Malabarista Page 6

  Lane put the cup down. So even my friends are involved. It begins.

  “She said that your family excommunicated you.” Dr. Alexandre put air quotes around “excommunicated.” “She also said you probably wouldn’t want to talk with me.”

  To hell with it! If she wants the story, she gets it all. “Just after I came out to my family, none of my calls to them were being returned. I left messages, but. . . I drove over to my parents’ house. It was around eight on a Sunday morning. I had a gift with me. It was Father’s Day. The lights were on in the kitchen and my brother’s car was parked out front. I knocked on the back door. There were footsteps on the stairs. I could see a silhouette through the translucent glass of the door. When I went to open the door, it was locked. I tried my key, but the lock had been changed. I knocked and tried the door again. There was the voice of my sister-in-law on the other side of the door, but I couldn’t make out what she was saying. So I hung the gift on the doorknob and left. Haven’t been back since.”

  “What did it feel like?”

  Lane shrugged. “It turned out to be a blessing. I was on my own, and there was no turning back.” I wonder if she’ll buy that.

  “How did it feel to be locked out of the house you grew up in?”

  Lane shook his head, unable to get the words out.

  “I have another appointment soon. Can we meet again tomorrow morning? Same time?” Dr. Alexandre leaned forward. The collar of her blouse opened enough for Lane to see a prominent Adam’s apple.

  “Okay.” Lane answered without considering what he’d just discovered. “Are you going to peel me like an onion?”

  Dr. Alexandre studied Lane before responding. “Some people call it peeling an onion. I don’t. It’s more like juggling — the past, the present, and what we fear or hope will happen in the future. Then more stuff gets added. Eventually we need to learn how to start again when all of the balls hit the floor. And with you, it appears there is a massive amount of juggling going on.”

  “You haven’t said much.” Keely sat at Harper’s old desk next to Lane. She wore a black jacket, slacks, and white blouse. Her hair was tied back. “We haven’t found out much besides the fact that a guy named Borislav Goran was accused of war crimes. So far, we’ve found ourselves short of specifics and big on generalizations.”

  Lane thought, That’s not what she meant, but. . .

  “That’s not what I meant. I meant you seem distracted. You have a lot on your mind.” She tapped her mouse and studied the computer screen.

  “So you think you can read me?”

  “Well, yes, since you asked.” Keely kept her eyes on the screen.

  “Yes, there’s a lot on my mind.”

  “I checked you out, you know. Some of the people I talked with said I lucked out to be able to work with you and a few said. . .” She glanced his way, and her face reddened as she realized she’d said too much.

  “Finish the sentence.” Lane felt his deeply hidden emotions bracing for an impact.

  “They say that you’ve never been promoted after making detective. That you play by your own rules, and that could be bad for my career, such as it is.”

  “That’s all?” Lane watched Keely glance away.

  Keely smiled and shook her head. “You’re playing with me.”

  “Only a little. Look, you see if you can find out the malabarista Mladen’s last name, and I’ll walk down the hall to get some help with finding out more about Goran.” He stood up and walked to the door. “I’ll see if another resource is available.” He stepped out the door.

  Lane found Lori at her desk. She looked up at him from behind pink-framed glasses.

  “How was the anniversary dinner?” Lane asked.

  “The kids cooked for us. It was nice. They even did the dishes.” She leaned left and looked past him. “How’s the new partner working out?”

  “Hard to tell at this point. Some of her friends tell her I’m going to be bad for her career.” Lane smiled.

  Lori laughed. “She might be right you know, except for. . .”

  “Yes?” Lane waited for the joke he knew was coming.

  “Your last partner ended up becoming deputy chief!”

  Lane tilted his head one way, looked thoughtful, then rubbed his chin. “How come I didn’t think of that?”

  “You detectives always miss the obvious.” Lori chuckled. “Isn’t that what Matt and Christine always say?”

  “I need to get some information on war crimes.”

  “The Hague?” Lori was all business now.

  “Do you know any sites?” Lane sat on the edge of her desk.

