Lori said, “Will do.” She hung up.
Lane’s phone rang again. He looked at the face, recognized McTavish’s number, and put the phone to his ear. “Yes.”
McTavish said, “Tell us where we can back you up. We’re headed parallel along 45th Street. The suspect took a long look at us in his rear-view. Keep this line open and update me.”
“Okay.” Lane watched the BMW surge ahead. Nigel put his foot to the floor, still losing ground.
Lane blinked, shaking his head, tapping Nigel’s right arm. I hope I’ve got this right. “Hang back. I know where they’re going. Andrew said it’s a two-fer. Cori said the total would be five. The woman in Mount Royal is one.” And Donna has an envelope full of hundred-dollar bills to pay the contractor tomorrow. Cori must know about it. Lane spoke into the phone. “They’re headed for Cougar Ridge.” He gave McTavish the address.
Lane squinted to keep the taillights of the grey BMW in view. The rain turned to snow; visibility dropped to less than one hundred metres. The wipers worked at full speed, the detectives staring into the white headlight glare, searching for the BMW. Above them they saw faces in windows as the LRT flashed overhead. They passed under the 17th Avenue Bridge. Momentary calm. They came out from under the bridge and back into the blizzard’s breath.
“I can’t see them.” Nigel shifted into a lower gear. The engine roared.
Lane hung on. They reached the lights at Bow Trail. The light was red. The Pierce BMW wasn’t in sight. Nigel waited for a break in traffic, turning left against the red and up the curve of the hill. The Jeep’s traction control kicked in and out.
Less than five minutes later they pulled up in front of Donna’s house. Across the street a thin layer of snow coated the roof and rear window of the BMW with the DR DETH licence plate. Nigel parked in front of it.
Lane saw fresh footprints in the snow. He got out and followed the trail to the back of the house. There was a hole smashed in the glass of the door to Donna’s shop. Lane tried the handle. It opened. He turned to Nigel, bringing the thumb and pinky finger of his right hand to his ear, handing him the phone. Nigel nodded, taking Lane’s phone. He stepped inside, seeing the open door at the back of Donna’s salon. He slipped on the floor. He looked down at his snow-covered shoes and patches of wet on the linoleum. I need quiet, and I can’t slip. He placed the right toe on the heel of the left foot, pulling his left foot out, then freeing his right. He padded to the bottom of the stairs, noting the carpet, pulled out his Glock, eased the slide back, and put a round into the chamber. He felt his way upstairs.
He heard the professor’s voice. “Let’s make this easy. We’re here for the money.”
Lane reached the top of the stairs, turning right along a hallway leading to the kitchen. It was on his left with the family room on the right. Beyond that, a door led to the deck. Andrew and Cori wore matching blue overalls, standing side by side with their backs to Lane. Both wore white hairnets and booties. Beyond them Lane could see Donna and her husband in kitchen chairs. Both had their waists, wrists, and ankles wrapped with silver duct tape. Cori moved away from them with the roll of tape in her right hand. Donna spotted Lane, then looked to her left. She’s telling me her boys are to my right.
Lane tapped his index finger on the trigger guard of his Glock.
Cori said, “I’ll ask once more. Then someone will die if you don’t answer. Where did you stash the cash?”
Lane moved forward, seeing the handgun in Andrew Pierce’s right hand. He stood to the right and about two metres from Donna and her husband. Pierce raised his weapon, holding it in both hands, aiming at Donna.
Lane felt his arm bringing the Glock to bear on the professor. Remember to breathe.
“Kill the oldest boy,” Cori said.
Lane took in the scene, his training making the moves automatic. He cupped his left hand under his right. I have a clear line of fire.
The professor began to swing the handgun to his right.
“No!” Donna said. “It’s in the upstairs laundry closet!”
Pierce hesitated.
“Kill him anyway.” Cori smiled.
“Police!” Lane forced himself to take a long, slow breath while aiming for the professor’s torso.
Andrew Pierce turned toward the detective. Lane noticed the man’s eyes were wide with wild excitement. The detective moved his finger onto the trigger, centring the sight on the man’s sternum.
BOOM! Pierce fired. One hundred sixty decibels were confined to the kitchen and family room. Lane didn’t hear the bullet hit the wall twenty centimetres from his head. He squeezed the trigger of his Glock, feeling the shock of recoil. BOOM! One of the boys screamed. Pierce looked surprised, touching his chest with his left fingertips. His right still held the gun, pointing to the ceiling, then lowering. Is he wearing Kevlar? Lane aimed at the hole in the professor’s chest, squeezing. BOOM! The spent shell casing bounced off the wall, hitting the back of Lane’s right hand. His nose filled with the musky stink of burnt oil and powder. He saw two holes in the centre of the man’s coveralls, yet the professor was still standing. Pierce aimed at the detective. Lane squeezed the trigger.
BOOM! A hole appeared where the professor’s right eye had been. His body folded, flopping onto the floor.
Cori moved to her left. Lane saw the box cutter in her right hand. “Drop the knife.” He levelled his gun at her chest.
She dropped the yellow knife, pointing at the professor. “He forced me into this.”
“Bullshit!” Donna leaned forward to stand, falling back into the chair. “Cut me loose! I’ll kill you, you fucking cow!”
Lane heard a child crying.
He stepped further into the room, looking to his right. Hansen sat on a black leather couch. His eyes were open wide as were his younger brother’s. Both boys had their hands tied together with white plastic cuffs. The younger boy wailed, staring at Dr. Pierce’s twitching right foot. Blood stained the carpet. The boys lifted their feet up onto the couch. One had a dark wet stain in his crotch. Lane walked into the room, picking up Andrew’s weapon.
“Cut me the fuck loose! She’s getting away!” Donna said.
Lane looked left, seeing Cori stepping out the door to the deck. Then he heard her feet pounding as she ran. He felt a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?” Nigel stepped up beside him. Lane looked left at his partner.
Donna said, “We’re okay! Get Cori!”
Lane holstered his Glock, ejected the clip from Pierce’s handgun, then the round from the chamber, setting the gun on the counter. He experienced an instant of absolute clarity as he made eye contact with his partner. “You got this?”
Nigel nodded, holding his phone up in his left hand. “Backup is almost here. I’ll phone for an ambulance.”
“Give me the keys.” Lane felt them being placed in his palm, detached from the touch of metal and plastic against flesh. He turned and went out the front door, then walked down the front steps and to the front edge of the garage. The BMW’s starter whined. The engine caught. He saw Cori behind the windshield, the wipers swiping snow away from the glass. The V-8 engine roared. Cori pulled away.
Lane ran for the Jeep. It wasn’t until his right foot wrapped its toes onto the accelerator that he remembered where he’d left his shoes.
He followed Cori south, then west. She has the advantage on performance. The snow and ice will even things out.
Cori slid around a corner, driving over a stop sign, heading west along a straight stretch of road. Lane rounded the corner, pressing the accelerator. The BMW pulled away.
Blue, red, and white lights flashed ahead. Cori’s brake lights came on. Lane heard a siren. A black-and-white police SUV passed them going in the opposite direction. Cori turned left. He caught a glimpse of a road sign: Old Banff Coach Road. He remembered being eight or nine in the back seat of his father’s black Cadillac, feeling sick after a series of sharp turns. He pressed down on the accelerator. The Jeep skidded, swaying, skipping, and gripping over patches of snow and ice. The plows and sanders won’t hit this stretch of road for hours. He backed off the pedal while Cori accelerated.