Lane’s cell rang. He watched the road as he flipped it open. Keely’s voice was on the other end. “Oh. Hello. Yes, I’m on my way downtown.” She stopped talking for a full ten seconds as if she were listening to another person speak. “Yes. I’m meeting a friend.” She waited. “I’ll phone you back after we get off.” She hung up.
Okay, so now we’re watching Zacki and a friend.
When they got off the train downtown at City Hall, Lane saw that Zacki’s friend was wearing blue. She was a head taller than Zacki, and her hair was blonde.
He watched them walk north toward the river, followed by Keely, as the lunch crowd walked the opposite way toward various office buildings. The girls talked nonstop, walking side by side, oblivious to anyone else trying to navigate the sidewalk. They came to an intersection and stepped into the crosswalk. Tires squealed, a horn blared, and the blonde girl yelled at the driver.
Keely waited for the light while the girls entered a hobby store occupying a two-storey sandstone building stuck between two office towers. From beneath the eaves, gargoyles looked down on passersby.
The driver behind Lane honked. Lane maneuvered the truck into an alleyway and parked.
Five minutes later, Zacki and her friend walked out of the hobby store, each carrying a bag. They jaywalked across the street and ducked into a coffee shop. Keely crossed the street inside a crowd of pedestrians, walked south to the coffee shop, and went inside.
Lane stood beside the front fender of the truck, watching and waiting.
Forty-five minutes later, Zacki and her friend walked out of the shop with their bags and headed toward City Hall.
Lane got into the truck. His phone rang. “It’s Keely. I thought those two would never stop talking. Can you pick me up? We’ve got a DNA sample for Fibre.”
Lane closed the phone, started the truck, and turned north onto Centre Street. Keely jaywalked and climbed in when he pulled up to the curb. She held a paper bag. “Got her DNA on this cup. You can always count on teens to forget to clear their table.”
Lane waited while she put on her seat belt.
“All I had to do was sit there and drink coffee. It was like her friend was hooked up to a microphone. She talked so loud and asked so many questions.” Keely sat up straight. “Can we stop soon?”
“Too much coffee?” Lane asked.
Keely’s face turned red. “There’s a restaurant at the top of the hill. Dylan and I go there. I’ll show you.”
She must have had more than a few cups of coffee. She’s talking a thousand words a minute. “What did the friend say?”
“She asked about the stuff they bought at the hobby store. Apparently it’s fuel for RC models.”
“RC meaning remote control?”
“I think so. Then Zacki began to talk about how weird her mom was. Zacki explained about having to buy diesel fuel this morning. Jelena just started planning a trip yesterday, out of the blue. So the two of them are going to the passport office later on today or tomorrow.” Keely crossed her legs.
“Almost there.”
“How long does it take to get a passport?” Keely asked.
“At least three days, I think.”
Keely held on as Lane turned left and pulled up to the curb. She handed him the bag. “Hold this.”
She left the van, slamming the door shut behind her, and ran up the sidewalk into a Vietnamese restaurant. Lane’s phone rang. He opened it. “Hello?”
“It’s Lori. Stockwell wants to talk. Apparently he’s being very insistent. How soon can you get back here?”
Lane looked at the bag with the sample. “Ninety minutes?”
“I’ll let them know.” Lori hung up.
Stockwell probably wants a deal. But what is he offering?
Keely opened the passenger door. “Thanks.”
“Stockwell wants to talk,” Lane said.
“So?”
Lane frowned. “We’ll see if he’ll say anything else of interest.” He shoulder-checked and pulled out. “But we need to get that DNA sample to Fibre first.”
Twenty minutes later, Lane drove past the turnoff to the hospital. “You missed the turn!” Keely cried out.
“It’ll only take a minute to pick up some Nanaimo bars for Fibre.” Lane looked at his partner and raised his eyebrows. “I’m betting it will save us time in the long run.”
“We need a rush on the sample, and the treat will get things moving along?”
“Exactly.”
“I think I’m getting the hang of this.” Keely smiled.
They found Fibre folding his lunch bag, wiping the crumbs off his desk into his palm.
“We have a favour to ask.” Lane held the sample in his hand.
“And a treat.” Keely held up the Nanaimo bars.
“Bribery?” Fibre asked.
“Yes, and we have a reason. Our suspects may be getting ready to leave the country. We need a comparison with Andelko Branimir’s DNA.” Lane put the evidence on Fibre’s desk.
“Then it’s a priority.” Fibre stood up, wiped the crumbs off his hands as he leaned over the garbage can, and picked up the sample. “I’ll take those.” He grabbed the Nanaimo bars from Keely. “It might take as long as a month for the lab to get us the results.” Fibre smiled at them and was gone.
The door closed. Lane laughed. “A lot of good that’s going to do us.”
Keely nodded. “We’ll have to find some other way.”
It took forty minutes to drive back downtown and find the interrogation room where Stockwell waited with Roper, his lawyer. Lane and Keely went into a nearby room and watched the pair on the monitor.
“Where’s the union rep?” Keely asked.
“Perhaps the Scotch drinkers’ club is culling Stockwell from the herd.” Lane looked at Keely. “Is Buck here?”
“There they are.” Keely pointed at the TV.
Buck and Lesley walked into the interrogation room. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” Buck said. He turned as another person entered. “This is Brad Williams, the crown prosecutor.”
Williams nodded and crossed his hands at his belt. He wore a suit, a frown, and about two hundred pounds on a football player’s frame. Roper nodded back.
“You wanted to talk with us?” Buck sat down across from Stockwell, who was wearing sweats and a T-shirt.
“I’ve got some information that will help you.” Stockwell looked at the camera. “I can testify that you were set up by Smoke when he initiated the investigation into the missing Glock. That getting Harper to investigate you was a calculated move to discredit both of you.” Stockwell looked at his lawyer.
Roper said, “In exchange for my client’s testimony on your behalf, he will serve no jail time.”
Williams pointed at Stockwell. “You set off an explosive device. You are going to jail.”
“I didn’t have anything to do with the second bomb!” Stockwell’s face turned white. “I can’t go to prison.” He rubbed his forehead with the open palm of his right hand.
The imagination can be a wonderful motivator, Lane thought as Buck let the silence stretch out, like maple syrup on snow.
Stockwell stared at the wall. “I can prove where I was the morning the second bomb went off. And I was there in the room when Smoke thought up the plan to have you investigated. Gregory was there too.”
“That still doesn’t prove you had nothing to do with the construction of the second bomb. Besides, the second bomb was detonated with a cellphone. You didn’t have to be there.” Williams shook his head.
“I’ll plead guilty to sending the letters, making the calls, painting the garage door, and making the first pipe bomb, but I had nothing to do with the second bomb. I don’t know who did that.” Stockwell looked at Buck.
Buck never mentioned the graffiti on the garage door.