Indiana Pulcinella Read online

  “How long will my mother be in jail if she’s convicted?”

  Lane opened his eyes when he heard the despair in Christine’s voice. This is a no-win situation for you. “I’d expect it could be anywhere from time served to five years. You don’t want her to go to prison?”

  Christine shrugged. “I know it’s crazy. She’s my mom. I don’t want her to be in jail. But I don’t want us to be in this prison either.” She looked around the living room. “I’m always afraid when we leave the house. Always worried when someone comes to the door.”

  Lane leaned forward. What do I say to her? Your mother is mentally ill? You’ll never be free of her? “How many adults live in this house?”

  “Five. Six.” Christine sat back in the couch.

  “That’s the number of people who will fight to protect Indiana. Not everyone has a family like that. I like our odds.”

  Later that night, while he lay awake and Arthur snored, Lane thought, What’s going on with the CCI’s money? There’s something I’m missing here. He closed his eyes until the image of David Randall with the back of his head blown away made him open them again.

  SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 1

  chapter 13

  Red Cross Rejoices at Abnormal Influx of Donations

  A massive influx of small donations has provided the Calgary Red Cross with a total of more than two million dollars.

  Red Cross spokesperson Mary Latourneau confirmed the anomaly. “It seems many of our regular donors decided to make donations to the disaster relief fund. It’s unusual for so many people to make contributions all at once, but we’re grateful.”

  Red Cross funds will be directed toward emergency relief operations around the globe.

  “That’s for sure.” Nigel lifted his chin, looking ahead as he drove along Memorial Drive. On their left, the Bow River was a glittering toy box of ice blocks pointed this way and that. Here and there open patches of water created whispery clouds.

  Lane saw the pickup in front of them. It was silvery blue with a round white diesel fuel tank at the front of the box and WIDE ASS painted in white across the tailgate. There were four wheels on the truck’s rear axle. A chrome monkey sat on the trailer hitch. Below the hitch hung an oversized pair of brass balls. What is it about winter, this town, and pickup trucks?

  “How’s the little guy doing?” Nigel eased off the accelerator so there was more distance between the Chev and WIDE ASS.

  “He’s good. Eating, sleeping, pooping. Being doted upon by everyone in the house.”

  Nigel smiled. “How come you want to see the Randalls again?

  “Something has been nagging at me.”

  “What’s that?” Nigel checked his rear-view mirror.

  “Safes.”

  “What?”

  “You know, wall safes. The kind you find in hotel rooms and houses. Safe places for valuables. How come the safe in the Randalls’ home wasn’t opened? Andrew Pierce buys cars for cash. Cori Pierce buys jewellery in Mexico. It seems it’s all about stuff and the money to buy it with. Cash money. The kind of money found in a safe.” Lane watched the cloud of exhaust pumping out the back end of WIDE ASS. “Safes are a constant. I checked the reports. In every case there was a safe. And it appeared to be untouched. I want to know if the family remembers what was in their parents’ safe. Sometimes a second visit provides significant details, because they’ve had time to think, or they’ve noticed something is missing.”

  “Melissa and David both know they’re not suspects, right?” Nigel turned off Crowchild Trail. They passed a mall, then a schoolyard. Nigel turned east, rolled past a park, and stopped in front of a new bungalow on a large lot in a neighbourhood of older houses. Its front drapes were open, and Lane saw Beth stand when she spotted the Chev. She turned to her left, calling out.

  As they reached the top step, Beth opened the door. “Come in.”

  Lane saw she wore a pair of furry black slippers with pink toenails, a red T-shirt, and black sweatpants. “They’re in the kitchen.” She waited for the detectives to take off their shoes, then led them through the living room and into a kitchen brightened with winter sunlight.

  Lane noted the kitchen cabinets were birdseye maple. The taps, fixtures, and marble countertops were all top of the line. He looked at David Randall, who wore a pair of jeans and a blue flannel-lined shirt. Lane stepped forward, shaking hands.

  David asked, “Want a cup of coffee?”

  “That would be nice.” Lane turned to a brown-haired woman who was watching them warily.

  “Oh, I forgot you haven’t met. This is my wife, Natalie.” David stood, moving to the counter. “Cappuccino okay?”

  Nigel smiled, nodding in Lane’s direction. “You made his day.”

  “Two?”

  Nigel nodded. “Yes, please.”

  Natalie wore a red top and black jeans. She took one hand away from her coffee cup, tucking a wayward strand of brown hair behind her ear. “Have a seat.”

  Lane sat down next to Nigel. They heard coffee beans being ground. Lane watched as David set two cups under the nozzles of a chrome Pasquini espresso machine. Moments later, David set cups down in front of Lane and Nigel, then sat down himself.

  David sipped from his mug, waiting.

  Lane took a sip. “Very nice. Thank you.”

  Nigel said, “You aren’t suspects. We checked your alibis, and you’re all in the clear.”

  “What about my sister?” David asked.

  “Her alibi checks out, too,” Lane said. It’ll be interesting to see what happens next.

  “Why are you here, then?” Natalie asked.

