A Hummingbird Dance Page 10

“We’re going to pay for our gas, and then we’re heading out to talk with Blake. Can you tell the officers, when they get here, that we’re on our way to Blake Rogers’ place?” Lane took Kelsey back into the store.

  “Okay,” Kelsey said.

  “You also need to call your family and let them know what happened,” Lane said.

  Kelsey nodded.

  When Lane and Harper were back in the car, Lane called it in. After he finished, he looked at Harper. “The helicopter is on its way. All we have to do is block off Blake’s driveway so he can’t leave, then we’ll wait for the helicopter and backup before going in.”

  Lane handled the calls and updates while Harper drove. When they turned off the pavement and onto the gravel road leading to Blake’s acreage, they stopped to get their bulletproof vests out of the trunk.

  “He may be impaired, and he may have an assault rifle.” Lane took his jacket off before putting on a vest. He checked his pistol and extra magazines. He carefully laid his sports jacket in the trunk. Usually my mind clears at times like this, but it’s different this time. I can’t get images of Matt and Christine out of my head.

  Harper waited with his hand on the open trunk lid. “Don’t worry. We can’t get shot at twice in a month. It just doesn’t happen.”

  They got back in the car. Lane kept his window open and looked in the passenger mirror. The cloud of dust obscured the road behind them.

  A call came in with an update; the police helicopter was three minutes away.

  Harper slowed as they neared Blake’s place. They saw a black motorcycle parked next to the black Ford pickup. Harper eased the Chev off the gravel road.

  Lane saw Blake open the front door. He was still dressed in a leather jacket and matching black leather chaps. He held an assault rifle in his right hand.

  “Gun!” Lane reached for his Glock.

  Blake stepped onto the front step. He pulled back the bolt action on the automatic rifle.

  Harper turned left. The Chev dove into a ditch that was more than a metre deep. The nose of the car rammed into the bottom of the ditch. Both airbags deployed. The rear axle got hung up on the end of a section of corrugated-culvert pipe. Stunned by the impact of the airbag against the side of his head, Lane felt himself being dragged out of the car through Harper’s door. Harper gripped the shoulder of Lane’s vest and pulled him under the open door and around the front of the car.

  Automatic rifle fire crashed over their heads.

  “You hit?” Harper asked.

  Lane lifted his Glock. “Not yet. Let’s hope he still hasn’t figured out how to use that weapon.”

  Bullets ripped into the trunk of the Chev.

  Lane and Harper crouched as low as possible behind the grill and the engine.

  “You bastards!” Blake screamed.

  “Put down the gun!” Lane yelled back.

  The answer was more automatic fire. The first two rounds hit the trunk and the rest zipped overhead.

  Harper rolled left and crawled to the lip of the ditch. He fired two rounds into the pickup and rolled back next to Lane.

  “Don’t you take another chance like that! Time’s on our side.” Lane grabbed Harper by the arm.

  “He’s changing clips. I just wanted him to know we’d shoot back. If he moves around to one of our flanks, we won’t have a chance against that weapon.” Harper looked left. “Where’s that damned dog?”

  Another burst of automatic fire smashed into the rear of the Chev. The air filled with the raw stench of gasoline. Lane and Harper eased their guns out over the hood and fired in Blake’s general direction.

  Blake stopped firing.

  “Can you hear if he’s trying to work his way around us?” Harper asked.

  “No.”

  The clicking of the cooling engine sounded unnaturally loud in Lane’s ears. They both concentrated, waiting for any sound that might give away Blake’s position.

  The chainsaw clatter of an approaching helicopter soon made that impossible. They looked up to see the blue-black belly of the helicopter as it came in low and fast. After its first pass, it climbed and hovered over the scene, working its way back and forth over the Chev and the Ford pickup.

  The smell of gasoline was stronger now. Lane looked at his knees. A stream of gasoline passed between the detectives and began to fill a hollow at the bottom of the ditch.

  “It’s times like this I’m glad you don’t smoke,” Harper said.

  “I guess we stay put until we get some help. He hasn’t fired at the helicopter, so he must be keeping his head down.” Lane lifted his right knee and moved away from the gasoline without leaving the protection of the front of the car.

