T. Shorty Barlow stood on the porch of his 1950s mill-worker’s house and surveyed the garden. It occupied most of his half-acre on a Campbell River hillside facing southeast, with a view of the Cape Mudge reserve end of Quadra Island across the water. And how were land claims going, how was Zeke managing the politicos?
The broad beans were nearly over. Tomatoes needed re-staking. Green beans looked okay, so did the lettuces and arugula. Might be a good crop of apples this year, but he needed to thin. He would come home early.
He cast a glance at the espaliered peach. Little tiny green balls, how did they grow such a big hard stone in so few months? The peach fruit around the stone didn’t amaze him, the seeds of raspberries, strawberries, even apples weren’t as startling as peach stones.
He set his empty coffee cup on the railing and clumped down the stairs, opened the deer-proof gate and surveyed the garden from there. The smell of it all made his heart smile—the moist earth warming, the radicchio and lettuce unfurling, the various squash extending tendrils. Hell, he could practically see it happening.
Loathsome weeds sprouted every day, shoots flourishing in the loose soil as if they didn’t care. He squatted and pulled, the sun already hot on his neck. Slugs of course, thanks to the rain. The little ones, the most destructive, left brown holes in the lettuce. Shorty examined each leaf in the row and picked the white buggers off. These guys had emigrated from England or somewhere, not like the indigenous banana slugs that knew to stay in the bush and eat there. Shorty squished the little bastards between his fingers; he hated the slimy feel, then wiped the slime off in the dirt. The dirt clung to his fingers. “I know,” he said to Perky, who’d stalked up. “I should have put gloves on. Why in bloody hell can’t you look after the slugs?”
Perky rubbed against his side, said, “Miaow,” and rolled over on the warming soil between the vegetables, inviting Shorty to rub his belly.
“Bloody hell,” said Shorty. “I’m busy.”
“Miaow.” Perky was black with a white shirt-front.
“Fuck off.” But Shorty knew this routine could go on for a while.
Perky licked his paw.
Shorty gave in and, with the back of his hand, rubbed his stomach. Perky arched, and purred. “Okay, cat, you look after the veg, I have to get to the rink.” He stood, locking his creaking knee. On the porch he scooped up the coffee cup between his palms. No way not to get dirt on the door handle, damn. Cup on kitchen counter, on to the bathroom. He scrubbed his hands, took a cloth from under the sink, wet it, went back and cleaned the door handle. Perky still lay between the lettuce and beans, rubbing his back in the soil. Cats should weed, or at least learn to make the bed. A good life. Long as you’re not a cat in a research lab.
His other cat, Tabitha, a tortoise shell, looked up from the sofa, her usual place. She rarely went outside. Maybe fifteen minutes at dusk.
“You could do the dishes,” Shorty told her.
She rolled over and purred.
He rinsed the cloth, came back and punched the answering machine replay button. “Hi, Shorty, it’s Shane. Austin’s driving me over. See you at the rink.”
The ice was good. He’d had the icing team check it yesterday, right temperature for figure skating, slightly warmer than for hockey. Not many players practicing now, July. Just Shane on the small rink—and that little girl, Emily, only eight, so keen. Sometimes Shane gave her pointers. But he, T. Shorty Barlow the Great, was the Ice Meister of Campbell River.
Shorty got into his Toyota pickup, shoved in the key, backed out of his driveway. That Shane, close to Olympic material. He’d read a book, Outliers, which stressed the route to success was made up of luck and work. Being born in the right time and place, then ten thousand hours of practice. And have someone like Shorty around: keep the ice the right thickness and temperature, pick Shane up at the ferry when he didn’t have a ride, be nice to Austin when he was around, he was bloody paying for that super coach in Vancouver. Ten thousand hours of practice. Hell of a number, but it was spread over years. Shane did it, just like Yo Yo Ma probably had with his cello. Outliers talked about hockey players, how most top players had been born in the first few months of the year. Like race horses the cut-off date was January 1, so children born early in the year had a physical advantage. They got picked for rep teams, had more practice time, and so on. Shorty knew Derek’s birthday was early spring because one year his friends had surprised him with a cake at the rink. Didn’t know when Shane’s was. Maybe it wasn’t so important in figure skating.
