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“What about your family?” Lane asked.

  “My mother is dead, and my father is in prison. I have no siblings.” Nigel resumed unravelling the tape on his left hand.

  Lane heard the desolation in Nigel’s voice and decided to stop asking questions.

  “It’s a real conversation stopper, isn’t it?” Nigel said as if in apology. He switched to the tape on his right hand.

  “I walk the dog or run with the geese to clear my mind.”

  Nigel turned to stare at his new partner. “Run with the geese?”

  “Ever been at the big soccer fields at Shouldice Park?”

  Nigel shook his head.

  You must think you’ve been partnered with a madman. “It’s a trick my nephew showed me. A flock of geese often grazes on the grass near the river. If you run into the flock, they take off and it makes you feel like you’re flying. And whatever is bothering you leaves with the geese. It’s kind of —”

  “— cathartic,” Nigel said.

  “You have an annoying habit of —”

  “— completing people’s sentences for them.” Nigel stood up. “Got to finish my run and hit the shower.”

  Lane watched Nigel run west along the avenue. He hopped over the pile of road apples and shadow boxed the odious air.

  Lane’s phone rang. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the phone. “Lane.”

  “I’ve been expecting a call from you. Your nephew Matt is experiencing difficulty?”

  Lane set his coffee down when he recognized the voice. “Dr. Alexandre. Thank you for returning my call so quickly.”

  “I read about what happened to your nephew. Often, after an experience like that, there are residual issues. When can I see him?” Dr. Alexandre asked.

  Lane began to sweat. “I haven’t asked him yet. I wanted to make sure that you were available before I broached the subject with Matt.”

  “He’s having trouble sleeping, he’s losing weight, and he’s becoming socially withdrawn?” Alexandre asked.

  “That’s correct.” Now there are two people finishing my thoughts for me.

  “I’ll let the receptionist know that Matt gets a blue space. It means Matt will get in quicker. Just remember that I said fill in a blue space when you phone the appointment in,” Alexandre said.

  “Thank you.”

  “The sooner we get started, the better for everyone concerned.” Alexandre hung up.

  An hour later, Lane was sitting in front of his computer. Lori knocked on the door. “Did you check?”

  Lane looked up from the screen.

  Lori stood in a long floral-print skirt and a white blouse. She leaned against the doorframe, one red cowboy boot crossed in front of the other.

  “Check what?” Lane’s computer chirped as a new e-mail message arrived.

  “I thought so.” Lori turned. Her skirt flared. “I’m sending you an e-mail, and I’ll be checking back with you in fifteen minutes to see whether you’ve read it.”

  Lane listened to her boots pounding down the hall as he looked at his screen. The new message was from Fibre. Lane was probably the only officer on the force who knew that Fibre was the father of triplets.

  The message was direct, as always, with three items:

  FOUND IN WATCH POCKET OF SUBJECT’S JEANS:

  1. Receipt from Crowfoot Cinema

  2. Receipt from Crowfoot Pharmacy

  3. Receipt from Post Office

  Copies of three receipts and a photo of the subject are attached.

  The subject was killed approximately ten hours before burial.

  The subject was buried for approximately four hours before being

  discovered. Grease, hydraulic fluid, bituminous sand, alfalfa, oat

  straw, and sweet clover were found on his clothing. Bullet fragments

  were retrieved from the chest cavity and are being processed.

  Lane studied the message for a moment, opened the attachments, then printed two copies of each receipt and the photograph. He stapled one, labelled it for Nigel, then folded the others and stuffed them into his jacket pocket.

  There was a knock on his door. He looked up at a man wearing blue work clothes. The man’s head was shaved, and he had tigers tattooed on either side of his scalp just above the ears. Lane got up and opened the door.

  “You ordered a desk?”

  ×

  Donna put on her red helmet, zipped up her red leather jacket, pulled on her red gloves, gripped the clutch with her left hand, and touched the starter with her right thumb.

