The Lucky Elephant Restaurant

Friday, October 30
Chapter 22

CLUES, FACES, AND words swirled around Lane’s mind like moths pulled to a porch light. At two o’clock he gave up trying to sleep and went to read in the living room. These past few weeks, this routine had become maddeningly familiar. The only difference was that tonight’s sleeplessness was not caused by nightmares of crucified children. Cole was safe for the moment. But, it appeared, everyone and everything else was now at risk.

He put on a housecoat and stepped into the hallway. The furnace hummed and forced air through the vents. A pale glow reflected off the hallway wall.

Martha sat on the couch, wrapped in her yellow blanket, staring at the TV screen. She had the closedcaptioning on. There was a head and shoulders shot of a man with perfect hair and perfect teeth. The caption read, “Real power is about becoming the person you were born to be. The person God meant you to be.”

He sat across from her.

“Matt has a game tonight. You able to make it?”

Martha’s voice sounded strong even though the shadows cast by the TV deepened the lines around her eyes and mouth.

“I’m going to try.” Lane propped his feet on the coffee table.

“Matt told me you stuck up for him,” Martha said.

“Well…”

“His father, Alex, never once stuck up for him.

After the first couple of hockey games, he was always too busy to make it. Took me a while to understand he was ashamed of Matt and of me. Matt will never forget the first time someone stuck up for him. I only wish it had been me,” Martha said.

“Why would Alex be ashamed of either of you?”

Lane asked.

“It’s hard to explain,” Martha said.

“We’ve got time.” Lane smiled.

“It was my fault.”

Lane said, “I’m not sure I understand.”

“One imperfect child. Matt was a constant disappointment to Alex.”

“Why was it your fault?” Lane asked.

“It wasn’t, I was just lead to believe that was the case. That’s the beauty of cancer. It makes you take stock. It makes you see what’s important in life. It’s almost like God sent me a gift. I realized that there was no reason for blaming anyone. Matt is just fine the way he is,” Martha said.

“That’s the difference between you and me,” Lane said.

“What? I believe in God and you don’t?”

“I just think people are responsible for most of the terrible things done in this world,” Lane said.

“So you have given the good Lord some consideration?” Martha sounded triumphant.

“Of course.”

“Go ahead. Say it,” Martha said.

“Say what?” Lane asked.

“That you’ll give yourself over to the Lord. Become his servant.”

Lane looked at Martha as if seeing her for the first time. He wondered what was godlike about abandoning your brother and being blissfully unaware of the resultant damage. It had been twenty years since most of Arthur’s family had washed their hands of him. Lane had seen how their cruel rejections had scarred Arthur.

“Just be careful you don’t run out of time before you give God a chance,” Martha said.

Lane said nothing. He was afraid that all the anger over what had been done to Arthur would come crashing out.

Martha said, “I’ve got time to convince you. I know this cancer won’t kill me. God told me.”

The house was quiet except for the spluttering of the coffee machine. Lane was on the phone a little after seven-thirty. Loraine was an old friend and a child psychologist hired by the police in cases like this where a minor witnessed a crime.

“Hello.” Loraine sounded like she was sipping a drink.

“It’s Lane,” he said.

“I’m going to phone around eight o’clock and arrange a time with Jay and Cole. Do you want to be there?” she asked.

“It’s not a problem?” Lane wondered how Cole would respond to having a detective there.

Loraine read his mind. “You’re a familiar face. He may trust you. I need you there.”

Lane said, “Call me with a time, please. Is Lisa there?”

“Just a minute. It’s for you, honey.” Loraine set the phone down.

Lisa picked it up. “Lane?”

“I’ve got a question about the Reddie crime scene,”

Lane said.

“I hear you found the car,” Lisa said.

“Yes. Finally, a break. About the campsite. Were you able to find any footprints?” Lane asked.

“A couple of partials. Bobbie and Charles had similar shoe sizes. The partials were indistinct, but I do have photographs. What have you got?” Lisa asked.

“Footprints from a crime scene in Jamaica. Three deaths at a resort. It’s confirmed that Bobbie was there at the time,” Lane said.

“Can you send me copies?” Lisa asked.

“Yes. Why?” Lane asked.

“We’ve got a guy working on footprinting. He’s good. He might be able to tell you more than you’d thought possible.”

“Are we talking smoking gun?” Lane asked.

“Perhaps,” Lisa said.

“When they arrive, I’ll get Harper to send a copy your way. Thanks, Lisa,” he said.

“Lane?”

“Yes,” Lane said.

“If you’re right, you’ve got at least five deaths attributed to this individual. I’d be very careful,” Lisa said.

“It may be as many as seven,” Lane said.

“All the more reason to be careful,” Lisa said.

