Indiana Pulcinella Page 12

  “Maybe Alison and Milton should be scared. Tommy can be ferocious. This is a case he can really get his teeth into. I’m beginning to think the CCI and Milton have bitten off more than they can chew.”

  THURSDAY, JANUARY 30

  chapter 11

  “How’d it go with the doctor?” Lane asked when Nigel walked into the office and sat down at his desk.

  “I had an MRI. The doctor told me to stop boxing or I’m risking permanent brain damage.” Nigel looked at Lane.

  It sounds like he wants my advice. “What do you think?” Coward! Just tell him.

  “I know that the hammering —” he tapped the side of his skull “— isn’t healthy. I was hoping you would know why I do it. You’re good at figuring out motives.”

  Shit! Lane looked at his partner, wondering what would come of what he was about to say. “You probably won’t like it.”

  Nigel nodded, holding the palm of his right hand open for his partner, indicating Lane should go ahead.

  “It’s something you probably need to figure out for yourself.”

  “Please, just say it.”

  Lane inhaled. Don’t do it! “I think you feel responsible for what happened to your mother, and your emotions say you need to be punished even though you know —” Lane tapped the side of his head “— in your mind you are not responsible.”

  Nigel stood up, catching the tops of his thighs on the underside of his desk. He howled with pain.

  Lane recoiled at the sound, the wail of an animal whose wound is exposed after being protected by layers of scar tissue.

  Lori opened the door seconds later. “What the hell is going on here?” She spotted a doubled-over Nigel, turned her anger on Lane. “What did you do?”

  Nigel rubbed his thighs. “Nothing. He did nothing.”

  Lori looked at Lane, then back at Nigel. “Bullshit.” She crossed her arms, waiting.

  Nigel got up, grabbed his coat, and walked around his desk. “I need some air.”

  Lori looked at Lane and shook her head. “What did you say to him?”

  “Hello? Detective Lane? This is Donna Liu.”

  Lane looked across at the people sitting on the C-Train. One was reading a book. Another was listening to music. A man leaned against the glass and napped. The air smelled of warm clothing, sweat, and electric heat. “Hello.” Lane stared at his reflection in the glass. The buildings of the University of Calgary formed a backdrop.

  “Can you talk?”

  Lane heard the hollow sounds of road traffic, guessing Donna was in her car. “I can’t but you can.”

  “Shit! Sorry, some guy just cut me off. That was close.”

  Lane waited.

  “There was talk at work today. Another of the Nine Bottles is going to have a party. Well, it’s five bottles now. Or is it four? Anyway, there’s a party at Brockington House. Can you believe she has a title for her house? I can get back to you with more details if you like.”

  “Yes, please. How’s your son?”

  “The same. Talk with you in a day or two. Bye.”

  About a kilometre away, Nigel walked into the Nose Hill Public Library. At night, the blast of warm air at the entrance created a bit of fog as winter elbowed its way through the doors. He stepped through the second set of doors, removing cap and gloves, unzipping his coat, and looking for Anna. What Lane said made you angry because it was the truth. You asked him to tell you, and he did. Get over it.

  He found her standing over a man who had made the unfortunate mistake of sitting in Anna’s chair. She wore a faux-leather fighter pilot’s helmet, a pair of steampunk glasses with red and violet lenses, mitts, and a brown faux-leather bomber jacket. Anna leaned over the arm of the chair, breathing on the man’s head. “Is there a problem?” he asked.

  “You’re sitting in my chair.” Anna’s volume made several people turn to look. She flicked down a violet lens overtop the red one.

  A few regulars stared angrily at the man. He frowned, looking at his book, then settled deeper into the chair.

  Anna leaned closer, took off her mitt, and hung it between two fingers. She brushed the mitt against the man’s left ear. He swatted at it, but she was too quick. She brushed his ear again. He swatted, missing.

  “Okay! Shit! Have the chair!” He stood up — all six foot four and two hundred ninety pounds of him — grabbed his coat, and stormed off.

  Anna took off her coat, helmet, and mitts. The she pulled her laptop computer out from under her white cable turtleneck. She sat down and opened the laptop.

  Nigel took off his coat and sat across from her. No need to mention what just happened. She’ll already have moved on. Just get right to the point. “What have you got?”

  Anna looked up at Nigel, setting the laptop on the round table in front of her and pointing at the screen. “Milton has fourteen bank accounts in the US, Canada, and the Grand Cayman Islands. He also has three insurance policies and five numbered companies. Then there are the businesses.”

  Nigel got up, walked to her side of the table, and crouched beside her. She had all the information itemized on a spreadsheet. “Any idea on the total amount stashed away?”

  “Twenty-seven point six seven million using today’s rates of exchange. He uses mostly US and Canadian dollars, but a few of the investments are in gold.”

  Nigel looked at the spreadsheet. It’s all there.

  “Not surprising when you realize he has a very large and very cheap labour force at his disposal.”