Shane. His attitude had changed. His skating was very good, but increasingly mechanical. Last year’s sparkle had faded. Too much pressure now in Seniors?
T. Shorty Barlow the Great had watched Shane for thirteen years. At four and five he’d wobbled around the rink after his older brother, as Timmy had later behind both of them. The little kids, their desire, innocence, will to learn, always brought a lump to Shorty’s throat. “Way to go, guys!” he’d yell, year after year, from a low bleacher seat close to his Zamboni garage.
Ten thousand hours of practice and every advantage. Shane had that, a loving family, not too much hassle for switching from hockey to figure skating, and Shorty to keep the ice in perfect condition. Yeah, and Austin to pay the bills. Shorty therefore should be in cahoots with Austin, right? Yeah, right.
• • •
Noel, not having Cindy’s last name nor knowing where and if she worked, drove first to the hospital. Maybe she’d be back with Derek. But in Derek’s room, no visitors. Derek lay as still and silent as yesterday. At the nurses’ station he asked for Linda, she might have a sense of Cindy’s whereabouts. But Linda was in the OR today, wouldn’t be available for hours. So back to the car, Alana waiting, Noel and Kyra disagreeing whether Cindy had told them to turn right or left after leaving the parking lot. “Left, I think,” Noel said, “because we got back on that main road—Dogwood, right?” He turned left, Kyra insisting he’d gone wrong. After only two wrong turns he managed to wind his way to Cindy’s home. His mind kept coming back to the list of dates and the $3000 notations. They arrived at Cindy’s home as she was opening the door to a tan Tercel. Kyra and Noel got out of the Honda. Alana stayed: more than two interviewers could intimidate the subject. Alana had sulked, then acceded.
Kyra waved. “Hello, Cindy!”
Cindy, tight jeans and a red T-shirt, whirled. “Oh. Hello.”
“We’d like to talk to you about Derek.”
“I’m just on my way to sit with him.”
“We’ll only take a few minutes.”
“Well, okay.” She closed the car door and leaned against it.
Noel propped his elbow on the car roof. Kyra faced them both. Not maximal interrogation circumstances, Noel thought. “How long have you known Derek?”
“Oh, five months?”
“And you’ve been dating since then?”
“Oh no, only since maybe March?”
“You know him pretty well, then?”
She looked down. “We were getting to know each other more.”
“He’s a good guy, is he?”
She gave Kyra a thin smile. “A great guy.” Her eyes were welling.
“Did you get to know his friends?”
“Some.” She pulled a tissue from a pocket.
“Who was he close to?”
“Well, couple of guys over on Quadra. Here at the college, Mike Campbell, it was Mike who introduced Derek and me.” She giggled.
“Is that funny?”
“Well, no. Before I started dating Derek, I was going with Mike.”
“I see. Was that hard on Mike, your leaving him for Derek?”
“It wasn’t like that. I wasn’t going to be with Mike much longer anyway.”
“Did Mike know that?”
“Yeah. Well, sorta.” Cindy wiped her nose. “Why do you want to know this?”
“Anything we can learn about Derek and his friends might help us. You want us to find who beat him, don’t you?”
“Mainly I want him to be okay again.”
“And when he’s okay, you don’t want anything else to happen to him, right?”
She sighed, close to a sob in her outbreath. “No. Please no.” She looked Kyra in the eye. “Ask me.”
“Was Mike angry when you started dating Derek?”
“No. Course not.” She stared at the table again. “Why should he be?”
Noel said, “You’re a very attractive young woman. Any guy could be upset if you shifted your affection.”
“Are you saying Mike could’ve done this to Derek? He’s not even in town.”
“We’re just asking questions, Cindy.”
“No. There’s no way Mike would—he’s a gentle guy. No.”
“Tell us about his other friends.”
“Gaston Robitaille and Joe Daimley. They drank a lot of beer together. Too much, I thought. Gast specially, he got real loud after a few.”
“Is that what they mostly did together?”
“Beer, and they played hockey. And sometimes we double-dated, Derek and me, and Gaston and Kelly. Or Joe and whoever he was with and— Shit.”
“What?”
She put her hands to her mouth. “Won’t be doing that for a while.”
Noel made the connection. The list of numbers— “Did Gast and Joe do drugs with Derek?”
