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  She waited.

  “Sometimes, it makes a difference.”

  “Who’s he?” Christine pointed at an approaching man. He wore a white bunny suit and carried what appeared to be a toolbox.

  “Dr. Colin Weaver.” Lane watched Fibre approach.

  She whispered, “Fibre?”

  He nodded.

  “He looks like a model.”

  Lane watched Christine’s eyes as she studied the approaching Fibre. “Morning, Colin,” Lane said.

  Fibre appeared not to hear as he stopped and surveyed the scene. Police cruisers blocked both ends of the alley. The police forensics unit was parked about twenty metres away. Crime-scene tape formed a visible perimeter roughly ten metres out from the dumpster. “No one’s been close to the scene?” Fibre asked in a voice free of emotion.

  “Just me.” Lane stood just outside the yellow tape.

  “What’s the pail doing there?” Dr. Weaver pointed at the white pail next to the dumpster.

  “I put it there.” Lane raised his cup in Fibre’s direction.

  Fibre sneered at Christine. “Who’s this?”

  “You’re rude!” Christine stepped closer to Dr. Weaver.

  Fibre looked down on Christine, even though they were approximately the same height. “What right does she have to be here?”

  “She’s a witness.” Lane moved to separate them.

  “You arrogant asshole!” Christine moved closer to Fibre.

  Fibre ducked under the tape.

  Lane looked around. Officers were moving closer, sensing trouble. He recognized one of them.

  Fibre turned and threw a comment over his shoulder as he walked away. “Keep that mouthy bitch away from my crime scene.” Then Fibre said, “Nigger.”

  Lane turned. At times like this, rage gave him a clarity of thought that he otherwise seldom experienced. “Fibre!”

  Dr. Weaver turned.

  Lane read anger and then shock in Fibre’s eyes.

  “She’s my niece!” Lane measured the distance between himself and the doctor. The yellow tape was at Lane’s chest. He lifted it with his right hand, preparing to duck under the tape while keeping his eyes on his prey.

  Lane felt a hand grip the back of his belt.

  “Detective. This isn’t the place.”

  Lane swung around, wrenched himself free, and faced Sergeant Stephens. Her black, braided hair was dyed to hide the grey. Her green eyes locked on Lane’s. Stephens smiled. “Long time no see.”

  Lane turned to look at Weaver. The doctor’s face was white.

  Rage made Lane mute.

  “There are four other people who need a coffee. That makes seven including you and your niece.” Stephens grabbed his arm and pulled him toward Christine. “Would you mind fetching us some while I speak with the good doctor?” Stephens asked.

  “There’s no way I’m fetching fucking coffee for that racist bastard!” Christine’s voice shook with anger when she pointed at Dr. Weaver.

  “This is a murder investigation. There’s no way we’re gonna have a brawl. Let me handle Weaver, and if you’re not pleased with how I take care of the situation, then handle it your way after all the evidence is gathered. That way the scene is preserved, and we have a better chance of nailing whoever killed the girl.” Stephens lifted her chin at Christine. “Fair?”

  “Okay, but I’m not getting coffee for anybody,” Christine said.

  “Good. You’ve got a backbone. Every woman needs one.” Stephens cocked her head in Lane’s direction. “We’ll let him get the coffee.” She looked at Lane. “How come you haven’t introduced me to your niece?”

  “Kaye Stephens, this is Christine.” Lane looked down at his shaking hands.

  Kaye stuck her hand out, “Good to meet you, Christine.”

  Christine smiled and shook the woman’s hand.

  Lane and Christine returned twenty minutes later. They leaned against a cruiser parked near the dumpster. Lane handed out the coffees. After that, they watched the dumpster. Every so often, the top of Fibre’s bunny suit popped up before disappearing again.

  “Sorry it took me so long to get here,” Harper said as he approached Lane and Christine. “Where’s my coffee?” he joked.

  “Get your own fucking coffee,” Christine said.

  Lane glared at her.

