On the other side of the Bow River, they spotted a fire truck. Its inflatable boat was missing.
Lane stepped out. He looked around at the trees rising up 10 and 20 meters above them. His gaze dropped back to the weir where water curved in a continuous muddy arc over the concrete barrier and fell two meters into a boiling froth. A danger sign showed a human form trapped in the cycling water at the base of the weir. “Hello.” An officer stepped out of a white SUV. He was at least as tall as Lane, broad shouldered and Asian.
Lane reached for his ID.
“Hello, Terry,” Harper said and reached out to shake hands. “This is Detective Lane.”
Lane shook hands, feelingly oddly out of tune and wondering if Harper knew how rarely Lane had experienced this act of fellowship.
“What’s the situation?” Harper said.
“They just pulled the bodies out of the water. They’re around at the back of the ambulance,” Terry said.
“Thanks,” Harper said. He and Lane walked down to the edge of the river where a Zodiac was beached.
The male body lay on its back. Another, in a dress, lay face down on the male’s chest. The female’s arms were locked around the man’s neck. Her hair covered his face. Two firefighters in wet suits stood next to the bodies. One said, “Never would have believed it if I hadn’t seen it.”
A redheaded paramedic bent to brush hair away from the man’s face.
Lane recognized Ernesto.
The redhead said, “Never seen one of these love dolls before. You guys must have more experience with silicone and rubber than I do.”
One of the firefighters said, “Bet you’ve got more experience with battery powered appliances.”
Lane said, “Before you go too far, the family would likely appreciate it if you left the two of them together.”
“You can identify him?” another firefighter said.
Lane stepped closer. The redhead backed away. Ernesto’s brown eyes were empty. On the side of his face there was an angry mark stretching from forehead, across the cheekbone and onto the side of the chin. They always look so different in death, Lane thought. “Ernesto Rapozo. It was his van abandoned on the Center Street Bridge.”
“The love doll is his?” the redhead said.
“She is,” Lane said.
The redhead allowed herself a satisfied smile and smirked in the general direction of the firefighters.
“We’ll notify the family,” Lane said.
“Guess all the perverts in town know one another,” the male paramedic said.
Lane faced the sharp featured male leaning against the ambulance. Lane could not remember ever having met the paramedic before.
Harper’s reaction caught them all by surprise. “You aware of the City’s policy on harassment?”
The paramedic’s white skin paled and he stepped away from the ambulance.
“If I write you up right now, at the very least you’ll lose some pay.” Harper turned but kept his eyes away from Lane. He marched past the bodies up toward the SUV and Terry.
Lane followed, wondering how he would tell Beth. It was one thing he rarely had to do. Most often he arrived after the bad news had been broken to loved ones.
“Terry?” Harper said, “Get the names of those paramedics for me will you?”
“Sure.” Terry looked at Lane. “What happened?”
“A bit of bigotry.” Lane thought, I may get to like having a partner. “Do you want the name of the deceased?”
Terry opened his breast pocket, pulling out a notebook and pen.
“Rapozo, Ernesto.” Lane spelled it. “We’ll notify the family. Please, make sure that’s made clear.”
Terry nodded. Lane walked back to his Jeep.
Harper fumed in the passenger seat. Lane got in and closed the door.
“What happened?” Arthur said.
Lane said, “It’s Ernesto’s body.”
“And?” Arthur said.
“Helen. That’s what he called her. I don’t expect many people will understand it but she was real to him. He used to talk to her. I could swear she talked to him once or twice,” Lane said.
Harper stared straight ahead.
Lane turned the key. “I’ve learned how to shut out bigots.” “That paramedic asshole was way out of line. He reminded me of my brother-in-law,” Harper said.
Lane said, “Did you notice that Deerfoot Trail is still backed up?”
“According to the radio it’s backed up even further south,” Arthur said.
“Was there a fire?” Lane said.
“Want me to check?” Harper said.
“Please.” Lane looked over his right shoulder as he backed up. He stopped and shifted into first.
Lane said, “Leona said she would burn them if they came back.”
Harper said, “Deerfoot is backed up for four or five kilometers, we’ll have to detour around.”
They backtracked to the zoo then headed along Edmonton Trail. Harper talked into his radio then turned to talk with Lane and Arthur, “This is what I’ve got so far. Three confirmed fatalities but the bodies are badly burned. All fatalities were passengers in a van. The van was reported stolen early this afternoon. An investigation team is on the scene now.”
Lane turned east onto 32nd Avenue, then left onto the northbound Deerfoot ramp. He eased around the traffic jam by driving over the curb and onto the grass. “Was one of the victims female?”
“Not sure,” Harper said.
They looked ahead. Traffic was down to a single lane on the freeway. An officer directed traffic and glared angrily at them as they bumped along the grass and stopped. Three tow truck drivers leaned against the fender of one truck.
“I’ll wait here,” Arthur said.
Lane and Harper stepped out of the Jeep. A red-faced officer stormed around the front of a semi, “Move that… ” He spotted Harper. “Thought you were reporters.”
“What have you got so far?” Harper said.
“Besides a hell of a mess?” the officer said.
Lane smelled burnt flesh and hair. He thought, They should have listened to Leona.
“Check with her.” The officer pointed at a white police van parked in front of the accident scene.
Lane looked at the wrecked van. It was crumpled up to the windshield. Scorched metal framed a melted mass of plastic and upholstery. Behind the wreck, a pickup leaned forward on a pair of flat front tires. Its bumper, grill and hood were crumpled. Two semi trailers had blackened sides. Paint had boiled in places. An oxygen bottle was wedged under the dual wheels of one of the trailers. Two officers circled the wreckage. One focused a camera. There was an intense flash of white light.
“Lane?” Harper waved him closer.
Lane moved to the police van.
Harper said, “This is Sergeant Stephens.”
Lane looked at a woman who was at least 30. She had her auburn hair braided at the back.
“Found this under one of the trailers.” Stephens pointed at a black leather purse. “It was thrown clear.” She opened the bag, carefully picked out a wallet and set it down on a paper bag. “We’ve got three deceased. By the size of the two in the front, I’m assuming they were male. This probably belonged to the person found in the back seat. The body was smaller than the others.” She slipped the driver’s license out of a plastic sleeve. “Leona Rankin.”
“We think the other two are Marvin and Lester Klein,”
Lane said.
Stephens looked at her rubber gloves.
“I’ll write it down for you,” Harper said. He pulled out a notebook.
“Thanks,” Stephens said.
“Explaining this to the daughter won’t be easy,” Lane said.