  “I’ll ask around. You two go get a coffee, bring me back a mochaccino, and we’ll see what I can find out.” Lori reached into the bottom drawer of her desk and pulled out an aluminum ice cube tray. Lori turned red as she looked up at Lane. “It came out of my mother’s fridge, okay? It’s where I keep business cards. Now go and get my coffee!”

  Ten minutes later, Lane and Keely walked side by side up the open-air mall running east and west through the heart of downtown.

  “Sniffing out another coffee shop?” Keely lifted her nose as they walked west.

  “It’s just up here.” He stopped at a red light and waited. A man pushing a shopping cart looked their way, then leaned over, picked a bottle out of a garbage can, and tucked it into a white plastic bag inside the cart.

  Keely looked at the sign outside of a restaurant across the street. “The Diner? Now that’s original.”

  “Good breakfast and great coffee.” Lane anticipated the light changing, crossed the street, and held the door of The Diner open for her. He glanced over his shoulder as he heard the shopping cart’s wheels rumbling over the bricks of the mall.

  Inside, Jen was behind the cash register. She gave Keely the once-over, then made eye contact with Lane. “Mornin’.”

  “Two coffees and one mochaccino to go, please,” Lane said.

  “Good timing. Just made a fresh pot,” Jen said over her shoulder.

  They were outside sipping their coffees three minutes later.

  “You’re right, it’s great coffee.” Keely smiled.

  “We’ll go in for breakfast some day.” Lane closed his eyes and felt the morning sun on his face.

  “Deal.” Keely hesitated. “My parents got another letter.”

  Lane stopped, holding the mochaccino in one hand and the coffee in the other. “What did it say?”

  “It suggested they start saving for their daughter’s funeral.” Keely started walking east. “My mom is freaking.”

  “And your dad?”

  “I’m afraid of what he might do. When it comes to his kids, he takes threats really seriously.” Kelly looked toward the glass and blue metal of City Hall as they waited for the green light.

  “What do you think?” Lane stood beside her and watched her reaction from the edge of his peripheral vision.

  Keely shrugged. “I wonder why we just get threats and never any follow-through.”

  “Why warn the prey when you’re planning an attack?” Lane asked.

  “Exactly.”

  “You kept the letter?”

  “Of course.”

  “Would you bring it in? I have someone who might be willing to take a close look at it.”

  “Okay.” Keely stepped onto the street. They walked in silence back to the office. Lori was at her desk.

  “Got something for you,” Lori said as Lane set the mochaccino down in front of her. “Last year there was a guy from The Hague here for a convention. Gave a talk about prosecuting war criminals. Left his card. I phoned him and just caught him before he left his office. He works for the International Criminal Court. He’s going to fax us copies of any documents he can find relating to either Borislav Goran or Andelko Branimir.”

  At six-thirty, Keely stood up from behind her desk and stretched. “No luck so far on a last name for Mladen.”

  “Maybe we should try checking out some st
reet venues? The guy needs to make a living.” Lane looked at his screen and the list of upcoming events. “Or we could hang out at Kensington and wait for Leo to turn up.”

  “Leo ever been arrested?” Keely asked.

  “Don’t know.” Lane pointed at his screen. “There’s something happening at Marda Loop on Friday night.”

  “Be nice to get out of here. The atmosphere is a bit chilly.” Keely sat down and looked out over her computer.

  Lane looked at Keely. She was still wearing her jacket. He looked sideways at her.

  “I’m not talking temperature.” Keely frowned at him.

  “Oh. You mean the leper thing?” Lane asked.

  “Leper?”

  “You and I made Smoke look bad. Some of the guys around here are Smoke’s boys. And I’m under investigation.”

  “For what?” Keely asked.

  “I went out one night with a Glock and came back without it. Smoke disregarded the circumstances and ordered an investigation.”

  While listening to the grandfather clock ticking and Arthur snoring on the couch, Lane rubbed Roz behind the ears and thought about taking her for a walk.