  “In Paradise I was always fetching coffee for the men. No more. Sorry Cam, the whole coffee thing is just…”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve already had enough coffee.” Harper rubbed Christine’s shoulder to say it was all good as far as he was concerned. “Besides, I have to ask you some questions since you were one of the first on the scene.” He pulled out his hand-held computer.

  Lane turned to watch the traffic across from the parking lot. Drivers slowed. Passengers touched their noses to side windows. A cyclist, wearing a reflective yellow vest with a red X, weaved between parked and moving cars. A crutch stuck out behind the seat of his bike, anchored to the crossbar of the frame. The cyclist was all muscle and sinew. He had his left hand on the bars. His right hand pushed down on his right knee each time it reached the top of the pedal’s arc. The cyclist looked straight ahead without acknowledging the crime scene. That’s odd, Lane thought.

  Sergeant Stephens approached them. “Weaver’s getting out of the dumpster. It’s almost time to remove the body. The good doctor is coming over here. He’s got something to say to you. Will you listen?” She aimed the question at Christine.

  Christine nodded while sipping her coffee.

  Stephens looked at Lane.

  His shrug was noncommittal.

  Stephens waited as Dr. Weaver climbed out of the dumpster, pulled off his rubber gloves, and walked over to the cruiser.

  Christine set her coffee cup on the hood of a cruiser.

  “Easy,” Stephens said to Lane’s niece.

  “My outburst was regrettable. I apologize.” Dr. Fibre pulled the hood of the bunny suit back so it rested around the back of his neck. His hair stuck to his scalp.

  “Regrettable?” Christine asked.

  Lane went to open his mouth only to find he couldn’t form words. He studied Fibre, calculating an attack.

  Weaver looked at Stephens, who glared back at him.

  The doctor dropped his eyes, “Unacceptable.”

  “Unacceptable?” Christine blew steam with her hot coffee breath.

  She’s enjoying this, Lane thought.

  “Totally unacceptable. I offer my apology,” Fibre said.

  “Lane?” Stephens asked.

  “She’s my niece.” Lane put his coffee on the hood of the car.

  Stephens moved to place herself between the doctor and the detective.

  “Thus, making my comment all the more odious,” Weaver said.

  Lane thought he saw tears in the doctor’s eyes.

  The detective nodded.

  “The body is ready for the Medical Examiner.” Weaver said, and walked past them to the forensics unit vehicle.

  Christine asked Stephens, “How did you get him to do that?”

  “Told him he was getting a reputation for being a real chauvinist as far as the female officers were concerned, and that what he said to you was way over the line because it was racist as well. Then I said I’d be a witness if Lane wanted to file a report about the n-bomb. Thanks to you two, the opportunity finally presented itself for Fibre to get straightened out by a woman.” Stephens put out her hand. “A real pleasure to meet you, Christine.”

  ×

  “Where have you two been?” Arthur asked when they walked in the front door.

  “We found the body,” Lane said.

  Christine went into the kitchen and downstairs into the family room. “Matt?” she called.

  “Who found the body?” Arthur looked sideways at Lane.

  “Christine and I found the body in a dumpster in the alley behind Kensington.” Lane went into the dining room and grabbed his phone and id. “Harper is on his way to pick me up.
We have to break the news to the parents.”

  Lane went outside to wait for Harper and focus on the task at hand. He sat down on the front step.

  A few minutes later, Arthur opened the aluminum door and looked down on him. “What happened besides discovering the body?”

  Lane looked up. “Fibre dropped the n-bomb on Christine. If the sergeant hadn’t stopped me… I was so angry. I would have…”

  “Too bad you’re missing it.” Arthur looked down the street at the Chevy driving up the hill.

  “Missing what?”

  “The two of them are talking downstairs. Christine is explaining how you and the other officers stood up for her, and Matt is telling her how you’ve done the same for him. You’re a hit with both of them.” Arthur waved at Harper when he pulled up in front of the house.

  “But…” Lane began.

  “But nothing. Those two matter to us, and you make them feel like they matter. And, for what it’s worth, whoever killed that girl, well, I wouldn’t want to be them.”

