A radio or television tower rose on his right, its guy wires stretching up into the storm. Then it was gone. Cori’s taillights disappeared. A sign appeared in a world turned white: Artist Viewpoint. Then he saw a yellow sign warning of an upcoming turn and eased off the accelerator. The Jeep’s headlights focused into a cone where white snowflakes were illuminated, sweeping out of the dark on one side, into the night on the other.
Another yellow warning sign. Another turn. The Jeep skidded. One tire found a patch of gravel. Lane steered out of the turn. Up ahead, another ninety-degree turn and a pair of red eyes staring back out of the white and the night. He eased his foot off the accelerator. The Jeep skidded, then recovered.
The BMW brake lights came closer. Lane put his right foot on the brake pedal. He pulled off onto the edge of the road, turning on his four-way flashers, shifted into neutral, pulled the emergency brake, and reached to pick his phone out of his pocket. Nigel has it!
Lane opened the door, pulling the Glock out of its holster. He looked left and right, then into the white. Seeing no halo of approaching headlights, he crossed the road. He slid down into the ditch, balancing with his left hand, holding the Glock high. His right foot stepped on a walnut-sized piece of gravel and he winced. Shit!
The BMW was on its roof, hung up in a barbed-wire fence, its passenger side against a tree. He pulled a flashlight out of his pocket, shining it on the driver’s door. His Glock followed the light. Airbags hung down from the steering wheel, obscuring half the shattered driver’s window. The driver’s door began to open. Cori tumbled out on her hands and knees. “Who are you?”
“Lie face down. Put your hands on the back of your head.” Lane aimed the light in her eyes.
“I’m the victim here. Andrew told me he would kill me if I didn’t do what he said.”
“Lie face down!” He held the Glock out front of the light so she could see its lethal black silhouette.
Cori did as she was told.
“I am a police officer. You are being placed under arrest.” Lane came closer, crouching, putting a knee in the small of her back, holstering the Glock, grabbing her left wrist with his right hand, reaching for his handcuffs. He locked her right hand first, then her left, lifting her to her feet.
“I’m cut.” She wiped her chin on her shoulder.
I don’t give a fuck! “Walk to the road.”
“I think the airbag broke one of my ribs.” She walked ahead. Lane saw she still wore her white booties over a pair of lace-up boots.
He put his right hand in the small of her back, pushing her up out of the ditch and onto the road. She slipped on the black ice, falling to her knees. “You made me fall.”
Socks are better on this. “Get up.”
He pulled her up by her right elbow. They walked across the road to the Jeep. “Stop.” He held the cuffs with his right hand, pushing her up against the side of the Jeep, and opened the door with his left. “Back up.” He grabbed the chain joining the cuffs, pulling her backwards so he could sit in the driver’s seat. He pulled his feet in, then felt for the heater control. He turned the hot air onto his feet. He switched hands with the cuffs, pulling out his Glock with his right hand.
“I’m cold. Let me sit inside,” Cori said.
Lane heard the pleading in her tone, but he also heard the calculation. You remind me of my siblings. “You’ll be inside soon enough.” He watched the snow gathering on her shoulders and hair. Then he remembered her face – that smile of anticipation, that tone of command – when she told her husband to kill one of Donna’s boys. He looked at the Glock. He looked at her, remembering the bodies in the Randall home. She might be able to get away with this. I could put this gun to the back of her neck, and she will never hurt another person.
“I want a lawyer.”
Lane flashed back to the startled look on Andrew Pierce’s face when the bullets hit his chest. He felt the weight of the weapon in his hand, the power of it. “You have that right, and you will have the others read to you momentarily.” I could put the gun to the base of her skull, angle the barrel up into the brain, and squeeze the trigger. I already killed the husband. It was easier than I thought it would be. I’m a killer because of this one. Lane stared at the gun in his hand, seeing his forefinger across the trigger guard. Blue-and-white lights flashed, illuminating the inside of the Jeep’s cab in an eerie alternating dance. Lane looked left over his shoulder. The headlights of the approaching vehicle flashed on and off. Then another vehicle’s flashing lights approached. The first vehicle stopped. The headlights were almost a metre off of the ground. McTavish is here.
The driver’s door opened. “Everything under control?” McTavish asked before he stepped out in front of his headlights.
“She’s cuffed. She needs her rights read to her. Take her, please.” Lane watched as McTavish took hold of Cori’s elbow. Another officer stepped into the glare of the headlights.
Cori said, “This man shot my husband.”
McTavish turned to the officer beside him. “Wait for a moment. I want to be a witness as you read her rights.”
Lane saw the officer was wearing his blues underneath a nylon jacket. The officer looked at Lane, then took Cori by the elbow, reading her rights. McTavish nodded when the officer was finished, and took Cori back to the pickup.
McTavish held out his hand. “ASIRT is on its way. So is Harper. I need your weapon.”
Lane pointed his Glock at the dash and ejected the clip, then the round in the chamber. The slide was open. McTavish pulled a bag out of his pocket. He took the bits of the Glock one by one, placing them in the bag. “What can I get you?”
Lane tried to smile. He shrugged instead. He heard a voice. “A cup of coffee and my shoes.” His voice sounded vague, unfamiliar. “Someone needs to give the Randall family a call.”
SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 9
chapter 21
Fugitive Polygamist Arrested at the Border
Canadian border authorities arrested Efram Milton, the self-proclaimed prophet of Paradise, at the Chief Mountain Border Crossing in southern Alberta. Milton was attempting to cross into Montana.
Two females, aged thirteen and fourteen, with Milton at the time of his arrest, were taken into protective custody. Initial reports suggest the girls were being transported to a polygamist community in Utah.
The RCMP confiscated four firearms, including a Heckler and Kock 9-mm handgun, a shotgun, and two Winchesters. They also found a large duffle bag filled with an unspecified amount of cash. A second male was arrested at the scene. His name has not been released.
Milton escaped custody in Calgary and was the subject of a province-wide manhunt. He was remanded in custody and will face a series of new charges in a Calgary court on Monday.
Arthur waited at the door as Lane was dropped off mid-morning. He hugged his partner in the doorway. Lane kicked off his shoes. After Arthur released him, Lane sat down and peeled off his still-damp socks.
“What do you need?” Arthur asked.
“A bath.” Lane took off his winter jacket and hung it up. It’s amazing. Here I am doing the usual things as if nothing has changed.