“Protect her?”
“Threats have been made against her life.”
Arthur sat on the terrace behind the coffee shop in Kensington. It overlooked an alley and a residential street where new houses were replacing old ones and trees reached across the road to touch one another. He studied Lane through his sunglasses as he arrived on the terrace accompanied by a young woman. Lane grabbed an extra chair and sat next to him.
“Arthur, meet Keely Saliba.” Lane indicated with his open right hand that it was safe to talk openly with her.
Arthur leaned across the table to shake hands. “And?”
Keely turned her blue eyes on Lane. “We’re partners,” he said.
Arthur took a sip from his coffee cup and set it down again. “So you weren’t fired?”
Keely shook her head. “Smoke was.”
“Chief Smoke?” Arthur looked at Lane and then at Keely.
“Resigned due to an impaired driving charge in San Diego.” Keely looked over her shoulder as their coffees arrived.
“Keely Saliba?” Arthur blinked. He was having difficulty catching up with the turn of events.
“That’s right. My mom’s of Irish descent. My dad’s from Lebanon.” Keely waited to see if Arthur was up to speed yet. “Mom’s a lawyer. Dad’s a teacher. I have a brother. I was in the RCMP for a year when I was asked to work undercover in a restaurant. When that job was done, Harper and Simpson came up with the idea that I should be Detective Lane’s new partner.”
“Cam Harper?” Arthur asked.
“Big guy? Big mustache?” Keely asked.
“That’s him.” Lane wanted to laugh but felt sorry for Arthur, who was bouncing from one surprise to the next.
“The restaurant where I was undercover was upscale. Lots of the city’s who’s who would show up there. Simpson wanted me to pay special attention to the Scotch drinkers’ club. There were leaks in the department, and he wanted to find out if the restaurant was the source. It turned out the leaks were coming from Smoke’s ever-expanding drinkers’ club.” Keely put her hand over her mouth and pulled it away. “Arthur, you’re not a cop. I shouldn’t be telling you this!”
“No, but he might as well be,” Lane said.
“How do you like the coffee?” Arthur lifted his cup. “One of the perks of Lane’s job. He finds all the best places for an excellent cup of coffee. It’s where he gets much of his information. Kind of like you being a waitress at the Scotch drinkers’ club. People talk as if there’s no one else in the room. All you have to do is sit down, enjoy the coffee, and listen.”
Keely looked at Lane. “Arthur’s getting up to speed.”
Lane nodded. He looked past Keely as a young woman in a red tank top approached with plates of food.
They devoured their soup, salad, and sandwiches in silence. Patrons began to occupy nearby tables. Lane looked over the alley at the trees and then the shrubs below. He wondered about past cases and thought, What will I remember when I look back on this one?
“When will you tell me about the case you’re working on?” Keely asked, wiping her lips with a napkin.
“Our case.” Lane watched the breeze play with the leaves on the trees in front of the newly constructed mansions eyeing each other from across the street. He turned to see that another strand of Keely’s red hair had freed itself and was now hanging in front of her eyes. She blew it away. It fell back down. She’s only a bit older than Christine.
“I don’t understand.” Keely again wiped her mouth with a napkin. Her blue eyes zeroed in on him.
“If we’re partners, then it’s ‘our’ case.”
Keely smiled, then hid her reaction behind a hand.
Arthur leaned back in his chair to give Lane and Keely their space. He acted like an outsider on the inside.
“Well then, tell me about our case,” she said.
Lane leaned in close and kept his voice low. “The body of a male, we believe it to be Andelko Branimir, was found chained to cinder blocks in a dried-up slough. His wife says he bought a ticket to fly home last year. She says he had a drinking problem. Jelena, the wife, and her daughter live on the western edge of town.”
“How far from where the body was found?” Keely asked.
Lane studied her. Good question. “Less than ten kilometres.”
Keely nodded.
“Jelena says she and Andelko fought – ”
“What kind of fight?” Keely asked.
Lane bristled at the interruptions. “- and he said he was going back home. She said he was upset after seeing someone from the war. A malabarista.”
“Malabarista?”
“Juggler. Street performer. I found him at Eau Claire on Saturday morning. Everything was fine until I mentioned Goran’s name.”
“Goran?”
You don’t miss much. “Two ids were found with the remains: Branimir and Goran.”
Keely nodded thoughtfully and leaned back in her chair.
“Exactly who has been threatening you?” Lane watched Keely’s eyes as she mentally shifted gears from one case to another.
She looked north into the distance. “Don’t know for certain. There have been anonymous threatening letters. Could be the guy who owned the restaurant where I worked undercover.”
“Where is he?” Lane asked.
She shook her head. “Don’t know. He’s part of a biker gang that used the restaurant to launder money from the drug trade. He had some pictures of his biker buddies up in his office.”
Lane sensed her hesitation. “What kinds of pictures?”
“Guys sitting on Harleys adorned with big-breasted women showing lots of cleavage. A couple of his associates turned out to be big boys in the biker hierarchy. The Scotch drinkers’ club gave them advance warning of police investigations.”
“Smoke was an even bigger idiot than I thought,” Lane said.
Keely nodded. “Apparently, Smoke still is.” She turned her head to one side. “Did you get the name of the juggler?”
“First names only. Leo plays music while Mladen does the juggling. Two men and two legs.” Lane lifted his shoulders with a shrug.
“What do you mean?” Keely leaned forward.
“One has an artificial leg. The other has a withered leg.”
Keely smiled. “We should be able to track down their last names easily enough.”
I think I can see what Simpson and Harper were thinking. This one’s got a quick mind for this kind of work.
The family sat on their backyard deck in the shade of the neighbour’s house. “How come you picked such a loser?” Matt blanched when he heard the blunt tone of his question to Christine. Matt was so tanned that the creases around his eyes looked white in the valleys.
Lane and Arthur readied themselves for an explosion from Christine. They glanced at one another across a table covered with a tablecloth and a variety of salads.
Christine chewed her food deliberately, considering the question. “I don’t know.” She challenged Matt with her glare. Her eye was puffy, a purple bruise tattooed on her eyelid and cheek.
“I mean,” Matt began slowly, “I always thought I had to prove myself to my dad, be a man. Be who he wanted me to be. You know how badly parents screw their kids up with messed-up expectations? Now I think maybe he had something to prove to me.”
Christine winced. “I thought the guy was nice, but he turned out to be a jerk.”
“It’s just that women seem to go for the bad boy, you know? Look at my mom – she went for a jerk. I mean what’s that all about?”
“I wish I knew.” Christine looked at Roz, panting in the shade.
“What’s exciting about getting beat up, or having to burn down a house and run away from a place where you’re being treated like shit?” Matt looked in Roz’s direction.