  Matt was at a movie and Christine was out with friends. Just enjoy the quiet while it lasts, Lane thought.

  Arthur’s snoring stopped and he sat up. “You think it’ll be okay?”

  “I do. I don’t know why, I just know it will be all right. They caught the cancer early. We have a good doctor.” Lane looked at Arthur.

  The phone rang. Lane picked it up. “It’s Keely.”

  Lane waited when he heard the tremor in her voice.

  “There’s a message painted on my garage door.”

  “Are you safe?” Lane asked.

  “I think so. I don’t want to call my parents. They’re already upset enough. I’m sorry. I just didn’t know who else to call.”

  “Give me your address,” Lane said.

  Twenty-five minutes later, he was there.

  Keely lived in a condo on the western edge of the city. All the homes were two stories and had either one- or two-car garages. Fresh sod lay out front of 423. RAT was scrawled in red on the garage door. Lane parked across the street.

  “I’m sorry.” Keely had the door open before Lane could press the doorbell. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Her red hair was down around her shoulders.

  “Don’t be sorry.” Lane looked to his left at the garage door. “Any other messages?”

  Keely shook her head. “It’s an escalation. It was letters and phone calls before.”

  Lane walked to the garage door to take a closer look. The T on RAT had a tail that curled down to the right hand corner of the door. “Not very original.”

  Keely had her arms crossed under her breasts. “That’s what I thought.”

  “Did you give the restaurant owner your address or phone number when you worked there?”

  “No. Both were bogus.” Keely went back to the front door. “Want a coffee?”

  “Okay.” Lane followed her inside, took off his shoes, and walked down the hallway to the kitchen and living room. The floors were the same maple as the cabinets. The blinds were open, and the window looked out to trees and blue sky. “Nice view.” He looked at the law books on the coffee table and the picture of Keely with a blond-haired young man.

  “We like it.” She turned to Lane after pouring water into the coffee machine. “His name is Dylan. He’s finishing his last year of law school.” Keely closed the top of the coffee maker and switched it on. She sat on the loveseat across from Lane and put her feet on the coffee table. “Dylan’s on his way. He was getting some stuff set up at the university.”

  “Have you got the letters?” Lane asked.

  “In an envelope on the kitchen table.” Keely looked over Lane’s shoulder and into the kitchen.

  “I’d like to get forensics to look at your garage door and the letters you’ve received thus far.” Lane smelled coffee brewing and closed his eyes.

  “Thus far?” Keely sat up.

  “Do you think he’ll quit?” Lane asked.

  Keely shook her head, got up, and went to pour two cups of coffee. “Cream and sugar, right?”

  “Please.” Lane watched as she set the cup down in front of him. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” Keely sat down. “I didn’t want to tell my dad. Things are pretty strained between us.”

  Lane waited.

  “Ever since I moved in with Dylan, it’s like my dad’s disappointed in me. Nothing’s ever said. I guess that’s the problem; we don’t talk. We used to be really close, but now he avoids me.”

  “Families are complicated.” Lane looked at his coffee.

  “I hear you’ve got kids.”

  “A niece and a nephew. Both came with baggage.” Keely’s easy to talk to.

  “What kind of baggage?” Keely cradled her cup and sat back.

  “Christine is my niece. She was rejected by her mother and escaped a polygamist community. My nephew Matt lost his mom to cancer. His dad started a new family. Matt was excess baggage as far as his dad was concerned. Now Matt’s having to be the rock in the family while the rest of us spin out of control.”

  “Lori told me about Arthur. When is the operation?”

  “We visit the surgeon. Then we find out.”

  Keely shrugged. “What about you? How come you’re spinning out of control?”

  Change the subject. “You didn’t give your address or phone to the manager of the restaurant when you were undercover. But the person who painted your garage door also knows where your parents live. And I’m assuming all of your addresses are unlisted?”

  Keely nodded.

  “Then there’s another avenue to consider.” Lane set his coffee down.

  “What’s that?”

  “The person responsible is probably a police officer with access to your personal information.”

  WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 22

  chapter 8

  “Dr. Weaver?” Lane was on the phone at his desk at six o’clock the next morning. He had been prepared for an answering machine, but wasn’t surprised when Fibre answered.

  “Yes.”

  “My new partner is being threatened. This time the threat was painted on her garage door. She’s received a series of threatening letters. Will you look into it?” Lane thought, This isn’t exactly part of Fibre’s job description, but it’s worth a try.

  “Of course. What’s her address?”

  Lane gave Fibre the address and hung up. Why does he sound grateful? Ever since he dropped the N-bomb on Christine, he’s been trying to make it up to me.

  He walked down the hallway to the fax machine. He fingered through the waiting documents and found twenty-six pages waiting for him. As he walked back to his desk, he saw that the name Borislav Goran figured prominently on each page.

  Two hours later, Lane had the names and events mapped out on his computer. Corresponding images were added as visual reminders. Events and people were connected with arrows.

  “Good morning.” Keely put a cup of coffee on his desk. She sat down at her desk and sipped her cup. “Thanks for sending Dr. Weaver over. Odd character, that one. When I left, Dylan was trying to start up a conversation — without much success.”

  “That’s Fibre for you. Great with the dead. Hopeless with the living. Thanks for the coffee, by the way.” Lane took a taste. “Perfect.”

  Lori stood at the door to their office. She held a cup of tea in her hand. “Who do I thank for this?”

  Lane pointed at Keely. “You’re easy to train,” Lori smiled.

  Keely tilted her head to one side to see what Lane was working on. “The faxes came in this morning,” he said.

  “Then I’d better let you get to work.” Lori left.

  “What do you want me to do?” Keely asked.

  “Take a look at these faxes, see what you can make of them. Add another perspective. How long do you think you’ll need?”

  Keely flipped
through the pages. “An hour, or maybe a bit more.”

  “Can we meet at nine o’clock then?” Lane stood up. “I’ve got an appointment at eleven.”

  Gregory appeared in the doorway with his hands raised, palms pushed against either side of the doorframe. “Taking time off again, I see.”

  “That’s right.” Lane crossed his arms and waited for the staff sergeant to finish.

  Keely sighed.

  Gregory looked at her and nodded in Lane’s direction. “Don’t learn any bad habits from this one. He won’t be around for long.”

  “I was hoping you’d return.” Dr. Alexandre handed Lane a cup of coffee and sat across from him at the round table.

  Lane set the coffee down and looked around the room. There were certificates on the wall and plants thirsty for water. He looked over the fresh cut flowers on the table. “You didn’t think I’d show?”

  “No.” Dr. Alexandre waited for Lane’s reaction.

  It’s odd being analyzed instead of doing the analysis. “What kind of coffee is this?” Lane asked.

  “Trade secret,” the doctor said.

  “Perked?”

  The doctor nodded. “Your powers of observation are not in question here.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” Lane said.

  “Yes you do.”

  Lane hesitated. He’d heard the “Let’s cut through the bullshit” tone in her voice.

  “If you want to ask, then ask. Let’s get it out of the way,” the doctor said.

  She trusts you. She’s not judging you. Maybe you should give her the same courtesy. “When did you have reassignment surgery?”

  “Fourteen years ago.”

  “You don’t mind being asked?”

  “No. Do you mind being asked about being gay?” The doctor took a sip of coffee and waited.

  Loraine said you could trust her. That’s all you really need to know. Except maybe that you’re not going to get out of this black hole on your own. “Depends on who’s doing the asking.”

  “Yesterday, you spoke of being locked out of your family home,” Alexandre said.

  “Yes.”

  Alexandre leaned over to put her coffee down. Again, Lane spotted the doctor’s Adam’s apple as the collar of her blue sleeveless top fell forward. I’m glad that’s out of the way. “Last night I had a nightmare. I used to have them quite a bit after what happened when I was thirteen.” Lane sat back and studied the doctor. Alexandre was still, her face a mask.