  The sound of the Harley Davidson Superlow’s engine filled the garage with its rumbling, thundering power. Donna shifted into gear, released the clutch, and eased her way out of the garage, down the driveway, and over the curb.

  She left the neighbourhood and opened up the throttle as she drove along John Laurie Boulevard. On her right, a group of men stood beneath the Eagle’s Nest Christian Church sign that looked down on the roadway.

  ALLAH

  THE ONE

  TRUE

  GOD

  Donna throttled back as she passed the men and women. She saw one bearded man pointing at the sign. His cheeks and forehead were red. She couldn’t hear what he said but could tell that his mouth was spewing rage.

  She passed the clutch of followers and accelerated as the red light up ahead turned green.

  Five minutes later she was on the four-lane highway headed west. The sky was dotted with cumulus clouds. Their lazy eastward progress cast shadows over the Rockies. This morning the mountains seemed closer than usual, magnified by some atmospheric effect.

  Traffic was light because so many people had slept in or taken the morning off instead of going to the parade. She cruised at one hundred kilometres per hour. The wind tugged at her clothing, and a dragonfly smacked against her face shield.

  It was at times like this that Donna found she had her best conversations with Lisa. The full-face helmet meant she didn’t have to explain why she was talking to her dead twin sister. The open road, the Rockies, and the wind made her feel free to say what was on her mind.

  “Still think that motorbike is better than having a man between your legs?” Lisa asked.

  “Yes.” Donna smiled.

  “I know that Steve was a drunk and a chauvinist, but they’re not all like that.”

  “Can we talk about something else?” Donna asked.

  “Okay! Let’s talk about your big plans for a week from today.”

  “If you like.”

  “You don’t sound all that happy about it.”

  “Well, you already told me that you think I’m nuts to do it, so there’s really no point in trying to talk me out of it.” Donna checked her side mirror as a black pickup truck pulled up close behind her. She looked ahead. The left lane was open. The driver of the pickup could easily pass her if he wanted.

  “The plan sounds fine. I’m just worried about the consequences. Unexpected consequences. People don’t always react the way you expect them to. There’s no such thing as a perfect plan.”

  Donna looked in her mirror. The truck driver smoked a cigarette and eased closer. Now she could see only the truck’s grille in her mirror.

  “Go ahead and deal with that asshole. I’ll wait,” Lisa said.

  Donna took her left hand off the handlebars and reached into her jacket pocket. She gripped a handful of steel ball bearings the size of marbles. She held her left fist down low, below her hip. Donna checked ahead and behind in her mirror to ensure there was no other traffic nearby. Then she opened her fist. The metal balls bounced on the pavement. She heard the crack of steel meeting metal, plastic, and glass.

  “Is he giving you some space?” Lisa asked.

  Donna watched the truck shrink in her mirror. “Yes.”

  “You never saw what I saw in Afghanistan. What people are capable of. And people do violence with explosives and guns as calmly as you did just now when you dropped those metal balls on the pavement.”

  “Yo
u think I don’t know that? I did experience the damage one man can do to your mind, to your soul.” Donna eased off the throttle when she approached the eighty-kilometre-per-hour limit where the highway began its descent into the river valley. The mountains were in her face now.

  “I saw kids, toddlers, killed in some of the explosions.”

  “A sixteen-year-old girl was killed just up the hill from my house. Her father and brother are charged with the killing. I know all about people and violence.” Donna downshifted as the road’s angle of decline increased. She could see part of the town of Cochrane settled on the floodplain nestled in a U of the Bow River.

  “Don’t believe everything you see on the news. It’s not reality.”

  “Oh, but it shapes reality. It starts people talking. Then the words turn into anger between people of different religions. They always go after one another with their angry words first — then somebody gets hurt.” Donna leaned into the first curve.

  “So you’re saying I was killed because of words? Let me tell you, that blast didn’t feel like words.”

  Donna nodded as she leaned into the next curve and saw more of Cochrane in the valley on her left. “That’s what I’m saying. I’m saying you can connect the words to the violent actions.”