“What?”
“We think they were. More than just doing.”
“What d’you mean, more?”
“Dealing?”
“Derek? No way.”
“We’ve learned a few things, Cindy.”
“Come on. Not Derek.”
“If you know something about drugs, now’s the time to tell us. To help Derek.”
“I do want to help Derek. But how can this help?”
“Tell us what it is, and if it helps, then you’ve helped.”
“It’s not—oh, I don’t know.” She wiped her nose again.
Kyra smiled encouragingly. Noel looked stern. Cindy wouldn’t meet their eyes. She rolled her shoulders. She rubbed her right hand with her left.
Kyra leaned toward her. “What?”
“I don’t know. I’m sorry, I just don’t know.”
“We’re not the police, Cindy. If it’s not important we’ll forget it. I promise.”
Cindy took a deep breath. “Derek did it because he really cares for Shane. He did it for Shane.” She paused. “He could get some good weed. Gast and Joe, they found the guys to sell it to. They were supposed to meet up that night.”
Out of the corner of her eye Kyra noted Alana, leaning out the window of the Honda, listening intently.
“The three of them were going to meet these buyers. The meet was up at the end of Evergreen Road. Where he was found.” Tears welled again. “Then Derek was coming over here. We were going to be together.” She sniffed hard and wiped her face with the decomposing tissue. “He never came here, he was lying up there. I waited an hour then went looking for Gast and Joe. I found them at the Riptide, they were pissed. I got Joe outside and he told me they’d done the deal and they’d left Derek up there. He was fine when they left him.” She sniffed, and wiped her nose.
Kyra found a pack of tissues in her purse and handed one to Cindy.
Cindy took it, wiped her cheeks and eyes. “Thank you.” She stared at the hood of the car. “Except then—I drove to Evergreen but I never got that far, I saw cop cars, their lights flashing like crazy, and I just turned around, if he was okay he’d be fine and if he wasn’t—anyway, I came home and took some sleeping pills and the next morning Linda told me.”
“You said Derek was doing this deal for Shane. What do you mean?”
“There’s a chance that the guy who’s been supporting Shane’s going to stop.”
Noel said, “Austin Osborne?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“The stock market’s tanking and Osborne lost money and maybe couldn’t afford to keep on supporting Shane.”
“Maybe?”
“They had to wait and see what happened to Osborne’s investments. But Derek didn’t want to take the chance. So he did what he figured he had to.”
Kyra said, “Where’d he get the weed?”
“I don’t know.”
Kyra glanced at Noel, back to Cindy. “Thanks for telling us.”
Noel straightened up. “Did you inform the police?”
Cindy blinked hard. “No.”
“Because?”
“Because I didn’t want to get Derek into trouble!” Now nearly shouting.
“He’s already in trouble.”
Kyra touched Cindy’s shoulder. “We’ll do all we can for Derek.”
Noel said, “Is there anything else you could tell us?”
Whispering: “I’ve told you everything.”
“It may help Derek. If there’s anything else you think of, please phone us.” He handed her a card.
“What’re you going to do now?”
“Continue the investigation.”
“Will you talk to Gast and Joe?”
“Probably.”
Cindy grabbed the door handle. “Please don’t tell them I said all this stuff.”
He glanced at Kyra, who nodded. “We won’t tell them.”
She moved toward the house. Turned, looked from Kyra to Noel, went inside.
Kyra raised her eyebrows. “Impressive. How come you zeroed in on Derek’s dealing?”
“Little things. Tim calling those two dopeheads. Derek’s oldest best friend Jim growing marijuana—”
“Which he said he’d never deal, he’d lose that license—”
“But which he might deal if the close friend was desperate. But mostly it was the schedule Alana found. First date on the list was June 15, the day Derek was beaten. Is three thousand dollars a good price for a kilo of marijuana?”
“Sounds cheap to me.”
“And six more kilos to go. With medical marijuana Jim would make sure he always had a fresh supply ready to harvest. What’s a kilo when you’re getting fifteen or twenty kilos every few weeks? Does Jim’s father know exactly how much is maturing?”
“We don’t know. We don’t even know if Derek got the stuff from Jim.”
“I’d bet on it.” He walked back to the Honda. “We should revisit Jim.”
