Lane nodded as he took his foot off the accelerator and flipped the right-turn indicator. The northern hillside on Calgary’s edge was a maze of condominiums. The road led to a golf course. He turned right and up the hill. On their left, acreages skirted the perimeter of the members-only golf course. They passed a supermarket and a gas station. On their right lay a green space.
“These new communities have only one access road,” Keely said. “Makes it kind of difficult.”
Lane spotted a red plastic container tucked up against the curb. It looked like it might hold eight litres. The top was duct-taped closed. And the container was taped to the concrete.
It’s all wrong, he thought as they drove closer.
His foot jammed down against the accelerator. The Chevy’s engine hesitated, then roared. He changed into the left-hand lane.
“Get down!”
Keely looked at Lane. He saw her silhouetted by light.
The concussion hit the rear of the Chevy, lifting the right rear wheel off the pavement. The rear window bowed in and turned opaque. Lane felt a blow to his chest cavity. It pounded the air from his lungs. The Chevy rolled up onto its front left tire and then onto its roof. It thumped over the grass median, jumped the curb, and screamed over pavement. The grill hit the guardrail on the far side of the roadway. The airbags exploded in Lane’s and Keely’s faces.
Lane felt detached from the experience as he listened to debris raining down onto the underside of the Chevy. The heavy-duty thunks must be bits of concrete or pavement. We’re kind of lucky the car is upside-down. He looked to his left at a guardrail about twenty centimetres from his nose. He put his hands over his head in an attempt to ease the pressure of the seat belt on his abdomen. Then he looked to his right. A droplet of blood spattered the fabric on the Chev’s roof liner. Another followed.
“Keely?” He tried to see if her eyes were open.
“Don’t yell. I’ve got a headache.” Keely put her hands on the roof.
“Are you okay?”
“Man, are you in trouble. My dad is going to be so mad at you. We’ll miss lunch because of this.” She turned to him and smiled as blood rolled through her hair and dripped onto the roof liner, forming a pattern of red dots.
“Stop moving! She’s okay. It looks like a scalp wound. A few stitches and she’ll be fine. All she has is a headache. She’s being taken to emergency as a precaution. So far, it doesn’t look like she has a concussion.” The paramedic checked Lane’s eyes and peripheral vision. “How do your chest and abdomen feel?”
The siren of Keely’s ambulance wailed as it drove away. Lane watched an officer move his cruiser to allow the ambulance to pass.
Lane looked north and south. Cruisers with their flashing blue and red lights blocked all four lanes. The muscles in his neck ached.
A fire engine was parked near the upside-down wreck of the Chevy. Two firemen with shovels were spreading something that looked like kitty litter on the ground to soak up spilled fuel. The bomb squad and Forensics Unit were taking measurements and marking bits of debris. Must be looking for what’s left of the bomb.
One of the investigators looked Lane’s way and began to walk over. He was wearing a face shield and white bunny suit. What does Fibre want?
“How are you feeling, Detective Lane?” Fibre removed his face shield and pulled his hood back.
Lane moved his shoulders. “Sore all over.”
“I wanted to talk with you before they take you to the hospital. Did you see anything before the explosion?” Fibre removed his eye shield and cradled it over his abdomen.
“There was a red plastic container duct-taped to the curb.” Lane closed his eyes, trying to remember.
“Volume?” Fibre asked.
“Five to ten litres.” Lane opened his eyes. “Best guess.”
“Anything else?”
“I tried to get out of the way, but wasn’t fast enough.”
“More evidence of your intuition. You reacted before the explosion. It probably saved Ms. Saliba’s life. The concussion would have hit her side of the vehicle first. Your clear recollections suggest you haven’t suffered a concussion. Very good news. Now you can go to the hospital.” Fibre looked at the EMT. “The detective is ready.” Fibre looked at Lane. “There is a preliminary finding that is unusual. There is no evidence of metallic projectiles perforating your vehicle or scattered around the site. Improvised explosive devices are notorious for containing all sorts of shrapnel. An anomaly for you to think about.” Fibre pulled his hood on, turned, and adjusted his face shield as he walked away.
“Let’s get you to the hospital,” said the EMT.
“We have to make a stop first,” Lane replied.
The driver looked over his shoulder. “No stops. We’re going to the hospital.”
Lane stepped away from the ambulance. He smiled. “You both need a coffee, and I need to tell my partner’s family that she’s all right. It needs to be done face to face.”
The driver and EMT looked at one another.
“What’s it going to be?” Lane asked.
A voice came from behind the southern police barrier. “I’m late for my tee time!” Lane and the EMTS looked in the direction of the disturbance. A man in white shorts stood on the far side of the yellow tape. He looked at his watch. “I can’t be late! Let me through.”
The officer on this side of the tape crossed his arms. “Cuff him and put him in the back of the cruiser!” the EMT said.
The man in white looked at the ambulance, then at the officer, got into his Cadillac, and promptly backed into the vehicle behind him.
“From bad to worse,” a fireman said.
Ten minutes later, the ambulance stopped outside the front door of a family restaurant just north of Crowchild Trail. Lane stepped down from the rear of the ambulance. “I’ll be right back,” he said.
“If you fall, there’ll be hell to pay,” the EMT said.
Lane smiled, entered the restaurant, and sidled past the line of people waiting for a seat. He found Amir, Katherine, and Dylan drinking coffee. Amir looked at his watch, then toward the door. He turned white when he recognized Lane.
Katherine looked at her husband, followed his line of sight, and paled as well. Dylan glanced past Lane to see where Keely was.
“She’s okay,” Lane said. “I saw her and she’s okay. Just needs a few stitches. She’s been taken to the Foothills Medical Centre as a precaution.”
“You look like hell,” Katherine said.
Amir slid over. “We have to go!”
“And Dylan is going to drive.” Lane stood next to Amir, blocking him from getting out of his seat. “Okay?” Lane put his hand, still bloody from holding it against the cut on Keely’s scalp, on Amir’s shoulder.
“My daughter’s blood?” asked Katherine.
Lane nodded.
Amir turned to Dylan. He reached into his pocket and handed the keys over.
“Just follow the ambulance. That way we’ll all get there at the same time.” Lane turned. They followed him outside.
“You must love this place.”
Lane recognized the voice as he sat in the vinyl chair next to a bed in the emergency room. Harper stepped through the gap between the curtains. He was wearing his deputy police chief’s uniform. He shook Lane’s hand. “Detective Saliba okay?”
Lane nodded. “As far as I know, her only injury is a scalp wound.”
Harper sat on the edge of the bed. “How about you? It looks like someone dragged you behind a horse.”
“My muscles are starting to seize up. Just bruises and sprains. How are you doing?”
Harper leaned closer. “Looking under rocks and finding all sorts of crap that Smoke and his gang hid. Man, it’s a mess. He’s made the entire force look like a joke.”