Lori watched as Cori walked back through the salon, making her way to the washroom.
Donna finished with the dryer and brush, removing the black cape. “Happy?”
Lori looked at the way Donna had framed her face. John had better notice the new style if he knows what’s good for him. She nodded. “I like it.”
Donna smiled, handing Lori a card. “I’m opening my own shop in about six weeks. Call me if you want to set up another appointment.”
Lori took the card, stashing it in her purse. She stood up. “Moving on?”
“Something like that.” Donna looked at Lori, dropping her volume. “Four months here convinced me to have a shop built in my house. It’s more than halfway done.”
Go for it. Lori nodded in Cori’s direction. “Can’t stomach that one going after boys the same age as your son?” She reached into her purse for her wallet.
“Pretty much.”
Nigel drove them north along Macleod Trail. Traffic was gathering itself, building up to rush-hour intensity. Lori sat in the back seat of the Chev. “So, I would say Cori is a suspect and Donna is not. She senses something is wrong in the salon, sees Cori as the source of it, and is getting out of there.” She leaned over to check herself in Nigel’s rear-view mirror. “John better notice the new hair or he’ll be sleeping on the floor with the dog.”
Lane asked, “You’re happy with it?” If Donna made a mess of Lori’s hair, I’ll never hear the end of it.
“She’s very good. I’ve been looking for a new hairdresser, and I think I’ve found her.” Lori looked up at the driver of the pickup next to them. “You know what they say about big twucks?”
“What do they say?” Nigel took his foot off the brake as the light turned green.
“Teeny tiny tallywackers. Speaking of tallywackers, Cori appears to prefer hers young – early teens, in fact. I would call her a predator. She did say something rather unusual as well. Let me see if I can recall the exact words.” Lori looked left at Chinook Mall as they passed it. “Sure you guys don’t want to take me shopping too? I’ll buy the coffee.”
Lane looked at Nigel, who raised his eyebrows.
“I remember now. Cori said, ‘I go along on his excursions and he allows me my diversions.’ It was the way she said it that kind of stuck with me. Like she had some big secret and was telling only a bit of the story.” She tapped Nigel on the shoulder. “Home, Mr. Li.”
An hour later, Lane and Nigel sat looking at the wide screen on Lane’s desk.
Nigel said, “I thought I was on to a pair of suspects after checking the passenger lists. They were on two of the flights around the time of the murders in Toronto and New York. The problem is the IDs are bogus.”
“Do you have the names?”
“Karly A. Williams and Clayton Olson.”
Lane frowned. What is it about that name?
Nigel looked at Lane. “I’ve been thinking about it for the last couple of hours. Do you see it?”
“The Olson is obvious. What about hers?”
“Karly A. as in Karla Homolka and Williams as in Colonel Russell Williams.”
“Shit.” Lane entered the names on his diagram.
“Exactly.” Nigel rubbed his forehead. “What’s our next move?”
Lane looked out the window of the LRT car. It rocked from side to side. The wheels hummed as they rolled above the Bow River. The ice on the river wore a fresh coat of snow, softening the rough edges of ice packed up along either side of the river. It had been left there after an early January chinook bathed the city in warm winds and the resultant melt. An overnight drop to minus twenty-five left the middle of the river open in a few places where steam rose into the night. He studied the houses and apartments on the right. In front of one building, a barge of a sedan wore a knitted car cover topped with a red pompom. He smiled.
His phone rang, and he reached for it.
“Where are you?” Matt’s voice carried an air of authority.
“On the LRT.”
“Where?”
Lane looked out the window at the lights of the Alberta College of Art and Design, a brick building next to an approaching train platform. “ACAD.”
“I’ll pick you up at Brentwood.”
Lane heard and felt the train began to slow. “Which side?”
“The Co-Op side. I’m on my way.” Matt ended the conversation and was waiting in the BMW as Lane came down the stairs after crossing the pedestrian bridge over Crowchild Trail. The January wind stung his face as he opened the passenger door and climbed in. He closed the door, feeling the warmth of the heated seat.
“We need another car.” Matt pointed over his shoulder at the empty car seat in the back. “I’ve been driving all over the place. Christine decided she wanted to get out of the house. And Arthur wants to buy some stuff for the baby. Naturally, everyone wanted to come along.”
“Where’s Alex?” Lane did up his seat belt while they waited at a stoplight.
Matt blushed. “At the mall. Indiana has four bodyguards.”
The entourage surrounded Indiana when Lane and Matt found the five having something to eat at the food court in Market Mall. Christine was wearing black pants and a blue sweater. He noted the admiring glances from a table of nearby teenaged boys who looked from Christine to Alex and back again. Then he saw Christine and Dan’s eyes constantly monitoring the crowd. A passerby came within a metre of the baby stroller. Christine placed both of her hands on the stroller’s handle, and Dan stood. The passerby passed on by. Dan sat. Lane thought, Alison, you nasty, self-important, self-righteous zealot. He said, “Anyone else want a coffee?”
“I win!” Dan threw his arms in the air.
Arthur smiled. “We had a bet going on about how long it would take before you wanted a coffee.”
“I’d like a hot drink.” Alex said.
Lane smiled, seeing Alex in a fleece bomber jacket zipped to the chin and leaning into Matt sitting next to her. “Warm me up.” Then she looked at Lane. “Tea, please.”
Lane walked over to the coffee shop, placed the orders, paid, and waited while he inhaled the aromas from the espresso machine. He looked around at the others waiting for coffee, fixing coffee, paying for coffee. A woman had her purse open, her change purse and a credit card in her left hand. Her left thumb held a Canadian passport against the change purse. Lane thought about another case.
When he returned and distributed the three drinks, Arthur asked, “What?”
Lane looked at Arthur, who held Indiana. The baby seemed content to doze in the crook of his partner’s arm. “What are you asking?”
Arthur used his free hand to point at Lane. “You’ve got that look on your face. Either you’ve got indigestion or you’ve had some kind of epiphany about your case.”
Matt said, “Looks like gas to me.”
Dan said, “Or he’s had one too many coffees.”
Christine said, “He’s always had one too many coffees!”
Alex asked, “You’re on a case?”
That’s when the laughter began. Then Indiana woke up and started to cry, setting off a flurry of activity around him.
“What’s going on here?” Arthur wore his glasses, sitting up in bed with a book on his lap.
“Could you be a bit more specific?” Lane lifted the covers, sliding in on his side of the bed.
“Matt and Alex went to a movie.” Arthur took his glasses off.
“Yes. The baby is asleep, and Christine and Dan are as well.” Where is this going?
“I’m worried about Matt, and I’m worried about what will happen when Alison gets out of jail.”
“She could get six months or she could get ten years.”