Kyra said, “Right now, back to Gaston and Joe.”
“I’d guess Derek’s partners in crime weren’t the ones who beat him.”
They got into the car. Alana said, “Did you learn good stuff?”
“Didn’t you hear everything? Your curious head was obvious.” Kyra found herself liking Alana more and more.
“Derek took Cindy away from a Mike, and Derek did the deal for Shane because Osborne may have money problems.”
“Good ears.” Noel started the engine and pulled away. He inverted the arrival route, back on Dogwood. Again on to Evergreen, then Peterson, and there was Joe Daimley’s house. On the porch no chair was occupied.
Kyra said, “Alana, this time keep the windows closed and stay low in the seat. We may have to confront a couple of guys here.”
“You mean—you mean they might try to fight you?”
“We don’t know.”
“Uh, Uncle Noel? Do you have a gun?”
“No, Alana. We don’t carry guns.”
“Shouldn’t you?”
“We don’t work that way.”
“What if they have guns?”
“We’ll walk away and they won’t use them.”
“Please be careful.”
“We try very hard to be careful.”
And sometimes even succeed, Kyra thought.
Kyra and Noel got out and walked toward the stairs. Noel said, “Plans?”
“Confront them with the deal they made, find out who the buyers are.”
“You lead.” They crossed the verandah. Noel pushed a doorbell. Ringing inside. Silence. Another ring. Nothing.
Kyra tried the doorknob. Unlocked. “Want to look around?”
“No, Kyra, I do not.”
“If they’re not there, no big deal.” She pushed the door open and stepped inside. “Hello!”
“I’ll wait here.” He hated it when she did this. He stared at the car. Alana wasn’t visible. Good. A couple of cars drove past. He sat in one of the chairs. What the hell was taking her so long? Probably peeing, on top of everything else. She had to get serious about this baby. At the very least a medical exam. Where the hell was she? He squeezed his eyes tight. A headache coming on? Damn. He breathed deeply.
A voice said, “Hi. You looking for me?”
Noel’s head jerked and his eyes opened. Joe Daimley, backpack slung over one shoulder, same jeans and T-shirt as yesterday. “Yes.”
“All by yourself today?”
“No. Kyra’s inside.”
“The house?”
“Yes.”
“What’s she doing in there?” Irritation building.
Investigating, stupid, that’s what she does. “The door was open and—”
“Open?” Joe’s eyes narrowed. He pulled his long hair off his neck.
“Unlocked, and she went in. She had to use the bathroom. I’ll call her.” He leapt from the chair, opened the door, “Kyra! Joe’s arrived! You done in there?”
“Thank you!” A calm voice. Followed a few seconds later by Kyra, adjusting her T-shirt. “Hey, Joe. We’ve been waiting for you. Is your buddy around?”
“He’s at the college.”
“We’d like to talk to the two of you.”
“About what?”
“More questions about Derek.”
“Ask away.”
“We’d like your double insight.”
Joe shrugged. “I can try calling him.”
“Good.”
Joe took a cell phone from the front of his pack, pressed in a pre-set number. “Hey, Gast . . . Yeah, look, those two guys from yesterday . . . Yeah, and they want to talk to us, can you come over? . . . Oh, yeah, sure. Hold on.” To Noel and Kyra: “He’s got a class in forty minutes. But we can meet him at the college. The bookstore.”
Kyra looked at Noel. He nodded.
“Great. Be there in ten.”
Noel said, “We can drive you.”
“Naw, I’ll check out some stuff for my hydraulics class. I’ll drive myself.”
“We’ll follow.” Down the stairs to Noel’s Civic and Joe’s Echo.
Noel whispered to Kyra, “Joe’s a trusting fellow.”
Kyra said, “You’re right. These guys wouldn’t have bashed Derek around.”
They got into the Honda. Noel started the engine and drove off behind Joe. He asked Kyra, “What did you find in there?”
“Nothing. He’s got a bedroom, clothes on the floor and books in piles and graph paper all over the place. Looks like he’s studying heavy machinery too.”
“Not the room of a criminal.”
“Only if mess is a crime.”
From in back Alana said, “Did you just walk into that house and look around?”
“Sure.”
“Why?”
“Because the door was open.”
“Huh?”
