Smoked Page 14

  WEDNESDAY, MAY 14

  chapter 16

  “We’re going with you.” Matt sat outside Kuldeep’s coffee shop. He’d insisted on stopping with Lane and Roz for an early morning cup of coffee.

  Lane sat back very slowly, looked at Roz who sat with her legs tucked to one side while she watched their conversation. He looked through the glass at the people who filled the tables inside the coffee shop. I don’t know if you should, Matt. You don’t know what you’ll be dealing with.

  “You think you’re protecting us, but there’s a difference between sheltering and protecting.” Matt looked over his shoulder at Roz. “We’re all strays. You, Arthur, Christine, and me. You think we don’t know how harsh things can be?”

  Lane put his cup down. He eased his head back, expecting pain. He wasn’t disappointed. “I don’t want them to do to you what they did to me. You’ve been through enough — so has Christine, and so has Arthur.”

  “You’ve got it all wrong. This isn’t about us. You and Uncle Arthur stuck with me yesterday, now we’re going to stick with you.” Matt pointed at Lane and took a pull from his bottle of orange juice.

  Lane looked at the chocolate sprinkles floating on top of the melted whipped cream. He felt the aches in his body that were just beginning to reveal themselves.

  Matt put his drink down. “You need to say goodbye to your dad, just like I needed to say goodbye to my mom. And I’m gonna be there for you, just like you were there for me.”

  Lane started to say something, but stopped. What do I say, Matt?

  “Are you and Uncle Arthur gonna split up?” Matt asked.

  “Where did that come from?”

  Matt peeled the label from the bottle of orange juice. “Ever since Christine came along, things have been so tense. I thought…”

  “You thought?” Lane asked.

  Matt shrugged. “I don’t know. I just thought with all of the stress, you two might, you know.” He looked at Lane, then looked away. “We were becoming a family, then she came along. Now everyone’s always fighting.”

  “It’s been hard, yes, but it’s also been…” Lane searched for the right word.

  “Well?” Matt looked at Roz, who seemed to be expecting an answer too.

  “Interesting. It’s been interesting,” Lane said. “Anything else?”

  “Will you come to my play?” Matt asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Promise?” Matt asked.

  “Promise. Now I’d better get you to school.”

  “As long as you pick me up at eleven-thirty so I can go with you to the funeral,” Matt said.

  “Deal.”

  Four hours later, Lane came downstairs, where everyone, including Alexandra, waited in the front room. He scanned their outfits. Arthur slid back a cufflinked sleeve, tapped his watch, and said, “We’ve got to go and pick up Matt.”

  After picking up Matt, the drive downtown was quiet. Arthur found a place to park at the back of the cathedral between the Elbow River and Seventeenth Avenue. They walked around the church and past the old railway station, which was now home to a ballet studio. Lane looked over his shoulder at the bridge where one of his classmates had jumped into the river on a dare.

  Matt held one of the massive wooden cathedral doors open for them. Inside, the scents of wood, wool, perfume, and incense pushed Lane back more than thirty years as he recalled leaning against his father’s shoulder during a particularly lengthy summer sermon. He looked up and saw the sun playing with suspended bits of dust just as it had more than three decades ago. The light was all of the colours of stained glass, adding ripe shading to the textures of wood and metal.

  “Family?” the usher asked. He wore a black jacket, grey wool slacks, and an obligatory smile.

  “Not any more,” Christine muttered.

  “We’ll sit at the back, thank you.” Lane took Christine’s arm and led them to the last pew.

  Lane waited for the four to file past him and slide down the pew before he sat nearest the aisle and next to Christine. He studied the backs of heads to see if he recognized anyone. The congregation was a mix of well-to-do oilmen, lawyers, businessmen, and their families. Dad always was well connected, he thought.

  The mass began with a hymn. Lane scrambled for a hymnal and the correct words.

