Malabarista

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 4
chapter 20

Dr. Alexandre asked, “You were there when the car exploded at the bridge on Friday?”

Lane reached for his coffee. “That’s right.”

“And the suspect was armed?”

“Yes, I get your point,” Lane said.

“You’re still angry with me?” Dr. Alexandre was wearing white slacks and a white blouse today. As always, her collar was buttoned all the way to the top.

Lane took a long breath. “Yes.”

“I see.” Alexandre sat back in her chair and wrapped her hands around an oversized cup of coffee.

She really knows her coffee, Lane thought, inhaling the aroma.

“Well?” she asked.

“Of course I’m angry. You said I was trying to kill myself, that I was taking risks as a way of inviting self-destruction. My reaction was immediate and raw.” Lane looked at the creamy coffee in his cup. “And it still feels like an open wound.”

Alexandre waited.

“Still, when I looked back on the pattern of behaviour – my pattern of behaviour – I didn’t come to the same conclusion that you did.

“Well?”

“I like the rush.” Lane blushed.

“You like being shot at?” Alexandre seemed taken aback.

“I feel totally alive. When I’m on the hunt for a killer, it’s the same. It’s real, it’s raw, it’s very elemental. I feel like justice is possible when I’m after a killer. And when there are kids involved…”

Alexandre waited.

“I found a dead child in a garbage bag, and I saw another child’s body in the back of a camper. Their parents murdered those children. I don’t ever want to see that again. I feel sometimes, when I’m after the killer, there’s a chance, a small chance, that a child can be saved.”

“Have you managed to save a child?”

“Perhaps twice. Yes, I think we were in time twice.”

“That’s what drives you?”

Lane tried to smile, but he felt it turn into a grimace. “That and the smell.”

“The smell?”

“The smell of death. It stays with me until I find the killer. I can’t get rid of it until I see the killer in handcuffs.”

Alexandre frowned.

“What?” Lane asked. You don’t believe me.

“Where did you first smell death?”

“In the neighbour’s backyard.”

“What?”

“I was a kid.”

“How old were you?”

Lane closed his eyes. “Five or six.”

“Can you tell me more?”

“The neighbours had a daughter. She was fifteen or sixteen at the time. They said she was sick and couldn’t go to school one winter. The next summer, I heard a baby crying. I even saw the daughter sitting with the baby at the kitchen table. Then there was no baby. A couple of weeks later, their dog was digging in the garden. The girl’s brother chased after it with a shovel. And for a long time, until winter came, I could smell something in their backyard. I didn’t smell it again until I found the little girl in the garbage can.” Lane opened his eyes. “I always wondered what happened to that baby. Now I know.”

“Did you mention it to your parents?”

Lane nodded. “I tried to tell my mother.”

“What was her reaction?”

“She used a belt on me and told me never to speak to anyone about it again. You’re the first person I’ve told since her.”