Malabarista

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 29
chapter 15

“Take another bow for your work.” Lane lifted his coffee in a salute to Keely. They sat at Central Blends, where the coffee was smooth, the food was cooked fresh on the premises, and the atmosphere was rustic.

Keely smiled. “The best part is that since Stockwell’s been charged, we moved back home yesterday. Dylan couldn’t have handled much more of living with my dad.”

Lane nodded, then sipped his coffee.

“Now all we have to do is figure out who killed Branimir,” Keely said. She tried to find a comfortable sitting position but couldn’t. “Could we walk?”

Lane picked up his coffee. “Good idea.” He followed her past the dessert display, the tables, and the landscape photographs for sale. The original wood floors announced the progress of their steps through the café and to the front door.

Outside, Keely rolled her shoulders back, closed her eyes, and felt the sun’s warm hands. “Which way?”

“Left. There’s a great house over here.” Lane led the way.

“Do you think Stockwell detonated the second bomb?” Keely asked.

“Hard to tell. The only thing I know for sure is that Stockwell always looks out for himself first. Everyone else runs a distant second. If he says he didn’t detonate the second bomb, he may be telling the truth, or he may be trying to avoid a longer jail sentence.” Lane gradually increased his pace to keep up with his partner.

“Where do we look?” Keely asked.

“I’ve been thinking about retracing our steps and asking for DNA from Zacki Branimir. But first, I think we need to talk with Mladen. From now on, we don’t tell anyone when we’re coming to have a chat. For now, at least, I don’t think we should call in our location to dispatch. We can let Lori know, but that’s about it.” Lane stepped onto the curb and waited for a gap in traffic so they could cross Nineteenth Street.

“You don’t think Stockwell acted on his own, then?” Keely looked left while Lane looked right. They stepped into the crosswalk.

“No. On the other hand, it’s pretty clear that other members of the Scotch drinkers’ club will be distancing themselves from Stockwell. Any association with Stockwell is beginning to look like a career-limiting move. Whoever tipped Stockwell to our location and your personal information isn’t likely to come forward. The only way we’ll know is if Stockwell tells us who it was. Chief Simpson will put the communications department under a microscope. So we should be safer now.” Lane pointed at a house on their left. It was a two-storey with rounded windows, a brick face, and copper pillars. The front yard consisted of wild flowers and Colorado blue spruce trees behind an ornamental iron fence.

“Nice.” Keely smiled when she saw various toys scattered across the front deck. “Looks a little out of my price range.”

“I just like looking. I get the feeling it’s a happy place to live.”

They continued walking.

“Let’s go and see Mladen,” Lane said. “I’d like to ask him a few more questions.”

Fifteen minutes later, they walked into a camera and framing shop on Eleventh Avenue at the western edge of downtown.

Inside, they took in the pictures placed up near the top of the walls. “Someone’s been to Greece.” Keely looked at the photographs of the people and the houses climbing up from the seashore to the top of the hill.

Lane spotted the young woman at the counter and walked toward her. “Is Mladen in?”

She looked up from the computer screen, tucked her brown hair behind her ear, and said, “He should be upstairs.” She walked out from behind the counter. Lane and Keely followed her up three stairs to a room filled with sample frames, a variety of borders, and a workbench the size of a pool table. She pushed open a door labeled EMPLOYEES ONLY. “Mladen! A couple of customers are here to see you.”

The young woman turned, smiled, and walked past the detectives. “Thanks,” Keely said.

The door swung open and Mladen appeared carrying a rectangular piece of glass. He looked at the detectives and gently set the glass down on the bench.

“We’d like you to look at some pictures.” Lane placed a brown envelope on top of the glass.

Mladen looked at the envelope as if it might burn him if he touched it. He reached out to it then pulled his hand away.

Keely said, “They’re pictures of some soldiers. We’d like to know if you can identify them.”

Mladen’s hand reached for the envelope, then pulled back again. He shook his head. “You don’t know what this can do to me.”

“What do you mean?” Lane asked.

“You don’t know what you’re asking. It’s Goran, isn’t it? I still have nightmares about the war. They’re getting bad again.” Mladen’s face was white as he stared at the envelope.