  After a series of prayers and hymns, one of the altar boys brought out the incense and handed it to the priest. Lane watched the incense rise to form a layer of smoke above their heads. The light from the stained glass windows changed as it passed through the smoke.

  When Lane inhaled the scent, he remembered his father. The smell of his pipe tobacco. The feel of his wool suit against Lane’s face. There was the memory of an embrace as his father’s arm wrapped around Lane’s shoulders. Lane remembered falling asleep and waking when his father gently shook him at the end of a mass.

  The bishop stood atop three steps in front of the altar. His hair brushed the belly of the smoke that was sprawled like a tired dog.

  Bishop Paul began the eulogy.

  Lane thought, It’s a bit unusual for the bishop to do this. No, of course he’d do this. He wants to make an impression on this crowd.

  The bishop wore the flowing, angelic robes of his office. He raised his arms to direct his flock, “Martin Lane was baptized in this church, lived his life as a loyal follower of Christ, and remained that way through the many trials life sent his way. In the last few years, he often spoke to me of these trials, and how they tested his faith. Ultimately, Martin remained faithful to the church despite these tests of faith.”

  Lane looked to his right. Christine’s hands were shaking.

  She held them between her knees.

  “Christine?” Lane asked.

  She stared at her hands as if willing them to be still.

  “We can learn a valuable lesson from Martin Lane’s life. He refused to compromise his beliefs. He did this despite the tremendous challenge that comes with following the laws of the church in these times,” the bishop said.

  Lane looked up, knowing where the sermon was headed.

  Christine leaned against him. “It’s all the same. No matter what church I go to, it’s all the same,” she said.

  “Those who remain faithful to the church and its teachings must look to the word of God. If we remain true to his teachings, we will find ourselves in paradise.” Paul lifted a bible as a visual aid.

  Christine wrapped her arms around her ribs and shivered. “It’s all the same. Just like Paradise. He’s just the same as Whitemore. You and I will never be good enough.”

  “God’s path to redemption is not easy. And Martin Lane chose God’s path for his family and, as a faithful follower of the church, he could not condone sin.” Bishop Paul looked at Lane. “Even though Martin forgave the sinner, he could not forgive the sin!”

  Christine began to sob. “Is this what they did to you?” She looked up at Lane. “Paradise did it to me too.” Tears rolled down her face. She wiped a sleeve across her upper lip.

  Lane handed her a handkerchief, stood up, looked directly back at the bishop, leaned down to help Christine stand, and led her down the aisle. He and his niece walked to the door.

  When the door closed behind the five of them, Lane looked around at the trees and their fresh green buds. A pair of robins sang to each other.

  Christine leaned against him, “I’m sorry uncle. It just brought back too many bad memories.”

  Lane smiled. “Don’t worry about it. You helped make it clear to me for the first time why I was right to leave that life.”

  Christine hooked her arm in his and hugged his shoulder. Then she embraced Alex.

  Lane felt Matt’s hand on his back.

  Arthur put his open palm on Lane’s cheek and used his handkerchief to wipe the tears from Christine’s face.

  They walked back to the old railway bridge, leaned on the railing, and spent ten minutes watching the sparkling river flow beneath their feet.

  ×r />
  Lane got the phone call on the way back from the funeral.

  “Detective?”

  Lane recognized the voice. “Leo?”

  “That’s right. You’d better take a look over at Oxford Street. Find the biggest, fanciest house there. Both of the girls you are looking for were picked up at their school yesterday.”

  “Who picked them up?” Lane asked.

  “Their father.”

  “Thanks, Leo,” Lane said.

  ×

  Erinn opened the back door. Jessica peeked out from between her mother’s knees. When she saw Lane, she frowned and sucked her thumb. Mother and daughter wore T-shirts and sweatpants that matched their red hair. “How are you feeling?” Erinn held the door open.

  If I tell her that every part of my body aches, she’ll tell Arthur, Lane thought. “Fine,” he said.

  “Liar. Want a coffee? Cam’s still in the shower.” Erinn turned. Jessica ran into the kitchen.

