The Lucky Elephant Restaurant

Tuesday, October 20
Chapter 13

“WE’RE BEGINNING TO look like a cliché,” Lane said. They sat at the window of the coffee shop on Kensington. Lane sipped a mocha. Harper drank his house roast.

“You should know better than to use big words around an uncultured cop like myself. Speaking of uncultured, Arthur told me about your little tussle last night. Not very suave, I must say.” Harper sipped from his cup, leaving his pinky extended like a British flagpole. “Do you ever get off the phone?” Lane asked.

“You know me, I keep one ear to the ground and one ear to my cellphone. So, don’t change the subject. What happened?”

“The other Ref called Matt a cripple,” Lane said.

“So, you flattened him?” Harper smiled.

“Sort of.”

“And what did this Ref say after the game?”

“He apologized,” Lane said.

“By the sound of things, Matt thinks you’re some kind of saint.”

“Apparently,” Lane said.

“Enjoy it while you can. Those pedestals get to be pretty tippy. Still, I can see the kid continuing to grow on you. I’ve never seen you lose your cool. Maybe I’ll go to the next game in case it happens again.”

“Not likely,” Lane said.

“It’s funny how we’ll take the nastiest comments about ourselves and not react, but when somebody says it to someone we care about, we go postal.”

“So?” Lane decided to change the subject. “Hear from the chief?”

“As a matter of fact, after Bobbie’s show yesterday afternoon, there were at least a hundred callers wondering why the Reddie case has not been closed.”

“Did she mention it on her show?” Lane asked.

“Not a word. All she had to do was mention cancer, and people all over the city rushed to her rescue.”

Lane’s cell rang. He flipped it open. “Hello.”

“Mr. Lane?” The woman’s drawl came from somewhere south of there.

“Yes,” Lane said.

“You’re wondering how I got your cell number?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” Lane said.

“Let’s just say one of my clients has access. I’m Dr. Ellen Dent, veterinarian. I’ve been trying to reach you for almost a week now.”

“We’re happy with Riley’s vet.” Lane made ready to press the end button.

“I’ve never been in a position where it became necessary to solicit patients. This call is about another animal altogether.” The way Dent said ‘animal’ piqued Lane’s interest.

“And?” Lane felt a bit perplexed by Dr. Ellen Dent, her accent, and her condescension.

“I believe a certain ‘animal’ and I might have something to offer you in the way of information about the Reddie murders.”

Lane’s entire mind focused on the conversation. He remembered Lisa’s comment about the canine hairs on Kaylie’s clothing. “Go on.”

“We need to meet. I have evidence, and you need to see it to understand,” Dr. Dent said.

“When?”

“I have an opening in thirty minutes.”

“Where are you?” Lane asked.

“Crowfoot Animal Rescue Emergency. That’s CARE for short,” Dr. Dent said.

“We’ll be there.” Lane thought, This one sounds like she’s crazy.

On the way to CARE, they drove by the sign at Bobbie’s church. There was a new message: Even in the darkest of times, God shines her light on me.

“We’re five minutes late,” Lane said as they parked. The sign outside the office had CARE in metre-high blue letters on a white background. Inside, a grey cat sat on a chair. It held out a paw to reveal blue nail polish.

“Hello. He likes to show off his nails after we paint them.” The receptionist smiled, revealing braces. “You must be Mr. Lane.”

“That’s right,” Lane said.

“Dr. Ellen Dent is waiting,” the receptionist said in a tone that warned the doctor did not like being behind schedule. “This way.” She led them to the examination room at the end of a hall stacked with bags of dog food. “She’ll be right with you.”

Lane and Harper stood inside a small examination room next to a belt-high Arborite table. Behind the table were enough diplomas to cover a living room wall. Lane wondered if all three examination rooms were wallpapered the same way.

“What is it with this Dr. Ellen Dent thing? Who is she trying to impress?” Harper asked.

Lane shrugged. The back door opened, and the doctor arrived. Her grey hair was cut short. She wore an immaculate white smock. Dr. Dent had a chart tucked under one elbow. In the other hand, she carried a small, grey, wire-haired dog of mixed parentage. One of the dog’s ears was bandaged, and its front right paw was in a cast. The dog’s tail wagged.

“I’m Dr. Ellen Dent,” the vet said. She gently set the dog on the examination table and kept her left hand close to protect it. She put on black-framed reading glasses and balanced the open chart in her right hand.

Harper and Lane looked at one another and prepared to be lectured.

Harper said, “Detective Cameron Mitchell Richard Harper at your service, Ma’am. This is Lane.”

