The Detective Lane Casebook #1 Page 13

  The volume caused the birds in the tree to stop chirping.

  “Lovely evening isn’t it Mrs. Smallway?!” Lane was sure anyone in the yard six houses down, would soon answer if Mrs. Smallway didn’t.

  “Oh, is that you Mr. Lane?” This was followed by the snip of pruning sheers on a twig. “Just doing a little work in the yard.”

  Lane grinned at Harper. Lane said, “Mrs. Smallway doesn’t ‘do’ gardening. She hires people to do that sort of work.” Then he increased the volume, “Beautiful evening for it!”

  “Best be getting inside and out of the sun! Nice talking to you!” Mrs. Smallway said.

  Lane waited till he heard Mrs. Smallway’s screen door close. He sat, looked at Harper, mouthed the word, “Wait,” and pointed to a window with a view of Lane’s back yard. There was the sound of running water, then silence.

  “I think she sits on the toilet and eavesdrops for hours. One of these days we’ll have to call the paramedics when her legs go to sleep.”

  “Who spends all of the time on this garden?” Harper looked around him.

  “We both do.”

  “I took up gardening after the shooting and I must say I’m hooked. Surprised?”

  “No,” Lane said.

  Harper lowered his voice, “I found out a few things this afternoon.”

  “We have to wait for Arthur.”

  Arthur backed out the door carrying a tray, salad bowl, black pepper mill and three plates. As he set tray and contents onto the table, Lane said, “He’s got some fresh information to share.”

  Harper looked sideways at Lane.

  Lane nodded at Harper, “The Chief wants you to know how I solve crimes. Since I haven’t had a department partner, Arthur has become mine.”

  Arthur’s face became a study in concentration. He sat, stabbed at his salad, lifted tomato, black olive and feta cheese to his mouth and waited for Harper to begin.

  “I checked to find out who was buried at Queen’s Park Cemetery the day Swatsky disappeared. Two burials in the morning and three in the afternoon. Seems the morning burials all happened before lunch and none of the afternoon burials began before 1:30. A service in the afternoon caught my eye.” He opened a note pad and put it face up on the table. He pointed at a name.

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” Arthur dropped the affected accent and looked across the table at Lane.

  Harper glanced at Arthur as if something had just occurred to him.

  Lane smiled when he realized Harper was beginning to see through Arthur’s foppish facade.

  “I also found out that the RCMP are looking for Lester and Marvin Klein. Two brothers who have been long time business associates of Swatsky. Apparently, they have been traced to this city. They’re connected to this $13 million land scam.”

  Arthur cut in, “Where were the Klein brothers sighted?”

  “Motel Village near McMahon Stadium.” Harper took a sip of iced tea before lifting his fork.

  “What’s eating at you?” Arthur said to Lane.

  “I went to see Keeler.”

  “Who’s Keeler?” Harper said with his mouth full.

  “A doctor I confer with from time to time,” Lane said.

  Harper swallowed. “Forensic?”

  “Family medicine.”

  Harper smiled.

  “What?” Lane said.

  Harper looked at Arthur and back to Lane.

  “Don’t think, just answer the question.” Arthur smiled in an attempt to soften the bluntness of his words.

  “I wasn’t sure what to expect when I came here. I mean you have no reason to invite me into your house after what I said to you. In fact, I was surprised you didn’t put up a fight when I requested to be your partner. So, I kept telling myself not to come here with preconceptions. I’m smiling because of your performance, Arthur.”

  Arthur bowed.

  “Making a partner a partner is a novel idea,” Harper continued to smile as he spoke, “and using a family doctor is another . . . ” he searched for the right word.

  “Novel approach?” Arthur completed the sentence for him. “Why the change?”

  “What change?” Harper said.

  “Since the night you were shot and the horrible things you said to Lane,” Arthur said.

  Lane shifted in his chair, uncomfortable with the question yet anxious for the answer.

  “My nephew, Chris, took an overdose of drugs,” Harper looked at his salad.

  Arthur set his fork silently on his plate.

  Lane studied Harper’s face.

