Fifteen minutes later, Harper drove down Blackfoot Trail. The plan was to scoot around the Stampede Grounds and then downtown. “So, if we can’t get the car, it rules out a fibre match. Now, we can’t even look at the dirt stuck in the tire treads. The guy who got the tires could have driven anywhere.”
“You’re beginning to think Bobbie is a suspect?”
Lane said.
“It’s a definite possibility. I just don’t want to exclude all suspects other than Bobbie.” Harper glimpsed symmetrical rows of seats in the Stampede Grandstand on their right.
Lane smiled. “Point well taken.”
“We could stop in and pay her a visit. The radio station is maybe ten minutes away.”
“All right.” Lane was quiet the rest of the way.
“I was wrong, it took eleven.” Harper parked in front of Bobbie’s radio station located near the river.
They walked through the revolving front doors of the cable TV and radio station. Ten storeys above their heads, a skylight illuminated the foyer.
Harper made eye contact with Lane and cocked his head, “Look at that.”
Lane turned to see the flowers, stuffed animals, and white crosses arranged around a framed photograph of Kaylie Reddie.
Harper walked over to the security guard who stood behind a semicircle of countertop on a raised platform. Harper looked up at him, “We’re here to see Ms. Reddie.”
Lane pulled out his identification and showed it to the guard.
The guard wore a grey shirt, black tie, and a matching frown. He put his hands on his hips, “I’ll have to call upstairs.” He looked to his right and up the stairs.
“We’d rather you didn’t,” Lane said.
The guard smirked. “If I wanna keep my job, I’m gonna have to call.” The guard lifted his chin and looked over Lane’s shoulder.
Lane turned and spotted the red-carpeted stairway leading to the second floor. He turned to Harper who was smiling at the guard.
The guard leaned across the counter and whispered, “Do I have to draw you guys a map? I need this job. The number one rule around here is don’t mess with Bobbie. The best I can do is give you a head start!”
Leaning back, the guard picked up the phone and raised his voice. “I’m gonna call her right now. You two had better wait!”
“We’ll just head upstairs,” Harper said.
The guard said, “You’d better stop right there!”
Lane looked left. The eyes of at least twenty people were following Lane and Harper as they made their way upstairs.
The guard’s voice chased them, “Two policemen are on their way up to see Ms. Reddie!”
Harper looked back and smiled.
At the top of the stairs, they stepped onto a tiled floor. The hallway was lined with life-sized portraits of singers. One poster watched them from the end of the hall. It took up an entire wall. Bobbie’s image smiled at them. The caption said, Talk to me!
Overhead speakers carried the sounds of a radio show in progress. Lane recognized Bobbie’s voice. He concentrated on the conversation.
CALLER: I know it’s not today’s topic but I’m worried about my daughter. Things are getting pretty intense with her and her boyfriend.
BOBBIE: I’ve got a suggestion. Does your daughter like Oreos?
CALLER: Loves them.
BOBBIE: Tomorrow morning, sit her down at the kitchen table.
CALLER: She’s stays out late and sleeps in.
BOBBIE: Get her up early. Bring out the milk and Oreos.
CALLER: Okay.
BOBBIE: Offer her an Oreo, but before you hand it to her, open the cookie and lick the filling. Then put it back together. Hand it to her. When she says, “Yuck!” say, “Nobody wants a girl who loses her
virginity.”
CALLER: Thanks, Bobbie.
Lane and Harper stood on the outside of a wall of glass. Bobbie sat behind a desk the size of a small car and in front of a microphone. She was dressed in white.
Across from Bobbie, behind another glass wall, sat the producer. Bobbie’s producer looked to be twentyfive years old and weighed maybe fifty kilograms. Lane watched for a reaction. There was none.
BOBBIE: I’ll be back after a short break.
Harper knocked on the glass.
Bobbie looked up and stared at the officers.
The producer opened the glass door to Lane’s left.
Lane and Harper stepped inside.
Bobbie glared at her producer.
“Hello Ms. Reddie,” Lane said.
“I’m very busy.” Bobbie leaned forward, blinking several times.
“There is one question.” Lane moved closer. Harper moved to his right.
Bobbie leaned back. She looked behind the detectives. “We’ve just come from Idaho Metals. We wondered what made you decide to shred your car?”
Bobbie wiped at her eyes. She looked beyond Harper and Lane.
Harper looked over his shoulder and said to Lane, “We’ve got an audience.”
Lane focused on Bobbie’s eyes.
“Have you ever lost a child?” Bobbie’s voice wavered.
Lane thought, She’s playing me and whoever’s behind me. “We’re here about the car.”
“Just what are you accusing me of? I’ve lost my child! I’m the victim here!” Bobbie stood up. She pointed at the door. “I’ve got nothing to hide!”
Lane sensed that Bobbie was performing for an audience. He turned and saw the glass wall lined with faces. Not one of them was smiling. Lane looked left at the producer. She looked back at him with the same neutral expression she’d greeted him with earlier.
Five minutes later, Harper drove toward the centre of downtown. “That went well.”
“I know you think it didn’t.” Lane watched a young woman skateboarding down the sidewalk. She weaved her way around and between pedestrians.
“You think it did?”
“Why wouldn’t she answer the question?” Lane asked.
Harper thought for a minute. “A shredded car rules out a fibre match. It also means we can’t even look at the dirt stuck in the wheel wells.”
“So, Bobbie’s covering?”
Harper checked the rear-view mirror. “It’s a definite possibility. As I said, I just don’t want to exclude all suspects other than Bobbie. Anything you want me to keep my eyes out for over the weekend?”
“If you want something to do, see if they can fax more of the details about the Jamaica fire. If you want a laugh, come and see me at referee school.”
“You’re joking,” Harper said.
“I wish.”
“Man, before you know it you’ll be a hockey dad!”
“Not even a remote chance of that,” Lane said.
Saturday, October 17
Chapter 10
IT FEELS GOOD to be back on the ice, Lane thought, even though I haven’t had time to buy new skates.
The ancient figure skates had raised a few eyebrows.
So had the black-and-white helmet he’d borrowed from Harper. The rookie referees spent the morning in class learning the rules of the game. Tomorrow, if he passed the test with an eighty-five percent or better, he would be a referee.
“The key to doing the job well is being at the right place all of the time.” Bob was a referee with some international experience. Bob took pains to look the part with a short-short haircut covered by a black helmet with a visor. He wore a black-nylon sweatsuit. He was shorter than Lane and had quick feet and a sarcastic disposition. “Hey toe picks? Show me the best position for a referee if the players are crowded around the net and the puck is loose.”
Lane took a couple of quick strides, reversed so his eyes would still be on the play, and positioned himself to one side behind the net. “Here.”
“Right.” Bob didn’t bother to hide his disappointment. Lane was in perfect position. “Be sure to get a pair of hockey skates before your first game.”
Lane opened his mouth to reply, then thought better of it. His cellphone chirped.