Lane’s next call was to Harper.

“Hello, Lane,” Harper said.

“You’re psychic,” Lane said.

“Caller ID. Old technology,” Harper said.

“When the footprints come in, make copies and send them to Lisa. You’ve got her number?” Lane said.

“Yep. You goin’ to see the kid?” Harper asked.

“You need to be there too. We need a recording,”

Lane said.

“I’m on it. What time?”

“Be ready and I’ll call you,” Lane said.

“Right.” Harper hung up.

The phone rang before Lane could call to see if Jay and Cole were up.

“Hello?” Lane said.

Chief said, “It’s me.”

“Good morning,” Lane said.

“Bring me up to speed.”

“The car, which may have transported Kaylie Reddie’s body to the crime scene, is being analyzed now. We may be able to prove that its contents have been undisturbed. Footprints from the Jamaica crime scene are set to arrive today and copies will be sent for RCMP analysis. A psychologist is standing by to interview Cole Reddie. Some of the evidence might offer a plausible explanation for the anomalies at the crime scene. So, we have the potential for a strong case against Bobbie Reddie,” Lane said.

Chief’s anger was barely under control.

“Unfortunately, we can’t take potential to court. We may need to have overwhelming proof. Did you hear Ms. Reddie’s radio show yesterday?”

“No,” Lane said.

“She is doing her best to create a public uproar over her son being in police custody. I’ve got a press conference in two hours,” she said.

“We need Bobbie to provide copies of her footprints,” Lane said.

Chief asked, “How many murders might be attributed to Ms. Reddie?”

“Seven,” Lane said.

“Go through it again for me,” she said.

“Bobbie’s parents, the three victims in Jamaica, Kaylie and Charles Reddie,” Lane said.

“That’s it?”

“Yes,” Lane said.

Chief asked, “The footprints will tie Ms. Reddie to three deaths?”

“Perhaps as many as five. There are partial footprints from the Charles and Kaylie Reddie crime scene,” Lane said.

“Good. I’ll request that Ms. Reddie voluntarily present herself for footprinting in order to eliminate herself in the investigation of the three deaths in Jamaica,” she said.

“Taking the offensive?” Lane asked.

“I think it’s time. We’ve been taking it from Ms.

Reddie. Now it’s our turn. There is a problem, however.”

“What’s that?” Lane asked.

“If you are correct in your suspicions, then we may be pushing a multiple murderer into a corner,” she said.

“So far, her reactions have been very predictable,”

Lane said.

“What do you mean?”

“She either bullies, manipulates or plays the victim,” Lane said.

Chief said, “You’re forgetting that she kills.”

“No, I’m not,” Lane said.

“Good, because we have a reliable source who disclosed that Ms. Reddie knows where you live. Bobbie was tipped by a caller and a guest. Our source made a point of warning me to watch out for you.”

“What else do you know?” Lane asked.

“That I’ve never experienced more pressure than I have with this case. The more pressure we get, the more I’m convinced you’re on to something.”

“We’ll keep on it,” Lane said.

“And you’ll listen to the news conference?”

“I will,” Lane said.

“So, where are the footprints?” Lane asked.

They sat in their Chevy outside the condominium where Jay and Cole were staying. The complex was located close to the river. Across the water, the banks rose to a bluff. Douglas firs grew up the steep bank helping to keep it stabilized and green year-round.

“As soon as it arrives at the station, we get a call,”

Harper said. “It’s on the way.”

“Loraine’s been inside at least an hour,” Lane said.

Harper sipped his coffee. “At least the coffee’s good.

Since I partnered with you, I haven’t had a bad cup of coffee. Are you all ready for Halloween?”

“Halloween?” Lane asked.

“Don’t tell me.” Harper looked at Lane like he had forgotten to put on a pair of pants.

“It’s tomorrow night?” The look on Lane’s face told Harper all he needed to know.

“Arthur’s got it covered, right?”

“I sure hope so,” Lane said.

“Probably won’t be too many kids. That storm is supposed to hit by noon. They’re forecasting fifteen to twenty centimetres of snow,” Harper said.

The phone rang.

Lane said, “Hello.” He nodded at Harper. “We’re on our way up.”

Five minutes later, when they stepped inside the living room, both boys were watching TV. Jay waved. Cole was transfixed by what he saw on the screen. He sat with legs crossed and back straight.

Loraine sat at the kitchen table. She was dressed in neutral colours; greys and browns. Next to her was an officer dressed in street blues. Harper sat down across from the officer and said, “Harper.”

“Andrea.” She shook hands with Harper.

“We’re waiting for the news conference,” Loraine said.

“The kid insisted,” Andrea said.

“Jay?” Harper asked.

“No, it was Cole,” Loraine said.