  “At the time, Chris was 16. He’s my older sister’s son. I watched him grow up. My brother-in-law kicked Chris out when he came out.”

  “How long ago?” Arthur said.

  “About three months after Lane found me on that front step. My nephew came to live with us. That’s when my education began. Chris still lives with us, by the way.”

  Lane reached into his pocket and pulled out a pager. He lifted it to eye level. “I’d better take this.”

  Arthur lifted his eyebrows.

  “It’s Rapozo.” Lane pushed his chair back. “I really have to take this.”

  Arthur turned to Harper, “I’ll be deeply offended if you don’t at least try to finish your salad.”

  Harper smiled and hefted his fork.

  Lane stepped inside the back door and into the kitchen. He sat at the table, picked the phone off the wall and slid pen and paper closer. He dialed. It rang once, “Ms. Rapozo, it’s Detective Lane.”

  “You said not to hesitate to call. I can’t find my mother and Ernesto, my father-in-law, isn’t at home. A couple of Bob’s buddies were by a few days ago. They tried to intimidate my mother and then sent a disgusting letter. I’m afraid,”

  Beth said.

  Lane heard the fear in her voice and kept his tone even. “My impression is that she’s quite sharp mentally. Is that an accurate assessment?”

  “Sometimes too sharp,” Beth said.

  “You mentioned two of Bob’s buddies.”

  “Yes, they’re too old friends of Bob’s. Named Lester and Marvin.”

  “Klein?” Lane said.

  “How’d you know?” Beth said.

  “A . . . ” He felt the bits of evidence coming together. He said, “Anything else unusual happen?”

  “Mom’s been sitting up in her room the last couple of days, watching out the window.”

  Lane waited.

  “Watching for the Three Stooges.”

  “Three Stooges?” Lane said.

  “Sorry. That’s what I call Bob, Les and Marv.”

  “Why not contact me after they came to the house and sent the letter?”

  “Mom said it wouldn’t do any good. She said it didn’t help 25 years ago and the police wouldn’t be able to help this time.”

  “What happened 25 years ago?” Lane said.

  “My sister ran away. Around that time, our house, the truck, our business, were all vandalized. Rumours were spread around town. People stopped coming to the store. Mom and Dad had to sell out. Ever live in a small town?”

  “Nope.”

  “The rumours start and it’s hard to stop them. Later on, we found out that Bob got Lester and Marvin to do most of the dirty work but there was no way to prove it.”

  Lane waited for her to continue.

  “Mom said she’d take care of it herself. I didn’t really listen. I mean, in her condition, what could she do?”

  “Anything else?”

  “She left an envelope up in her room. Addressed to me,” Beth said.

  “What did it say, exactly?”

  There was the sound of rustling paper and then, “To Beth. Love Mom. Then a phone number. And $10,000 in cash.”

  “That much?”

  “Mom didn’t spend much.”

  “Whose phone number?” Lane said.

  “When I dialed, it turned out to be Ridley’s Funeral Home. She prepaid her funeral expenses.”

  La
ne saw the pieces of this case like glass on the floor. After staring long enough, sometimes it was possible to see what everything looked like in the moments just before a shattering event.

  “What do I do?” Beth said.

  “Stay at home. Stay by the phone. Is Ernie there with you?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Both of you stay home. Keep the dog inside with you. I’m going to make some calls. I’ll get back to you before the evening is over.”

  “Thank you.”

  Lane thought, I wonder how much she knows about Bob. I mean, would she call me if she knew what happened to him?

  Beth said, “One other thing. It bothered me at the time but living with my mother, I kind of got used to her erratic behaviour. She was looking for lighter fluid. Got me out of bed early. This morning, I think. I can’t remember. Anyway, it bothers me now because Ernie told me what she said to Les and Marv.”

  “Yes?”

  “She said she’d burn them if they came back to bother us again.”

  “I’ll call you back this evening,” Lane said.

  “Thanks.”

  Lane hung up the phone and thought about their next move. He looked out the kitchen window and saw Harper and Arthur talking. The phone rang.

