Five hours later, Lori opened the door. “Aren’t you two going for lunch?”
Nigel looked up at her. “Do you know how we can get one of those big monitors?”
Lori lifted her chin as Lane looked up from his small monitor. She said, “Give me a couple of minutes.”
Thirty minutes later, one of the department’s tech specialists knocked. Nigel opened the door. She wore a black blouse and slacks, a pair of pumps, and a tool belt.
The black-haired woman had an exotic accent, rolling her Rs. “You ordered a bigger monitor?”
Lane nodded. “That’s right.”
She pointed at them. “Give me a hand with this new one, then get out of my way.”
“Who are you?” Nigel asked.
“Nebal. Lori sent me.” She put her fists on her hips, pursing her red lips.
Lane saved what they’d been working on. “Want me to shut my computer down?”
Nebal nodded, moving into the office. She stood behind Lane’s monitor, watching as he shut down. When the computer’s cooling fan slowed, she disconnected the monitor.
Nigel and Lane picked up the new black-framed monitor from the flatbed cart in the hallway, manoeuvring it into the office. Nebal eased past them as she took the old monitor out. She smelled of incense. The detectives set the new monitor on Lane’s desk. It came within centimetres of spanning from one corner of the desk to the other.
Lori stood in the doorway. “Nebal, have you met these two before?” The tech stood up from behind the new monitor.
Lane turned, seeing Netsky looking over the top of Lori’s head. The detective glared as he took in the scene. “New toy?” There was sarcasm in his tone.
Lori turned. “Haven’t you got work to do, big boy?”
Netsky moved on down the hallway.
Lori turned back to face the men and pointed. “This is Detective Lane, and this is Detective Li.” She pointed at the tech. “This is Nebal.”
“How did you make this happen so fast?” Lane asked.
Lori gave Lane one of her you-don’t-really-want-to-know looks. “Get out of here and get some lunch so she can do her job.”
Lane and Nigel grabbed their winter coats and made their way outside. The sun sat low in the western sky, reflecting off the snow and making them reach for sunglasses as they walked west down the Stephen Avenue Mall toward the Greasy Spoon, a restaurant that never lived up to its name. A breeze blew down the mall, turning exposed flesh white and carrying their frosty breath away.
Nigel opened the door to the Greasy Spoon. They stepped inside, greeted by a blast of warm air and a curtain separating patrons from the cold.
A dark-haired waitress spotted them. Lane held up two fingers. “This way,” the waitress said, leading them past the counter and up the stairs to a table. “Coffee?”
“Please.” Lane took his jacket off, stuffing mitts and cap into the sleeve and hanging it on the back of his chair.
Nigel sat down across from him. The waitress returned with menus and a carafe of coffee. Both detectives stared at the steaming black liquid filling their cups. Neither spoke until the coffee had been doctored with cream and sugar and the first few sips of the narcotic’s warmth began to work its magic.
“I don’t think like you do.” Nigel set his cup down.
The waitress stopped to check whether they were ready to order, then left again.
“How’s that?” Lane wrapped his fingers around the cup, absorbing as much heat as possible.
“I see the details, the little things. You see the big picture. You like to think about what’s happening, and I need to talk about it.” Nigel looked nervously around him.
Lane saw the worry lines across Nigel’s forehead. “You think we have a problem?”
“I think I’m not helping the way I should.” Nigel hesitated as the waitress returned.
“Ready now?” She smiled.
Lane said. “Bacon and eggs. Eggs over medium. Wholewheat toast, please.”
The waitress turned to Nigel, who said, “Same with scrambled eggs, please.”
Lane waited for the waitress to leave. “I think it’s just the opposite, actually. We come at the case from different points of view. It means we’ll see more angles if we work at it from both viewpoints.”
Nigel frowned. “I’m not sure.”
“Look.” Lane put his coffee cup down. A passing waitress filled it up. Nigel shook his head. “You look at the details, and you like to talk it out. I look at the big picture and like to think it out. When those two different approaches come together, we have a better chance of finding the key to unlocking this one.”
“So, you think we have a key?” Nigel asked.
“A lock, at least. I’ve been reading over some of the files. Byron Thomas had jewellery from another break-in. It was a gold necklace from a burglary ten months before. The necklace did not come from the Bannerman house. It was identified as taken from a house in the southwest. The Bannerman murder was in the northwest. How did Byron Thomas get to the house in the southwest? I checked the map. According to one report, Byron liked to work within three kilometres of an LRT station. He would pick cans and bottles out of the blue boxes in the neighborhoods on the days they had garbage pickup. The house in the southwest is ten kilometres from the nearest LRT station and twelve from the nearest bottle recycler. It doesn’t fit his pattern.” Lane added sugar and cream to his refreshed coffee.
“How did I miss that?” Nigel asked.
“That’s what I mean. What one of us misses, the other sees. I got that one because I was driving to the hospital from work. I remembered how often I see homeless people near bottle depots. There’s a bottle depot near my place, and last summer I would see a guy going through my blue box early on the morning of the day of garbage pickup. It made me think, and when I looked back at the investigative reports I found the anomaly.” Lane stirred his coffee. “There’s nothing else to connect him to the Bannerman murder. No fingerprints. Nothing but the necklace and the blood on his shoe. The blood can be explained by his being in the house. It doesn’t prove he’s the killer.”
Nigel sat back, looking at the entrance to the restaurant. “I have an idea I need to check.” He began to stand up.
Lane held up his hand. “Eat first.”
After returning to the office, they spent the rest of the afternoon mapping the remainder of the information on the big screen. By the time seven o’clock rolled around, neither one could focus on what was in front of him.
“See you in the morning?” Lane asked.
Nigel nodded.
Twenty minutes later, Lane was driving west along the south side of the Bow River. It was insulated with its winter outfit of ice and snow. Foggy condensation rose over open patches of fast-moving water. Ahead of him was a fog of exhaust from vehicles. Not for the first time, he thanked Arthur for his insistence they get heated seats in this vehicle.
Ten minutes later, he pulled into the parkade at the Children’s Hospital, leaving the warmed-up car and beginning the long walk to the hallway and the main foyer. He went upstairs, following the red line on the floor. He walked past the paintings on the wall, past the nursing station, opening the door to Indiana’s room. A woman sat in the chair just inside the door. She held her breast up to her infant’s mouth.
Lane backed out the door. “Sorry!”
The woman ignored him. The door closed. Lane backed up and his right heel hit the base of the wall. It seemed the organs inside his chest were about to implode. Sweat gathered along his hairline. He looked down the hallway toward the nursing station. Slow down! Stop panicking!
“Your phone is beeping.”
Lane looked to his left and saw a small boy with a teddy bear stuck under his arm. He wore a pair of jeans, white running shoes, and a red T-shirt. “This is for my little sister.” He held the bear out front.