“He’s sleeping,” Lane said. “I’ll stay with him. You two take a break and get a coffee.” He handed them a couple of bills. “Bring me back a coffee too, please.”
Arthur woke up ten minutes later, recognized Lane, and asked for some ice. Lane fed him a couple of cubes. Arthur chewed the ice while he tried to focus his eyes.
“Dugay thinks he got it all,” Lane said. “He thinks it didn’t spread.”
Arthur tried to smile, but pain forced his mouth into a grimace instead.
“What do you need?” Lane asked.
“Where are the kids?”
“I asked them to go get coffee. I wanted to ask you something.” “Well?” Arthur looked at the ceiling.
“Do you still love me?”
SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 1
chapter 18
“Dr. Weaver asked you to call.” Lori sipped her morning tea.
Lane pulled his cell out of his pocket and flipped it open. It was dead. “I need to put this on the charger,” he muttered. He walked to his office and plugged his phone in. He reached for the phone by the computer and dialed Fibre’s number.
“Hello?” Fibre was eating some kind of root vegetable. His voice was barely audible over the sound of chewing.
Lane held the phone away from his ear. “It’s Lane returning your call.”
“I tried to phone your office number, as requested.”
Lane heard the annoyance in Fibre’s voice and ignored it. “You have the results for Branimir?”
“Not yet.” Fibre swallowed.
“How long will it take?”
“It may take longer than a month to determine if Andelko Branimir is the father of Zarafeta Branimir. My initial estimate was incorrect.”
“That complicates things,” Lane said.
“Unavoidable.” Fibre hung up.
Lane got up, walked out of his office, and found Keely talking with Lori. “Morning.”
“What’s new?” Keely asked.
Lane waited by the fax machine. It began to whir. “We’ll have to wait for DNA results.”
“How long?”
“Up to a month,” Lane said.
“So what do we have to talk with Jelena about?” Keely asked.
“We’ll have to think of a new approach.”
“What about Stockwell? He still wants to talk about making a deal to keep his ass out of jail.” Keely read the fax over Lane’s shoulder.
“Stockwell will have to wait.”
“He could testify on your behalf. He could prove that Smoke abused his position to smear you.” Keely put her fists on her hips.
“It has to wait. The Branimir case is at a critical stage.”
“And there has been an organized attempt to ruin your career.” Keely stood between Lori’s desk and the wall, effectively blocking his escape.
What has got you so riled up? “And we have a fourteen-year-old in the middle of a situation that is extremely dangerous. Which one of these situations deserves priority?”
Keely leaned against the wall. “We deal with Jelena first.”
“Yes.”
“What about Arthur?” Lori asked. Her phone rang. She picked it up. “He’s right here.” Lori covered the mouthpiece. “It’s one of the guys keeping an eye on the Branimir home.”
Lane reached for the phone. “Lane here.” He listened. “And the daughter hasn’t returned?” Lane nodded and looked at Keely. “The mother is inside?” He nodded. “All right, call me on my cell if there’s a change. We’re on our way.” He hung up and looked at Lori. “Thanks.”
He turned to relay the message to Keely. “Jelena took Zacki out early this morning. Zacki carried a gym bag. About an hour later, Jelena returned without her daughter. There haven’t been any signs of movement from Jelena since.” It was Lane’s turn to put his fists on his hips.
Keely waved the fax. “We’re going to have a heart-to-heart with Jelena?”
Lane nodded. “I need to get my phone.”
In ten minutes they were exiting downtown in a nondescript Chevrolet. Lane looked out over the river as Keely drove west. Three inflatable rafts floated by. The people inside leaned back and chatted. One rafter reached into a cooler and passed around cans of beer.
“What do we say to her?” Keely asked.
“We tell her we have evidence that proves her husband was Borislav Goran, a war criminal. Then we show her the picture of the Tarantulas and comment on how much the woman looks like Zacki. We’ll see where the conversation goes from there.” Lane looked ahead as Keely took the ramp onto Crowchild Trail.
“What about the bomb-making ingredients?” Keely eased into traffic.
Lane looked down onto the river and at the city centre beyond. “I’d like to work that in with our talk about Zacki. The last time I mentioned Zacki, Jelena got angry. We’ll see if she gets angry, then I’ll slip in the question about the explosives.”
Ten minutes later, Lane’s phone rang. “Lane.”
Keely could hear the voice of the officer but not the message.
Lane flipped his phone closed. “Jelena just drove away from her home. The car is loaded down, and she’s wearing fatigues. One of the officers is staying behind to keep an eye on her condo. The other is following her.” Lane flipped his phone open and checked the battery. “How’s your phone?”
Keely pulled her phone out and handed it to Lane. He checked the battery. “Yours is good. Mine’s low.”
Three minutes later, Lane’s phone rang. He listened, looked at Keely, and pointed straight ahead. “Speed it up. She’s headed toward us from the opposite direction.”
Keely accelerated. “Lights and siren?”
“Not yet.” Lane closed his phone.
Keely stopped at a set of lights near the western edge of the city. Earthmovers were creating a mound of dirt in preparation for bridge construction.
“There.” Lane pointed at a white car turning south. The words JELENA'S ALTERATIONS were painted on the driver-side door. Lane saw Jelena’s face and was sure she had spotted them.
Keely turned the lights on, pulled out, and waited for traffic to stop. She turned left. The engine roared as she turned off the lights and raced to catch up.
“Leave the lights on,” Lane said. “She’s already spotted us.”
Lane listened to the radio as the officer in the other car called for assistance. He picked up the radio. “The suspect may be armed and is wanted for questioning in a roadside bombing. Approach with extreme caution. Alert the bomb unit.”
“Shit!” Keely said. They were stuck behind a pair of minivans driving side by side, ignoring the siren and the lights flashing in their mirrors. Ahead of them, Jelena drove across the bridge spanning the railway tracks and river, flanked by a stand of towering Douglas firs. When Jelena passed the concrete barrier on the other end of the bridge, her car skidded as she braked. She turned right off the pavement, bounced over the curb, and onto the grass.
Lane spoke into the radio. “The suspect has left the road on the southwest side of the Stoney Trail Bridge. We need to block access on the north and south ends of the bridge. Do you have confirmation that the bomb unit is on its way?”
Keely braked. The bruises on Lane’s chest muscles screamed as the seat belt tightened against his body. Keely inhaled sharply as the belt gripped her ribs. She left the pavement and aimed the Chev down into the ditch.
Lane saw Jelena’s car nose into the trees. Both front doors were open. “Stay back from her car!”
Keely stopped. Dust boiled up around the Chev. Lane saw Jelena at the edge of the Douglas firs. The trees stepped down to the river two hundred metres below. Jelena carried a duffel bag over her shoulder. She reached inside her fatigues as she stood behind the trunk of a tree.
Lane undid his seat belt. “Down!” he shouted, grabbing Keely by the shoulder, pulling her toward him. Her head banged against his shoulder. Lane caught a glimpse of Jelena’s hand coming out and around the trunk of the tree, holding a black object. He ducked behind the dashboard. He felt Keely brace herself and did the same.