Lane went to pull the envelope away.

“Wait,” Mladen said. He took a long breath, picked up the envelope, and slid the photos out. He set all three on the bench. “The man is Borislav Goran. Both pictures are the same man. He is older in this one.” Mladen pointed at the driver’s licence photo. “He was the leader of the Tarantulas. He ordered the killings and the rapes.” Mladen pulled over a stool and sat down. His eyes never left the photos. “The woman is older in this photo, but it looks like his girlfriend. She was a sniper. She guarded us while the Tarantulas took the men into the forest and executed them. All of the members of Goran’s paramilitary unit had the same insignia on their jackets. Some of them even had tattoos up here on their shoulders.” Mladen touched the shoulder of his right arm. “Yes, that looks like her.”

“A name?” Keely’s voice was just audible.

Mladen shook his head before looking at the detectives. “We never knew her name.” He pointed at Keely and the vivid bruise on her face. “You were injured in that explosion? The newspaper said two detectives were injured.”

Keely nodded. “Yes, it was us.”

Mladen looked at Lane. “Do you think you know what war is like?”

“No,” Lane said.

“The militia – these Tarantulas – they took a coffee break after the killings, before they started the rapes.” He pointed at the picture of Jelena. “The woman watched. She smoked her cigarettes and she watched. The Tarantulas joked about what they were going to do to us.” Mladen looked at the detectives in turn. “I hope that you will never find out what war is like.”

“Where were you on Sunday morning at ten o’clock?” Lane asked.

“Leo and I were at Prince’s Island. It was a busy day for us.” Mladen took the photos, put them back in the envelope, and handed them to Lane. “After the explosion, are you still the same people?”

After a few years on this job, I’m a different person.

“The flashbacks happen all the time,” Keely said.

Mladen showed them his thumb and forefinger, holding them barely a millimetre apart. “You’ve had a tiny taste of what war is like.”

“Why are you so kind to the children in your performances?” Lane asked.

Mladen hesitated, as if suspecting a trap. “My mother made me promise not to become a killer. To become a man who was kind to children. A man she could be proud of.”

“Do you have a cellphone?” Lane asked.

“Of course. You want the number?” Mladen recited it. Lane wrote it down. As he turned, he saw Mladen spraying the worktable with cleaner and wiping at the spot where the photos had been. I wish it were that easy to wipe away a memory.

A few minutes later, Keely opened the passenger door and got into the Chev. “Let’s go have a chat with Leo.”

Lane drove north, then east to a computer store up the hill from the centre of the city. They parked next to a camouflage green and grey SUV the size of a bus.

“Either somebody’s trying to make a statement or has a bit of a Napoleon complex.” Keely undid her seat belt and watched a middle-aged woman climb into the SUV and put on her glasses.

“Or it’s somebody’s mom on a shopping trip.” Lane smiled as he looked over the roof of the Chev.

Keely shook her head. “Smartass.” She covered her mouth when she realized what she’d said. Lane laughed and walked to the computer store.

Inside, a receptionist sat at the head of a line of desks. Behind her sat a row of five salesmen. No one looked up.

Keely and Lane stood in front of the bespectacled receptionist. She looked up and blinked at them through magnified eyes. “Yes?”

“We’d like to talk with Leo, please.” Keely showed the receptionist her id.

“I’m in here.” Leo’s head popped up from behind a monitor. “I’ll be right out.”

The secretary stared at her computer screen and said, “He’ll be right with you.”

Lane looked around. Software and hardware were neatly stacked along the walls and shelves. Three customers were playing with demo computers.

Leo said, “We can meet in here.” He held his right hand up and guided them through a glass door into an office, and closed the door. “Sit down.”

Lane and Keely looked at one chair behind a desk and another in front of it.

“I’d prefer to stand,” Keely said.

“Mladen said you two were nearly blown up in that explosion on the weekend.” Leo leaned on his crutch with his back to the glass door. “He phoned about ten minutes ago, and I thought the two of you might show up here. You’re here to see if we were working downtown on Sunday morning and we were.” Leo turned to look through the glass at his co-workers. “All the people I work with know so much about computers and so little about people.”