Lane watched the child. Cole didn’t move and blinked only occasionally.

They waited that way for more than ten minutes.

Jay shifted his weight a few times.

Cole blinked.

“This is a V Channel news special,” the announcer said.

Every eye in the room focused on the television.

“The Calgary Chief of Police has called a news conference to explain the decision to place Cole Reddie, son of Bobbie Reddie, in protective custody. We are live.”

Chief Wyatt stood behind a cluster of microphones. She stood erect and stared back at the camera.

“It’s time to release the facts. The tragic deaths of Kaylie and Charles Reddie have resulted in an extremely complex and difficult investigation. Police practices and procedures require that we be as thorough and cautious as possible with this type of crime.

“A number of facts have been uncovered to this point. Kaylie Reddie died of Shaken Baby Syndrome and was dead at least twelve hours before her father. Charles Reddie died from an allergic reaction to penicillin. More recent evidence has come to light and is in the process of being evaluated.

“Both Jay Krocker, Ms. Reddie’s brother, and Cole Reddie, Ms. Reddie’s son, are under protective custody. Since Cole Reddie is a minor, this is as much information as the police department is able to share even though Jay and Cole’s pictures have already been released through the media. It must be made clear to the public that Jay and Cole are being held for their own protection.

“In a related matter, Bobbie Reddie’s lawyer has been contacted. I am requesting that Ms. Reddie submit to a footprinting in order to eliminate her as a suspect in a separate murder investigation. Further details related to the case will be released at a later date. Thank you.”

Chief Wyatt turned away from the microphones, and the camera shifted to a V Channel news reporter.

Jay reached up and switched the television off.

Cole stared at the blank screen.

Harper said, “That’s sure gonna get people talking.” “Mommy said there’d be a fire if I said anything,”

Cole said.

Loraine stood up and waved Lane closer. Then Loraine looked at Harper and Andrea. The glare gave a clear message-leave the room.

Harper went to set his tape recorder on the coffee table.

Loraine shook her head to say no.

Andrea and Harper left the room.

“Cole?” Loraine waited until the child looked at her. “We need to talk. Where would you like to sit?”

“By the window.” Cole walked toward the easy chair near the window and sat.

Lane and Loraine sat on the couch while Jay grabbed a chair from the kitchen and completed a lopsided circle.

Loraine leaned forward.

Cole watched her warily.

“We would like to ask you some questions,”

Loraine said.

“You want to know what happened to Kaylie and my dad,” Cole said.

“Cole’s smart. You have to talk with him like he’s an adult,” Jay said.

Loraine said, “You’re right Cole, that’s what we want to know. Are you able to tell us anything about what happened to your sister or father?”

“Kaylie wanted to go and see my dad. She said she was going to ride her bike to see him,” Cole said.

Lane remembered the pink bicycle sitting in the Reddie front yard.

“What happened then?” Loraine asked.

“My mom took the wheel off of Kaylie’s bike.” Cole stared out the window, reliving the experience.

Loraine waited.

Lane saw tears running down the boy’s cheeks. Cole wiped them away with a sleeve. “I thought my mom and Kaylie were asleep, so I took Eddie to the vet.”

“Eddie?” Loraine asked.

“The dog,” Lane said.

“Can you tell us more about Eddie?” Loraine asked.

“His ear was cut off, and his paw was hurt. He was bleeding,” Cole said.

“Do you know what happened to Eddie?” Loraine asked.

“Yes, Kaylie made my mom mad.” Cole wiped his eyes.

“I don’t understand,” Loraine said.

“Kaylie was bad, so Eddie’s foot was smashed with a hammer. Kaylie still wanted to see my dad, so Eddie lost an ear.” Cole’s voice was beginning to sound disconnected from the experience.

Loraine waited, formulating a careful question.

“Will you tell us more?”

“Punishments and reward.” Cole took a long shuddering breath. “If we were bad, my mom would hurt Eddie. If we were good, she would take Eddie to the vet.”

Loraine looked away, shook her head, then took a breath.

Lane thought, So far, everything he’s said is supported by the vet, Dr. Dent.

“Will you tell us more about that night?” Loraine asked.

“I came home. The lights were on. My mom said I had to get in the car,” Cole said.

“Is there more?” Loraine asked.

“Yes.” Cole began to sob. Tears and mucous created a sheen on his cheeks, lips, and chin.

Loraine waited.

“Will the footprints match?” Cole asked.

Lane said, “We don’t know yet.” This kid has really thought this through, Lane decided. He looked at Jay.

“When will you know?” Cole asked.

“It depends on how hard it is for us to get a footprint from Bobbie Reddie,” Lane said.

“It’s hot in Jamaica. People don’t wear shoes there do they?” Cole asked.