  Lane sat down at the kitchen table. He closed his eyes at the pain and smiled. He savoured the words of support from Matt, Christine, Arthur, and even Alexandra. Lane thought, I’ve got my own family to worry about now.

  Erinn put a cup of coffee in front of him. “I’ll get you some painkillers.”

  Lane smiled. “Who’s the detective now?”

  The bathroom door opened and Harper stepped out. Jessica ran down the hallway.

  Erinn frowned. “You two don’t know what you do to us every time one of you gets hurt.”

  “I don’t mean it to happen.” Lane opened the bottle of painkillers she set in front of him.

  “Take two.” Erinn sat down with a fresh cup of coffee. “I know you don’t mean it to happen, but it keeps happening.”

  “Christine was really angry with me last night.” Lane took two pills and chased them with coffee. “So was Matt.”

  “And Arthur?”

  Lane looked at her. “Furious.”

  Erinn looked at him and shook her head. “For a smart guy, I’m amazed you haven’t figured it out yet.”

  Lane felt a pang of emotion grab him unexpectedly by the throat.

  “You’re a family. The four of you. Or is it five now?” Erinn smiled mischievously.

  How come I just figured it out and you knew already? Lane thought. Is this how families act? “I’m just figuring it out.”

  “That’s the problem. You can figure out other people but not yourself. A niece and a nephew move in. What’s it been? One year or two?” Erinn stood up, grabbed the pills, and put them in the cupboard above the fridge.

  “It’s hard to get my head around it. I just never expected us to have a family. Just another thing we couldn’t expect in our lives. Now they’re here, and I don’t know what to make of it.” Lane studied the concentric circles in the coffee in his cup. He looked up.

  Harper stood with Jessica nestled at his throat. Both were watching Lane and Erinn.

  “Where’s Glenn?” Lane asked.

  “University. Got an exam today,” Harper said.

  “We’ve got to go and find Maddy’s school,” Lane said.

  “How come you’re not taking time off?” Harper asked.

  “Because whoever did the graffiti, and it’s looking more and more like it was Maddy, is becoming more desperate.” Lane grimaced as he leaned back into the chair.

  “And you’ll be able to chase her down if we find her?” Harper asked.

  Lane smiled. “No. I’ll leave the legwork to you. And…” he looked at Erinn, “I’ll have Cam’s back.”

  Forty minutes later, they parked in the visitors’ parking on the gravel lot behind Maddy’s school. Harper got out and waited for Lane to ease out of the passenger’s side.

  They stood for a moment studying the brick structure that had been built nearly a century ago. In the courtyard, three school buses were parked inside the chain link fence.

  Lane and Harper walked past the buses and through the back door of the school.

  “You really think this is the place?” Harper asked.

  “Leo said the graffiti artist worked the neighbourhood and this is the nearest high school. Next door is an elementary. It fits the description.” Lane turned left. They headed for the office. A glass wall separated it from the hallway.

  In front of the office a group of students parted as the detectives approached. Lane opened the door. He and Harper walked inside the office. A woman of about fifty tipped her head to one side and said, “Yes?”

  “We’re detectives with the city police, and we’d like to talk with someone about Maddy Jones.” Lane smiled at the secretary. Nobody will mess with her, he thought.

  “That would be Murf.” The secretary picked up the phone, punched four numbers, and said, “Couple of policemen here to see you about Maddy Jones.” She nodded and hung up the phone. “On her way.”

  At the sound of footsteps on a hollow hallway floor, Lane looked to his left. The woman they were waiting for was little more than half Harper’s height, had her brown eyes on them, and was steaming up the hall.

  She stuck out her right hand and pushed back a wisp of unruly brown hair. “Anna McMurphy.”

  Harper pointed at Lane, “Detective Lane.” Then at himself, “Detective Harper.”

  McMurphy cocked her head to the right. “My office is this way.” She led the way. Their footsteps thumped along the carpeted hallway. She shut the door behind them and sat at the round table in her office. Lane and Harper sat across from her.