  “Staying put may not be such a good idea if this ignites.” Harper peered around the fender.

  “Got your cellphone?” Lane asked.

  “In the trunk.”

  “Mine must be on the front seat.” Lane thought, Maybe I should crawl over and get it.

  Harper, as if reading Lane’s mind, said, “Stay put.”

  The helicopter swung south toward the river and made a low pass over them with its nose down. Lane and Harper waved at the pilot and passenger. The helicopter swooped over the house and climbed before returning to hover to the east side of the road.

  “What the hell is going on?” Harper asked.

  Lane thought, A joke might lighten the situation up a bit.

  “I wonder if they’ll give us another new car?”

  Harper smiled. “Two cars in as many weeks. I wonder if it’s some kind of record?”

  The officer was dressed in black, carried an automatic rifle over one shoulder and his helmet in the other. He marched along the ditch behind them. “Hey guys!”

  Lane and Harper turned with their pistols aimed.

  The TACTICAL officer held his hands above his head. “I’m one of the good guys.”

  “Shit,” Harper said.

  Lane recognized him too. Short hair, a swagger, and an open mouth. It was Stockwell.

  Stockwell walked closer. “We’ve been trying to call you!”

  Lane wanted to say, “Sorry, but we were a little preoccupied dodging bullets from an assault rifle.”

  Harper said, “Ever been shot at?”

  “Ummm.” Stockwell looked at Lane and grinned.

  Lane watched Stockwell’s eyes and thought, You’re thinking of a way to sidestep the question. You’re so transparent.

  There wasn’t a hint of friendliness in Stockwell’s smile. “Heard you got wounded last week. Shot in the ass. Was it good for you!?”

  Harper moved forward. He cocked his arm, aiming to throw a punch. Lane put a hand on Harper’s wrist to hold him back.

  Stockwell walked closer. He was near enough to touch them. “Who’s the marksman?”

  Lane and Harper looked at one another.

  They looked back at Stockwell.

  “Well, somebody made a hell of a shot.” Stockwell wiped his forearm against a sweaty forehead. “Put a bullet in the guy’s ear. Dead before he hit the ground. None of us got here in time to take a shot. To make that shot with a Glock is …”

  “Impossible,” Harper said.

  Lane leaned forward. His stomach gave him very little warning. Nauseated by the realization that he might have killed Blake, Lane threw up on Stockwell’s boots.

  Stockwell danced backwards in horror. “What the fuck?”

  “Nice shooting, Lane.” Harper rubbed the back of his partner’s neck and looked at Stockwell. “Right on target.”

  Stockwell said, “What’s this? Are the two of you sweethearts now?”

  Ten minutes later, Harper and Lane sat in the shade and talked on borrowed cellphones. Both of their phones had been chewed up by Blake’s gunfire. They watched a fire department crew cleaning up the gasoline in the ditch before the tow truck was allowed to take the Chev away.

  “I’m fine. Harper’s fine. The only guy hurt was the shooter.” Lane waited for Arthur to respond.

&
nbsp; “Are you going to make a habit of this?” Arthur asked.

  “What? Getting shot at or having our cars wrecked?” Lane took a sip from a bottle of water someone had handed him. My mouth still tastes like puke, he thought.

  “When will you be home? I want to see you for myself.”

  “Can’t tell you for sure. They’ll be done with us eventually. Fire department is here. Forensics is here. It’s like a convention.” Lane looked around at the collection of vehicles and people. Dr. Fibre walked alongside the Quonset then disappeared behind it.

  Lane turned his attention to Deputy Chief Calvin Smoke, who faced the cameras. He wore a goatee and tailor-made dress uniform. Smoke’s voice carried over to the detectives. “A suspect has been shot. Two of my detectives are safe. As usual my officers risked their lives to keep my community safe. Good old-fashioned police work, that’s my style.” Smoke pointed a finger at his chest.

  Arthur’s voice cracked in Lane’s ear. “Matt’s at the dance tonight. We have to pick him up at ten.”

  “You okay?” Lane turned to watch two men pick up Blake’s bagged body and place it on a gurney.