  “You don’t think that’s a bit of an oversimplification?”

  Donna thought for a little while as she downshifted and slowed to fifty kilometres per hour. “Sure it is, but it’s also true. First come the words. Then comes the violence. It’s that simple.” She flicked on her turn indicator, then turned left into the town. When she reached Main Street, she turned left again and parked across the street from MacKay’s Ice Cream. She shut the engine off, lowered the kickstand, leaned the bike over, and swung her right leg over the saddle. Then she lifted off her helmet and ran her fingers through her light-brown hair. She crossed the street and stood in front of the ice cream shop. Sweet scents of all of the creamy flavours wafted out the front door. A three-year-old boy wore a chocolate moustache as he focused on devouring a treat before it could melt onto his hand.

  Tires screamed as a vehicle braked.

  Donna turned and reflexively took one step toward the street.

  “Hey you! Motorcycle bitch!” said a man with a black ball cap, a goatee, and his left hand pointing a cigarette from the window of his black pickup truck. It stood about a metre off the ground on oversized tires.

  Donna stood her ground and eyed her assailant.

  “Ya, you! What the fuck did you do to my truck?” He took a drag from his cigarette.

  Donna took a moment to reply. She glanced at the people on the sidewalk who had stopped to watch. The father of the three-year-old stood up. The little boy looked up from his ice cream, then stuck his tongue and nose back into the chocolate.

  “Do you want an ice cream?” Donna asked.

  “No, I don’t want a fucking ice cream!” the driver said.

  Donna shrugged and waited. Now you have a decision to make, macho boy. She looked around her as people began to focus on the driver. She also noted the way they frowned. Some were spectators, some began to walk away, and others were placing themselves between the trucker and their children. One mother picked a cell phone out of her purse and started tapping in numbers. A sixteen-year-old girl held up her phone to capture the action.

  Donna stepped down from the sidewalk and onto the pavement.

  “I’m coming after you!” The driver revved his engine and began to roll forward.

  Donna took another step closer.

  “Back off, bitch!” The driver moved further down Main Street.

  Donna stepped out between parked cars.

  The truck was half a block away. The driver gave her a one-finger salute. “This ain’t over!” He shifted gears and the engine raced. The rear tires smoked when he turned left.

  Donna turned and walked into MacKay’s. After buying a lemon sorbet, she sat outside and savoured the treat. Ten minutes later, she got back on her motorcycle. She turned onto the highway and headed back toward the city. The engine roared as she began the long climb up from Cochrane and out of the Bow River Valley.

  “Aren’t you afraid he’ll be waiting for you?” Lisa asked.

  Donna shook her head. “Nope.”

  “You’ll handle it either way?” Lisa asked.

  “I learned it from you. You stood up to Steve when you moved me out of his house. It took me a while to realize that he nearly took my soul away. I was so afraid of him that I would do whatever I had to do to keep him from beating on me. You gave me back what I’d lost. Once I got that back, I could control the fear rather than have it control me. You must have noticed that he kept moving away as I moved closer to him. You taught me to pay attention to things like that.” Donna crested the hill and accelerated to one hundred kilometres per hour.

  “So little sister is standing on her own two feet.”

  “That’s right. And remember you’re only twelve minutes older than me.” Donna breathed deep, looked ahead, and saw an open stretch of road. She twisted the throttle and held on with her thighs as the Superlow leapt forward. Ahead she could see the golden stacks of the gas extraction plant.

  Back in the city, driving along John Laurie Boulevard, she saw a man on a ladder placing new letters on the sign at the Eagle’s Nest Church. A woman stood on the bottom rung of the ladder and said something to the man that made him look down at her.

  Donna read the new message.

  DON’T JUST SAY

  YOU BELIEVE IN GOD

  KNOW HIM

  IN JESUS CHRIST

  Donna thought, It always begins with words.

  ×

  “Thanks for letting me move into your office.” Nigel dropped a box beside the new computer on the metal desk across from Lane’s.