  Nigel hitched his thumb at Lane. “He wants to ask about the safe.”

  “Why?” Natalie asked.

  Now you’re the one being interrogated. For a moment, Lane fought the urge to wrestle back control of the interview. They aren’t suspects. They just want answers. “I can’t tell you everything, but it’s an anomaly in this case. Sometimes the answers to anomalies end up being things leading to the killer.” Lane turned to David. “What did your parents keep in the safe?”

  “That’s not the question we have.” Natalie pointed at her daughter.

  Lane waited. He could hear Nigel inhaling.

  “A brooch and necklace are missing. Elizabeth promised them to Beth. She kept them in the safe.” Natalie kept her eyes on Lane.

  “Either Aunt Peg took them or the killers did,” Beth said.

  “Dad kept cash in there. It was a habit of his. He always had some on hand. It was gone when I checked. In fact, when you were at the house, I showed you the safe was empty except for a copy of their will. I was so distracted by Peg and everything else. I’ve only now begun to wonder what happened to the money.” David looked out the window at the sun sitting atop the snow-draped evergreens in Confederation Park.

  Lane nodded.

  Beth wiped at her eyes. “I mentioned it to Donna at Platinum. I said that everyone should keep start-over money. That’s what my grandfather called it.”

  “Was there anyone around who could have overheard?” Lane asked.

  “There’s always someone listening at a hair salon.” Natalie shrugged.

  “Did I get them killed?” Beth asked.

  Lane shook his head. “No.”

  Nigel looked at Beth. “You are not responsible for what happened. We’re after the people who are.”

  Lane looked at David. “How much would he keep in there?”

  “Maybe three hundred thousand in cash and gold. Like Beth said, it was his s
tart-over money.”

  “There was more, actually.” Natalie set her cup down.

  Everyone turned to look at her.

  “Elizabeth planned to surprise everyone this weekend. It’s Beth’s birthday. She was going to go to a dealership with Beth and buy a car. Then she would tell Beth she could drive it after she got some lessons. Mom said she always wanted to go into a dealership and buy a car with cash. She’d been planning it for a year.”

  Lane looked at Beth, who stared at the floor. “Do you have a description of the brooch and the necklace?”

  David said, “We have pictures. Dad kept them for insurance.” He reached for an iPad.

  Lane looked at Nigel, who leaned closer to see the images. The brooch and the necklace were a matched set made of a cluster of green jade stones set in rings of gold.

  “Dad had them made for my mother,” David said.

  “We don’t know where they went. They should have been in the safe, but . . .” Natalie shrugged. “We looked for them yesterday, when we went to the house.”

  “Would you send us the image, please?” Nigel set down his business card, writing an e-mail address on the back.

  David took the card. Then he began tapping the screen of his iPad. “Done.”

  “There’s something else,” Natalie leaned forward. “I talked with Linda Sanders. Her parents were killed in Playa del Carmen. She said her mother sent her an e-mail the day before she was murdered. Her mother said she’d run into her hairdresser from home and had plans to meet her and her partner for dinner. She also told me she thought her parents were killed because they had cash and bonds stored in their room safe. They were going to invest in Mexico. Her father didn’t trust the banks down there. He thought there was too much corruption.”

  Lane nodded, looking out the window. We’re close. “Did the mother mention the hairdresser by name?”

  “No, but she went to the same salon as Elizabeth,” Natalie said.

  Lane stood up, looking at Nigel, who looked back with an intensity Lane hadn’t seen before.

  “Actually, there’s one thing we really need help with. David can’t sleep. He wakes at the smallest noise. He’s afraid the killers will come after us. Beth is the same.” Natalie looked at the detectives with tears brimming.

  Nigel said, “You’ll be the first to know when we have the killers.”

  In fifteen minutes the Chev was warming up and they were on their way back downtown. Nigel shifted into low as they started down a hill, preventing them from becoming a curling rock on a patch of black ice. Nigel looked in his rear-view mirror as they passed under the 16th Avenue Bridge, beginning the descent to the Bow River. “This could get real interesting.”

  Lane heard the engine pick up speed. He turned, looking through a frost-framed gap in the rear window. A small grey car was doing a lazy series of circles behind them as it spun along the centre line of two lanes. “The driver is staring straight ahead. The cars behind him are slowing.”

  Nigel got to the left side of the lane where the pea-sized gravel from the sanding trucks gathered and traction was better. “Is he catching up?”

  “Nope.” Lane watched the man’s wide eyes as he stared ahead. The car spun. Lane saw the side of the driver’s head and a bulbous nose.

  “The light is still green.”

  Lane watched the cars stacked up behind the spinning grey compact. The grey car slid to the bottom of the hill and — where the road widened into three lanes — spun right though the intersection and up onto the sidewalk as if it was what the driver intended. Nigel eased over, flipping on the lights, driving up onto the sidewalk. “Better check whether he’s okay.”

  Lane got out, walking back through ankle-deep snow. He saw the wipers swinging back and forth on the grey car. As he got within five metres, the driver blinked. Lane looked up the road, seeing traffic slowing to a crawl. He approached the passenger window and heard the hum of an electric motor. A wide-eyed man with black hair sat very close to the steering wheel. “Very scary.”

