BOBBIE: Good afternoon. It’s Bobbie on the ride home. My nightmare continues. My son is in police custody. My lawyer is working on his release. My brother, the product of a very disturbed childhood, is under police protection. If the police can do this to me, they can do it to you! My rights as a mother and a woman have been violated!
“Remember Lisa’s partner, Loraine? She is recommending a meet with Cole and Jay tomorrow. She wants the two of them to relax a bit. She says Cole needs to be near Jay now. If Cole actually saw what we believe he saw, then he needs Jay around.” Lane smiled at the ruse they had used to sneak the pair out of downtown and into a condo on the west side of the city. They used a convoy of four identical vans in the middle of rush hour traffic, then drove Cole and Jay away in an unmarked police car when the media chased the vans.
Lane and Harper sat across the table from one another in a small conference room. Harper looked over the top of his laptop. He plugged it into a wall outlet to tap into the Internet. He transferred information from his pocket computer to the larger machine to backup information.
Harper said, “I checked my e-mail. There’s a quick note from Dr. Fibre. The chief gave him priority on the evidence from the trunk of Bobbie’s car. He’s talking about a preliminary report within twenty-four to fortyeight hours. The e-mail from Jamaica is really gonna blow your mind. The police photographed footprints at the murder scene. They’ve been able to eliminate all but one pair. They’ve couriered us photographs of both unidentified prints. Should be here tomorrow. They want us to eliminate Bobbie as a suspect.”
“No fax?” Lane felt his pulse quicken. Evidence began to pile up in a case that had previously been starved for hard facts.
“Their fax won’t pick up the kind of detail we need for a match. They’re in the process of upgrading their equipment. So, they’re sending us a copy of the prints from the crime scene photographs,” Harper said.
Lane and Harper knew that footprints, like fingerprints were unique to the individual. If they could match Bobbie’s footprints to the scene of the three deaths in Jamaica, they might be able to make a case for five murders instead of two.
“The next couple of days will be tough.” Lane stood and took off his sports jacket to hang it on the back of the chair beside him. “If Cole will testify, if the fibres in the back of the Chrysler are a match, if the footprints from Jamaica match Bobbie’s… if we’re wrong about any of these pieces…”
Harper locked his hands behind his head, “We’re still way ahead of where we were two days ago.” He smiled.
Darkness settled around his neighbourhood. Lane studied the unmarked car parked on the south side of the street. Two people in the front seat watched Lane as he drove by. His headlights illuminated the garage door. It lifted, and Lane pulled inside.
In less than a minute, his key was in the lock. Arthur opened the door, pulling the keys from Lane’s hand.
“We saw you on TV,” Arthur said.
“Did you notice the car parked outside?” Lane slipped his shoes off and stepped into the kitchen.
Peering into the living room, he saw Matt and Riley curled up on the rug. Matt had his head on a pillow and was asleep. Riley was curled up back-to-back with Matt. The retriever’s eyes opened and focused on Lane. Riley’s tail lifted itself off the floor then flopped back. “Hello boy.” Lane bent down and rubbed the dog behind the ears. Riley sighed and closed his eyes.
Martha was wrapped in a blanket and sitting on the couch. She smiled at Lane. Her head was shaved.
Martha kept her voice low as she said, “Matt and Riley went for a walk after supper. They stayed up just long enough to catch you on the news.”
Lane smiled at the scene. It was the last thing he would have expected even two months ago. Previously, Arthur and Lane had fallen into a comfortable routine of work, solving cases, and taking Riley for walks. Now they were making plans for Halloween and talking about a Christmas spent with family.
Lane backed into the kitchen and heard Arthur opening the oven door.
“Kept supper warm for you.” Arthur used oven mitts to get the plate out and onto a bamboo place mat.
“The car?” Lane asked as he sat down, picking carefully at the aluminum foil covering the food.
“They introduced themselves about an hour ago.
They were instructed to tell me that the next few days of this case are critical. Chief wants you to be sure about our safety. You’re not to be distracted.” Arthur sat down across from Lane.
“Why would I worry about home?” Lane smiled when he thought about Jay and Martha and how this house has been turned upside down. He took a deep breath as he uncovered the chicken and baby potatoes bathed in tomato sauce. “I’m starved.” He picked up a fork and knife.
“Don’t you remember?” Arthur asked.
“Remember what?” Lane asked.
“Mrs. Smallway was on Bobbie’s show. It was last week,” Arthur said. “You know what Mrs. Smallway is like. She lives to gossip, and she leaves those underlined articles in our mailbox.”
Lane looked at the food on his plate. His appetite disappeared. He thought, What did Smallway tell Bobbie? He looked at Arthur.
Arthur was up and looking in at Martha. Without looking at Lane, he said, “The long-range forecast is predicting a major snow storm on Halloween.”
Friday, October 30
Chapter 22
CLUES, FACES, AND words swirled around Lane’s mind like moths pulled to a porch light. At two o’clock he gave up trying to sleep and went to read in the living room. These past few weeks, this routine had become maddeningly familiar. The only difference was that tonight’s sleeplessness was not caused by nightmares of crucified children. Cole was safe for the moment. But, it appeared, everyone and everything else was now at risk.
He put on a housecoat and stepped into the hallway. The furnace hummed and forced air through the vents. A pale glow reflected off the hallway wall.
Martha sat on the couch, wrapped in her yellow blanket, staring at the TV screen. She had the closedcaptioning on. There was a head and shoulders shot of a man with perfect hair and perfect teeth. The caption read, “Real power is about becoming the person you were born to be. The person God meant you to be.”
He sat across from her.
“Matt has a game tonight. You able to make it?”
Martha’s voice sounded strong even though the shadows cast by the TV deepened the lines around her eyes and mouth.
“I’m going to try.” Lane propped his feet on the coffee table.
“Matt told me you stuck up for him,” Martha said.
“Well…”
“His father, Alex, never once stuck up for him.
After the first couple of hockey games, he was always too busy to make it. Took me a while to understand he was ashamed of Matt and of me. Matt will never forget the first time someone stuck up for him. I only wish it had been me,” Martha said.
“Why would Alex be ashamed of either of you?”
Lane asked.
“It’s hard to explain,” Martha said.
“We’ve got time.” Lane smiled.
“It was my fault.”
Lane said, “I’m not sure I understand.”
“One imperfect child. Matt was a constant disappointment to Alex.”
“Why was it your fault?” Lane asked.
“It wasn’t, I was just lead to believe that was the case. That’s the beauty of cancer. It makes you take stock. It makes you see what’s important in life. It’s almost like God sent me a gift. I realized that there was no reason for blaming anyone. Matt is just fine the way he is,” Martha said.