Lane watched Harper’s face for a hint of a snicker.

“We don’t have a great deal of time, so I’ll get right to the point,” Dr. Dent said, apparently impervious to Harper’s sarcasm. “This dog’s name is Eddie. I’m trained to observe the dog and its people. This dog is only two years old, and it has been here often. The morning the Reddie child disappeared, we found it at the back door in a cardboard box.” The vet pointed at the dog’s injured leg. “It’s reasonable to assume the dog’s paw was struck with a hammer.” Dr. Dent then lifted the dog’s chin. “This ear was removed. Dogs sometimes have their ears tattooed or a microchip inserted. Remove either and remove any chance at positive identification.”

“You said you had information about the Reddie murders,” Harper said.

“Bobbie Reddie brought Eddie in on six separate occasions. In each case, the children were with her. Each of Eddie’s legs was broken once. Ribs were broken on either side of the rib cage. I know this dog is Eddie, but I can’t prove it. Ms. Reddie always insisted I give her the negatives when we took X-rays. I believe that Bobbie abused the dog to control the children,”

Dr. Dent said.

“What makes you think she’s responsible?” Harper asked.

“The way Eddie shied from Ms. Reddie, and the way the dog tried to stay close to the boy,” Dr. Dent said.

Lane noticed the woman was beginning to shake.

“But how can you be certain of this?”

“You have to understand.” Dr. Dent’s voice began to break. “My father did it to me. I know what she did to this animal. I know it in a way I can’t explain.” She began to sob. Eddie licked her hand. “Someone has to protect that child. This Bobbie, I know what she is.” Dr. Dent’s eyes were dripping tears, and her nose started to run. She had no free hand, so she bent to wipe her nose on the back of her sleeve. “You musn’t think I’m a crazy person. I know that the child is in danger. I don’t know what the law allows you to do, but…”

Lane took the file from her and handed her a tissue.

“Could we start with a hair and blood sample from Eddie? We may be able to do a DNA match. It’s a place for us to begin.”

“Of course.” Dr. Dent wiped her nose. “I’ll do it right away.”

Harper asked, “What time was the dog found?”

“When Helen arrived at 7:00 AM,” Dr. Dent said. “Eddie tucked himself close to Cole and never took his eyes off of Ms. Reddie.”

Harper drove as they headed back to the centre of town.

“What the hell was that all about?” Harper asked. “I mean one minute she’s very definitely in control and the next she’s in tears.”

Lane thought while he read the other side of the sign next to Bobbie’s church. This side read: Out of the depths I cry out to you O Lord.

Lane said, “We’ll have to wait for the results of the DNA tests. If Dent’s right, then the dog hairs on Kaylie’s clothing will match Eddie’s.”

“The problem is, none of this stuff is the kind of evidence we need to make a conviction. We’d get laughed out of court with the Jamaica resort story, Eddie’s DNA, and the shredded car. The defense would say we’ve been reading too many tabloids, and they’d be right.”

“Still, we have to see the patterns developing here. Three separate incidents where careless smoking was linked to fatalities. A new car is destroyed and any potential evidence is conveniently destroyed right along with it. On top of this, there is mounting pressure to close the case and clear Bobbie. It’s when you look at all that we’ve got that this case begins to become clear.”

“I’m not so sure. It’s like Bobbie’s been your prime suspect from the first time you met her,” Harper said.

Lane said, “You’re right. But that doesn’t make me wrong. If we hurry, we might catch Bobbie’s brother at the university.”

In fifteen minutes, they drove past the university’s arts parkade, where Jay’s Lincoln was parked, and pulled up at the meters in front of the education building. “His class is in the there. First floor,” Harper pointed at the brick building. He turned of the engine and palmed the keys.

Lane stepped out of the Chevy.

The sun was warm on their backs, but the wind’s cool breath promised that winter was on its way. They pulled open the doors of the education building and stepped inside. On the left was a coffee shop, chairs, and tables. On the right was the room they were looking for. Lane pulled a copy of Jay’s photo ID out of his pocket and studied it. “Need to take a look?” He handed it to Harper.

They pulled on the door and walked inside the lecture theatre.

Jay always sat at the front, so the tape recorder could pick up the professor’s voice. He looked over his shoulder at the clock and saw the pair of detectives. When he was a kid, he had learned to spot them. After his parents died in the fire, there were police all over the front yard. He had made up a game of guessing which ones were the police, which ones were the reporters, and who the spectators were. It had been a way to keep his mind off what happened to his parents. Between sobs he’d tried to explain what he knew about Bobbie, but the police had ignored him and listened only to his sister.