  “Yep. Bye.” Arthur hung up.

  Lane looked at Harper, who was on another cell-phone. “It’s okay, Erinn. I’m okay. How are you and Jessica?”

  Harper looked at Lane. For a moment, they both smiled at this shared experience.

  “Glenn’s there with you?” Harper asked.

  Lane looked at the Quonset. Fibre appeared and beckoned his crew. All were dressed in matching white “bunny suits”.

  “Good. I’ll be home as soon as I can.” Harper closed the phone. “She’s crying. Jessica’s crying, and Glenn’s trying to figure out what’s going on.”

  Lane burped and tasted bile. He took another swig of water. He turned to watch the cameras and lights.

  “My mandate is to keep the peace and that’s just what I intend to do.” Deputy Chief Smoke pointed to his left. “Officers like Stockwell here are a fine example of the new, heroic approach to policing.” Smoke waved a smiling Stockwell closer.

  “Sounds like Smoke wants to be chief,” Harper said.

  Lane smiled when he saw Smoke’s nose wrinkle after he caught the stench of vomit rising from Stock-well’s boots. “Seems like Smoke’s gotten wind of something unpleasant.”

  Harper laughed. “That about sums it up. There’s a joke that some cops pass around. They call it being “Smoked”. It’s another word for getting screwed. If you put a pin up against Smoke’s ego, you end up on a shit detail like dealing with drunks at a football game.”

  Lane looked toward the curved wall of the Quonset.

  “What are you thinking?” Harper asked.

  “I don’t know how we hit Blake,” Lane said.

  “I can’t figure it out either. He had to be facing us. I only took five shots and there are five hits in the truck. That’s what I was aiming at.” He looked at the black Ford pickup. Its front license plate read “Republic of Alberta”.

  “My magazine is missing four rounds. I was sure I fired over his head.” Lane searched his memory for a logical answer.

  “Guess we have to wait for the autopsy.” Harper looked at the Quonset. Fibre had a shovel in his hands. “Wonder what they found over there?”

  Lane looked around at the various people working the scene then at Smoke smiling at the reporters. “They’ve forgotten about us. Let’s go and see what Fibre’s up to.” He started across the gravel driveway, heals scuffing against the uneven surface, before turning onto the grass.

  Harper walked beside him. At the barbed-wire fence, he held the top wire with his hand and the bottom two with his foot. Lane ducked through the gap, turned and held the wire for Harper.

  They heard the sound of shovels shifting earth and grinding against stone. They rounded the end of the shed. Fibre was on his elbows and knees. With the hood of his white suit covering his head, he could have passed for a rabbit on steroids. The stink of decomposition mixed with freshly turned earth made Lane cover his nose. He thought, This is going to make me sick again.

  Two of Fibre’s assistants lifted a plastic bag from the shallow grave. A dog’s paw poked out of hole in the green plastic.

  Harper held his hand over his face. “Rosco?”

  “We need a tarp to lay the bag on!” Fibre looked at Lane. “What are you doing here?” Fibre hesitated for a moment. “There’s a tarp in the unit. Get it!” One of the assistants laughed at Lane’s discomfort.

  Lane took his time walking back to the forensics vehicle while thinking, Fibre has a great mind when it comes to dealing with the dead but absolutely no idea when it comes to dealing with the living.

  “I’m not going in there!” Christine sat down on the grass in front of the Jeep. Roz was tied to Christine by her leash, and as a result, to the drama. The dog looked pleadingly over her shoulder at Lane and Harper while they walked toward the church.

  The sun was setting. Shades of purples, oranges, and pinks painted the sky. Lane leaned back and took it in. It feels good to see this, he thought. He looked at the grey, blue stuccoed building with an attached gymnasium.

  Arthur looked at his watch. “We’d better get this over with.” He looked around the parking lot, expecting someone to jump out and point a finger at them. Every second vehicle was a minivan or something more substantial. It was an aquarium of vehicles with fish on their bumpers. Fish on their hatches. Truth fish eating Darwin fish. “I was just thinking. Do you want to try some fish this week? How about some rainbow trout?”

