Lane said, “I’m sorry about the boys. That they had to see a man shot in front of them. I couldn’t live with myself if anyone in Donna’s family had been shot. From your position, if you had fired, it’s very likely Donna, or her husband, or both would have been hit. It was your training. Remember? Use your weapon as the last option. You did what your training taught you to do. You didn’t have a clear field of fire, but I did. I’ve been thinking about this over and over again. I think I can live with killing Andrew Pierce. I don’t think I could live with myself if any of Donna’s family had been killed.” Lane looked down at Indy, pulling the baby away from himself and seeing the wet patch on his T-shirt. “I’m going to have to change the baby.”
“I thought I’d let you down.” Nigel lifted his head.
Lane stood up. “Just the opposite, in fact. Go grab a plate and some pizza. I’ll get the little guy a clean diaper and a new outfit.”
WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 12
chapter 24
This is Shazia Wajdan with Donna Liu, eyewitness to the shooting of Dr. Andrew Pierce.
Ms. Liu, you have something you wanted to say?
CUT TO DONNA LIU “I was there. I heard what was said. I saw what happened.”
Will you describe it for us?
CUT BACK TO DONNA LIU “Pierce and his wife broke into our house and taped me and my husband to chairs. They wanted some cash I had on hand to pay a contractor. Cori Pierce told her husband to shoot one of my boys. The detective must have come up the basement stairs, because he told the doctor to stop. Pierce shot at the detective. The detective shot back. He saved my boys. He saved us.”
Is there anything you wanted to add?
CUT BACK TO DONNA LIU “On social media, some people are saying Pierce was a victim and a good professor. I was there. He was going to kill us.”
Today, Cori Mallory Pierce, Dr. Andrew Pierce’s widow, was charged with four counts of murder in the deaths of Robert and Elizabeth Randall and Megan and Douglas Newsome. She was also charged with four counts of unlawful confinement. She entered a plea of not guilty. A police spokesperson said more charges are expected to be laid against Ms. Pierce in the coming weeks.
Shazia Wajdan, CBC News, Calgary.
Nigel met Anna at Peppino’s Italian Restaurant in Kensington. A red wool winter jacket hung off the back of her chair. She wore black slacks, a white blouse, and tall black-leather boots, and was sipping a coffee. He almost didn’t recognize her without a hat and her multicoloured steampunk glasses. He also noticed every male in the restaurant making covert and not-so-covert glances in her direction.
She waved as he entered, pulling out the chair next to her. “I already ordered you a coffee.”
Nigel took off his purple jacket, hanging it on the back of the chair before sitting down.
“You look good in purple.” She watched him over the top of her cup as she sipped. Nigel caught a whiff of chocolate and her gentle citrus perfume.
He pulled at the cuffs of his new shirt. “I was surprised when I got your call. We usually meet -”
“- in the library. That’s what I wanted to talk with you about.” She nodded at the counter as the woman behind set a cup of coffee on the display case. “Your coffee is ready.”
Nigel got up and grabbed his coffee.
Anna stared at her coffee as she spoke. “I needed to talk with you about something.”
“Did the guys from Paradise trace you?” Nigel looked over his shoulder and out onto the street.
“Nothing like that.” She waved her hand in front of her face.
“What’s the matter?”
“Just listen.”
Nigel sat back, watching Anna as she made eye contact, then looked away, and said, “When I was ten, the school got me to talk with a psychologist. Her name was Laura something. She had this nasty bullying personality. A couple of the kids saw her before I did, and they warned the rest of us. Anyway, I’d done some reading on Asperger’s Syndrome. Some of the other kids were diagnosed with it, and I was curious. I tried out some of the Asperger symptoms on her. The repetitive behaviours really got her attention. It was like this game I played with her. She’d ask a question, and I’d respond the way a kid with Asperger’s would. The psychologist fell for it, and so did the psychiatrist I saw after that. Then the teachers started treating me differently. So I played along, because I found they would leave me alone. If they didn’t, I’d put on a performance to make them back off. After a while, they let me do more or less whatever I wanted as long as I was quiet.”
Nigel picked up his coffee, taking a sip.
“Anyway, it just got easier. I wasn’t into the junior high or high school social scenes. It was like putting on a character, a role, and it became comfortable. There was always so much drama in school, so much emotion. It was a way of coping with it and keeping myself insulated from it. You’ve been my friend through most of that, and I wanted you to know.”
Nigel watched her eyes when they dropped to study the coffee remaining in her cup. He opened his mouth, then closed it.
She lifted her eyes. “Well?”
He opened his mouth again, taking a long breath to go over the words he planned to say. “So you’re an introvert, that’s what you’re saying?”
“And I like being an introvert, but I also like being your friend, and friends should -”
“- be able to finish each other’s sentences?”
Anna smiled. “More or less.”
“I guess I’m interested in what you mean by more.”
Her smile got wider. “So you do understand what I’m saying.”
Lane wore a grey suit; Arthur, black. Christine wore black jeans and a tan blouse with a yellow scarf under a black coat. As they passed, all eyes, from the secretaries to the lawyers, turned to watch them pass.
“Which one is it?” Christine asked.
“Probably the one at the end. It’s my dad’s old office.” How many years has it been? Lane read the names on the doors as they passed. So much heavy dark wood. Feels ominous, cloistered, almost church like. I guess that’s the intent.
“This place needs a decorator,” Arthur said.
They came to the end of the hall, standing outside a heavy oak door with Joseph Lane, Q.C., A.O.E. embossed in gold.
Arthur knocked. The door opened a few seconds later. Joseph Lane stood with his silver hair, white shirt, knotted full Windsor red tie, and blue pinstriped suit. “Hello. Right on time!” His voice was full of bonhomie as he shook their hands, gesturing for them to sit around the table across from the oak desk with elephant-sized legs. Lane noted the embossed JL on the cuffs of his brother’s tailor-made shirt.
They sat down in leather wingback chairs around the polished oak table. Christine sat back in her chair and crossed one leg over the other, waiting. As if on cue, a secretary arrived carrying a tray with a stainless-steel carafe, four cups, an assortment of sugars, and cream. She poured coffee into each of the four china cups. “Thank you, Emily.” The black-haired woman in the grey jacket and calf-length skirt swished when she moved to the door, opening it, then closing it with the whispering click of a metal lock.
Lane leaned forward to add cream and sugar to his coffee. The bone china chimed a pleasant tune when he stirred. He leaned back, sipping, and looked at Joseph. You called this meeting. What do you want?
“Thank you for coming. This is a bit of a difficult situation, as I’m sure you all realize.” Joseph smiled, leaning forward to add cream to his coffee.
You’ve got that voice. That motivational speaker voice. You used to read those self-help books and listen to all of the recordings by evangelical gurus who say money and success come from a winning attitude. Lane felt his defences rising.