  Lane looked up at Arthur. “What do you mean ‘them’?”

  “Sometimes you look right past the obvious. Dumpsters are pretty high. Christine says you had to stand on top of a pail to look inside. It would be pretty difficult for one person to put the body inside. And I almost pity the killers.”

  “Why’s that?” Lane asked.

  “Having Christine at the scene made this one personal. There’s no way you’ll back off until they’re caught.” Arthur closed the door.

  Lane was quiet while Harper drove east on Crowchild Trail. Lane said, “Arthur thinks it would be difficult for one person to lift the body into the dumpster.”

  “He’s right.” Harper hesitated for a moment. “Stephens filled me in on what happened with Fibre. What he said to Christine was way out of line. How did you keep yourself from kicking his ass?” Harper asked.

  “Sergeant Stephens stopped me.” Lane looked ahead as they took the exit ramp and headed south.

  “You okay to do this?” Harper turned right.

  Lane looked at him. “I promised the parents I would keep them updated.”

  Inside the Towers’ living room, Lane told Jennifer’s parents, MaryAnne and Don, about the discovery of the body and the necessity of having it identified.

  “Was it quick?” MaryAnne asked. Her voice choked out the words. Her eyes were vacant, lost.

  “It’s too soon to know,” Lane said.

  “Was it that son of a bitch James?” The lines on Don’s face seemed to deepen. His shoulders sloped forward, and his body sagged.

  “Again, it’s too early.” Lane watched them get up in slow motion, and he thought, It’s amazing how two people can age ten years in less than a minute.

  SUNDAY, MAY 4

  chapter 5

  “You haven’t told me what you saw in the alley before you found the body.” Harper sat across from Lane at a table outside of Kuldeep’s coffee shop. Roz lay next to the table soaking up some of the morning sun.

  “Where do you want me to start?” Lane looked at the mountains peaking out from behind the car dealerships lined up further down the street. Their peaks were still cloaked with white.

  Roz poked Harper in the thigh with her nose. He rubbed her behind the ears. “You choose.”

  “Spent most of yesterday morning with Christine. She showed me how to read the graffiti. At first, I couldn’t make any sense of the designs. It’s like learning another language. By the time we got near the end, the message on that particular dumpster struck me as being out of place.”

  “In my mind, I’m still trying to decipher that message. I get the impression there’s a whole bunch of information there, but I’m not sure what it is,” Harper said.

  “Or who put it there.” Lane lifted his coffee cup and took a sip. “When I looked inside, the layer of newspapers, garbage bags, and paper towels was pretty deep. Still, the smell was strong, so I knew there was a body in there somewhere. After I pushed away some of the paper, I found her body tucked up against the near wall of the container. I think it was wrapped in clear plastic. It looked like the stuff you use to protect food before you put it in the fridge. And, the body was naked under the wrap.”

  “Any indication of the cause of death?” Harper asked.

  “It could have been asphyxiation.” Lane blinked quickly, hoping not to see a flashback of the dead girl’s face. “Imagine where we’d be right now if the body had ended up in the landfill?”

  “We’d be up to our knees in diapers. Now, what happened when Fibre arrived?” Harper stopped scratching Roz. She poked his hand with a cold nose.

  “He treated Christine with contempt.” Lane looked directly at Harper. “You know what he called her. That’s when I started to go after him.”

  “And you’re mad at yourself because you couldn’t protect your niece from his bigotry. And you’re mad at yourself for completely losing your cool.” Harper’s tone made it a statement of fact rather than an accusation.

  Lane opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again and said, “Yes.”

  “I have only one other question for now.”

  Lane waited.

  “If you don’t stick up for Christine, who will?”

  Lane said, “Arthur told me much the same thing.”

  “And one other thing.” Harper smiled.

  “What’s that?”

  “How do I get Roz to leave me alone?” Harper laughed as the dog put her paws on the edge of the table and offered her puzzled expression to each of them in turn.

  Lane shook his head and laughed. “She’s got you now. You’re helpless under her spell.”

