Indiana Pulcinella Read online

  WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 12

  chapter 24

  This is Shazia Wajdan with Donna Liu, eyewitness to the shooting of Dr. Andrew Pierce.

  Ms. Liu, you have something you wanted to say?

  CUT TO DONNA LIU “I was there. I heard what was said. I saw what happened.”

  Will you describe it for us?

  CUT BACK TO DONNA LIU “Pierce and his wife broke into our house and taped me and my husband to chairs. They wanted some cash I had on hand to pay a contractor. Cori Pierce told her husband to shoot one of my boys. The detective must have come up the basement stairs, because he told the doctor to stop. Pierce shot at the detective. The detective shot back. He saved my boys. He saved us.”

  Is there anything you wanted to add?

  CUT BACK TO DONNA LIU “On social media, some people are saying Pierce was a victim and a good professor. I was there. He was going to kill us.”

  Today, Cori Mallory Pierce, Dr. Andrew Pierce’s widow, was charged with four counts of murder in the deaths of Robert and Elizabeth Randall and Megan and Douglas Newsome. She was also charged with four counts of unlawful confinement. She entered a plea of not guilty. A police spokesperson said more charges are expected to be laid against Ms. Pierce in the coming weeks.

  Shazia Wajdan, CBC News, Calgary.

  Nigel met Anna at Peppino’s Italian Restaurant in Kensington. A red wool winter jacket hung off the back of her chair. She wore black slacks, a white blouse, and tall black-leather boots, and was sipping a coffee. He almost didn’t recognize her without a hat and her multicoloured steampunk glasses. He also noticed every male in the restaurant making covert and not-so-covert glances in her direction.

  She waved as he entered, pulling out the chair next to her. “I already ordered you a coffee.”

  Nigel took off his purple jacket, hanging it on the back of the chair before sitting down.

  “You look good in purple.” She watched him over the top of her cup as she sipped. Nigel caught a whiff of chocolate and her gentle citrus perfume.

  He pulled at the cuffs of his new shirt. “I was surprised when I got your call. We usually meet —”

  “— in the library. That’s what I wanted to talk with you about.” She nodded at the counter as the woman behind set a cup of coffee on the display case. “Your coffee is ready.”

  Nigel got up and grabbed his coffee.

  Anna stared at her coffee as she spoke. “I needed to talk with you about something.”

  “Did the guys from Paradise trace you?” Nigel looked over his shoulder and out onto the street.

  “Nothing like that.” She waved her hand in front of her face.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Just listen.”

  Nigel sat back, watching Anna as she made eye contact, then looked away, and said, “When I was ten, the school got me to talk with a psychologist. Her name was Laura something. She had this nasty bullying personality. A couple of the kids saw her before I did, and they warned the rest of us. Anyway, I’d done some reading on Asperger’s Syndrome. Some of the other kids were diagnosed with it, and I was curious. I tried out some of the Asperger symptoms on her. The repetitive behaviours really got her attention. It was like this game I played with her. She’d ask a question, and I’d respond the way a kid with Asperger’s would. The psychologist fell for it, and so did the psychiatrist I saw after that. Then the teachers started treating me differently. So I played along, because I found they would leave me alone. If they didn’t, I’d put on a performance to make them back off. After a while, they let me do more or less whatever I wanted as long as I was quiet.”

  Nigel picked up his coffee, taking a sip.

  “Anyway, it just got easier. I wasn’t into the junior high or high school social scenes. It was like putting on a character, a role, and it became comfortable. There was always so much drama in school, so much emotion. It was a way of coping with it and keeping myself insulated from it. You’ve been my friend through most of that, and I wanted you to know.”

  Nigel watched her eyes when they dropped to study the coffee remaining in her cup. He opened his mouth, then closed it.

  She lifted her eyes. “Well?”

  He opened his mouth again, taking a long breath to go over the words he planned to say. “So you’re an introvert, that’s what you’re saying?”

  “And I like being an introvert, but I also like being your friend, and friends should —”

  “— be able to finish each other’s sentences?”

  Anna smiled. “More or less.”

  “I guess I’m interested in what you mean by more.”

  Her smile got wider. “So you do understand what I’m saying.”

  Lane wore a grey suit; Arthur, black. Christine wore black jeans and a tan blouse with a yellow scarf under a black coat. As they passed, all eyes, from the secretaries to the lawyers, turned to watch them pass.

  “Which one is it?” Christine asked.

  “Probably the one at the end. It’s my dad’s old office.” How many years has it been? Lane read the names on the doors as they passed. So much heavy dark wood. Feels ominous, cloistered, almost church like. I guess that’s the intent.

