”

Aunt Rose spoke; then Nigel said, “And that’s why she invited us here.” Nigel leaned back and pointed his chopsticks at Lane. “She says she wanted us to see this. Ayah touched so many lives.” He lifted his eyebrows, adding that shit-disturber smile. “We have more than twenty families to notify. Do you think every notification will be like this?”

Lane shook his head. A feeling of intense satisfaction followed by dread. Ever since his mother took a belt to his back he’d been haunted by joy. Killing Pierce had amplified the feeling that every gram of joy inevitably resulted in a kilogram of pain.