Lane looked at Jay.

Jay shrugged as if to say, ‘I told you.’

“My mom said if I say anything about what happened to my sister or my dad, then someone will burn,”

Cole said.

“Are you afraid she’ll burn you?” Loraine asked.

Cole’s voice was as hollow as a house that hasn’t been lived in for a month when he said, “That’s not how it works.”

Loraine spent a half-hour more talking with Cole.

No more information was forthcoming except when Cole said, “If the footprint does match, then ask. Kaylie is dead. My dad is dead. I don’t want anyone else to be dead.”

Lane said, “Eddie isn’t dead. You saved Eddie.”

Cole looked back with an unfamiliar expression. An emotion that, up to this point, had been out of place on the child’s face. It took till the evening for Lane to understand that he had seen hope in Cole’s eyes.

“Matt wants to hand out candy to the kids tomorrow night,” Arthur said. They stood together at the arena. Martha wore a blue satin scarf to keep her head warm and stood next to her brother. Lane had a few minutes before he had to get changed.

“I forgot all about Halloween,” Lane said.

“I’d be happier if everyone forgot about Halloween.

It’s not very Christian,” Martha said.

“You’ve really had your nose deep in this case,”

Arthur said to Lane as if he hadn’t heard his sister.

“I still do,” Lane said.

“You’re worried about the kid,” Arthur said.

“If we don’t solve this one soon, the boy could go back home,” Lane said.

“Over my dead body! There’s no way on God’s green earth that Matt’s going back to his father!”

Martha said.

“We’re not talking about Matt,” Arthur said.

“Oh,” Martha said.

“Hey! Lane! How you doin’?”

They turned to face Bob, the head referee. He had a big smile on his Marine recruiting poster face and a brand new haircut.

“I’m Bob.” He held out his hand to Arthur. “Nice shiners.”

“I’m Arthur and this is my sister, Martha,” Arthur said.

“Nice scarf,” Bob said to Martha before turning to Lane. “Heard you’ve had some fan problems lately and you handled ’em. We’re getting calls from people who say they like your work. Never happened before. Then there’s the asshole, Mac, who called to complain that he got arrested. But, then everybody in hockey knows he’s an asshole!” Bob slapped Arthur on the back.

Arthur’s eyes reflected a mixture of amusement and shock.

“We’d better get changed,” Lane said.

“Don’t worry, Arthur. I’ll keep Lane safe!” Bob winked at Martha.

Lane thought, It’s going to be a long night.

Bob talked all the way down the hall, during the time it took to change, and while he skated behind Lane as they circled the ice. Bob just wouldn’t shut up.

“We’re buddies,” Bob said several times.

Lane decided there was a hell, and maybe Martha was right afterall. If Bob didn’t shut up, Lane decided, he was either going to have to find religion, or dismember the head referee.

Bob didn’t let up through the first fifty-nine minutes of the game. “Amazing, simply amazing. That nephew of yours is amazing. Sure knows how to protect a one-goal lead. Only a minute left, and he’s keepin’ his team in the game. Listen to the crowd.” The parents were chanting while the teams changed lines for perhaps the last time. The face-off was in the opposing end.

The centres cruised over and took their positions.

Lane stood between them. He looked around to make sure the wingers and defencemen were properly aligned.

“OFFENCE!” the parents at one end of the stands roared.

“DEFENCE!” the parents at Arthur and Martha’s end roared.

Lane dropped the puck.

The centre poked the puck between the legs of Matt’s centre.

Matt’s defencemen turned to intercept the opposing centre, who accelerated down the ice. The centre squirted between the defencemen. There was nothing but open ice between him and Matt.

“BREAKAWAY!” a fan yelled.

Lane skated down the left side, a stride behind the centre. He glanced down the ice. Matt had his goalie stick hitched up awkwardly in his right hand. His glove hand opened and closed.

The centre deeked right and went left.

Matt tried to follow. He lost and regained his balance. The centre shot high for the open top-half of the net.

Matt’s glove hand rose up. His elbow worked like a cog with a few teeth missing. The glove jerked up.

The centre raised his hands, certain the puck was going in.

Matt’s glove plucked the puck out of the air.

The crowd roared.

Bob blew his whistle and waved his arms to indicate no goal.

Matt fell over.

Lane leaned over to take the puck from Matt’s glove.

“Nice save,” Lane said.

“Thanks, Uncle.” Matt’s invisible grin seemed to stretch the width of his face mask.

They drove home with the windows open. Lane and Matt were sitting in the back seat. Lane was sure he smelled better than Matt who smiled, elbowed Lane, and said, “Uncle, you stink.”

Lane felt a momentary, unfamiliar glow of acceptance. He found himself grinning all the way home.