  “Lori put in a good word for you.” Lane leaned back in his chair.

  Nigel picked up the copies of the receipts on his desk. “What are these?”

  “Receipts found on yesterday’s body.” Lane looked at the copies on his desk.

  Nigel flipped through the receipts. “We gotta go!”

  “What?” Lane asked.

  “We need to find a post office in the area.” Nigel turned and stepped to the door.

  “I don’t follow.” Lane stood and grabbed his sports jacket.

  “The guys from Mexico usually go to the post office on their day off to mail money orders back home. If you look at the receipt you see that the post office and pharmacy have the same address. People who know the victim will probably be at the post office this morning because almost everyone gets time off work to go to the Stampede Parade.” Nigel held the door open for Lane.

  Lane grabbed the photo and receipts from his desk and hurried out of the door.

  Lori raised her eyebrows as they rushed past her. Before the detectives could leave the office, she asked, “Did you read my e-mail, Detective Lane?”

  Lane heard the ominous tone in her voice. “When I get back.”

  It took half an hour to get to the northwest corner of the city where a patchwork of pastel-coloured strip malls sold everything from shoes to gourmet cupcakes. The parking lot was big enough to house a covered football stadium.

  “You live around here, don’t you?” Nigel waited to make a left turn near the liquor store whose advertising recommended an evening of old Scotch, fine wine, and prairie oysters in honour of the Stampede. Nigel crossed another intersection.

  “Turn right here.” Lane pointed.

  Nigel parked in front of Double Value Drugs. In the window hung the blue-and-red Canadian post office logo.

  As they climbed out of the Chev, Nigel took off his jacket and holster. “Will you hold onto this for me?” He held out his Glock.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You know how Mexicans react to the police, don’t you?” Nigel closed the driver’s door.

  “No.” Lane tucked the weapon into the pocket of his grey sports jacket.

>   “In Mexico, you stay clear of the police whenever possible.”

  Lane closed his door, moved around the front of the car, and tapped his jacket pocket. “How do you know?”

  “When I was a kid, my parents had a condo in Cancun. We used to go there for a month every winter.” Nigel walked through the automatic door.

  Inside the store, Lane pointed. “On your left at the back.”

  Lane followed Nigel to the back of the store where five men stood in line at the counter. A harried clerk of no more than sixteen helped a woman fill out a form so that she could send her parcel to Asia.

  Nigel looked at Lane. “Hang back.”

  Lane turned red and glared at his partner.

  “No offence.” Nigel blushed and leaned his head in the direction of the Latino men waiting in line.

  Lane went to stand near the potato chips and cheezies. He watched as Nigel walked up to the first man in line. He was dressed in jeans and a green T-shirt.

  Nigel asked, “Señor?”

  It was the only word in the conversation that Lane understood.

  Nigel showed the man in the green T-shirt the picture. The man shook his head and said, “No.”

  Lane watched for ninety minutes as Nigel talked to Mexican workers who were handing over wads of cash to be sent to relatives in Mexico.

  The line thinned out. Nigel waited. Now there was no one in line. Nigel frowned at his partner. Lane went to the front of the store and looked outside.

  Lane recognized a man with a purple shirt who had been in line thirty minutes ago. Two men approached the man in the purple shirt. He said something to the men. They nodded and returned the way they had come.

  Lane walked back to the post office counter and tapped Nigel on the shoulder. “I need you to interpret for me while I talk with a fellow.”

  Nigel followed Lane outside where the older detective stood in front of the man with the purple shirt.

  “What are you doing?” Nigel asked Lane.

  Lane held up his hand to indicate that Nigel should wait. Lane studied the man in the purple shirt, whose eyes were fixed on his white running shoes. He’d stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

  Lane looked at the thick black hair atop the man’s head. Lane turned to Nigel and said, “Tell him that I will arrest him for interfering with a police investigation if he doesn’t tell us what he knows about the man in the picture.”