WEDNESDAY, JULY 10
“Fibre wants to see us.” Harper drove along Parkdale Boulevard. Joggers and cyclists raced along the pathway between the boulevard and the river. Lane saw two cyclists exchange insults as they passed one another. One ran off the path, hit a low spot in the grass, and went over his handlebars. The other looked over his shoulder, laughing, and promptly disappeared into an evergreen tree.
“There’s something you don’t see every day,” Lane said.
“What?” Harper turned right and up the hill to the hospital.
Lane thought about the way Fibre liked to keep his office cool all year round. “I should have brought warmer clothing.”
They found Dr. Colin “Fibre” Weaver waiting for them, wearing a grey tweed jacket, white shirt, and khaki tie. Fibre was pouring over a file in a room with two computers. The room shone with cool air, sparkling metal furniture, spotless glass, and a single filing cabinet. The only paper on the desk was in a manila folder.
Fibre looked up, checked his watch, and did not shake hands. “There have been some unusual findings.”
Harper closed the door and sat next to Lane.
“Go ahead.” Lane felt the cold vinyl against his back and legs.
“First off.” Fibre closed the folder. “The bullets are a match. Ballistics confirms this. The bullet that wounded you, Detective Lane, was fired from the same weapon that killed Blake Rogers. Both are .22 calibre.” Fibre spoke in a monotone and looked at an invisible point between Harper and Lane.
Harper shrugged as if to say, “Tell us something new.”
“The bullets from Mr. Rogers’ weapon are a match with the ones we found in the exterior walls and roof of his house. Also, the angles and patterns of penetration in your damaged vehicle follow the pattern on Mr. Rogers’ house. The first shots were near target and subsequent rounds went high. Which, as it turns out, was quite fortunate for the two of you, since his weapon fired large rounds with far greater velocity.” Fibre took a breath.
“So you’re saying that Blake was a poor shot, and the person who killed him was not,” Harper said.
“Person or persons. I try not to make any assumptions whatsoever.” Fibre made momentary eye contact with Harper.
Harper made no attempt to hide his frustration. “None of this is news to us.”
Fibre smiled.
Lane and Harper looked at one another. If Fibre had stood on his desk and danced, they would have been less shocked.
“At the same time, some fascinating evidence was gathered at the scene where the remains of the deceased dog were unearthed at Blake Rogers’ acreage.” Fibre turned in his chair.
Lane and Harper leaned forward.
Fibre looked out the window.
Lane thought, This could go on all day. “I’m sure Detective Harper meant no offense by his remark.”
Fibre turned back. “I apologize,” Harper said.
Fibre’s face remained blank. “Human and canine blood were removed from the baseball bat. The human blood type matched Mr. Lombardi. The human hair found on the bat was also consistent with Mr. Lombardi’s hair. We are presently awaiting DNA results. It appears the bat I found was the murder weapon.” Fibre leaned back in his chair. His arms windmilled as he leaned back a bit too far. For a moment, Fibre was on the edge of going backwards over the chair. He leaned forward, placed his elbows on the desk, and checked to see if Lane or Harper had noticed the near disaster.
“That is new.” Harper kept a straight face.
“Anything else?” Lane asked.
“Fingerprints matching those of Mr. Blake Rogers were found on the wooden handle.” Fibre adopted a pose which could only be called self-satisfied.
“That is news. Were there any other findings?” Lane asked as he stood.
“Our team continues to examine evidence from the house. We’ll keep you informed.” Fibre turned and looked out the window.
“Very impressive work, Colin,” Lane said.
“Of course.” Fibre waved his hand without turning around.
Lane and Harper walked out. In the elevator, Harper raised his eyebrows.
Lane shook his head. We need to wait until we’re in the car, he thought.
It took five minutes to get back to the car.
“Okay.” Harper put the key in the ignition. “What?”
“Fibre’s just wacky enough to bug the elevator, that’s all.” Lane put on his seatbelt.
“So what if he does?” Harper turned on the engine and slipped the transmission into drive.
“He’s a valuable source of information. I don’t want to offend him.”