“Did you see anyone in the crowd who could verify your story?” Lane asked.

Leo looked at him. “Don’t know any names, but there are a few regulars who show up most Sundays.” He smiled. “You could always come next Sunday and check.”

“Dr. Weaver? It’s Detective Lane.” Lane sat in the Chev outside a café on Kensington Drive. Keely listened to Lane’s end of the conversation from behind the wheel.

“I just wanted to confirm that there’s a viable DNA sample from the remains of Andelko Borimir.” Lane waited and smiled at Keely. “Thank you. Oh? Sure. No problem.” Lane looked at the phone and pressed END. He looked at Keely. “Next time we drive by that café in Parkdale, he wants us to pick him up some more Nanaimo bars.”

“Will they be able to get DNA from the remains?” Keely asked.

“He thinks so.”

“Good. Let’s get a coffee and go visit Jelena.” Keely pulled the keys out of the ignition, checked her hair in the mirror, and eased out of the car.

Lane threw his paper cup in a garbage can two doors down from Jelena’s Alterations. Keely followed. Lane opened the door of the shop and looked inside. Three women were working at their sewing machines. Jelena wasn’t one of them.

“I’m here.”

The voice came from the parking lot. Jelena smoked a cigarette. She stood between a pickup truck and a van. She dropped the smoke. It rolled under the truck. “What you want?”

“A DNA sample to confirm that the remains we found are Andelko Branimir,” Keely said.

“From me? Go ahead.” Jelena moved closer.

“From your daughter. From Zarafeta,” Lane said.

“Go fuck yourself.” Jelena walked past them and into her shop. Not one of the women working on the sewing machines raised her head.

After they got back in the car, Keely said, “We need this. We need to prove that Andelko didn’t leave Calgary, and that he is the father of Zacki. That way we’ve got solid proof about the identity of the body. Otherwise, anyone could argue that we have only circumstantial evidence and Branimir really did go back to his old hometown.”

“Getting admissible evidence may be problematic,” Lane said.

“One way or another, we need to know we’re on the right track.”

“It’s not going to be easy.” Lane pulled on his seat belt.

“You’re forgetting something. I’ve never met the daughter.”

Lane looked at Jelena’s shop. He looked at Keely. “I wonder if any of the condominiums in that complex are up for sale?”

Lori looked up from her desk as Lane and Keely walked into the office. She gently hugged each of them in turn. “How come you’re here? You should be off work for at least a week.”

Lane refrained from stretching the sore muscles that were complaining after Lori’s hug. “We have a couple of things to do.”

Lori looked at Keely. “Don’t you be thinking that just because the big boy is back, you have to be back too.”

Keely said, “Whoever made that bomb tried to blow both of us up.”

“I thought you got the asshole – oh, sorry – the suspect.” Lori leaned back against the desk. “By the way, word’s getting around to the members of the Scotch drinkers’ club that they’d better lay off. Suddenly, the members’ list for the club has dropped down to one or two. People who were regular members are saying they only went to keep an eye on Smoke. Others are saying they only went to have a drink or two and talk with their friends. It’s all become very innocent. And nobody else is buying it.” Lori cocked her head in the direction of Gregory’s office. “Notice how he’s making himself scarce?”

We need to solve this case, not worry about Smoke and his buddies. “We need to get a DNA sample and we need your help. We also need to find out if your friend at The Hague can get any other photos of the woman in Borislav Goran’s militia unit.”

Keely looked at Lane. “Have you got the listing?”

Lane smiled. “We need to see if it’s possible to put a residence under surveillance.” He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Lori. “It’s for sale and it’s across the street from the Branimir residence.”

“How about a couple of real estate agents having an open house?” Lori asked.

“The kitchen overlooks Jelena’s home,” Keely said.

“I know just the pair for that job. I’ll get a call in right away.” Lori reached into her drawer. “And if I hurry, I might just catch our friend in The Hague.” She held up a business card. “He’s right here.”

