Indiana Pulcinella

WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 5
chapter 17

This is Shazia Wajdan.

A daring daytime escape occurred on Crowchild Trail this morning. Eyewitness Wayne Long describes what happened.

CUT TO WAYNE LONG “I was following the sheriff’s paddy wagon. Two pickup trucks cut me off, then forced the paddy wagon to the side of the road. Guys jumped out of the trucks with long guns. I called 911.”

Another eyewitness, who declined to appear on camera, said one of the guards and a prisoner got into one of the pickups and were driven away. The guard in the driver’s seat was taken to hospital with undetermined injuries. So far there is no word on the identity of the escaped prisoner.

Shazia Wajdan, CBC News, Calgary.

Lane set the phone in its cradle, turning to a waiting Nigel. “Efram Milton escaped.”

Nigel leaned away from his computer. “How?”

“Milton was being transported. The transport van was forced off the road by two pickup trucks. Milton and one of the guards are missing. The other guard is in hospital suffering from a concussion.”

Nigel looked at the ceiling. “The missing guard was in on it?”

Lane shrugged. “It’s a possibility.”

Lane followed Dr. Pierce along one of the walkways connecting the education building to the library tower. A machine with a rolling blue brush threw a cloud of white into the air as it spun snow from the walkway. Pierce was bareheaded, wearing a calf-length cashmere overcoat, a blue scarf, and black leather gloves.

Dr. Pierce turned left, opening one of the heavy glass doors leading into the library foyer. Lane watched as Pierce opened his coat, turning away from the escalator. He walked through a door on the south side of the library.

Lane opened the door, feeling the rush of warm air, but kept his toque on as he followed. Through the open door he saw a room filled with computers. Pierce sat down at a computer with his back to the wall.

Lane backed out of the door, moving to the far side of the escalator to wait. He unzipped his jacket and took off his gloves.

Twenty minutes later, Lane was scratching his head while checking the time on his phone. This toque is so damned itchy!

Dr. Pierce appeared in the doorway, buttoning his coat and arranging his scarf.

Lane turned, watching Pierce’s reflection in the glass. He waited for the professor to walk outside, then followed him to the parking lot south of the education building where his Porsche was parked. The detective made his way to the Jeep, two rows over with a clear view of the Porsche. Lane climbed into the Jeep, pushed in the clutch, and started the engine. I wish this thing had heated seats. He turned on the windshield defroster, then grabbed the gearshift.

Pierce drove toward the south exit facing Father David Bower Arena, turning toward Crowchild Trail. Lane followed the Porsche when it was momentarily out of sight behind a stand of evergreens. Pierce turned onto southbound Crowchild. Lane kept a white pickup between him and the Porsche as they followed Crowchild Trail’s descent into the Bow River Valley. When they stopped at a red light, Lane picked up his phone and dialed Lori.

“Yes, Paul?”

“Can you and Nebal check the social media accounts of Cori and Andrew Pierce for any recent entries?”

“Will do.” Lori hung up.

The light turned green. Pierce turned left, heading toward Kensington.

Pierce parked in front of the Plaza Theatre. It was a white building built in 1935, nestled between a newer building housing a pair of restaurants and the open face of Pages Bookstore.

We’re getting back to where we started. Lane turned down a side street, parking out of sight of Pierce, who walked to the front door of the theater. The billboard above the door announced that The Big Sleep was playing. The detective’s phone rang. “Lane.”

“Nigel. Cori Pierce just parked across from the street from you.”

Lane checked his rear-view mirror, seeing her getting out of a grey BMW X5. She wore an ankle-length silver fox fur coat. The collar was tucked up over her ears.

“Got her. Thanks.” Lane undid his seat belt.

“I’m down the street to the west.”

“The professor went to the Plaza. That’s probably where she’s headed.”

“I’ve got a good spot here to watch the front door. You want to take the back?”

Lane recognized the smile in Nigel’s voice. “You’ve got a nice warm spot?”

“Gotta love these heated seats. The suspects are out in front of the theatre. Keep close to the storefronts, then duck into the bookstore. But first, look up.” Nigel hung up.

What the hell does that mean? Lane didn’t see Cori Pierce near the front of the Plaza. He climbed out of the Jeep, locking it. Then he pulled on his toque, stepping over a pile of crusty snow left by a plow, and walked across the street, making for Pages Books. If memory serves, they have a fire escape looking down over the rear of the Plaza. He opened the front door of the bookstore, spotting several patrons lined up at the counter. He caught a whiff of cigarette smoke and nodded at Sarah. He glanced at the stairs. She smiled. Lane climbed the stairs, unzipping his coat and taking off his toque and mitts. The wall was adorned with black-and-white photographs of writers in literary poses.

He got to the top of the stairs, turned right, and looked out the rear window. A spider’s web of power lines crisscrossed the alleyway. Lane used his right hand to push back a curtain and open a metal door. He stepped out onto the staircase and closed the door behind him. A woman wearing a tan wool coat stood halfway down the fire escape. Looking out over the cars parked below, she brought a cigarette to her lips. Simone glanced over her shoulder, taking another hit of nicotine and nodding at the detective. “Come out to enjoy the sky?” She tipped her head to the right.

Lane looked at the belly of a smoky-blue chinook, then to the west, where the edge of the arch met blue sky. That’s what Nigel was talking about!

“Can you feel it warming up?” Simone tapped the filter tip of her cigarette on the railing.

The wind was shifting, coming from the west. He felt its warm hand on his face. He smiled. “I was wondering if I could borrow your staircase.”

Simone looked to her left as if listening to a conversation. She put her forefinger to her lips, signalling him to join her.

Lane tiptoed down the stairs. Simone pointed between the buildings. A foot-wide gap separated the cinderbrick wall of the bookstore and the brick wall of the theatre. At the far end of the narrow opening stood several metres of wall. Voices carried over the wall, along the gap between the buildings, to their ears.

Lane leaned closer to the Plaza Theatre’s white wall.

“We’re set for Saturday night, then?”

It’s a woman’s voice.

“I think everything is ready.”

That’s Andrew Pierce’s voice.

“I’ve got the passports ready,” the woman said.

“Still want to do the two-fer?” Pierce asked.

“More than ever. It should launch us internationally. Then we do a D.B. Cooper.”

“What’s our weekend total?”

“Five.”

“I’ll need some extra FlexiCuffs,” Pierce observed.

“Get them after the show. I’m finished my smoke. Let’s go in.”

Simone stepped away from the wall. “That’s the woman who wanted the books on Olson, Williams, and Homolka. I saw her coming down the street. Did you hear something you can use?” Simone asked.

“Unfortunately, their conversation would be easy to explain away.” Lane looked at the belly of the chinook. Pierce is getting extra FlexiCuffs. They’re planning for two scenes this time.

Lori pointed at her computer screen. “This is kind of weird. Mostly it’s arrogant, but it is weird.”

Lane went around the counter. There was a photo of Cori Pierce leaning against the hood of an Alpha Romeo. Lori’s red fingernail pointed to a post near the top of the social media page.

Cori and I are frightened by the recent spate of murders in this city. Close acquaintances of ours have been killed. I’m convinced this is the work of a serial killer. The police appear totally inept in their handling of these cases. Cori has told me many of her customers – this city’s movers and shakers – are in fear of their lives. How many more of these tragedies will occur before the police finally arrest those responsible?

“When was this posted?” Lane asked.

“About half past two this afternoon.” Lori pointed at the screen.

“Was it posted from the U of C?” The time fits with when Dr. Pierce was in the library.

“Want me to see what else Nebal can find out?”

“Yes, please,” Lane said.