  There was no time for us to talk, Lane thought, that’s why Arthur’s acting like this. It’s just that with these kids there’s never any time for anything but handling the next crisis.

  Arthur hurried ahead. “Hurry up! This place gives me the creeps. Any second two guys with white shirts, ties, and name tags will try to convert us.”

  Lane looked back at Christine. She glared at them while rubbing the dog under the chin. Roz smiled, revealing her canines.

  “Come on.” Arthur led the way to the front entrance.

  Lane thought he recognized the beat of The Village People pounding through the walls. Impossible, he thought.

  They walked through the front doors. An unattended table was set up in the hallway. “Adam & Eve: The Dance” was the sign taped to the front of the table. Behind it, on the wall, were black T-shirts on sale with “God said Adam & Eve NOT Adam and Steve” stencilled on them in white letters.

  Arthur’s ears turned red. “Hurry up.” He threw the comment over his shoulder and plowed forward into the music. They turned a corner.

  “YMCA!”

  They stepped into a gymnasium or meeting hall, it was hard to tell which.

  Lights flashed along the stage. A group of teens danced in a line along the edge. They made a Y with their arms and bodies.

  The kids on the floor shouted, “M! C! A!”

  The arms raised in the crowd, and the arms raised along the stage, made human approximations of the letters.

  Lane felt the pounding of bass against his ribcage.

  “Where is he?” Arthur looked over the crowd.

  The music died down as the song ended. The kids looked at one another.

  “Can you believe this?” Lane scanned the crowd looking for Matt.

  “What? Believe what?” Arthur looked behind Lane.

  “The music, I mean doesn’t anyone here know that The Village People are …”

  “IN THE NAVY!” The volume of the next song sent a shock wave running through the crowd.

  Lane smiled.

  “He’s not here!” Arthur’s eyes got even wider.

  “Let’s check outside!”

  “What?” Arthur cupped his left hand over the back of his ear.

  Lane took him by the arm and went out a back door. The door shut behind them. Lane and Arthur stood stunned by the silence and the rainbow of colours in the sky. Their Jeep was parked thirty metres away.

  In fro
nt of the Jeep, Matt and Christine sat on the grass on either side of the dog. Matt’s shoulders sagged. Christine put her arm around him. Roz licked his face.

  Lane caught Arthur by the arm. “Give them a minute.”

  Arthur looked at Lane. “I don’t get it. All they do is fight.”

  After a minute they walked toward Matt, Roz, and Christine who were climbing into the Jeep.

  Arthur got into the driver’s seat. Lane walked around to the other side.

  Arthur started the engine as Lane climbed in.

  “Uncle Lane, Matt’s got something to say to you,” Christine said.

  Lane locked his seat belt, winced at the sore muscles of his chest and backside, and turned to face Matt.

  Arthur reversed.

  “How come you never asked me about the marionettes?” Matt asked.

  Where did this come from? Lane saw the tears in Matt’s eyes. “Marionettes?”

  Arthur stopped, shifted into drive, and headed out of the parking lot.

  Matt nodded. “Harper asked Glenn if he knew anything about marionettes, because it has something to do with the case you’re working on.”

  Lane heard the accusation in Matt’s voice.

  Lane said, “Yes it does.”

  “I know all about marionettes. We’re studying about them in drama. Didn’t you know that?” Matt turned to Christine for support.

  Lane’s mind raced. How did I get into the middle of this mess? It’s one car wreck after another. “What do you know?”

  “During the Second World War the Czechs used marionettes to satirize Hitler, among other things.” Matt looked directly at his uncle. “The artist would let the marionette say things that were against the government and controversial while making the audience laugh.”

  Lane’s mind bounced back and forth between what he’d just learned and the feeling that he was under attack. “I didn’t know.”

  “Or didn’t care,” Matt said.

  “What?” What did I do? Lane thought.

  “You’ve been so busy with the case and so busy with Christine, you’ve hardly talked with me. It hurts.” Matt turned to look out the window.

  Lane thought, I’m always one or two steps behind these two, just like I’m one or two steps behind this case.

  “I’m exhausted!” Alex put the back of his marionette hand to his forehead and acted as if he were about to faint.