“No questions?” Arthur put his hand on Lane’s shoulder.
Lane tried to smile. “That would be nice.” He went upstairs, got a change of clothes from the bedroom, walked into the main bathroom, and locked the door. He ran the tub, got undressed, and got in. Every time the phone rang, he let his head fall back under the water, covering his ears. He got out when his feet and hands had started to wrinkle.
He dried himself off, put on a T-shirt and sweatpants, and went to bed.
MONDAY, FEBRUARY 10
chapter 22
This is Shazia Wajdan outside the home of University of Calgary professor Andrew Pierce.
Dr. Andrew Stephen Pierce, age thirty-five, was shot and killed by a member of the Calgary Police Service in the neighbourhood of Cougar Ridge late Saturday night.
At a news conference Sunday afternoon, CPS announced that the Alberta Serious Incident Response Team will investigate the officer-involved shooting.
CUT TO CHIEF JIM SIMPSON, CALGARY POLICE SERVICE “The ASIRT team has interviewed the officers involved as well as witnesses at the scene. ASIRT is in the process of investigating the sequence of events leading up to this fatality.”
Chief Simpson confirms that Cori Mallory Pierce, wife of Dr. Pierce, has been arrested and is in custody.
When asked to confirm reports of hostages being involved, Chief Simpson would not comment, noting that the investigation is in its early stages.
Colleagues of Dr. Pierce expressed shock at his death.
CUT TO DR. EDGAR WHILES, DEAN OF EDUCATION “He was such a vibrant man and active in the social life of the university. It’s shocking that he should die in such a violent manner.”
A check of Dr. Pierce’s Facebook account reveals several entries in which he expresses concern over his safety.
When asked about the possibility of overturning the conviction of Byron Thomas, who was found guilty of an earlier murder, Chief Simpson said that the process is already underway.
Shazia Wajdan, CBC News, Calgary.
Lane woke to the sound of Indiana crying. He turned over in the dark, looking at the clock. Eleven o’clock. I’ve slept more than twelve hours! He rolled out of bed, stuffed his feet into sandals, and moved downstairs. At the bottom of the stairs he looked to the right, where Arthur snored as he slept on the couch under a white comforter. Dan was in the kitchen holding the baby, trying to warm a bottle under the tap.
“Let me take him,” Lane said. Dan handed over Indy, who stopped crying for a moment, opened his eyes, then began to cry again. Dan tried the formula on his wrist and handed the bottle to Lane. The crying stopped when the bottle touched Indy’s mouth.
“You slept for a long time,” Dan said.
Lane nodded, feeling Indy’s warmth, seeing a tiny hand touch the glass of the bottle. “Go back to sleep. I’ve got this.”
“You sure?” Dan put his hand on Lane’s shoulder.
Lane smiled. “Yes.” He sat down on a kitchen chair while Dan went downstairs. Lane held the bottle for the baby while studying Indy’s open eyes, thick black hair, and round face. Lane stood up, looked out the window, saw snow falling. The flakes were loonie-sized. He leaned up over the sink and close to the window. Snowflakes created a halo around the streetlamp. The roof of their car appeared to have ten centimetres of snow on top. “What do you think of all this snow?”
Indy released his bottle. There was a hissing of air. Lane set the bottle on the counter and moved Indy up onto his shoulder. The detective began to pat the baby’s back. He could smell formula, baby shampoo, urine, and the faint scent of gun oil on his hands.
Lane started to move around the kitchen and dining room as he patted Indy’s back, not quite able to escape the scent of gun oil and flashbacks of Dr. Pierce’s open-eyed stare as he lay at the feet of Donna’s sons. I wonder how they’re doing?
Indy burped. Lane looked sideways at the baby, and he burped again. “Glad you enjoyed that.” Lane sat down and continued to feed Indy until the baby fell asleep.
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 11
chapter 23
Lane and Sam walked along the snow-covered sidewalk. The snow muffled noises except for the crunch of Lane’s boots as they compressed the white. His phone rang. Sam watched the detective fumble for it. I should throw it away. Instead, Lane looked at the face of the phone, recognized the number, and pressed the green with his thumb.
“I have some news for you,” Nigel said.
“All right.” Lane kept walking. Sam kept pulling the leash, and the detective kept yanking back.
“Forensics has been working overtime on the Pierce BMW. An external hard drive was sent to Nebal, who took about fifteen minutes to find her way into some video files. The professor and his wife kept records of six different crime scenes, a total of twelve homicides. The videos show Cori Pierce was an active participant, most often an instigator. Evidence is being prepared for the Crown Prosecutor. They also recovered the bullet Andrew Pierce fired at you. It’s intact and being processed as we speak.” Nigel waited. “I thought you’d want to know.”
“Thank you.”
“What are you doing?”
“Walking Sam the dog.” Lane saw a squirrel running along the top of a fence. Sam pulled on the leash.
“You did your job. You saved the lives of the innocents.”
I killed a man. I should feel something. I just feel numb. “Please call if there are more developments.”
“One other thing.”
The squirrel climbed a tree, looking down and chattering at Sam. “What’s that?”
“We found two empty blood bags in the back of the BMW. It’s been type matched to the blood spatter at the Pierce home. It’s also a type match to Cori and Andrew. DNA analysis will take a little longer. It looks like the social media entries made by Andrew, the 911 call, and blood evidence were designed to divert us. We were meant to assume the Pierces were either killed or kidnapped. That way, they hoped to create confusion so they could disappear while sending us on a wild goose chase.”
Lane spotted a white jackrabbit bounding down the street. He gripped the leash with his free hand the instant before the dog lunged. “What did the Randalls say?”
“They thanked me. They said they would get back to us after they had time to digest the information.”
“Thanks.”
“You all right?”
“Sam’s after a rabbit. Gotta go.” He pressed End, stuffing the phone in a pocket and grabbing the leash with both hands. At the end of the block, they crossed the street to the pathway running below the edge of soccer fields and a baseball diamond bordered by chain-link fence. Lane watched Sam sniff the air. The dog stopped. Lane looked left. About forty metres above them, at the edge of the fields set up on a plateau, three coyotes travelled single file. They glanced down at Lane and Sam without stopping. The hunters appeared comfortable in their thick grey winter coats. They puffed frosty breath into the air, trotting along in search of the jackrabbits, mice, voles, and squirrels living in the neighbourhood. They turned left through a gate in the chain-link fence and were gone. Just three hunters out for a walk. He looked at his dog. “Not much different from us, eh Sam?”
When they got home, there was a Cadillac Escalade parked out front. The licence plate read LLAGETS. “Fuck.” Maybe I should just keep walking. Sam began to limp. Got ice stuck in your paws?
He took Sam around to the back door, removed the leash, and shut the gate behind him. His right elbow ached from being turned inside out by Sam. Lane went around to the front door, climbed the steps, opened the door, and stepped inside. He heard conversation coming up from downstairs as he leaned down to untie his boots.