Malabarista

THURSDAY, AUGUST 23
chapter 9

“Is Christine around?” Lane checked his email as he talked on the phone.

“She’s at work,” Arthur said, his tone implying that Lane should know her schedule.

“Of course. I’ll have to talk to her when I get home,” Lane said.

“If she’s here.”

“Yes.” Lane hung up just as Lori stuck her head into his office.

“Got some information from the Department of National Defense.” She held out a file with faxes inside.

“Mladen?” Lane took the folder.

“Yep. I took a quick peek. The kid’s moved around. Some of the peacekeepers chipped in, pulled some strings, and got him into Spain for medical treatment, rehab, and schooling. After that, they helped him get over here.”

“Thanks.”

“Have a rough night?”

Lane looked at her but didn’t answer.

Keely walked in and sat down at the desk next to Lane’s. “Kids giving you a rough time?”

“My niece brought a boyfriend home for supper. He had a bruise on his chin, and I jumped to the wrong conclusion.” Lane waited for their reactions.

Keely looked at Lori.

“How’d he get the bruise?” Lori asked.

“He stepped in when another guy hit Christine. The guy who hit her was drunk, and he hit Daniel as well.”

“Daniel’s the boyfriend?” Keely asked.

“Looks like it.”

“So he tried to help Christine, and you thought he had been beating up on her?” Lori asked.

“Something like that,” Lane said. How did I end up in the middle of an interrogation?

“Like what, exactly?” Keely asked.

“Well, I thought she was bringing home a guy who was bad news. She’s been known to pick guys who aren’t good for her.”

“And you did what?” Lori asked.

“I got mad and left. Took the dog for a walk.”

“And now you need to apologize, right?” Lori asked.

“That’s right.”

“What a dad.” Keely smiled. “About the same thing my dad would have done under the circumstances. How about yours?” She looked at Lori.

“Sounds like something mine would do too.” Lori began to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Lane asked.

“You are.” Lori left.

“Let’s get through this information on Mladen. Any luck contacting him yet?” Keely asked.

“Not yet. We may have to go to Marda Loop on Friday night to catch the show.” Friday’s going to be a busy day. Lane picked up the file. “Let’s take a look at this.”

They began skimming the pages.

“Here’s something.” Keely pointed at a paragraph on the second page. “There were other witnesses to the massacre. Five of them identified Borislav Goran as the one who ordered the executions. And thirty-seven bodies were discovered in a mass grave after the end of the war.”

“That could easily mean that Jelena is right and Mladen had a motive.” Lane held up another paragraph. “Apparently, Mladen was taken care of by a group of Canadian officers and enlisted men who managed to get him to Spain. Some members of the Canadian Embassy in Madrid helped get him enrolled in a school and arranged for medical care. This confirms that Mladen lost his entire family in the war.”

“As you said, it gives him a pretty strong motive for killing Branimir.” Keely looked at the computer screen. “Do you think we should swing by Mladen’s place again?”

“Yes. And we should check into this: Borislav had a wife named Safina Goran. I wonder if there are any photographs?” Lane thought for a minute. “And I wonder if Lori’s friend in The Hague can tell us anything about Andelko Branimir?”

“It’s worth a try. I’ll ask Lori.”

They left fifteen minutes later, and after thirty more, they were parked in front of Mladen’s west-facing bungalow. Lane looked across the valley. A railway line, a freeway, and a creek ran north and south. Further west was downtown, and further still were the mountains.

“Do you ever get tired of looking at them?” Keely looked at the edges where blue sky and grey peaks met.

“No.” Lane watched a man cutting Mladen’s grass. He wore a ballcap and chewed the end of a cigar while he worked. The man worked his way up near Mladen’s doorstep, changed directions, looked up, and spotted the detectives parked at the sidewalk. The mower quit. The man took the cigar from his mouth. He reached up with his free hand and picked a piece of tobacco from his lower lip.

“We’re looking for Mladen Nezil,” Keely said.

“So?” The man took off his hat and wiped the inside elbow of his shirtsleeve across his shining scalp.

Try something different. He got out of the car, walked forward, and offered his hand. “Detective Lane.”

“Harvey.” He shook Lane’s hand. Lane felt calluses that must have built up over a quarter-century of labour.

“Good strong grip,” Harvey said. “Never trust a man with a sissy handshake.”

Lane opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “He’s not home?”

“Nope. The guy works all day, then makes money as some kinda street performer. I was cuttin’ my grass, so I just cut his too. Retired, so I got time on my hands.” Harvey stuck the cigar back in his mouth.

“Know where he works?” Lane asked.

“Nope. All I know is the old owners were thrilled when Mladen paid cash for the place.”

Keely asked, “What’s he like?”

Harvey shrugged and pulled the cigar out with his right hand. “Don’t see much of him. All he does is work and sleep.”

“He doesn’t own a car?” Lane asked.

Harvey looked at the detectives. He pointed at Keely with his cigar. “Kid’s a hard worker. Doesn’t bother anyone. Just trying to make a go of it. You’re barkin’ up the wrong tree with this one.” He turned, went back to the mower, reached down, and started the motor, destroying the temporary quiet.

“Guess that means we can go,” Keely said.

