Queen's Park

Tuesday, August 1
CHAPTER 10

Lane had the passenger and driver’s windows rolled down. Might as well enjoy the heat, it doesn’t last long, he thought. At 80 kph, the wind blowing through the open window clutched at the lapel of his jacket. He looked out along Barlow Trail. It had to be one of the prettiest roadways in the city. Approaching the airport, it was dotted with trees. A bike path ran along the west side. The sun made it appear as if the pavement was liquid. On his left, an Air Canada jet taxied. He turned onto Airport Road aiming for the parkade at the northeast corner of the terminal. The Lincoln was found at the bottom level, he thought.

He’d guessed it must have been parked sometime after three. The digital clock told him it was 2:30.

He eased right into the bowels of the parkade. Lane watched for an opening in the rows of vehicles. He managed to angle in between a Ford pickup and Nissan sedan. Must be close to where the Lincoln was found, he thought.

The hum of the electric windows was unnaturally loud as he closed them. Lane opened the door and ducked, leery he might scuff his scalp on the concrete. While dropping coins into the meter, he watched to see if anyone was sitting on a nearby patch of grass. People established patterns they didn’t think much about but those patterns could help Lane get the answers he needed.

The blast of a horn caused him to look left. A taxi pulled out in front of a bus and the driver of a van had his palm jammed onto the horn. Wheels locked and tires screamed. Lane felt the ominous collective intake of breath as passersby waited. Lane winced. It seemed the vehicles must collide. Then the taxi sped away unscathed.

INDEPENDENT CAR RENTALS, caught his eye. It was under the cover of the car park. He walked toward the parking space where the Lincoln had been found. Checking his notebook, he read, “Swatsky’s Lincoln found at 7 p.m. Tuesday.” He looked through the glass front of the rental car agency. A man and woman faced one another behind the counter. The door was propped open with a wooden wedge. The man’s hair was cut short. Hers was black and shoulder length.

Lane got close enough to hear the man, “You asked, so I told you.”

“You’re sure?” she said.

Lane heard lack of conviction in her voice.

The man said, “You wanted to hear the honest truth.”

Lane rubbed his top lip to hide a smile.

“Ya, but.” The woman shook her head to say no.

“You ask for the truth and when you get it, you don’t want it.” The man put his hands up to signal surrender.

She said, “Men,” and turned to face Lane as he stepped inside the door. “May I help you?”

Lane read her name tag, TRACEY, and said, “I’m Detective Lane.”

Tracey put her hands on the counter and Lane noted the wedding band on her left hand. She looked left at the man and Lane read his name tag, GRAHAM. “It’s about the Lincoln?” Graham started to smile, stopped at a grin.

Another wedding band, Lane noticed. “If you’re talking about the Lincoln belonging to Robert Swatsky, then, yes.”

Tracey said, “He’s the guy who stole three million and tried to rape his nephew, right?”

“He’s a suspect in those crimes,” Lane said.

Graham snorted to indicate the verdict was already in.

“I’m trying to establish what time the Lincoln arrived and I was hoping you might be able to help,” Lane said.

“So many cars pull in and out of here, I’ve stopped paying much attention,” Graham said.

“Were both of you working here last Tuesday?” Lane said.

Tracey took this one, “He works seven to four and I work three to nine.”

“Either of you have any idea when the Lincoln might have arrived?” Lane said. “Mr. Swatsky is an imposing figure.”

They looked at each other and as one replied, “Nope.”

Lane scanned the office and spotted a long legged Barbie doll sitting under the fan. The doll’s platinum hair shivered in the breeze. “What’s the doll for?”

“His idea.” Tracey pointed at Graham.

“It’s a joke,” Graham said.

Lane felt himself at an open door, adrenaline pumping, ready for a leap into a wild, exhilarating sky.

Graham rushed on to explain, “I just got into work, when was it?” He looked at Tracey.

“Last Tuesday.”

“That’s right. Anyway, this old guy walks past our door. He’s carrying this life-sized love doll over his shoulder. And, let me tell you, she was anatomically correct! While he’s walking, he’s talking to the doll, answering questions, carrying on a conversation.”

Lane pulled out his notebook. “Could you describe the man?”

“No, but Graham sure can describe the doll. Wants one of his own now.” Tracey said. “Men aren’t interested in a real woman. They prefer plastic. He spends his time on the internet.” She jerked her thumb in Graham’s direction.

“Searching for love dolls. The one he likes sells for about $6000 Canadian. It’s made of silicone.”

A week ago today, were you at the airport? Lane thought the question through. He considered the tone, about keeping his voice steady before slipping the question in as if it were a comment about flowers in Ernesto Rapozo’s garden.

Driving across town usually took 40 minutes. At this time of the day it took longer. Tempers tended to get pretty thin in the rush hour heat.

Stopping behind a block long line of cars at a red light on John Laurie Boulevard, he looked at the driver in the next lane. The black haired woman had her mouth wide open in song. Lane looked in the back seat. A toddler, with a round red face, tight fists and mom’s black hair, was screaming. The child took a breath. The mother sang on. Lane remembered his family. Old pain surfaced and submerged. Not now, he thought, stay on the job.

At the next set of lights, he turned left then took a right at the Petro-Canada. Lane spotted Scout. Her leash was stretched tight as a guitar string and Ernie leaned back, holding on. Lane was struck by the feeling he might be about to turn the boy’s world upside down again.