These detectives stood just inside the door. The one with the moustache was younger and looked like a football player. The older one was about the same height, had thinning hair, and it looked like he was missing part of his ear. He didn’t look like a cop. There was something different about him, Jay decided.

Jay shuddered when he remembered the accident on Crowchild Trail. He thought about the Toyota pickup. He saw it veer off the pavement and up onto its side in a cloud of dust and debris.

Jay turned around, reached into his backpack and lifted out a toque. He pulled it on.

Lane scanned the crowd. The class was filling up.

Harper said, “Excuse me. We’re police officers looking for Jay Krocker.” He showed the driver’s license photo of Jay to a man of about forty-five with an athletic build and a ready smile.

The professor was caught off balance, “I’ve got eighty-five students in this class. He doesn’t look familiar.”

Lane thought for a minute, then said, “Would you ask if he’s here?” He looked past Jay and up at the officers as students looked at one another and shrugged. “Sorry,” the professor said, a little too quickly.

Harper held up his right hand as if to say thank you.

Lane began to walk down the stairs. Students looked up at him. He studied their faces.

“Is that all you need? I would like to get this class started,” the professor said.

Lane spotted a student wearing a toque. The student stood up and made for the door to his left. The door closed behind him.

Lane followed and opened the door. He looked right and left down the empty hallway.

Harper came around the corner to Lane’s left. Lane ran to his right and reached the end of the hallway. The door to his left led outside. A clutch of students came through the door. Lane looked right. The hallway was empty.

“Well?” Harper pulled up next to Lane.

“All we’ve done is scare him off,” Lane said.

“Today’s not a total loss. I mean, we’ve got the dog’s blood and hair sample. Maybe we’ll get a match with Kaylie’s clothing,” Harper said.

“Jay, over here!”

Jay almost had a heart attack. He turned and saw Rosie. Black leather jacket, blue pants and cowboy boots. He thought, How is it possible for one person to look so good? Jay looked around to see if the police officers were nearby.

“Come on, we can talk and walk.” Rosie adjusted the nylon book bag hanging from a strap on her shoulder. “I always carry too many books on Tuesday.”

“Want me to carry them for you?” Jay asked.

“I was just complaining, not asking for help,” Rosie said.

He had to pick up his pace to keep up with her. They moved north toward the library. “How’d you find me?”

“Tony,” she said as if the answer was obvious. “He says he always knows where to find you because you’re so predictable. And he says you want help on Friday night.”

“Yes. We need help or it won’t work.”

“This is for my cousin, right?” She stopped to study his face.

“The one with the baby?” Jay asked.

“You guys pulled off the last one at the hockey game?”

“Uh, yeah.” Jay made a mental note to tell Tony to keep his big mouth shut.

“There’s a picture in the The Gauntlet today. Rex has that thing around his neck, and the newspaper caption says, “Rex is a dickhead.” My cousin will like that. Rosie smiled.

Jay unzipped his jacket. He felt warm in spite of the north wind. “Good.”

“I’ve got ten friends who want to help. We’ll be there Friday night right after the first game. You be ready.”

“But-” Jay said.

“Don’t worry. We know what to do. You two just have to do your part. See you then.” Rosie turned left into the library.

BOBBIE: Good afternoon. It’s Bobbie on the ride home. Thank you for the overwhelming support. I need more advice about a related topic. When you’ve got a terminal illness, what do you tell your child?

I, and many women like me, could sure use some advice. I’m Bobbie, speak to me.

Jay and Tony sat together in the mall, sipping coffee, and watching the people. They had twenty-three minutes before their shift started at 8:30 PM.

“How come you told Rosie about the plan?” Jay asked.

“You said we needed help. I asked her, she said no.” Tony leaned back. People had to take a detour, or trip over his outstretched feet.

“Well, she said yes this afternoon. She asked if we were the ones who got Rex at the hockey game. Did you see the picture in the paper?” Jay asked.

“A classic. That and the caption. Man, who says revenge isn’t sweet?” Tony closed his eyes as if trying to hold onto the image in his mind.

“The cops are looking for me,” Jay said.

Tony sat up, “What?”

“They came to my psych class. They told the prof to ask for me. I left class early.”

Tony studied his coffee cup. “Why would they want you?”

“I cut this guy off on Crowchild Trail. He rolled his truck up on its side,” Jay said.

“Did your car hit his truck?”

“No,” Jay said.

“Did he die?”

“Don’t think so,” Jay said.

“Did you check the news or read the papers?” Tony asked.

“No!”

“Do you realize how crazy that sounds?” Tony asked.

“Not as crazy as you might think,” Jay said.