“It’s all about Smoke’s ego?”
“Pretty much.”
“When you think about it, you are being punished for doing your job.” There was a note of incredulity in Matt’s voice.
Lane shrugged.
“What else?” Matt asked.
Lane shook his head. “My brother and his wife offered money for Christine’s education, but I said no.”
“Why?”
Lane watched the flock circle back. “Because they wouldn’t do the same for you.”
“Why not just take the money for Christine?”
“They acted like you didn’t count. Like you and Christine and Arthur aren’t my real family.”
“Oh.” Matt waited a moment then asked, “Are you sure Uncle Arthur will be okay?”
MONDAY, AUGUST 20
chapter 6
Police Chief
Under the Influence
Calgary Chief of Police Calvin Smoke was charged with driving under the influence in the early hours of yesterday morning. Smoke was attending an international conference for police chiefs in San Diego, California when he was charged.
A spokesperson for the San Diego Police Department reported that Smoke registered 2.1, more than twice the legal limit for alcohol concentration in the blood stream.
Recently, Chief Smoke’s reputation has been tarnished by his association with Doctor Joseph Jones, who was charged with the murder of his dental assistant. Jones was also implicated in a child pornography ring.
“Matt told me you’re upset because you think you’re going to get fired.” Arthur sat in a kitchen chair. His coffee cup sat in front of him. The cup was almost big enough for Roz to use as a drinking dish.
“You’ve been so busy. Taking on extra clients so we can pay for the kids’ education. I didn’t think you needed more on your plate. And now you’ve got breast cancer. My worries pale by comparison.” Now that I’ve said it, it sounds so lame, Lane thought.
“Give me a break! Do you have any idea what it’s been like around here?” Arthur’s voice rose with anger until it seemed like it could shatter ceramic.
“I live here.” Lane thought the offhand remark might defuse the situation.
“Oh, really? That’s what you call what you’ve been doing?” Arthur’s sarcasm was accentuated by his body language.
“You are such a drama queen!” Okay, let’s go for it!
“Finally!” Arthur threw his arms in the air.
“What are you talking about now?” Lane found himself floundering.
“You’re talking to me. Saying what’s on your mind. Do you realize how long it’s been since we had any kind of real conversation? Do you think I can beat this fucking disease on my own?” Arthur looked sideways at Lane.
Answer this the right way or you’ll be in more trouble. Go with the first question. “A week?”
“Ten days.”
“I’m sorry.” Lane looked at the stove clock. I’d better get moving.
“And after you get fired, if you do in fact get fired, I expect to meet you for lunch.”
“A celebration?” Lane was surprised, not for the fist time that day.
“Why not? I won’t miss what this job does to your head, and what it does to us. Besides, who knows how long either one of us has?”
Lane replayed their conversation in his mind as he parked downtown behind the barbed wire of the police compound alongside the offices of Calgary Police Services.
Five minutes later, he stepped off the elevator and onto the floor where Deputy Chief Simpson’s office was located. An officer pushing a dolly piled high with boxes brushed past Lane to get into the elevator.
Lane found the deputy chief’s office. More boxes and a computer sat in stacks on various chairs in the waiting room. A young woman wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt sat next to the computer. She pushed a wayward strand of red hair back over her ears and studied Lane with frank fascination.
She’s watching the detective get fired. Word sure gets around in this place, he thought.
Lane could see the feet of another woman on her knees under the receptionist’s desk. He coughed.
The woman backed out and looked up at Lane. Her hair was grey and short. She looked to be about fifty. “Yes?”
It’s a good thing you’re wearing pants, girl. “Detective Lane to see – ”
“Go right in, he’s waiting for you,” she said before turning her attention back to whatever she was looking for under the desk.
Lane walked to the open door. He looked inside. Deputy Chief Simpson was sitting at his desk, working the keys on his laptop. Lane looked around. The walls were free of pictures and the shelves were empty. The carpet was pitted with the imprints of missing furniture.
Simpson looked up. His blond hair was cut short. His blue eyes studied Lane with obvious curiosity. He stood, leaned over the desk, and offered his hand.
Lane shook it. The officers took the measure of one another.
“Please close the door.” Simpson’s voice was friendly and commanding. “We have to get this done today.”
Lane shut the door and turned to face Simpson, who stepped around to the front of the desk.
“We have a problem,” Simpson said, “and Deputy Chief Harper thinks you’re the solution.”
Deputy Chief Harper? What is he talking about? “What?”
“Did you read this morning’s newspaper?”
“No.” What am I missing here? I thought he called me in to fire me.
“Chief Smoke resigned early this morning. I’ve been asked to act as chief. And I’ve asked for Cam Harper to take on the duties of deputy chief. He accepted.” Simpson waited for Lane to process the news.
“This is not what I expected.” Lane frowned when his voice broke.
“What were you expecting?” Simpson’s phone rang. He ignored it.
“Because I’m being investigated, I assumed I was being terminated.”
Simpson thought for a moment, as if considering what to say next. “Since word circulated of the investigation into your conduct, four distinguished officers, an elder from the Tsuu T’ina Nation, two doctors, and a local lawyer have been very insistent about making appointments with me to vouch for you, your character, and your contributions to this community. Frankly, terminating you is the furthest thing from my mind.”
Lane considered what Simpson had said and his calm delivery of the message.
“You understand that once the investigation into this so-called lost weapon was initiated, the process had to be followed through to its conclusion?”
Lane nodded.
“That’s about as much as I can say at this time without running the risk of jeopardizing the process.” Simpson leaned his right hand on his desk.
“Well then?” Lane moved to leave, but Simpson stopped him.
“We haven’t talked about the problem,” he said with a smile.
“Problem?”
“I have a young officer on loan from the RCMP. She’s right outside. She worked undercover for several months at a local restaurant. Her instincts are good, she’s bright, and the new deputy chief assures me that she will be an excellent detective – with the right kind of training, of course. Frankly, we’d like to get her on here permanently. As of yet, you haven’t been assigned a new partner.” Simpson smiled again. “You understand, of course, that this is not an order?”
“Right now, there’s very little that I do understand.” Lane wished he had a cup of coffee.
“She’s made some powerful people unhappy because of the evidence she uncovered. Sound familiar?” Simpson waited for Lane to catch up. “We need an experienced detective to work with her and protect her.”