  “He does have that.”

  “What’s the baby’s mom like?” Anna asked.

  “Young. It’s her first child. She escaped the polygamist community and was excommunicated.”

  “Then why do they want her baby?”

  Nigel shook his head. “Maybe her mother wants to punish her some more for not being obedient. Obedience is a big thing for the women. I think it’s called being sweet. Apparently it all started when Christine cut her hair short. That was a big deal for her mother.”

  Anna nodded. “What does the baby look like?”

  “I’ve only seen pictures, but he has lots of black hair and brown eyes.”

  “Olson.”

  “What?” Where is she going with this?

  “The alias on the passport. The birthdates are the same. The last name is Olson on the false passport, but not on the credit cards. Ditto Williams. Not very imaginative.”

  “We’re talking the killers now?”

  Anna nodded.

  “Thanks. Now I can check the passenger lists.”

  “You have to see this video. It’s a baby laughing.” Anna didn’t wait for him to respond. She tapped the track pad. A full-screen video of a round, laughing baby in diapers came into focus. Anna laughed and heads turned. Nigel heard the echo of her laughter bouncing off the walls and the ceiling. He was unable to stop smiling.

  “Olson? You’re joking?” Lane talked on the phone as he sat upstairs on the couch. All was quiet at home, at least for the moment.

  “No joke. The names match flights to New York, Toronto, and Cancun. Olson and Williams were there at the time of each of the murders.”

  “You sound tired.”

  “I am.”

  I need to apologize. “I’m sorry for what I said.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that.”

  “And?” Just listen. Let him talk!

  “You might be right.” Nigel hung up.

  Lane got up, went down the stairs to the family room and then down into the bas
ement office where he sat down, logged on, and typed an e-mail message.

  Keely,

  Hope you and Dylan are surviving the winter and enjoying yourselves.

  I was hoping you could help with a case. We have a male and a female who may have false passports. I don’t want them to be aware we are taking a close look at them. Their names are Andrew and Cori Pierce. Aliases are Clayton Olson and Karly A. Williams.

  Our investigation is leading us to believe the couple may be linked to a series of homicides. Are you able to confirm they have travelled under two or more separate identities?

  Christine’s baby is home and doing well.

  Say hello to Dylan for me.

  Lane

  FRIDAY, JANUARY 31

  chapter 12

  Institute Backs Out of Defence for Accused Abductors

  Orson Nelson, president of the Canadian Celestial Institute, says his organization is no longer able to defend Efram Milton, Alison Milton, and Lyle Pratt against charges of attempted child abduction.

  In explaining this change of position on Thursday, Nelson said, “I have asked the RCMP to initiate a criminal investigation into the theft of money from the CCI defence fund.”

  Nelson spoke from his home in Paradise, Alberta. Paradise is the polygamist community to which the three accused belong.

  The CCI President was not specific about the amount of money missing but says it is “significant.”

  “What’s up with you today?” Lori pointed at Lane’s clothing. He wore a thick blue cotton shirt with a black T-shirt underneath, and blue jeans. “I almost didn’t recognize you.” She pointed at her tan leather boots reaching almost to her knees. “You need a pair of these if you want to fit in at the U of C.”

  “I don’t think I’m fooling anyone when I pretend to be a student. Still, I need to keep an eye on Professor Pierce.” Lane glanced to his left at his red backpack.

  “You’re taking a long, hard look at the him.”

  He nodded. “I have to turn off the ringer on my phone while I’m in class. Would you text me if Keely or Nigel wants to get in touch?”

  Lori reached out, putting her hand on his elbow. “Be careful with Cori and her professor. Watching Cori operate made the hair on the back of my neck start doing a tango. If you’re right about them, they’ll be like that other guy.”

  “Moreau?” Lane reached for his coat.

  “That’s the one. Charming. Lethal. Good at fooling almost everyone.”

  “I try not to make any assumptions or reach conclusions early on. Still, I think you’re correct. Indications are pointing that way.” He leaned over to pick up the backpack.

  “So you trust my gut?”

  “Sometimes my gut is exactly what gets me looking at a suspect. The feeling that something isn’t quite right. The feeling you need to keep your guard up, that you can’t turn your back on a person.” Lane hooked the backpack over his shoulder. “How do I look?”

  Lori reached out, adjusting his collar. “Have a good day at school.”

  Lane laughed out loud.

  “Why isn’t Nigel doing this job? He’s much more likely to pass as a student than you.”

  “He’s tracking down passports. And, at least for the time being, I’d like to keep him away from these two.”

  “Bad karma?”

  Lane leaned his head right, then left. “Something like that. I think Andrew Pierce might remind Nigel of his father and cloud his judgement.”

  “He’s having a rough go with this one.”

  She’s noticed it, too. “From the very first day we went to the scene.”

  Lori nodded. “Scars.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Just like you and me. He’s got scars.”

