“But it was only two years old.”
“You wanna check out the junkyards or phone the vet?” Harper asked.
Ten minutes later, they drove down John Laurie Boulevard. The sign at Bobbie’s church had a new message: I won’t fall to pieces, I’ll just fall at the feet of my Saviour. Lane read it and recalled the look on Cole Reddie’s face when he heard the news of his sister’s death.
“How come you never listen to the radio?” Tony asked. After their last class, rush-hour traffic on Crowchild Trail was just beginning to build.
“There’s so much crap on the radio.” Jay turned up the music. “We’ll be early for work. Wanna grab a slurpee?”
“Don’t change the subject. I’ve never once been in this car when you listened to the radio. You’ve always got your own music on. And, come to think of it, I’ve never seen you read a newspaper.” Tony leaned against the passenger door and studied his friend.
Jay looked over at Tony, “Fuck! I hate the papers! I hate the radio! Isn’t that good enough for you?”
Tony looked ahead, “Okay. If you don’t wanna talk about it, you don’t wanna talk about it. Man, we used to be able to talk about anything. Maybe you need to talk to Bobbie on the radio for advice.”
“Shut up!” Jay’s face was lipstick red.
“Okay man, have it your way. You still comin’ for dinner on Sunday? Uncle Tran doesn’t invite everybody, you know.”
Jay took a deep breath and thought about Rosie.
“Rosie’ll be there. Don’t worry. I saw the way you looked at her,” Tony said.
“What the hell’s your problem?” Jay felt like Tony was reading his mind.
“You know what?” Tony asked.
“What?” Jay pretended to study the road.
“She was watchin’ you pretty close too.”
BOBBIE: Good afternoon. It’s Bobbie on the ride home. Friday’s here, and the weekend’s looking good.
Let’s talk about renewal. Doing something nice for me. You know, taking care of the one who cares for everyone else. Come on callers, what do you do to put a smile on your face? I could use some help.
“I like this kind of fall day,” Harper said.
“No bugs,” Lane said as they pulled onto the gravel lot and parked in front of Idaho Metals. The sky was clear. The temperature was twenty degrees Celsius. The Idaho Metals office was a single-wide trailer in front of a six-foot chain-link fence topped with three strands of barbed wire.
Inside, they were greeted by a woman, maybe thirty years old, who looked up at them as they entered.
“Cops,” she said under her breath.
“Detectives Lane and Harper.” Lane looked at her, sensed anxiety, and decided a change in approach might be the best way to go. He spotted a photograph on her desk. “Twins?”
“Yep. It’s an old picture. They’re ten now,” she said.
Lane looked at her left hand and, seeing no rings, said, “It’s tough raising kids these days.” Lane read the triangular sign on her desk. “It’s Joan isn’t it?”
“That’s right. And, I’m lucky. They’re good boys. How can I help you?” She stood.
Lane spotted the sweat stains under her arms. It’s not that hot in here, he thought. “We’re looking for information on a late-model Chrysler owned by Bobbie Reddie.”
“I see.” Joan swallowed.
Harper looked at Lane, then back at Joan.
“Could you tell us anything about its present location or status?” Lane asked.
“You’d have to ask Mike. He’s out in the yard. Just go out the door and walk through the gate.”
The yard was a maze of wrecked cars, through knee-high grass and weeds. The hum of traffic on the freeway was constant.
“She was getting a little nervous,” Harper said.
“That’s for sure,” Lane said.
“Wonder what she has to feel guilty about?” Harper asked.
“I’m not sure. Maybe it has something to do with the car and maybe not. So, it’s Mike we’re looking for, right?” Lane walked next to Harper between rows of cars. Those with damaged back ends were usually missing hoods, grills, and bumpers. A few were missing engines. One sat with its entire front end removed right up to the firewall. At the end of the row, a man in blue coveralls sat inside the engine compartment of a pale-blue pickup. One of his boots was propped on a fender. He wore a ball cap with its brim pointing backward.
A cellphone rang.
Lane and Harper looked at one other, wondering whose cell was ringing.
“Hello,” the man in the coveralls said. “Yeah we got one of those. It’s near the fence, on the north side of the shredder. The windshield’s good.” He listened for a moment then looked at Lane and Harper. “They’re here.”
“Mike?” Lane asked.
“Yep.” Mike flipped the phone shut. He rested his nose on the back of his right wrist.
Harper leaned on the fender of the truck. Lane stood next to the side mirror. It was leaning at an odd angle because one of the brackets was broken. He watched Mike’s face.
The silence stretched out before anyone spoke.
“You remember a champagne-coloured, late-model Chrysler brought here by Bobbie Reddie?” Harper asked.
“Yep,” Mike said, then waited.
“Look,” Harper said, “we’re just here for information.” Mike smiled and nodded a couple of times as if to say, “Sure you are.”
Lane noted the wariness behind Mike’s blue eyes, and the sense of humour revealed by the crow’s feet. The man was clean-shaven, and his fingers looked like they had been turning wrenches for most of the last two decades. Lane said, “You want to get out of there? It doesn’t look too comfortable.”
Mike said, “I’ll get out of here when I get this goddamned alternator out. Ask your frickin’ questions.”
“We need to know where the car is,” Harper said.
Mike pointed at a mountain of shredded metal at the end of a conveyor belt. “In there.”
“You shredded a new car?” Lane asked.
“She came in here sayin’ she wanted her car shredded. Started cryin’. Said it was her way of gettin’ rid of bad memories. We tried to talk her out of it. Then Joan, she’s the secretary, pulled me over and said, ‘The woman just lost her little girl.’ So we took the serial numbers, drained the gas tank, took out the battery, and did as she asked. Then, Bobbie left.”
“Did you salvage anything else from the car?” Lane asked.
“Just the tires.” Mike lifted his cap, revealing a receding hairline.
“What happened to those?” Harper looked hopefully at Lane.
“One of the guys grabbed them. The tires had quite a bit of wear left, so he put ‘em on his car. Nice wheels,” Mike said.
“Did you wonder at all about her request?” Lane asked.
Mike chuckled, “The whole thing was weird. New car. Grieving mother who cried a lot. She stopped cryin’ like someone had turned off a tap, when we agreed to do what she wanted. By the time she left, she was grinnin’ from ear to ear. Either it was grief, or there was something freaky goin’ on.”
“Like what?” Lane asked.
“Well nothin’ adds up. She cries about being all alone and losing a child. Says she doesn’t know what she’s gonna do now that she’s a single mom. Then she shreds a car worth more than $15,000. We pay her nothin’ for it. We make so much per-tonne on the scrap. She doesn’t care. ‘Just take care of it,’ she says. When bits of metal start comin’ out of the shredder, she’s gets this big shit-eatin’ grin on her face. If she’s so grief-stricken and broke, how come she’s smilin’ from ear to frickin’ ear? It just doesn’t add up.”
“You’re right,” Harper said.
“How’s that?” Mike asked.
“It doesn’t add up,” Harper said.
Sure it does, Lane thought. As they walked away, he said to Harper, “We’re not getting the whole story here.”