“It was like being invited in.”
“Oh,” said Alana.
“Like your taking a memory stick out of a hockey skate.”
“It fell out, Kyra!”
“Same difference.”
Alana sat far back in her seat. “Unc? Why didn’t you go in, too?”
“Somebody has to stand guard.”
“Oh.” Smaller voice.
Under ten minutes to North Island College. Alana had to stay in the car. Objections, but that was how it would be. Or she could go to the cafeteria. She stayed. They followed Joe to the bookstore. It was a new campus, meticulously landscaped, one side the college, the other the high school Tim attended.
Gast, shaven skull gleaming in the sun, waited at the door. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Just a few more questions.” Noel looked at the grassy slope between the buildings and the parking lot. “Want to sit on the grass?”
They did. Kyra said, “Now look, guys, don’t panic, okay?”
Gast raised his eyebrows. “About what?”
“You’ll likely come out of this okay. We know you two and Derek met a couple of people up on Evergreen and sold them some dope. How much did you get?”
Gast was on his feet first, then Joe. Gast said, “Fuckin’ nerve, accusing us of dealing.”
“Sit down,” said Noel.
Joe: “What the hell’s this about?”
Kyra: “Sit down and we’ll tell you.”
The two guys glanced at each other, and sat.
Noel said, “The first thing you need is a lawyer. The second is to go with us and your lawyer to the Mounties. Your lawyer will make it clear that you’ve come in freely and want to help in the Derek Cooper case.”
Joe and Gast stared at Noel, saying nothing.
“Your lawyer will also make it clear that all potential charges regarding the sale of an illegal substance must be dropped. Say nothing till the Mounties agree. Then you tell them everything you and Derek did that evening. Understand?”
Gast turned to Kyra. “Is he serious?”
“Very. The Mounties are going to be much more interested in what you have to tell them about the buyers, and about what happened before Derek was beaten.”
“We got to talk.” He stood again and moved away ten meters. Joe followed. They spoke in whispers. Kyra and Noel heard a few words: “. . . kill us . . . give them up . . . Soy and Gagnon . . . looked mean . . . The two came back.”
Joe said, “Okay,” and Gast nodded.
Kyra asked, “You know any lawyers?”
Gast said, “My aunt.”
“Call her.”
He did. A few minutes and he clicked off. “The cop shop at one.”
“Kyra and I’ll be there. Make sure you are.” They walked back to the Honda.
“We’re getting closer,” said Kyra.
“Want a sandwich and status session? I saw a place near the ferry terminal.”
“Good. I’m starving.” They parked in front of a sandwich place. Kyra rushed in; Noel and Alana followed more slowly.
Alana said, “Is Kyra okay?”
“Yeah, she’s fine.”
They each ordered a shrimp, tomato, and sprout sandwich. Kyra reappeared from yet another bathroom and chose the same. They crossed the road to a waterfront park bordering Discovery Passage and found a picnic table. Two kids were tossing a ball. A toddler toddled by, pushing its stroller; the mother hovered. Their table was protected from the noon sun by a shady maple.
Kyra took a bite as Noel said, “Okay. What do we know?”
“This is a good sandwich,” said Kyra with a full mouth. “The one truck belonged to Derek, the car to Gast and Joe, the other to the buyers. Which means whoever messed Derek up parked across the street from Mrs. McDougal. A truck, a van?”
“Whichever. And it means the guy intended to beat Derek up.”
“Why?” Alana asked, wolfing her sandwich
“That’s the question.” Noel took a bite. For a few seconds they all chewed.
Alana swallowed. “To rob Derek of $3000?”
“Did the attacker know a deal was happening? Money changing hands?”
Kyra said, “We don’t know how much he had on him. I said three thousand was cheap for a kilo and we don’t know if he had more dope.”
“I have a feeling,” Noel said, “that any money was a bonus.”
“You mean someone just wanted to beat him up?” Alana looked at her uncle with large eyes.
“Maybe. We don’t have a motive. Could be anything. Till we know more.”
They finished their sandwiches and stared past the ball players to the water. The toddler’s job of shoving his stroller had apparently fatigued him; he was ensconced in it as his mother pushed it briskly.
• • •
“Thank you.” Harold Arnesen put the phone down. