“Want some water?” Lane asked.
She slowly turned to look at him over her left shoulder and nodded.
Lane went into the kitchen. Riley nudged him with his nose as Lane filled a glass with water. He patted the dog’s flank. Riley ambled into the dining room and settled under the table.
“Thanks,” Martha said as Lane handed her the glass. She sat on the closed toilet lid and sipped tentatively. “Feeling any better?” Lane asked.
“A little bit.” Martha looked directly at Lane.
“You’ll take care of Matt for me. You and Arthur, you’d do that for me?”
“Yes,” Lane said.
“Good.” She nodded, stood, and grabbed the towel railing.
“Going back to bed?” Lane asked.
“Nope. I want to see the sunrise.” She pulled out what appeared to be a cigarette from her housecoat pocket. “And I’m smoking this while I watch.” Martha held the joint up so Lane could see it.
“Where’d you get that?” Lane thought, What am I going to do, arrest her?
“A guy at the hospital gave me a couple. Said that it would help if the nausea got rough. Got any matches?”
“I think Arthur keeps some wooden ones in the kitchen for lighting candles.” Lane thought, I hope this helps, because you must have lost another five kilos.
Five minutes later, they sat wrapped in their winter coats in the backyard. The pungent smell of weed filled the air while pinks, oranges, and purples filled the sky. “The air is cold this morning,” Martha said.
“We’re supposed to get a snowstorm later today.”
“Feels like something’s coming our way.” Martha took another tentative puff of weed.
“What’s that smell?” Harper asked.
“What smell?” Lane said.
They sat next to the window in a coffee shop on Parkdale Boulevard, about four blocks away from the place where Jay and Cole were staying. It was in between lunch and dinner. A group of four people sat at the other end of the shop.
“Weed, Lane. Weed. You smell like weed,” Harper said.
“Martha’s smoking it to help with the nausea from the chemo.”
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry.” Harper began to laugh.
Lane chuckled, “Thought you had me, eh officer?”
“Glad you still have a sense of humour,” Harper said.
“So am I.” And I’d like about twenty-four hours of nightmare-free sleep, Lane thought.
Harper decided to get down to business. “Lisa has a copy of the footprint from Jamaica. She’s getting her expert to take a look. We haven’t heard anything back from Bobbie’s lawyer. Might not hear till next week. Dr. Fibre is still working on the samples from the trunk of Bobbie’s Chrysler. The newspapers are full of stories about Bobbie Reddie, and how she thinks the police are victimizing her. So far, only one editorial says Bobbie should provide the footprint. After all, she’s got nothing to hide.”
“Chief got anything new to say?” Lane asked.
“Not this morning.”
Lane looked outside. A car pulled up in front of the coffee shop. The driver stepped out. The wind whipped at his hair and swung his door open. The white fog of the driver’s breath appeared and was carried south. A few snowflakes plastered themselves against the glass in front of Lane.
They waited, rehashing the case, and keeping an eye on the weather. The call came at about three o’clock.
Lane’s phone rang. He flipped it open.
“It’s Loraine,” she said.
“I’m sitting here drinking coffee with Harper,” Lane said.
“Call it a day. Cole is still asleep. Apparently, he had another bad dream last night. He cried himself out. A good thing, I hope. Anyway, Jay and I are getting to know one another. You know, he’s been on his own since he was fifteen? He managed to graduate high school, and now he’s working on a degree in psychology. It’s beginning to look like he’s had lots of first hand experience dealing with abhorrent behaviour. Anyway, I’m heading home as soon as the next officer arrives to relieve Andrea,” Loraine said.
“Say hello to Lisa for us,” Lane said.
“Oh, I almost forgot, she sent the footprint and the impression from the Jamaican crime scene to the expert. She asked me to pass that on,” Loraine said.
“Thanks. We’ll see you tomorrow?” Lane asked.
“Maybe tomorrow we’ll be able to talk with Cole.” Loraine hung up.
Riley was waiting with his leash in his mouth when Lane walked in the door. There was a hint of marijuana in the air.
Arthur asked, “How are the roads?”
“Getting slippery. Give it a few more hours, and it’ll be tricky. Glad I’m not a traffic cop,” Lane said.
“Don’t worry about Riley, Matt just took him for a long walk. Supper’s in half an hour. The trick-ortreaters should be at the door soon.”
Riley huffed, turned his back, and sat sulking under the dining-room table.
“I’m going to have a quick nap on the couch.” Lane sat down. Just twenty minutes, Lane thought.
Riley barked.
Lane opened an eye. He looked at his watch, realizing he had been asleep for more than an hour.
“Trick or treat!”
Lane swung his legs around and sat up. He tucked his feet into his slippers. Shaking his head, he got up and made for the front door.
Two tots in dog costumes held pillowcases open, while Matt dropped miniature chocolates inside. “Thanks!” the kids said and ran down the stairs. One skidded, nearly fell, and righted himself.
Riley cocked his head to one side.
“Never seen dogs like that before, have you, Riley?”
Matt rubbed the dog’s head. Riley closed his eyes, savouring the moment.
The doorbell rang. Lane turned. Riley barked. Matt opened the door.
Mrs. Smallway stood there with a bag in her hand. She shivered on the top step. The wind whipped at the black silk kimono she wore. “I’m having some friends over.” She used her free hand to keep the front of her kimono closed.
“That’s nice,” Matt said.
Lane couldn’t think of one thing to say. He noticed Mrs. Smallway had done her makeup. She reminded him of a television-evangelist’s wife, despite the geisha lipstick. The blizzard could not move one hair in her beehive hairdo. Lane decided that someone might see a certain innocence in her expression, but he knew her better than that.
“Here are my Halloween candies. Tell the kids not to ring my doorbell.” Smallway handed the bag to Matt, turning her back, and walked away.
Matt let the door close. “There sure are some strange people living in this city.”
Lane, still at a loss for words, took the bag from Matt, and set it down around the corner. He thought of at least a dozen things to say before deciding on, “Where’s everybody?”
“Uncle Arthur’s taking a nap and Mom’s asleep,”
Matt said. Riley licked his hand. “The storm’s really gettin’ bad.” He pointed at the full-length safety glass in the screen door. Frost coated the bottom half.
“Any coffee made?” Lane tried not to think too much about the motives behind Mrs. Smallway’s request.
“Think Uncle Arthur made a pot,” Matt said.
Lane went to investigate and heard Matt turn the TV on.
Lane filled two cups, then put his winter boots on. He pulled on a jacket and stepped outside. The wind whipped snow into his face. He made his way across the street where the unmarked police car sat idling. The driver opened her window. He handed her one cup and another to the passenger. “Thanks. I’m Amanda.” She offered her free hand.
“Lane.” He shook her hand.
“Frank.” The other officer reached across to shake Lane’s hand.
“Let me know if you need anything.” Lane spotted a photo of Bobbie Reddie sitting on the seat cushion.
“We will.” The corners of Amanda’s mouth wrinkled when she smiled. Her hair was red and cut short. Frank’s hair was cut so short, it was hard to see if he usually had any, let alone what colour it might be.