“They’re at the hospital.”
“And she’s catching up with her sister,” Arthur said.
“They won’t be home any time soon, then.”
“Exactly.”
The front door opened and winter air flowed down the stairs. Lane felt the cold lick his ankles as they watched TV. Something heavy thumped the floor above them.
“I forgot. This is Canada. I have to take my boots off at the front door.” The voice was female with a slight Boston accent.
“It’s Alex!” Arthur threw off his comforter, sitting up on the couch. Lane stood up.
Sam yawned. Roz barked. Arthur followed Lane to the foot of the stairs.
Alex stood at the top, put her hand on the railing, and stepped down.
She looks like a Cossack princess. She was wearing a full-length grey Russian military coat with a double row of polished gold buttons. On her head, she wore a round faux-fur hat.
Alex floated down the stairs then embraced each of them.
Lane caught the scent of Jean Patou’s Joy. Only the best for you, girl.
“Hold me close, boys, this girl hasn’t been warm since she left the States!” Alex undid her coat. Matt took it for her, waiting for the hat. Alex flipped her hat over her shoulder without a backward glance, stepping into the centre of the room. Lane watched Matt retreat upstairs to the closet with Alex’s coat and hat.
Alex sat down in front of the gas fireplace, gathering her black skirt and tucking it between her legs. “Who is this handsome fellow?” Alex pointed at Sam, who was rolling on his back, his front legs pawing the air, his rear legs splayed.
“That’s Sam.” Matt reached the bottom step, sitting in the chair next to Lane. Alex rubbed Sam under the chin.
“Sam!” Matt stood up.
“That boy’s got his lipstick out.” Alex pulled her hand away. Matt shooed Sam upstairs.
“Isn’t my nephew the most gorgeous little man you’ve ever seen in your life?” Alex spread her arms, her black hair backlit by the fire.
She could be Christine’s twin. Well, if Christine were as much of a dame as Alex.
“We think he’s perfect.” Arthur pointed at Lane and Matt.
“He is that.” Alex leaned back, closing her eyes.
Lane saw the way Matt watched Alex and was oblivious to all else. Oh no!
WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 22
chapter 3
“Anything new?” Lane stepped into the office.
Nigel’s face glowed blue against the reflected light of the computer screen.
Lane took off his winter jacket, tucking his black gloves into the sleeves before hanging it up. As he turned he saw Nigel frown, then lean back, reaching forward with his hands, tilting upright, tucking his head forward, and locking his fingers behind his head.
The knuckles are red. He’s been boxing again. Lane stood across from his partner and waited.
“The Randalls’ son and daughter are coming in tomorrow morning for an interview.” Nigel looked at the ceiling.
“What’s up?” Lane stepped closer to Nigel’s desk.
Nigel made eye contact. Lane almost recoiled at the intensity of Nigel’s rage.
“I’ve been doing some research.” Nigel looked to the right. Lane waited.
“There’s a series of similar events.” Nigel made eye contact again.
Lane stood still. This case is becoming a nightmare.
Nigel looked at the door. Lane turned and closed it.
“Netsky fucked up.” Nigel said it so matter-of-factly, and with such vehemence, it landed like a punch.
Lane sat in his chair, turning to face Nigel. “Explain.”
Nigel pointed at his computer screen. “I’ve done a cursory search on two databases. Approximately six months after the initial murder, there was a similar event in Toronto. Then six months after that, one in New York. And another in Playa del Carmen.”
“Where was the last one?”
Nigel frowned. “Mexican Riviera. Lots of Canadians holiday there in the winter.”
“So there have been four similar murders since Byron Thomas was convicted?”
Nigel nodded. “So far.”
Lane stared at the door. I remember the one in Mexico. It became a big story here. They arrested a local who killed himself in prison. “Any of them solved?”
“Just the one in Mexico.” Nigel rolled his eyes.
“Sensitive about tourism dollars?”
“Maybe. It’s hard for people up here to understand how it works down there.”
Lane waited and, when Nigel said no more, asked, “How does it work down there?”
Nigel looked into the distance within the room. “Part of it is about the belief fresas can afford it, so it’s okay to rip them off.”
“Fresas?”
“Strawberries. Wealthy, snobby, elitist, entitled tourists.”
“And?”
“Part of it is survival. Lots of jobs depend on a safe place for fresas to spend their money and support the local economy. Families go hungry if the tourists stop coming.”
“And investors lose money.”
Nigel nodded. “The same as here. People in power want to protect their money. There, the corruption is systemic, especially in the way many of the police operate. It creates an environment where justice is quick on the draw but often off the mark.”
“So it looks like maybe they found a patsy.”
“Just like we did.”
“Exactly.” And because we didn’t get it right the first time, more people are dead.
Nigel pointed at his computer screen. “There’s another interesting bit of information.”
“Okay.”
“Each of the dead couples has a residence in Calgary.”
“Any more connections?” Lane asked.
“That’s it so far except, of course, for the fact that all of the victims were well off.”
“You keep gathering up the details until we hear from Fibre.” He got up, walked to the door, opened it, and poked his head out.
Lori sat at her desk. She turned to face him with a nail file in her right hand.
“Do you still have a contact at WestJet?” he asked.
Lori nodded, continuing to run the file over her nails. “No time to say good morning?”
Lane smiled.
“I’ll call Angela. You gonna get the paperwork rolling?” Lori finished her nails and set the file down.
“Nigel will get the dates to you, and I will get the paperwork for Angela.”
Lori picked up the phone with her right hand, dismissing him with her left. “Go on. I can do this without some big strong detective looking over my shoulder.”
Lane went back inside his office, noting Nigel’s smile, and got down to work.
I’m standing in front of the scene of Calgary’s latest homicide, discovered on Monday morning. Robert and Elizabeth Randall have now been identified as the couple found murdered in their home.
The Calgary Police Service has released no other details about the victims except to say the investigation is ongoing.
Robert Randall and his wife Elizabeth were well respected in the Calgary arts community. The couple shied away from the limelight but were strong supporters of various charities and initiatives in Calgary.
CUT TO JANE MANN, CALGARY ARTS COUNCIL “The Randalls were such lovely people. [pause] They gave generously to so many causes. Their loss is a tragedy, and they will be deeply missed.”
The surviving members of the Randall family have asked for privacy as they make funeral arrangements.
This is the fifth murder of a prominent Calgarian couple in the last three years.
Shazia Wajdan, CBC News, Calgary.
“He latched on right away this morning.” Christine sat in a chair next to Indiana’s crib. The IV stand supported a blue machine dispensing antibiotics. The medicine came from a clear plastic bag, snaking through a tube and ending in the needle entering the vein in the baby’s forehead. She adjusted the blanket draped over her shoulder, covering her breast and Indy’s face.