  “This place needs a decorator,” Arthur said.

  They came to the end of the hall, standing outside a heavy oak door with Joseph Lane, Q.C., A.O.E. embossed in gold.

  Arthur knocked. The door opened a few seconds later. Joseph Lane stood with his silver hair, white shirt, knotted full Windsor red tie, and blue pinstriped suit. “Hello. Right on time!” His voice was full of bonhomie as he shook their hands, gesturing for them to sit around the table across from the oak desk with elephant-sized legs. Lane noted the embossed JL on the cuffs of his brother’s tailor-made shirt.

  They sat down in leather wingback chairs around the polished oak table. Christine sat back in her chair and crossed one leg over the other, waiting. As if on cue, a secretary arrived carrying a tray with a stainless-steel carafe, four cups, an assortment of sugars, and cream. She poured coffee into each of the four china cups. “Thank you, Emily.” The black-haired woman in the grey jacket and calf-length skirt swished when she moved to the door, opening it, then closing it with the whispering click of a metal lock.

  Lane leaned forward to add cream and sugar to his coffee. The bone china chimed a pleasant tune when he stirred. He leaned back, sipping, and looked at Joseph. You called this meeting. What do you want?

  “Thank you for coming. This is a bit of a difficult situation, as I’m sure you all realize.” Joseph smiled, leaning forward to add cream to his coffee.

  You’ve got that voice. That motivational speaker voice. You used to read those self-help books and listen to all of the recordings by evangelical gurus who say money and success come from a winning attitude. Lane felt his defences rising.

  “What do you want?” Christine looked at the coffee cup in front of her, then at Lane and Arthur.

  “Yes, what do you want?” Arthur locked his fingers together, holding them under his chin.

  “Good idea. Let’s get right to it.” Joseph straightened his tie, undid the button on his suit jacket, took a sip of coffee, then set the cup down. “Alison has authorized me to speak with you and to share the details of an initial diagnosis by the psychiatrist.”

  Lane heard Christine’s sharp intake of breath, and he looked at her. She was focused entirely on Joseph.

  Joseph noted her reaction and smiled. “Alison, my sister —” he glanced at Lane “— has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder.” He looked around the table as if expecting questions. None were forthcoming. “She is be
ginning to undergo treatment and is on medication.”

  Too bad there isn’t a drug to cure me, Lane thought.

  “The psychiatrist is concerned because she is experiencing very severe depression after being excommunicated from Paradise. She has been cut off from her children and extended family. She also faces the prospect of being incarcerated.” Joseph looked around the table.

  Emotions rose from the soles of Lane’s feet. He took a deep breath. Arthur glanced Lane’s way. Lane felt the touch of his partner’s hand on his shoulder, felt tears welling in his eyes.

  “The psychiatrist believes a significant aspect of her recovery would be regular and supervised contact with you —” he nodded at Christine “— and her grandson.”

  Christine opened her mouth. Joseph held up his hand.

  Lane stood, his body shaking with his voice. “Either Christine speaks now and whenever she sees fit, or we’re out of here!”

  Christine looked up at Lane. He expected shock. Instead he was greeted by her smile. Lane looked at his brother, who had sunk back into the leather of his wingback chair. His face was almost as white as his shirt.

  “Of course.” Joseph looked at Christine. “What did you wish to say?”

  “Where is Sarah?”

  “She chose to return to Paradise. The RCMP arrested Efram Milton at the border. He is facing numerous charges. Sarah returned to Paradise with the other girl. As I said, your mother has been excommunicated.” Joseph looked sideways at Lane.

  “I know what it’s like to be excommunicated.” Christine leaned forward, lifting her cup.

  “It’s very noble of you to be so concerned for your sister,” Arthur said to Joseph.

  Christine and Lane heard the irony in his voice, turning to watch the exchange.

  Joseph shrugged and smiled. “She’s family.”

  Arthur leaned forward. “Yes, family is very important. Especially when one of its members is ruthlessly and cold-bloodedly cut off from the rest of the family.”

  Joseph set his cup down, looking at Arthur. “Yes. Her doctor said the psychological impact of this kind of isolation often results in serious depression. The doctor believes moving forward like this will help her recovery.”

  “So you’re saying what’s done is done, and we should all learn to accept that?” Arthur looked directly at Joseph.

  “Yes, absolutely. Alison needs our support.” Joseph buttoned his jacket, then unbuttoned it. He looked around nervously as if for the first time sensing he’d fallen into a trap.

