Lane looked at Amanda. There were tears running down her cheeks.
Lane pulled out two sterile bandages. He ripped open the packages. The wind whipped the wrappings away. Amanda’s sobs reached him. He looked at Amanda, then to Bobbie whose mouth was open. Her eyes were unfocused and staring into the storm.
“Amanda?” Lane said.
She looked back at him.
“We think Bobbie killed seven people. One was a child.”
“I think her heart stopped.” Amanda lifted her bloody gloves away from the body. She checked for a pulse.
“She’s gone. Let’s get back to the blue and white.” He walked beside her back to the car. She got into the driver’s seat.
“Where’s Matt?” Martha asked.
Lane leaned on the open passenger door. “I’ll go get him.”
“What happened to you?” Martha asked.
Lane looked at his hands. They were bleeding.
Blood dripped and was carried downwind where it spattered the fresh snow. He looked at his knees. His pants were soaked with blood. “Glass.” Lane wondered why there was no pain.
“Where’s my Matt?” Martha began to scream.
“Matt!”
Lane said, “Martha! He’s all right. He went after Riley.”
Lane looked at the house. It was fully engulfed now.
Flame rolled out the front door. All of the windows were glowing. The snow on the roof was turning to steam.
To the right of the house, on the sidewalk, there was the glow of flame from the Molotov cocktail next to Bobbie’s body.
Lane could hear the sirens now. He pulled down the sleeves of his shirt so he could grip the cuffs in his palms and slow the blood flow. The wind-driven pellets of snow stung Lane’s face. He prayed that Matt had managed to find Riley and put out the fire. He walked past Mrs. Smallway’s house.
The front door opened. Mrs. Smallway was wearing a different kimono. “Is a little privacy too much to ask for?”
Lane looked at his house, then back at his neighbour. “You’d better get out!” He pointed at the flames.
Mrs. Smallway’s mouth opened and closed. She stepped outside to get a better look.
He turned into the wind and walked north. His ears were beginning to freeze. His toes were numb. He found Matt and Riley two blocks away in a neighbour’s front yard. Riley had dropped into the snow next to a parked car. Snow was covering his blackened fur and flesh.
“Riley must have been blinded by the fire, because he ran right into the side of the car. He hasn’t moved since,” Matt said.
Riley’s fur had been burned to the skin. Lane saw that his ribs weren’t moving.
The wind shifted. Lane inhaled the stench of burned hair and flesh.
Matt began to weep.
Lane put his hand at the back of Matt’s neck. Then, remembering his wounds, pulled way, leaving a bloody hand-print on the back of Matt’s shirt. Snow coated Matt’s hair.
Matt patted Riley’s nose, then tried the dog’s paw, hoping for some kind of response.
“Matt, he’s dead.”
Matt’s head dropped.
Lane clenched his hands against the pain. “We have to get back, Matt.”
They left Riley where he’d fallen and walked back to the fire.
When Matt and Lane reached the house, the street
was blocked with fire trucks, police cars, ambulances, a rescue truck, and reporters.
“Look at that!” Matt said.
Mrs. Smallway’s house was burning. She stood across the street in her borrowed kimono. Four men stood beside her. They wore kimonos and animal masks. A reporter aimed his camera. Its light pushed back the darkness to shine on Smallway and her escorts. “Piss off!” Mrs. Smallway said.
A gust of wind blew the kimonos open. The four men stood at attention. The camera panned from left to right capturing the image of the four in masks; a horse, elephant, unicorn and bull with their erect, out-of-season Maypoles blown sideways by a gust of wind. The four members were quickly covered up when Mrs. Smallway said, “Christ you guys! Use your manners!”
A reporter turned to the woman with the camera and asked, “Did you get that?”
Lane and Matt walked past. Only the far wall of Lane and Arthur’s house stood. Firemen aimed their hoses at Mrs. Smallway’s house. Smoke rolled under the edges of her roof, before curling up to be carried away by the storm. The night was filled with the sound of diesel engines running water pumps. Blue and red lights reflected off the snow. Lane stared at the Go Flames Go! poster in the window of one fire truck.
“Hey, Lane!” a police officer said. “We’ve been lookin’ for you! Get yourself looked after!”
Two officers in blue nylon jackets grabbed him by the elbows. They guided him to the back of one of the ambulances.
An officer said, “You! We’ve got another injured cop here. Move!”
A paramedic opened the back door of the ambulance. Lane was heaved up and in through the back door. The paramedic sat him down.
“Where’s everyone else?” Lane asked.
“The policeman with the burns is on the way to the hospital. Some guy and his sister are in another ambulance. They just left for the hospital. The one on the ground was pronounced dead at the scene.”
One of the officers poked his head in the back of the ambulance. Lane said, “See the body over there?
Disturb the scene as little as possible. Did you check her?”
The officer looked over his shoulder and spotted the yellow blanket coated with snow. “She took two in the chest. She’s dead. The paramedics checked her out too.”
“The crime scene needs to be taped off. Double-check to make sure the fire’s out. We need her footprints,” Lane said.
“Footprints?” the officer asked.
“That’s correct,” Lane said.
“Okay.” The officer left.
“I need a phone, please,” Lane said.
“Got one up front,” the paramedic said.
Matt pulled himself into the back of the ambulance.
The door closed behind him. The paramedic examined Lane’s hands. “Looks like you’ll need stitches.” He tore the wrapping off a packet of bandages.
“Where’s the phone?” Lane asked.
“Here.” The driver passed the phone back.
“Matt, take it.” Lane told Matt the number.
“Okay.” Matt dialed and put it to Lane’s ear.
“Hello?” Harper said.
“It’s Lane. I need a favour. Riley’s dead. I need someone to pick up the body.”
“Where?” Harper asked.
Lane looked at the paramedic, “Where are we going?”
“Foothills.”
“Can you pick Matt up at the Foothills Hospital?
He’ll show you where.” Lane handed the phone back to the driver. “We can leave as soon as the Forensic Crime Scenes Unit arrives.”
Sunday, November 1
Chapter 24
POLICE GUN DOWN
LOCAL RADIO PERSONALITY
Bobbie Reddie, the star of a popular afternoon radio show, was shot dead last night by police.
Police claim that Reddie threw a firebomb at the home of a police officer. It is believed to be the home of one of the detectives investigating the deaths of Kaylie and Charles Reddie.
The house was destroyed by the fire. Two of its occupants remain in hospital. The other two occupants were taken to hospital and released…
Lane stopped reading. He looked out Harper’s kitchen window. The snow left a twenty centimetre plateau atop the picnic table. Snow curled over the roof of the garage and hung like a tired dog’s tongue. Harper used a snow shovel to attack the metre high drift running along the sidewalk. He threw snow high into the air where the wind snatched it away.
“Uncle read the article this morning, then he went outside to shovel the walk. He’s pretty pissed off.”
Lane looked over his shoulder at Glenn. Harper’s nephew was about six feet tall and had his blond hair styled to accentuate the features of his face. He wore red sweats and a grey T-shirt. Lane said, “Can’t say I blame your uncle. It’s going to take Amanda a long time to deal with what she had to do. Some officers never recover from a killing. She saved our lives, and her partner’s too. There’s no mention of that. Or that her partner is in the burn unit and will probably need skin grafts.”