  “I’m not sure why you’re here. I haven’t called the police yet.” McMurphy looked at the ceiling when she realized her mistake.

  “Yet?” Harper asked.

  McMurphy rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t sure if I should call the police yet is what I was thinking, and what I wish I hadn’t said.”

  Lane leaned forward. “Maybe this will help.” He pulled out a series of photographs from a manila envelope. “These messages have been found on neighbourhood dumpsters. The last one warns that something is about to happen, and we think Madeline Jones may have the answer to what this is. You understand that all of what I’ve told you is confidential?”

  McMurphy nodded. “And what I thought you were here for appears to be unrelated.”

  “At this point in the investigation, we would appreciate any information about Maddy. It may help us to better understand her in relation to this case,” Lane said.

  “Is this also a murder investigation?” McMurphy asked.

  “That’s correct.” Lane nodded. She’s very quick, Lane thought.

  “I don’t see how what happened today will help you.”

  Lane opened his mouth.

  McMurphy silently worked through her dilemma.

  Lane closed his mouth.

  McMurphy took a breath. “I’m not sure where to begin.”

  Lane looked at his watch. “We’ve got time.”

  McMurphy looked out the window. “Madeline has been a student here for six years. She started in grade seven. Very bright, very quiet, very pretty. When she was in grade eight, there were rumours circulating that pictures of her could be found on certain sites on the Internet.”

  “What kinds of sites?” Harper asked.

  “Porn.” McMurphy frowned at Harper.

  Lane shook his head. I can see why she thought her information was unrelated.

  “Two days ago, I’d been unable to verify the rumour. Then I got a call from downtown. The school board monitors some web sites. One of the users from our school had logged onto a porn site. You have to understand; I’ve been trying to catch this person for three years. He would steal another person’s password and log on. Several times, we’ve had to investigate young teachers who appeared to have logged onto porn sites and who denied having done so. A pattern emerged. It led me to a particular individual. For a long time it was like chasing smoke. This time, I walked into his office and caught him while he was logged on.”

  “A teacher?” Harper asked.

  “Guida
nce counselor, actually.” McMurphy looked at the door to ensure it was closed. “Recently, he called Maddy into his office, and she stormed out calling him a pervert. The secretary relayed the story to me.”

  “So, can we talk with the guidance counselor?” Harper asked.

  “You can, but he’s not here. He’s at home. You’ll need to talk with him and his lawyer.”

  “What about Madeline?” Lane asked.

  “She’s been away since I talked with her yesterday. She walked out of our meeting. I got the impression she was getting ready to tell me something important, but she got scared and left.”

  “What time was that?” Lane asked.

  “About one o’clock.”

  About forty-five minutes before we saw her, Lane thought.

  Could we see the counselor’s office?” Lane asked.

  “Sure.” McMurphy led them out of the main office, into the hallway, and to the guidance office. She smiled at the secretary, who looked up at the detectives and smiled.

  “Could we get into his office, please?” McMurphy asked.

  “You bet.” The secretary stood up, grabbed a set of keys from her desk drawer, and opened an office door. “Nobody’s been in or out since he left yesterday.”

  Lane and Harper stepped inside. McMurphy followed them and closed the door. Lane looked at the photographs. “Is this him?” Lane pointed at one photo.

  “Yes.” McMurphy nodded.

  Herrence’s pictures hung on three of the four walls; the remaining wall was windows.

  “Over there.” Harper pointed at a picture of Herrence with three other men.

  Lane studied the photo of Smoke, Herrence, and Jones. “Fascinating.”

  “Who?” McMurphy asked.

  “It’s a group of men who like to drink scotch together.” Harper looked around the office.

  “We need to have someone go through this computer,” Lane said.

  “I see,” McMurphy said.

  “She has a little sister who’s in elementary school?” Harper asked.

  “Right next door,” McMurphy said.