  Lane nodded. “You okay?”

  The man nodded. “Just catching my breath.”

  “If we’re right about Cori and Andrew Pierce, then what’s the next move?” Nigel sat at his desk. He opened a file from David Randall and forwarded it, looking across at Lane’s computer screen.

  Lane tapped his mouse, opened the new file, and pasted the images of the brooch and necklace at the centre of the screen. “First off, we need to keep a close eye on them.”

  “We need Phelps.”

  “The shadow?” Lane turned to his partner, smiling. There was a running joke about Phelps. People said even his mother couldn’t remember what he looked like. Officers would forget he was in a meeting. Phelps was a master at blending in, often using the talent to disappear when a meeting went too long.

  Nigel nodded, smiling. “You all right?”

  What’s this about? “I’m sorry for what I said about you not being able to save your mom.”

  What might have been a shrug turned into something like a convulsion. “You were probably right about that. Right now I’m talking about Indiana and worrying about what your sister might do.”

  Lane looked at the floor. “Christine is tied up in knots. She was doing so well at school. We were all looking forward to the baby. Her life was looking up. Now she won’t leave the house for fear of losing Indiana.”

  “How come she’s like that?” Nigel looked sideways at his computer. A message from Anna popped up. Meet me at eight tonight.

  “My sister or Christine?” Lane looked up from the floor.

  “Your sister.”

  “I don’t know.” Lane glanced at the door, making sure it was closed.

  “What was she like as a kid?” Nigel leaned back in his chair.

  Lane looked at the ceiling. “People loved her. She was very good at telling people what they wanted to hear. Most people took her at face value. But there was a nasty side to her. And she was entitled.”

  “To what?”

  “To whatever. She acted like she had a pipeline to God and a ticket to heaven.”

  “I don’t follow the reasoning.”

  “Neither do I.” Lane looked at his screen. “I’ll e-mail Phelps.”

  “Good idea.” Nigel shut down his computer, then stood up. “I’ve got to get going.”

  What’s this all about? Lane saw toilet paper strung across the branches of the mugo pines planted out front of his house. There was a sliver of light visible through a gap in the curtains. He saw eyes and a nose. The light was on at the front door as he went up the steps.

  Arthur opened the door. “It happened about an hour ago. Maria next door called. She spotted them. Matt and Dan went out the door, but they got away.”

  “Who?” Lane closed the door behind him as he unzipped his jacket and took off his toque.

  “Three people. A pickup was waiting for them down at the school.” Arthur walked into the kitchen. “Christine says it’s a trick the kids from Paradise used to play. She thinks they’re telling her they can get to Indiana any time they like.”

  Lane felt the rage starting somewhere just beneath his ribs. He could feel the heat rising to his face and the tips of his ears. “How is Christine handling it?”

  Arthur turned, looked at Lane, raised his eyebrows, and leaned his head to the right. “Better than you.”

  Nigel sat down across from Anna where she tapped the screen of an iPad.

  “How come you always wear black?” she asked without looking up.

  “What do you mean?” Nigel watched Anna through th
e flat mauve tinted-lenses of her steampunk goggles.

  “Black jacket, black pants, black socks, black shoes, black shirt. Need I say more?” Anna continued to tap the screen.

  “It’s easier.”

  “Easier than what?” She stopped typing, looking at him.

  “Than choosing what to wear every morning. Also, it’s easier to blend in.”

  “Hmmm. Zombies don’t blend in.” She went back to tapping the iPad screen.

  Just wait. She’ll get around to it. Nigel closed his eyes, leaning his head back. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his winter jacket.

  “I don’t think it’s over yet with Milton. I recommend we keep going after the money. If Milton’s gone to the trouble of hiding that much, it means the money is very important to him. Even now he continues to move it around to keep it safe. The trail is easy to follow. If I keep going after the money, he will eventually understand he needs to stay away from the child or lose his fortune.”

  Nigel looked up to see Anna was watching him through the red glass. “The baby’s mother is like a prisoner now. She’s afraid to leave the house because she’s sure someone is waiting to take the baby.”

  Anna blinked. “Do you think she’ll be able to handle another week or two?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Milton will be wondering who’s behind the transfers. He will eventually come to the conclusion that if he continues to support the abduction of the child, it will continue to cost him. The time factor is the only uncertainty now. Another anonymous donation is in the works.” Anna looked at her screen. “Buy some new clothes. Black is depressing and doesn’t suit you.”

  SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 2

  chapter 14

  The Calgary Police Service is asking for help from the public. Two high-profile homicides and few leads have led in this appeal.

  CUT TO DEPUTY CHIEF CAMERON HARPER, CALGARY POLICE SERVICE “We are asking for the public’s help in our investigation of the murders of Elizabeth and Robert Randall, and Megan and Douglas Newsome. A dedicated tips hotline has been set up. It appears at the bottom of your screen. The CPS thanks you in advance for your help in bringing the person or persons responsible for these crimes to justice.”