Garry Ryan
Queen's Park
The first book in the Detective Lane Mystery series, 2004
For
Sharon,
Karma
and
Ben
with love
and
gratitude
CHAPTER ONE
“I’m uneasy when 140 kilos up and disappears,” Lane said and glanced at the line in the downtown coffee shop. It stretched to the door. He took a grateful sip from his cappuccino.
Lisa said, “Just started digging on this one. Where are you, anyway?”
“Having a coffee,” Lane said and knew she’d be sitting at her desk. Her RCMP uniform would be ironed just right. Her blonde hair would be cut short with every hair in place. She would be sitting at attention. Ever since he’d known Lisa, she’d carried herself like a soldier. “The Swatsky case makes me feel like we’re always playing catch up. Something could be happening right now. If we’re lucky, we’ll find out about it in a month.”
“That’s one reason why we keep in touch. Gives us a chance to catch up. What’s your next step?” Lisa said.
“Think I’ll see the grandmother. She was in the house when it happened,” Lane said.
“What about the boy?” Lisa said.
“Hard to say. Only he knows how much he can remember.
After what happened, the kid has to be in shock or denial.”
“What’s his name again?”
“Ernie,” Lane said.
“That’s right. I’ll keep you posted. We still on for Tuesday?” Lisa said.
“Yep. Loraine coming?”
“She wouldn’t miss it. Loraine always likes an opportunity to analyze. She’s says you’re enigmatic.”
“Arthur can help her with her analysis while you and I talk shop,” Lane said.
“See you then,” Lisa said and hung up.
“Calgary 62 kilometers,” Marvin said.
“Oh shit, do you have to read every god damned sign along the highway?” Lester said.
“How’d you get the gun?” Marvin said while reaching down the front of his pants.
“Would you quit playin’ with yourself?” Lester said.
“Gettin’ hot in here.” Marvin eased his balls up and away from thick thighs.
“Ahh,” Marvin pulled one hand out and aimed the vent between his legs. “How’d you get the gun?”
“Freddy.” A semi passed them on the left. It pushed a wave of air into their lane. Lester gripped the wheel tighter.
“Freddy who?” Marvin said.
“Freddy whose wife left him. She wanted alimony. I took the rifle out one night. Put a bullet through her kitchen window. The old lady got the message. Saved Freddy some money and he brought a Smith and Wesson 9 mm Sigma back from the States.” He patted the holster under his left arm.
“Let me see,” Marvin said.
“No way.”
“How come?” Marvin lifted his knees and rested them against the dash.
“You’re so stupid, you’ll shoot a hole in something.”
“Not stupid enough to trust Bob,” Marvin said.
“I had to sign those papers!”
“For half, right?” Marvin said.
“That’s right. Half a million.”
“Your name’s on all the documents. The newspapers say Bob stole over three million. Half of three million is not $500,000.”
Lester lifted his sports jackets to reveal the butt of the pistol. “Mr. Smith and Mr. Wesson will help us find Bob.”
“If the cops can’t find him, what makes you think we can?”
“Think,” Lester tapped his temple. “Mom always said you were a few bricks short of a load. The last place he was seen was the old lady’s. Papers make it sound like Bob disappeared after screwin’ golden boy.”
“Golden boy?”
“The old lady’s favourite grandchild. Judy was always pissed because golden boy got the best of everything,” Lester said.
“So, what do we need the old lady for?”
“Think! Judy’s gone. Bob’s disappeared. The old lady’s still there. We go talk to her and the kid. See what we can find out.”
“She’s not gonna talk to us,” Marvin said.
“She won’t have a choice when I shove a gun into golden boy’s mouth!”
“What’s his name?”
“Whose name, you stupid son of a bitch?”
“Golden boy’s,” Marvin said.
“Ernie.”
CHAPTER TWO
“He calls it his mate,” Ernie dropped into the swiveling recliner facing the fireplace.
“I don’t know how you can ride in the back seat with that doll in the front.” Nanny took a quick gulp of oxygen. Her face was a geological map of a life in shades of cookie dough.
She lifted the clear plastic oxygen tubing over silver hair and dropped it. The tube left grooves in the flesh on her face.
“Nanny… ” Ernie said.
She reached for the pack of menthols. Curling her hand around the lighter, she flicked the wheel. With the cigarette between two hooked fingers, she lit and inhaled. Her eyes widened as the nicotine filled what remained of her lungs. “I think it’s sick paying $6,000 for a doll.” Her voice was a rasp on oak, tearing away at each word. “He’s got better things to spend his money on.”
Ernie rubbed his palms on denim. “Says she never talks back, never tells him how to drive and doesn’t say anything when he picks his nose.”
“He should put some clothes on her if he’s gonna take her wherever he goes.” Nanny took a pull on the cigarette.
He picked a dog hair from his black T-shirt. “Says she understands his problems.”
“Sick old bastard! Why do you have to tell me all of this?”
“Because you always ask.” He leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs.
“Heard the news about your Uncle?” She pronounced the ‘your’ as if Bob Swatsky was Ernie’s fault.
He rubbed the bruise on his left cheek and wondered how long it would take to fade.
“Police found your Uncle Bob’s car and they’re still looking for the money.” Nanny nodded in the direction of the TV. MUTE was written across the bottom of a man’s belly. The man on the screen bit into a hot dog dripping ketchup, onions and mustard. He smiled and chewed while gripping the bun with thick fingers.
Ernie’s eyes slid out of focus as the flashback filled his mind. Uncle Bob’s sausage fingers gripped Ernie high on the thigh. Then, fingers pulled at Ernie’s belt. A knife blade ran across the bridge of Ernie’s nose. The smell of onions on Bob’s breath. Ernie focused on the open collar of his Uncle’s white shirt and the hollow at his throat. Ernie’s free right hand automatically crossed forefinger over index; the way he’d been trained to do it in karate. He pulled his elbow back. A roll of flesh sagged beneath Bob’s chin.
“On your knees,” Bob said.
Ernie struck. Both fingertips disappeared into the flesh at the base of Bob’s throat. Bob gurgled and dropped the knife, put his hands to his throat and fell forward. His suffocating weight fell on top of Ernie. Bob’s chin struck the boy on the cheek. His head hit the oak floor.
Ernie heard Scout whimpering.
He looked right. The scratches on the glass sliding door were nearly a half a meter long. Behind them sat his dog with her rear legs to one side and front paws trembling to hold the pose. She whimpered some more. Second hand smoke caught at the back of his throat.
“Aren’t you going to let her in?” Nanny said.
He stood. Grabbing the handle of the door, he looked down and saw the dog’s tail sweeping the deck. He opened the glass. Scout jumped up. “Down!” he said. He pushed Scout back across the deck and sat in a white plastic chair.
Scout sat next to him, lifting her chin so Ernie could scratch her throat. The dog’s ears were miniature sails. They turned to catch the sound of the gate squeaking open. A growl grew in her throat. “Hey,” Ernie said and stood. The hair on the back of the dog’s neck lifted. He caught the sound of heavy footsteps on the sidewalk. His heart pounded. He looked left, ready to escape into the house. His hand reached for the handle of the screen. His nostrils filled with the stench of fear, onions and sweat.