Alex asked, “Can we relax? You told me this was the best pizza place in town. How about we just enjoy a night out? And Matt, your black eye is scaring people.”
Dan smiled. “It does look remarkably sinister.”
Christine laughed. “Matt will scare the monsters away from Indy’s closet.”
Two waiters dressed in white shirts and black pants arrived with pizzas. “Quattro stagioni?” Dan raised his hand. The thin-crust pizza was placed before him. He inhaled, rolling his eyes with pleasure.
“Romana?”
“Please.” Lane pointed at the place setting in front of him.
“What are those things?” Alex nodded at Lane’s pizza.
“Anchovies.” He cut a pie-shaped slice, waiting for the inevitable response.
“What?” Alex grimaced.
“Tiny stinky fishies.” Christine shook her head.
A second round of pizzas arrived, followed by Matt’s calzone. He got busy cutting up Alex’s pizza for her.
Alex looked at the dark-haired waiter. “What does pulcinella mean?”
The waiter smiled as if he’d been waiting for someone to ask. “A funny guy who makes people laugh.”
Indiana smiled. Alex looked down at him, pointing. “He’s our funny guy. I’ve already written about him on my blog.”
Lane had been inhaling the scent of tomato sauce, oregano, and basil. He suddenly looked up, eyes wide. He stared blankly at the waiter, who asked, “Is there a problem with the pizza, sir?”
“No, he’s just had an epiphany. Or an orgasm. Sometimes it’s hard to tell with him.” Arthur rolled up a wedge of pizza and closed his eyes, chewing then covering his mouth with his open left hand. “Thank you, Alex! This was a wonderful idea.”
The waiter’s eyebrows met in the middle; then he rushed away.
WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 5
chapter 17
This is Shazia Wajdan.
A daring daytime escape occurred on Crowchild Trail this morning. Eyewitness Wayne Long describes what happened.
CUT TO WAYNE LONG “I was following the sheriff’s paddy wagon. Two pickup trucks cut me off, then forced the paddy wagon to the side of the road. Guys jumped out of the trucks with long guns. I called 911.”
Another eyewitness, who declined to appear on camera, said one of the guards and a prisoner got into one of the pickups and were driven away. The guard in the driver’s seat was taken to hospital with undetermined injuries. So far there is no word on the identity of the escaped prisoner.
Shazia Wajdan, CBC News, Calgary.
Lane set the phone in its cradle, turning to a waiting Nigel. “Efram Milton escaped.”
Nigel leaned away from his computer. “How?”
“Milton was being transported. The transport van was forced off the road by two pickup trucks. Milton and one of the guards are missing. The other guard is in hospital suffering from a concussion.”
Nigel looked at the ceiling. “The missing guard was in on it?”
Lane shrugged. “It’s a possibility.”
Lane followed Dr. Pierce along one of the walkways connecting the education building to the library tower. A machine with a rolling blue brush threw a cloud of white into the air as it spun snow from the walkway. Pierce was bareheaded, wearing a calf-length cashmere overcoat, a blue scarf, and black leather gloves.
Dr. Pierce turned left, opening one of the heavy glass doors leading into the library foyer. Lane watched as Pierce opened his coat, turning away from the escalator. He walked through a door on the south side of the library.
Lane opened the door, feeling the rush of warm air, but kept his toque on as he followed. Through the open door he saw a room filled with computers. Pierce sat down at a computer with his back to the wall.
Lane backed out of the door, moving to the far side of the escalator to wait. He unzipped his jacket and took off his gloves.
Twenty minutes later, Lane was scratching his head while checking the time on his phone. This toque is so damned itchy!
Dr. Pierce appeared in the doorway, buttoning his coat and arranging his scarf.
Lane turned, watching Pierce’s reflection in the glass. He waited for the professor to walk outside, then followed him to the parking lot south of the education building where his Porsche was parked. The detective made his way to the Jeep, two rows over with a clear view of the Porsche. Lane climbed into the Jeep, pushed in the clutch, and started the engine. I wish this thing had heated seats. He turned on the windshield defroster, then grabbed the gearshift.
Pierce drove toward the south exit facing Father David Bower Arena, turning toward Crowchild Trail. Lane followed the Porsche when it was momentarily out of sight behind a stand of evergreens. Pierce turned onto southbound Crowchild. Lane kept a white pickup between him and the Porsche as they followed Crowchild Trail’s descent into the Bow River Valley. When they stopped at a red light, Lane picked up his phone and dialed Lori.
“Yes, Paul?”
“Can you and Nebal check the social media accounts of Cori and Andrew Pierce for any recent entries?”
“Will do.” Lori hung up.
The light turned green. Pierce turned left, heading toward Kensington.
Pierce parked in front of the Plaza Theatre. It was a white building built in 1935, nestled between a newer building housing a pair of restaurants and the open face of Pages Bookstore.
We’re getting back to where we started. Lane turned down a side street, parking out of sight of Pierce, who walked to the front door of the theater. The billboard above the door announced that The Big Sleep was playing. The detective’s phone rang. “Lane.”
“Nigel. Cori Pierce just parked across from the street from you.”
Lane checked his rear-view mirror, seeing her getting out of a grey BMW X5. She wore an ankle-length silver fox fur coat. The collar was tucked up over her ears.
“Got her. Thanks.” Lane undid his seat belt.
“I’m down the street to the west.”
“The professor went to the Plaza. That’s probably where she’s headed.”
“I’ve got a good spot here to watch the front door. You want to take the back?”
Lane recognized the smile in Nigel’s voice. “You’ve got a nice warm spot?”
“Gotta love these heated seats. The suspects are out in front of the theatre. Keep close to the storefronts, then duck into the bookstore. But first, look up.” Nigel hung up.
What the hell does that mean? Lane didn’t see Cori Pierce near the front of the Plaza. He climbed out of the Jeep, locking it. Then he pulled on his toque, stepping over a pile of crusty snow left by a plow, and walked across the street, making for Pages Books. If memory serves, they have a fire escape looking down over the rear of the Plaza. He opened the front door of the bookstore, spotting several patrons lined up at the counter. He caught a whiff of cigarette smoke and nodded at Sarah. He glanced at the stairs. She smiled. Lane climbed the stairs, unzipping his coat and taking off his toque and mitts. The wall was adorned with black-and-white photographs of writers in literary poses.
He got to the top of the stairs, turned right, and looked out the rear window. A spider’s web of power lines crisscrossed the alleyway. Lane used his right hand to push back a curtain and open a metal door. He stepped out onto the staircase and closed the door behind him. A woman wearing a tan wool coat stood halfway down the fire escape. Looking out over the cars parked below, she brought a cigarette to her lips. Simone glanced over her shoulder, taking another hit of nicotine and nodding at the detective. “Come out to enjoy the sky?” She tipped her head to the right.
Lane looked at the belly of a smoky-blue chinook, then to the west, where the edge of the arch met blue sky. That’s what Nigel was talking about!