“Colin?” Lane asked. Fibre looked up.
Use no judgment in your voice. He just doesn’t know what to do about you or with you, has trouble expressing emotion, and he has no clue what to do in social situations. “It’s polite to shake the hand of my partner when you meet her for the first time.”
“Of course. My apologies.” Fibre reached across his desk. Lane noted the reflection of the doctor’s Rolex on the desktop.
“Good to meet you.” Keely shook Fibre’s hand and smiled.
“There is some information to share with you.” Fibre looked at Keely. “With both of you.”
“Is it about the threats aimed at Keely?” Lane asked.
“Partly. The printer used for at least one of the letters is consistent with printers used by the police service. However, no DNA or fingerprints were found on the letters or the envelopes. We are working to find out if there was any evidence left on the components of the pipe bomb or on Ms. Saliba’s car. By the way, did you see your photograph in this morning’s paper? Both of you are quite photogenic.” Dr. Weaver looked at Lane. “We did have more success with the reconstruction of the face of Andelko Branimir.” He leaned over and clicked an icon on his computer. He turned the screen so that Lane and Keely could see the images.
“There are many similarities between the unique features of the victim’s skull and the pictures on both sets of identification. Also…” Fibre created an outline of the skull’s features and dragged it onto the photo from Andelko Branimir’s driver’s license. “When I superimpose either of the photographs on the outline, they match. There is a very high probability that the skull, Branimir, and Goran are all one and the same.”
“It confirms what we’ve suspected so far,” Keely said.
“An accurate supposition,” Fibre said.
Let’s get back to the matter at hand. “So the person who has been sending the threatening notes and who planted the pipe bomb has been careful to leave no evidence behind?” Lane asked.
“Very.” Fibre turned the computer screen back around.
Lane got up. “In a way, that supports my theory that it’s someone from the department who has at least some knowledge of how evidence is gathered.”
“There is one other thing,” Fibre said, reaching inside his desk and pulling out a small paper envelope. He opened the top and eased its contents onto his desktop. “This was found in a pocket of the leather jacket that was with the Branimir remains.” A silver spider pin lay on the glass tabletop. It was the approximate size of a loonie. Fibre used a pair of tweezers from his drawer to turn the insignia over. The word TARANTULA was engraved on the back. “It took some time to clean it up, but this was what we discovered.”
Keely said, “The Tarantulas. That’s what Goran’s unit called itself.”
Lane smiled at the doctor. “As usual, Colin, you’ve helped us with some solid evidence.”
Fibre turned red from cheeks to forehead. “We’ll keep working on the remains of the pipe bomb to see if there was any evidence left behind.”
Lane sat next to Arthur in the waiting room. Half a grey wall separated them from the hallway. Two hours ago, the waiting room had been overflowing. Now the only other people remaining were two women who sat side by side staring at a poster of flowers on the wall.
“Let me do the talking,” Arthur said.
“Yes.” That must be the tenth time you’ve said that in the last hour.
A nurse appeared. She was blonde, tall, and broad-shouldered. She pointed at the pair of women. “Your turn.”
She has a very soothing voice. “We’re next, then,” he said.
Arthur sighed. “When this is all over, could we go on a holiday?”
“Where?”
“Somewhere where the food is fabulous, the view is amazing, and we can put our feet up or go shopping, depending on the day.” Arthur put his hand on Lane’s.
“With or without kids?” Lane asked.
Arthur looked at his partner. “Do you think they’d want to come with us?”
Lane shrugged. “We could ask them.”
“We’ve never had a holiday with kids. It might be fun.”
“Or it might be – ”
“- a disaster.”
They heard the squeak of approaching shoes. The nurse appeared. “Mr. Merali?”
“Yes.” Arthur stood.
Lane followed them down the hall and into an examining room. The nurse held up a blue gown. “Change into this, please. It ties in the front. Dr. Dugay will be with you shortly.” She closed the door and left them alone.
Arthur took off his shirt, and Lane hung it up. Arthur changed into the gown and sat on the examining table. The white paper cover crackled.
Lane sat down next to the door. Arthur looked at the wall.
There was a double tap at the door, and the surgeon strode in. Dr. Dugay was over six feet tall, had unruly sandy brown hair, and wore a white coat and a smile. He checked the file in his hand. “Mr. Merali?”
Arthur nodded. Dugay glanced at the file. He tapped a few keys on a computer keyboard, and an x-ray image of Arthur’s chest appeared on a flat screen. “It’s nearly in the middle of the breast, so that leaves us with some room for margins.”
“Margins?” Arthur asked.
He’s choking on the words.
“We usually use two-centimetre margins when we remove a tumour.”
“Then?” Arthur began to cry.
“We do radiation and sometimes chemo, depending on what we find and what the biopsy results are. There are other factors as well.”
Arthur wiped his eyes and looked at Lane. “You talk.”
“Arthur would like a double mastectomy,” Lane said.
Dugay turned, surprised to discover another person in the room. “Mr…?” The surgeon held out his hand.
Lane stood. “Lane. Arthur and I are partners. He may not be able to talk right now, so I may have to ask or answer any questions.”
“Partners?” Dugay looked at Arthur.
Arthur nodded. Lane saw the doctor’s eyes open a bit wider. “Oh.”
He gets it now. Let’s see what happens next.
“A double mastectomy is certainly one way to go,” Dugay said.
“Arthur’s sister died of breast cancer almost two years ago. With a family history like that, we’d prefer not to take any chances.”
“I understand,” Dugay said. “Do you want me to explain the options available?”
Arthur shook his head. “No.”
“We went through all of the options with Arthur’s sister,” Lane said. “Right now, it’s the waiting that’s causing him the most anxiety. He’s confident he’s made the right choice. How soon will the surgery be?”
“If you like, as soon as next week. There has been a cancellation. We have an opening if it’s not too soon.”
Arthur wiped at his eyes. Lane waited for an indication from him. Arthur nodded.
“A week would be fine,” Lane said.
“Is working late on a Friday night your idea of fun?” Lane asked.
Keely stood next to him, watching the crowd through binoculars. From the parking lot, they could look down on the road and the crowd. Thirty-Third Avenue was blocked at both ends by traffic barriers and patrol cars. The side streets were similarly closed off. The two sides of the road were lined with restaurants, retailers, and coffee shops. People gathered at the intersection or walked between display tables set up along one side of the street. A breeze billowed the tent fabric shading many of the tables. The setting sun made the colours richer, thicker.
Keely looked at her watch. “It’s almost eight.”
Both turned at the sound of a sassy trumpet announcing an arrival to their left. A figure on stilts walked into the intersection. The crowd looked up at the performer. The slick red fabric on one arm of the malabarista contrasted with the white fabric on the other. The colours met somewhere near the malabarista’s navel. A magpie’s nest of synthetic scarlet hair drew everyone’s eyes to the performer’s face.