Matt came upstairs to find Lane putting a leash on Roz. “Where are you going?” Matt yawned.

“Roz and I are thinking about taking a run down by the river.” Lane rubbed the dog behind the ears and stood up.

“Mind if I come along?” Matt went into the kitchen and filled a glass of water.

“Not at all.” Lane waited at the front door.

Christine came upstairs. “Where you goin’?”

“Down by the river to take Roz for a walk.” Matt stuck his feet into his running shoes.

“Can we come?” Christine asked.

“Sure,” Lane said.

“Daniel! Wanna go for a walk?” Christine yelled down the stairs.

Arthur’s eyes opened. “What?” He sat up on the couch.

“We didn’t want to wake you after you had all of those tests today,” Matt said.

“I’m coming too,” Arthur said.

The six of them sat cheek to cheek in the Jeep. Roz had the back of the cabin to herself and licked Christine behind the ear.

“Hey!” Christine wiped at her ear. Arthur turned to see what was up. Matt looked at Daniel, who was blushing. Christine laughed. “It was Roz!”

It took twenty minutes to reach the soccer fields on the flats between the river, the football fields, and the Trans-Canada Highway.

Lane parked on the gravel on the west side of the fields. The sun drew a shadow line halfway up the Douglas firs. The trees wrapped their roots into the steep, towering bank on the south side of the river.

Daniel and Christine squeezed out of the Jeep. “Which way are we going?” Daniel asked.

“Just wait.” Matt lifted the rear door and put a leash on Roz. He walked toward the pathway heading east while Arthur, Christine, and Daniel looked west at the sky with its oranges and pinks. The sound of the river was soothing background music to Roz’s panting, their footsteps, and intermittent conversation.

“Look at all the birds.” Christine pointed north.

The soccer field was dotted with the blacks, whites, and greys of Canada geese foraging on the grass. A pair of birds flared their wings, honked, and whistled overhead. Lane watched them land.

Matt jabbed him in the ribs with an elbow. “Ready?”

“You bet.” Lane walked off the path and onto the grass.

“What are you doing?” Daniel asked.

Matt bent to free Roz from the leash. “Sit.” She reluctantly agreed while she whimpered.

“Ready?” Lane asked.

“For what?” Daniel looked at Matt and Roz.

“Spread out,” Matt said.

“Cool.” Daniel looked at the hundreds of birds in the field. Matt began to skip to the right. Lane ambled to the left. Matt was gaining momentum. “Run!”

Roz accelerated. “I’m not running!” Arthur walked.

Lane ran toward a tight gathering of birds. A few had their beaks tucked under their wings. The setting sun made all of the colours richer. Lane inhaled the cooling mountain air. He looked ahead. The geese were running, flapping their wings, and a few rose into the air. Lane looked to his right. The birds were a wave of motion alongside of him.

Arthur began to run.

Lane was in among the birds now. On his left, he was eye to eye with a goose whose wingspan matched the detective’s height. On his right, a smaller bird was honking at ear level.

Christine cried out. Lane smiled at the pure joy in her voice. The birds rose above their heads. Daniel screamed with exhilaration. Lane stopped, open-mouthed, to look up. The cloud of undulating, honking bodies began to turn toward the city centre.

Someone ran into Lane. Lane’s jaw snapped shut on his tongue. He tripped and fell.

Arthur tumbled onto the grass beside Lane.

Daniel handed Lane a glass full of ice. Lane lifted the glass in thanks and slipped a cube into his mouth. He winced as the ice touched his bruised and swollen tongue.

Matt came upstairs. “Your clothes are in the wash.”

Christine took a bag of ice, wrapped it in a towel, and laid it gently on Arthur’s ankle, propped on two pillows at one end of the couch. Three pillows at the other end cushioned his head. “Owwww,” he said. “Thanks.”

Lane closed his eyes and smiled at the memory of all those birds rising into an orange sky.

“Ewwww!” Christine backed away from Arthur.

“What?” Arthur turned his head.

“I’ll get you a tissue.”

“What?” Arthur waved his hands in confusion.

“You’ve got goose shit in your ear!”