“You’re afraid I’m gonna open my mouth and piss him off?” Harper braked for traffic. He turned down the hill and headed for the river valley.
“Yes.” Lane looked across the river at the trees on the bluff.
“Do you want to know more about the land claim?” Harper guided the car around a descending curve in the road.
“There’s a coffee shop right around the corner.”
“Why did I know you were gonna say that?” Harper smiled.
After ordering coffee, they found a seat at one end of the café, close to a window.
“So, what did you find out?” Lane asked.
“It’s more complicated than I thought. You see, the land Blake Rogers lived on has been in his family for nearly one hundred years. One of his ancestors was the minister who worked on the Sarcee Reserve — that’s what it was called before T’suu T’ina Nation — and he was deeded the land.”
“Here you are.” The waiter slid their coffees onto the table.
“Thanks,” Lane said.
Harper took a careful sip, smiled and took another. “You’ve done it again! This is great coffee. How do you find these places?”
“You were saying?” Lane took a sip of his mochachino and wore a mustache of whipped cream.
Harper handed Lane a napkin.
Lane wiped at his lip.
“Forty years ago, Eva bought some of the land back. More recently, she made a claim. She says that the land Blake lived on was originally given to her tribe by treaty. I checked into it. She has a strong case. Blake couldn’t sell the land. This is where it gets especially interesting.”
Harper took another sip of coffee. “Blake Rogers was broke. Because his land is now within city limits, it’s worth a fortune. Blake wanted to sell part of it but couldn’t. He actually owned more than twenty hectares of land. Some of it was rented out. He looked into subdividing some of it but found he could not. In fact, he may have been about to declare bankruptcy.”
“Eva tied the land up and messed him up.” Lane smiled.
“Apparently, and it looks like Eva will eventually win.”
“Are we looking at a motive then?” Lane asked.
“For Alex’s murder, but not for the others.” Harper looked out the window. A couple in their twenties sat on the terrace soaking up the sun.
“We have five deaths, the four who were residents at Blake’s house as well as Alex. Blake had a motive for killing Alex, and we have at least one witness who says that’s what he did. The evidence suggests that the same weapon that wounded me, killed Blake. Finally, the evidence points at Blake for the murder of Skip Lombardi.” Lane looked out the window. A male cyclist in a yellow jersey leaned his bike up against the iron fence. He bent to lock his bike. The yellow was stained with green on one shoulder.
“So far, that’s what we’ve got.” Harper looked out the window.
A second cyclist arrived. He was wearing black lycra shorts, a black jersey, and black helmet. There was a pinecone sticking out at an angle in the top vent of his helmet.
The cyclist in the yellow jersey stood up and turned to face the other.
Lane stood up. “We’d better go outside.”
Yellow jersey threw a punch. It connected with the black helmet of the other rider. The pinecone popped out. The cyclists wrapped each other up, fell over the fence, and onto the table, where the startled couple fell to the ground.
The waiter said, “Hey!”
Lane was first out the door. The cyclists rolled in opposite directions and stood. Lane pulled out his id and kept his voice low. “Hello, gentlemen.” The combatants had to listen carefully to hear his voice.
Harper pulled out his identification and stood next to the yellow cyclist.
“I think she’s done something to her shoulder.” The man at the table crouched over the woman, who was holding her arm and crying. There was blood on the front of her white T-shirt.
Harper nodded at Lane. He went to the woman. Her face was pale and she was shaking. “Better get her to emergency. She’s going into shock.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialled. He got up and walked toward the cyclists.
Lane pulled out a pair of handcuffs with his free hand.
Harper did the same.
The cyclist in black started to run. Harper grabbed his wrist and twisted it up between the cyclist’s shoulder blades. Harper cuffed one hand and then the other. He kept the phone tucked up against his shoulder and ear.
Lane walked over to the second cyclist and, using one hand, cuffed him.
“Not my fault,” the black-outfitted cyclist said.
Lane and Harper sat the pair down at opposite ends of the terrace.
The ambulance arrived five minutes later, just after the first police cruiser.
The injured woman was loaded into the ambulance. Her husband followed in their car. As he pulled away, he looked at the pair of cyclists. Lane saw murder in the husband’s eyes.