  Arthur sat in the back seat of their Jeep. Lane drove and Harper squeezed into the passenger seat. Harper gathered information from his radio. They followed 9th Avenue east into Inglewood. The neighbourhood had decided to be trendy. Coffee shops, restaurants and antique stores lined the avenue.

  Arthur said, “I hope you’re wrong. It could be someone else.”

  Harper said, “Ernesto’s van was found abandoned on the Center Street Bridge. The keys were in it. Witnesses say a woman was thrown over the side of the bridge by a man who pulled her out of a green van. Apparently, the driver of Ernesto’s van was seen to jump into the river. Now there is a report of two bodies caught in the weir. Unfortunately, the facts are leading to one conclusion. Just to complicate matters, there are fatalities on Deerfoot Trail.”

  “There’s a unit in front of Beth Rapozo’s home?” Lane said.

  “Yes, that’s just been confirmed.” Harper turned around and said to Arthur, “You’re sure quiet.”

  “Lane’s putting it all together. Just watch,” Arthur said.

  They turned down a residential street where prewar houses sat on narrow lots near the railway yards.

  Blue, white and red lights flashed. A cruiser blocked a white metal barricade. The officer turned away a cyclist and then an inline skater. The cyclist stopped, reached into his back pack and pulled out a cell phone. Lane lowered his window and held out his badge. The officer spotted Harper and waved them through. They drove down the bicycle path. Through the trees on the left, it was possible to see a cable and red buoys stretched across the river to prevent people in rafts or canoes from going over the weir. They reached a clearing. Lane pulled the Jeep off the paved path and onto the grass.

  On the other side of the Bow River, they spotted a fire truck. Its inflatable boat was missing.

  Lane stepped out. He looked around at the trees rising up 10 and 20 meters above them. His gaze dropped back to the weir where water curved in a continuous muddy arc over the concrete barrier and fell two meters into a boiling froth. A danger sign showed a human form trapped in the cycling water at the base of the weir. “Hello.” An officer stepped out of a white SUV. He was at least as tall as Lane, broad shouldered and Asian.

  Lane reached for his ID.

  “Hello, Terry,” Harper said and reached out to shake hands. “This is Detective Lane.”

  Lane shook hands, feelingly oddly out of tune and wondering if Harper knew how rarely Lane had experienced this act of fellowship.

  “What’s the situation?” Harper said.

  “They just pulled the bodies out of the water. They’re around at the back of the ambulance,” Terry said.

  “Thanks,” Harper said. He and Lane walked down to the edge of the river where a Zodiac was beached.

  The male body lay on its back. Another, in a dress, lay face down on the male’s chest. The female’s arms were locked around the man’s neck. Her hair covered his face. Two firefighters in wet suits stood next to the bodies. One said, “Never would have believed it if I hadn’t seen it.”

  A redheaded paramedic bent to brush hair away from the man’s face.

  Lane recognized Ernesto.

  The redhead said, “Never seen one of these love dolls before. You guys must have more experience with silicone and rubber than I do.”

  One of the firefighters said, “Bet you’ve got more experience with battery powered appliances.”

  Lane said, “Before you go too far, the family would likely appreciate it if you left the two of them together.”

  “You can identify him?” another firefighter said.

  Lane stepped closer. The redhead backed away. Ernesto’s brown eyes were empty. On the side of his face there was an angry mark stretching from forehead, across the cheekbone and onto the side of the chin. They always look so different in death, Lane thought. “Ernesto Rapozo. It was his van abandoned on the Center Street Bridge.”

  “The love doll is his?” the redhead said.

  “She is,” Lane said.

  The redhead allowed herself a satisfied smile and smirked in the general direction of the firefighters.

  “We’ll notify the family,” Lane said.

  “Guess all the perverts in town know one another,” the male paramedic said.

  Lane faced the sharp featured male leaning against the ambulance. Lane could not remember ever having met the paramedic before.

  Harper’s reaction caught them all by surprise. “You aware of the City’s policy on harassment?”

  The paramedic’s white skin paled and he stepped away from the ambulance.