  Lane sat in the back row of the main-floor lecture theatre at the University of Calgary’s education building. Thankfully, the massive man-spreading football player liked to sit in the same place in the second from last row. Lane crouched behind him. He sipped from the coffee he’d bought at the kiosk in the foyer, taking notes with his right hand, glancing at the iPad for any incoming messages.

  “Street smarts. There’s a difference between street smarts and the kind of intelligence measured by standardized tests.”

  Lane looked at Pierce, who stood behind the lectern. He wore a black shirt, black jeans, and a pair of black cowboy boots. The same pair of young women sat below Lane and at eye level with Pierce. Lane noted Pierce still looked their way when he talked. “One of the guys I went to high school with was of below-average IQ. He’s a millionaire today, because he has street smarts.”

  Lane wrote IQ in his notebook, circling it.

  “Of course, standardized tests measure higher-level thought processes and are a powerful tool for the assessment of student abilities.”

  Lane heard absolute certainty in the professor’s voice. It’s a weakness. He believes he is smarter than anyone here.

  There was a sigh from the girls down front when the man with the thinning-on-top black hair, who’d asked a question the other day, raised his hand.

  Pierce turned his back on the man. “Standardized tests are meticulously researched and continuously refined.”

  Balding man spoke. “They are called street smarts, after all. And why, if standardized tests are meticulously researched, do they need to be refined?”

  The two girls near the front turned, shaking their heads at the man who asked the question.

  Lane looked at the man, who blushed as he spotted their reaction. He had an old-style winter jacket tucked in behind him and, as he leaned back, a feather puffed up out of the tired fabric.

  Pierce turned toward the man. Lane saw the man inhale.

  The woman beside Lane shook her head. It was the same woman with long black hair who had sat near Lane the day before. Again she had set her black wool jacket on the chair between them. Today, she wore a blue turtleneck rolled up under her chin.

  Pierce said, “There is considerable scientific research supporting the efficacy of standardized tests.”

  Bald man said, “There is also considerable research to suggest standardized tests are only accurate indicators of the size of an individual’s house. Have you read the research by Alfie Kohn?”

  “Yes, I have.” Pierce’s tone was condescending. His face reddened.

  Lane saw heads turning back and forth between Pierce and the man. Balding man said, “Then you must know there’s considerable evidence suggesting conclusions contrary to the point of view you are presenting.”

  “And you have a PhD in statistics?” Pierce asked.

  “A PhD is required before an individual is allowed to think for himself?”

  “That’s exactly what it means!” Pierce pointed at the man.

  “Bullshit!” The woman next to Lane was standing, pointing at Pierce. “The last time I checked, education is intended to open minds rather than close them.”

  Pierce looked from the man to the woman. The surprise on his face transformed into rage. He pointed at the man and then the woman. “The pair of you are colluding! I can see it. You don’t know who you’re dealing with! What you’re up against!”

  “Is that a threat?” The woman put her fists on her hips.

  “It’s whatever you want it to be.” Pierce folded up his materials, turned right, walked across the stage, and kicked the side door open. It bounced off the wall, slamming him into the doorframe on the rebound.

  Lane touched the woman’s elbow, and she turned on him. He held his hands palm up. She
looked down at him with her fists at her sides. Lane saw the white of her knuckle bones. He said, “I have a question for you.”

  She took a breath. “What?”

  “What made you stand up and speak out?”

  “You mean you can’t see it?”

  Lane waited.

  “There’s something wrong with him. He’s the last person who should be teaching us how to be teachers.”

  Lane kept his tone neutral. “How do you know?”

  “I just know.” She wiped away tears. “I just know.”

  “What does this mean?” Christine wore a T-shirt and red flannel pants. She handed Lane a newspaper article as he stepped out of his shoes at the front door.

  Lane took the paper in one hand, shook his other hand out of the sleeve of his winter jacket, then switched hands to repeat the process. Christine took his coat. Lane read the article. “The missing money makes me wonder.”

  “About what?” Christine leaned against the wall.

  Lane moved into the living room, sitting in the easy chair. It felt warm against his back. “About what happened to the money. Do you believe Orson Nelson?”

  Christine nodded. “He’s a friend of Milton and Lyle Pratt. The three of them were always meeting about one thing or another. I often heard them talking about lying for the Lord.” She sat down on the couch, holding the article in her left hand.

  Lane looked at her.

  “You know, lying to protect polygamy, religion, themselves.”

  “So, you think Nelson is lying?” Lane felt his cheeks warming up after the forty-minute walk home from the LRT station.

  “I don’t know. I’m just worried about Indiana and what my mother is up to.”

  Lane leaned his head back, closing his eyes. “I can see two possible scenarios. Nelson is lying to help Alison play the victim. Or something else is going on because money disappeared from the account. The fact that he won’t disclose how much is missing is also telling. Either way, Tommy Pham is quite capable of protecting you and Indiana.”