  Harper pulled out his pocket computer. “Seems like we’ve got nothing but questions about this case.”

  “Where do we find James? That’s question number one.” Lane waved at Roz, and when she came close he rubbed her under her foreleg. She closed her eyes.

  “Who painted the tag on the dumpster?” Harper’s right hand tapped notes into his computer.

  “Where are Jennifer’s personal belongings?” Lane looked down at Roz. She turned her head to lick his hand.

  “Why was Jennifer so upset when she came into the coffee shop?” Harper didn’t look up.

  “Was only one person involved in her death?”

  “And what’s with a dentist office where the appointment book is nearly empty and both dentists drive Mercedes?” Harper looked up at Lane.

  “Maybe Ramona keeps appointments on the computer,” Lane said.

  “She referred to the appointment book when we asked about Jennifer’s appointments.”

  “Maybe, when we get some answers, we’ll have a better idea of who we’re looking for.” Lane stood up. “Coming over for breakfast?”

  “Promised Erinn I’d help clean house. Ever since Jessica learned to walk, the house is a mess from the moment she gets up.”

  Lane stared at the mountains without really seeing them.

  “What?” Harper asked.

  “The anomalies. If past cases are any indication, the answers to the anomalies will lead us to the killer or killers.” Lane turned to focus on Harper. “Somehow we have to find out who put the message on the dumpster. Why dump a body then advertise its location?”

  ×

  “We have to go and get him stitched up.” Arthur said, pointing to Fergus’ foot which was wrapped in a towel.

  Lane watched the scene unfold as he and Roz approached their house.

  Fergus had one of his arms wrapped around Christine’s shoulder as he hopped up to the open door of the Jeep and sat inside.

  What did I walk into this time? Lane wondered as he spotted blood soaking through the white cotton towel covering the boy’s foot. He also wondered if the smile on Fergus’ face was from the pain or Christine’s proximity. “I’ll drive.” He went to the gate and let Roz off her leash before getting her safely inside the yard. “Where’s Matt?”

  “Still asleep,” Arthur said.


  With Christine in the back seat propping up the white-faced Fergus and Arthur in the passenger seat, Lane started the engine. “Did you phone Fergus’ parents?”

  “They’re in Mexico,” Fergus said. “Please go to the Ed-gemont Clinic. I go there all the time.”

  Upon stepping through the door to the clinic, Lane discovered exactly what Fergus had meant. The nurse behind the desk surveyed the waiting fifteen or so patients, spotted Fergus’ blood dripping on the linoleum, pushed a wheelchair their way and said, “Follow me, Fergus.”

  Lane and Christine sat side by side in the waiting room while Arthur went with Fergus, who threw a look of wounded longing Christine’s way.

  “What happened?” Lane asked.

  “We were having coffee on the deck. Fergus decided we needed to see a juggling display. He used some of the knives from the kitchen,” Christine said.

  Lane shuddered at the vision of the carving knives stored in the wooden block by the kitchen sink.

  “Everything was going fine until he decided he’d use four knives instead of three. The largest one got away from him and went right through his foot. Arthur had to pull the knife out, because it went about two centimetres into the wood and Fergus’ foot was stuck to the deck.” Christine looked to Lane when she finished the story. She furiously chewed her bottom lip.

  Lane said, “What was Fergus doing on the deck so early on a Sunday morning?”

  “He stayed over last night. Slept downstairs on the couch.” Christine sat back and put her hands between her knees. She leaned to the left and rested her head on Lane’s shoulder. Laughter poured out of her.

  Five minutes later, after Lane managed to get Christine outside of the office, she choked out words between sobbing bouts of laughter. “The look on Fergus’ face when the knife went into his foot. You know, he was so shocked, then he was stuck to the deck. I know it’s not supposed to be funny, he was in so much pain, but it was hilarious!”

  When Lane thought back on it, later — when there was time to look back — he realized this was the moment when Christine began to feel like part of their family.

  MONDAY, MAY 5

  chapter 6