  “If I write you up right now, at the very least you’ll lose some pay.” Harper turned but kept his eyes away from Lane. He marched past the bodies up toward the SUV and Terry.

  Lane followed, wondering how he would tell Beth. It was one thing he rarely had to do. Most often he arrived after the bad news had been broken to loved ones.

  “Terry?” Harper said, “Get the names of those paramedics for me will you?”

  “Sure.” Terry looked at Lane. “What happened?”

  “A bit of bigotry.” Lane thought, I may get to like having a partner. “Do you want the name of the deceased?”

  Terry opened his breast pocket, pulling out a notebook and pen.

  “Rapozo, Ernesto.” Lane spelled it. “We’ll notify the family. Please, make sure that’s made clear.”

  Terry nodded. Lane walked back to his Jeep.

  Harper fumed in the passenger seat. Lane got in and closed the door.

  “What happened?” Arthur said.

  Lane said, “It’s Ernesto’s body.”

  “And?” Arthur said.

  “Helen. That’s what he called her. I don’t expect many people will understand it but she was real to him. He used to talk to her. I could swear she talked to him once or twice,” Lane said.

  Harper stared straight ahead.

  Lane turned the key. “I’ve learned how to shut out bigots.” “That paramedic asshole was way out of line. He reminded me of my brother-in-law,” Harper said.

  Lane said, “Did you notice that Deerfoot Trail is still backed up?”

  “According to the radio it’s backed up even further south,” Arthur said.

  “Was there a fire?” Lane said.

  “Want me to check?” Harper said.

  “Please.” Lane looked over his right shoulder as he backed up. He stopped and shifted into first.

  Lane said, “Leona said she would burn them if they came back.”

  Harper said, “Deerfoot is backed up for four or five kilometers, we’ll have to detour around.”

  They backtracked to the zoo then headed along Edmonton Trail. Harper talked into his radio then turned to talk with L
ane and Arthur, “This is what I’ve got so far. Three confirmed fatalities but the bodies are badly burned. All fatalities were passengers in a van. The van was reported stolen early this afternoon. An investigation team is on the scene now.”

  Lane turned east onto 32nd Avenue, then left onto the northbound Deerfoot ramp. He eased around the traffic jam by driving over the curb and onto the grass. “Was one of the victims female?”

  “Not sure,” Harper said.

  They looked ahead. Traffic was down to a single lane on the freeway. An officer directed traffic and glared angrily at them as they bumped along the grass and stopped. Three tow truck drivers leaned against the fender of one truck.

  “I’ll wait here,” Arthur said.

  Lane and Harper stepped out of the Jeep. A red-faced officer stormed around the front of a semi, “Move that . . . ” He spotted Harper. “Thought you were reporters.”

  “What have you got so far?” Harper said.

  “Besides a hell of a mess?” the officer said.

  Lane smelled burnt flesh and hair. He thought, They should have listened to Leona.

  “Check with her.” The officer pointed at a white police van parked in front of the accident scene.

  Lane looked at the wrecked van. It was crumpled up to the windshield. Scorched metal framed a melted mass of plastic and upholstery. Behind the wreck, a pickup leaned forward on a pair of flat front tires. Its bumper, grill and hood were crumpled. Two semi trailers had blackened sides. Paint had boiled in places. An oxygen bottle was wedged under the dual wheels of one of the trailers. Two officers circled the wreckage. One focused a camera. There was an intense flash of white light.

  “Lane?” Harper waved him closer.

  Lane moved to the police van.

  Harper said, “This is Sergeant Stephens.”

  Lane looked at a woman who was at least 30. She had her auburn hair braided at the back.

  “Found this under one of the trailers.” Stephens pointed at a black leather purse. “It was thrown clear.” She opened the bag, carefully picked out a wallet and set it down on a paper bag. “We’ve got three deceased. By the size of the two in the front, I’m assuming they were male. This probably belonged to the person found in the back seat. The body was smaller than the others.” She slipped the driver’s license out of a plastic sleeve. “Leona Rankin.”