“It’s okay. I understand. You apologized. It’s all good. My father acted much the same way when he met my sister’s fiancé for the first time.” Daniel sat with his legs splayed out in front of him. He leaned against the back door as he sat on the back step. He shifted his six-foot five-inch frame so he could lean his elbows onto his knees.

Lane caught himself watching Daniel’s brown eyes like he would a suspect’s.

“It’s not okay as far as I’m concerned.” Christine tapped the table with her middle finger to emphasize her point. “You never stopped to find out the facts. Your job is all about gathering evidence and discovering the facts. You never gave me a chance to explain – you just reacted emotionally.”

Matt covered his mouth. Christine glared at him.

Arthur looked over his glasses at her. “Did you just say something about reacting emotionally?”

Christine smiled. Arthur looked at Lane. Daniel laughed.

The phone rang.

Lane got up, put his hand on Daniel’s shoulder as he eased by, and went into the kitchen. Less than a minute later, he poked his head out the door. “I have to go.”

“I was just opening the front door to go outside. There was an explosion. I think it was a pipe bomb.” Keely’s red hair hung down to her shoulders, framing her face.

A redheaded officer from the bomb disposal unit held the remains of the explosive device in his palms so Lane and Keely could see them. “This is what we’ve found so far. Not very sophisticated but still lethal. Either someone was just trying to scare the hell out of you, or this thing went off early.”

Lane read the name SHANE on the officer’s uniform.

Keely looked at the burned-out remains of her car. “So it was taped to the bottom of my gas tank?”

“We found some duct tape,” Shane said, “so that’s our working theory.”

A tow truck driver crawled under the front bumper of Keely’s car and attached a cable. Firemen packed up their equipment. The pavement was wet and shimmering. Lane looked across the street as a photographer with a long lens took their picture. “Maybe we should go inside.”

Keely’s condominium had one bedroom with a kitchen and living room divided by a nook.

“You want a cold drink?” Keely reached into the fridge.

“Water sounds good.” Lane sat on the couch. Keely handed him a bottle of water and sat at the other end.

Someone knocked at the door. Startled, Keely spilled her water onto the carpet.

Lane got up. “I’ll get it.” He reached for the doorknob. “Who are you expecting?”

“Dylan. My parents.” Keely put her bottle, with what little water was left in it, on the coffee table.

Lane opened the door to face a round, dark-haired man and a taller, red-haired woman. Both of them appeared ready for a scrap.

“Who are you?” the woman asked.

“Yes, where is my daughter?” The man put his fists on his hips while looking Lane up and down.

“Mom. Dad. This is Detective Lane. My new partner. I called him right after I called you and Dylan.” Keely stood behind her partner. “Lane. This is my father Amir and my mother Katherine.”

Lane smiled, remembering his own defensive reaction after meeting Daniel for the first time. He offered his hand to shake Amir’s.

Katherine brushed past the two of them to hug her daughter. “You sure you’re okay?” Mother and daughter sat on the couch.

“Fine, mom.”

“What’s being done to protect our daughter?” Amir asked.

“Your daughter needs you now, Amir. Get over here,” Katherine said.

Amir glanced at his wife and sat down beside his daughter. He put his arm around Keely. She began to sob. Katherine started crying right after Amir did.

Lane was looking for a box of tissues when the door opened. The man entering was just under six feet, with sandy hair, and carried a briefcase. He held a key as he walked into the room. He stood open-mouthed at the scene on the couch.

“Let me take that, Dylan,” Lane said.

Dylan handed over his briefcase and keys, went to the couch, knelt down, and soon found himself in the middle of a group hug. Katherine leaned against the arm of the couch, smiled at the scene, then looked at Lane. Lane handed her a tissue.

“Thanks.” She wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

Lane waited five minutes before asking, “How about some pizza?”

Forty-five minutes later, they arrived at Lane’s house – just ten minutes before the pizza deliveryman. Arthur set the pizzas out on the table on the deck, poured wine, and worked his way through the introductions.

“You speak Arabic?” Amir asked.

“Of course.” Arthur proved his point by speaking in the tongue of his father and mother.

“They’ll be busy for a while,” Keely said to Lane.

Lane stood up. “I need to make a few calls,” he said before exiting into the kitchen.

Christine nodded in Amir’s direction. “Does he know?” she asked Keely.

“Know what?”

“About our uncles?” Christine glanced to see if Amir had overheard, but he was happily talking with Arthur.

“That they’ve been very kind to our daughter and to us?” Katherine asked.

“That he’s my partner?”

Christine rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. Do you have a problem with it?”

“Do you?” Keely glanced at her mother.

Christine’s face went red; she opened her mouth as if to respond, closed it, and frowned.

Lane came back outside. He looked at Keely and Dylan. “You know you can’t go home until we find out who this bomber is?”

“What?” Dylan looked at Keely.

“A safe house has been arranged for you. I’d recommend that Katherine and Amir stay there as well. Does your brother live in town?”

“Yes, but you don’t have to worry about Amir,” Keely said.

“I’m wondering how the bomber got your address?” Lane asked.

Keely shook her head. “You think it’s someone from work?”

“It’s more than a distinct possibility,” Lane said, then wondered, How come she believes her brother is safe?