The cyclists were loaded into separate cruisers.
When Lane and Harper got back inside, their coffees were full and hot. The waiter said, “Thanks guys.”
“How often does that happen?” Harper asked.
“Every now and then, cyclists or joggers get aggressive.” The waiter took their cold coffees away.
Lane looked out the window. Another waiter picked up chairs and began mopping up the coffee that had spilled over the bricks. Lane thought about the adrenaline rush resulting from the aftermath of the fight, and he thought about the husband, whose wife was at the hospital.
Harper said, “What?”
“Bystanders. We’ve been looking too close to home on this one. What did you say the name of Alex’s friend was?” Lane turned back to Harper.
“Aidan.”
“We need to talk with her, and we need to talk with Norm some more.” Lane took a sip of coffee. “Remember what Eva said when we asked who was a good shot?”
Harper nodded. “She changed the subject.”
“This wasn’t what I had in mind when I asked for a different outfit.” Alex the marionette wore a white shirt with a series of red circles on the front and the back. He also wore black jeans and shoes.
Aidan shook her marionette head. “You’re never satisfied, are you?”
“It’s just that I never wore anything like this either.” Alex looked out in the direction of where the audience would be. “Anybody got a mirror?”
“That’s the point. You’re dead, so you shouldn’t wear what you wore when you were alive.” Aidan peered offstage. Both Aidans wore blue jeans and blue satin shirts. Their belts were white with silver belt buckles the size of dessert plates. They wore red cowboy boots and white hats.
Alex turned to Aidan. “There’s nobody out there.”
“Not yet.” She tipped her hat back and put her thumbs in her belt.
Alex imitated a drawl. “You doin’ one of those ‘merican themes? I mean it’s red, white, and blue all over y’all.”
“I just like the colours. It’s not a political statement.” Aidan adopted a coquettish pose. “Well, maybe just a bit of one.”
“That’s what I thought. There isn’t one thing here you haven’t done for a reason.” Alex used an extended right hand to indicate the stage, props, and costumes.
“Glad you noticed.”
“And you’re still keeping the big secret even from me?” Alex pointed at a closed box on stage right. All of the other boxes were open to reveal hanging marionettes and backdrops.
“You need to be surprised when you see it. It’s the finale. You’ll understand when we come to the end of the show on Saturday.” Aidan walked over to the closed wooden box and stood in front with her arms crossed.
“Perhaps.” Alex adopted a thoughtful pose. “This outfit was an unpleasant surprise. Hopefully whatever’s in the box will be a pleasant one.” He moved closer to the closed box, peering around one side and then the other.
“Is my grandmother going to be out there?” Alex looked offstage.
“Called her today. Says she wouldn’t miss it.” Aidan leaned back against the box as Alex continued to study it.
“Norm too?” Alex started to dance. He leaned on one foot and then the other, doing figure eights in front of Aidan. He danced around the middle of the stage, hovering and swooping.
“Hasn’t made up his mind yet.” Aidan watched Alex with suspicion.
“He still looking out for you and Eva?” Alex held his elbows out level with his shoulders.
“Yep. He thinks he’s doing what his mom told him to do, keeping us safe when really it’s supposed to be the other way around.”
“Can’t wait to hear what they have to say. I mean Eva’s never been to a rodeo quite like this one.” Alex stretched his arms into wings and continued his dance.
“You worried about it?” Aidan leaned against the wall and crossed one leg in front of the other.
“A little bit. I mean, she and I never really talked about it.” Alex looked sideways at Aidan.
“Give her some credit. She’s one smart woman. She learned sign language when she found out you were deaf.” Aidan studied Alex.
“Being deaf is different from being … well, you know, some people think it’s a choice.”
“This isn’t like you. Having second thoughts?” Aidan added laughter to her voice.
“Maybe. I’m worried.” Alex stopped dancing, looked at Aidan.
“Worried about what?” Aidan uncrossed her legs and leaned forward.
“I feel a storm coming and it’s headed your way.” Alex hung his head.
“You worry too much.” Aidan punched Alex’s shoulder.
Alex laughed. “Now that’s a switch.”