Maybe I should wait for tomorrow, Lane thought, then thought again. The old man won’t be expecting me back so soon. He turned onto Ernesto’s street and noted the grey Taurus. Lane was too intent on Ernesto to think much about the two men sitting inside the Ford.

He stopped behind Ernesto’s van, opened the door and pulled the key out of the ignition. Slow down, Lane thought. Think about what you’re going to say.

The trees behind the perimeter of hedge hid all but the roof of Ernesto’s house. Lane estimated 20 years of growth had gone into creating the barrier. I wonder what it looks like when the leaves fall off? He moved around the car and onto the sidewalk.

Lane felt the branches of the hedge reach out for him. He eased through the opening, turned left and took a deep breath of cooler, shaded air.

The love doll sat at the backyard table. The smoky scent of beef on the barbecue curled itself around him. He realized breakfast had been his last meal.

Lane could see Nonna’s hair had been brushed. She was turned to the right, her arms resting in the chair’s arms. He got the feeling she was watching someone across the yard.

God, Lane thought, the old man’s got me thinking she’s real.

CLUNK. The barbecue lid closed.

Ernesto held a plate of ribs. Seeing Lane, he said, “We’re just having supper.”

“I’ve caught you at a bad time,” Lane said.

“Nonna says you should sit down for supper. You must be hungry. There’s plenty.” Ernesto patted his generous belly and winked, “She doesn’t eat much.”

Lane spotted a salad bowl on the table.

“It’s all outta my garden.”

“I… ” Lane realized he was the one put off balance.

“Sit down, I’ll get another plate. Nonna likes the company.” Ernesto set the ribs down in front of the doll. “Nonna asks if you’re off duty.”

“No.”

“Water then?”

Lane nodded. This wasn’t going as planned. Too late to back away, he thought.

“Sit,” Ernesto said.

Lane moved closer to the table.

“Too hot for the jacket.” Ernesto said before entering the house.

Lane hung his jacket on the back of the chair. The pistol felt heavier once it was out in the open. He studied the garage with its swaybacked peak, the metal garden shed and the flowers. It feels a lot like home, except, he thought, for the doll. The breeze pushed hair across her eyes. She focused on him. He rubbed his eyes. Must be the heat, he thought.

The screen door screeched open. Ernesto backed out, carrying a tray.

“What do you put on your ribs?” Lane said.

“It’s my own recipe. Oil, red wine, oregano and a touch of freshly squeezed lemon. I don’t usually tell anyone but she says I should be honest with you.”

Lane felt an unfamiliar pang of guilt. He’d never run into a case quite like this one and the media would have a field day if they tied Ernesto and the doll to Swatsky’s disappearance. I wonder if the old man has Swatsky’s money, he thought. Suspicion tugged at him.

“Eat and help yourself to the salad. It’s orgasmic.”

Lane smiled. The old man was unaware of his faux pas. Lane picked up a rib and tasted the meat.

“She says I eat too much barbecue. Puts the weight on. I say I’m 70 years old and it’s time to enjoy this life. She says no sense rushing to the grave and I say she should know! She says both of us have spent most of our time together in a graveyard! I just dug the holes, haven’t spent any time in one yet!”

Lane looked from Ernesto to the doll, feeling as if he were in the middle of a conversation he couldn’t quite catch up with.

“He doesn’t know?” Ernesto’s laughter was cut off at the knees. “I apologize!”

Lane allowed the confusion to show on his face.

“After she died, I got a job at her cemetery.”

Marvin said, “You wanna turn on the air conditioner?”

“Low on gas,” Lester said. He kept his eyes on the old man’s house. “How long is that cop gonna stay in there?”

“We still got the credit cards.”

“Nearly over the limit,” Lester said.

“Wonder what the cop’s doin’?”

“Don’t know.”

“How long before we’re outta money?” Marvin said.

“Figure we got two, maybe three days.”

“What happens then?”

“Got it all worked out,” Lester said.

Ernesto pulled a rib out of his mouth. “Best job for me. Worked the graveyard shift so I could get Miguel to school. You got kids?”

“No.” Not in this province, Lane thought. He felt vulnerable around Ernesto.

“Amazin’ what you can do when you got kids. The job gave me time to spend with my wife and Miguel. I like gettin’ my hands dirty.” Ernesto made a broad sweep with his arm to indicate the garden and flower beds surrounding them.

“You’ve got a green thumb,” Lane said.

“The secret is a little bit of lime.” Ernesto looked at Nonna. “She says you must have a question. That’s your job.” He wiped stubby fingers on a paper napkin.

Lane watched the eyes behind Ernesto’s hooked nose. “I was at the airport today.” He watched for a reaction. Nonno looked at his wife. Watch me, not her, Lane thought. “I’ve got a witness who saw an elderly gentleman carrying a woman matching Nonna’s description. It was a week ago today.”

“We were there. Took a drive to the airport.

“The witness says you got into a taxi.”

Ernesto put his hand on his wife’s. “We wanted to pretend we were goin’ on a trip. Like when we went to Italy. So we took a taxi.”

“Do you know where Bob Swatsky is?” Lane said.

“She says disappearing suits him,” Ernesto said.

Lane felt so close to the answer it was a sweaty shirt sticking to his skin. “What do you say?”

“After what he did to my grandson, I shoulda killed the son a ma bitch myself!”

“But you didn’t?”

Ernesto’s said, “No, but I shoulda.”