“More questions?” Jelena asked.
“Yes.”
Lane stood, wrapped what remained of his sandwich, picked up his coffee, and held the door open. Jelena walked past him and sat at the picnic table. Lane and Keely sat across from her. Jelena filled her lungs with tobacco and looked at Keely. “Who’s this?”
“Detective Saliba,” Lane said.
Jelena studied Keely with a mixture of hatred and fear. Then she turned to Lane, acting as if Keely didn’t exist.
“We have some questions about Borislav Goran,” Keely said.
Jelena pretended not to hear the question. No matter what you do, you’ll offend one of them, so go with your gut. “Tell us about Goran.”
“He was a cousin of my husband, as I told you before. Borislav was in the militia during the war. He was killed near the end.” Jelena took a sip of coffee, then butted out her cigarette. She reached into the side pocket of her jacket to get another.
“You saw him die?” Lane asked.
Jelena nodded while lighting another cigarette. “He was hit by an artillery shell. Not much left to identify.”
“Very convenient,” Keely said.
Jelena blinked but gave no other indication she’d heard the remark.
“Borislav Goran is named in a series of war crimes. Do you have any knowledge of these crimes?” Lane asked.
“What have these questions got to do with Andelko?”
“Your husband was in the militia with Goran.” Lane made it sound like fact.
She smiled. “Lots of people were in the militia.”
“You saw Borislav die, so you were in the militia as well,” Keely said.
Lane heard the anger in Keely’s voice. Felt the tension between the two women.
“It was war. One survives in war.” Jelena put the cigarette to her lips and allowed a lazy wisp of smoke to rise into the summer air.
“Was your husband a war criminal?” Lane asked.
She exhaled. “No.”
“Were you a war criminal?”
“No.”
“Were you and Andelko married during the war?” Lane asked.
“No.” Jelena looked at the ash on the end of her cigarette and stubbed it into the ashtray. “Have you ever been in a war?”
“No,” Lane said.
Jelena stood, reaching for her coffee. “Then you have no idea what it is like. Have you found the juggler yet?”
“Not yet.”
“He wanted to kill Andelko.”
With that, Jelena walked away. Lane and Keely watched her cross the parking lot and open the door to her shop.
“She acted like you didn’t exist. Is it because your name sounds like it might be Muslim?” Lane asked.
Keely frowned and nodded. “Probably. I wondered if you noticed.”
“We know that Mladen’s family was Muslim.”
“Yes they were.”
“And many Muslims were ethnically cleansed.”
“That’s right.” Keely watched a pickup truck as it slowed to bounce over a speed bump.
“So now we have to find out more about Jelena Branimir and Mladen Nezil. Want to take a drive past Mladen’s place?”
It took less than half an hour to find the bungalow on the east side of town. Lane knocked on the front door, and Keely tried the back. No one was home.
“How is Keely working out?” Arthur asked.
Lane sat at the kitchen table while Arthur put the finishing touches on supper. “She’s got a mind of her own. And it looks like she’s smart.”
“Sounds pretty good to me.” Arthur put the salad on the table.
“And as stubborn as she is smart.” Lane picked a tomato from the salad.
Arthur chuckled. “That could make things interesting.”
“It already has. First there wasn’t enough information. Now there’s too much. On top of that, someone is threatening her. It looks like it’s either a guy with connections to a group of bikers or someone inside the police force.”
Arthur turned his head as he washed his hands in the sink. “What makes you think it’s from the inside?”
“Access to her personal information.” Lane picked out a slice of cucumber. Roz licked Lane’s feet.
“Is this dangerous or just messy?”
Lane considered the question. “Probably both. Where are the kids?” He looked down at the dog. Roz looked up at Lane, then continued licking the salt from his ankle.
“Matt’s asleep downstairs, and as for Christine…” Arthur shrugged.
“So it’s just you and me?” Lane smiled.
Arthur put on the oven mitts and pulled chicken from the oven. The scent of butter and thyme filled the kitchen.
“Smells great,” Lane said.
“I’ve decided I want a double mastectomy,” Arthur said.
Lane waited.
“If I get both done at the same time, I won’t have to worry about going back to have the other done in the future. And I won’t have to go through the whole thing again if they don’t get all of the tumour the first time.” Arthur looked directly at Lane.
Lane turned as he heard the front door open.
“Come on in,” Christine called.
Lane stood. Arthur placed the chicken on a hot plate in the middle of the kitchen table.
“This is Daniel,” said Christine, nodding toward the young man whose hand she was holding. “Can he stay for supper?”
“Hello.” Daniel tried to smile. He was dark-haired and stood a head taller than Christine. He looked at Lane, then Arthur, then back at Lane. “It’s kind of short notice.”
Lane saw the bruise on the right side of Daniel’s chin. And he saw intimacy in the way Christine looked at him.
“We’ve got lots.” Arthur poked Lane in the ribs and said, “Be sociable.”
“Would you like a beer?” Lane asked.
“Aren’t you going to ask him to sit down first?” Christine asked.
Lane reacted to the sarcasm in Christine’s voice. “Daniel, would you like to come in and have a beer before dinner, during dinner, after dinner, or any one or all of the above?” Why are you giving him such a hard time?
“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.” Daniel turned to leave.
“Oh, just ignore him. Meet my other uncle.” Christine glared at Lane as she guided Daniel across the kitchen.
Lane felt an unaccountable rage grab hold and shake him. He stood up, turned to sit down, changed his mind, walked to the front door, stuffed his feet into his shoes, picked up Roz’s leash, and shook it. Roz scampered from the kitchen and danced in circles around Lane. He grabbed her by the collar and hooked her to the leash. Within forty-five seconds, they were out the door and fifty metres down the sidewalk.
Roz trotted to keep up as Lane strode uphill – always uphill. Christine! You treat me like shit! And why are you always after the guys who will treat you the same way? The same questions ran through Lane’s mind. He walked uphill until he arrived on the spine of a ridge overlooking downtown. The urban forest made all but the tallest buildings in the downtown core invisible. He looked at Roz, who lay panting in a patch of shade.
Ninety minutes later, Lane let Roz into the backyard.
Arthur opened the back door. “Explain.”
“Where are they?” Lane shut the gate behind him. Roz lapped up water from her bowl on the deck.
“They went to a movie.” Arthur went back into the house. Lane sat down under the umbrella. Arthur reappeared with a plate of salad and chicken. He set it on the table. “Daniel insisted that we fill a plate for you and save it for your return. What do you want to drink?”
“A beer.”
“Get it yourself. And while you’re at it get me one too.” Arthur sat down.
Lane took off his shoes and walked barefoot into the kitchen. As he reached for the beer, he heard Matt snoring downstairs.
Outside, he handed Arthur a beer and a glass before sitting down and pouring one for himself. He looked at the salad and inhaled the scent of balsamic vinegar, oregano, and feta cheese. After a sip of beer, he picked up a fork, and tasted the salad.