  Why do I feel sorry for you, Joseph?

  “That’s it, then?” Christine asked.

  “What?” Joseph asked.

  “We’re not going to discuss what really happened?” Christine asked.

  “I’m not sure what you mean?” Joseph looked at Lane as if asking where Christine was going with this.

  Lane shrugged, waiting.

  Christine said, “My mother was losing her status in Paradise. Does that report also say my mother is going though menopause?”

  Joseph blushed.

  “I saw this happen before. The woman who escaped Paradise with me experienced the same thing. She was the first wife, but her husband kept getting younger wives. She saw what her daughter’s future was going to be like and she left. My mother saw she was being replaced by younger pussy and looked for a way to restore her position in the community. The attempted abduction of my son was the result. I saw the way Milton looked at the girls my age. He had this predatory expression when he saw a young woman he wanted for a wife. I saw the fuck chart in the bishop’s office. My name was on it. It took me a while after being away from Paradise to figure out what it all meant. That’s why Milton was going south. He was going to trade Sarah for another young wife and sanctuary in another polygamist compound. That’s how it works, you know. Maybe you don’t want to admit it —” she pointed at Joseph “— but that’s what was really going on.”

  “Be that as it may . . .” Joseph held the index finger of his right hand in the air as if trying to make a point.

  Christine said, “You didn’t ask how your brother is doing.”

  Joseph blushed, looked at Lane, and said nothing.

  “You never once asked how my Uncle Paul is feeling. He just saved the lives of four people and you didn’t ask how he’s feeling or what it cost him.” Christine stood up. “We’ll go home and discuss this with my family and get back to you. Do you have a business card?”

  Arthur and Lane stood.

  Joseph got up, walked to his desk, and took a card from a brass holder.

  Christine led the way out the door. They were gathering their coats at the front desk when Joseph caught up to them, handing Christine his card. “I know your mother will very much appreciate your cooperation in this matter.” He looked sideways at the receptionist.

  Christine took the card, stuffing it in her coat pocket. “We’ll get back to you.” She turned, took Lane by one elbow, Arthur by another, then asked, “Would you please get the door for us, Mr. Lane?”

  It took Joseph a full thirty seconds to realize she was talking to him.

  When they were in the car, Christine sat in the passenger seat, turned so she could see both of them, and said, “My vote is we take Indy to see my mother.”

  “What?” Lane turned on the engine.

  “Just listen,” Arthur said.

  “She’s not going anywhere for a while. The visits will be supervised, and for once she will have to listen to me. I’ll make it clear to her if she doesn’t behave herself, Indy and I will leave.” Christine turned, facing forward. “Besides, she’s still my mother.”

  A mother who gave up on you. Lane looked over his shoulder as he backed up.

  Christine looked sideways at Lane. “I know what you’re thinking. She gave up on me, and she gave up on you.”

  “It’s hard going through this again and again with her. It’s always a train wreck.” Lane stopped, shifting into drive. He checked his mirrors and over his shoulder. Shit, Christine! Don’t you know she will never change?

  “I think you told me once it was never boring being around me.” Christine looked down at a wet spot on her blouse. “Can we go home? I’m leaking. It’s time to feed Indy.”

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Doctors Bruce, Shameem, and Navaid, thank you.

  Again, thanks to Tony Bidulka and Wayne Gunn.

  Thank you to the staff at Pages Books on Kensington.

  Mary, Alex, and Sebi, thanks for the Central Blends suggestions and feedback.

  Paul, Natalie, Doug, Jenna, Leslie, Cathy, Matt, and Tiiu: thanks for all that you do. Leslie, this novel is much better because of your sharp eyes and quick mind.

  Thank you to Matt at the Shooting Edge.

  Thank you, Sara, for the police service background information. And to Dave for police procedural advice.

  Thank you Stephen at Sage Innovations for garryryan.ca.

  Thanks to creative writers at Nickle, Bowness, Lord Beaverbrook, Alternative, Forest Lawn, and Queen Elizabeth.

  As always, thank you to Sharon, Karma, Ben, Luke, Indiana, and Ella.

  In 2004, Garry Ryan published his first Detective Lane novel, Queen’s Park. The second, The Lucky Elephant Restaurant, won a 2007 Lambda Literary Award. He has since published six more titles in the series: A Hummingbird Dance, Smoked, Malabarista, Foxed, Glycerine, and Indiana Pulcinella. In 2009, Ryan was awarded Calgary’s Freedom of Expression Award. He has also begun a series of World War II adventure novels, with Blackbirds and Two Blackbirds.
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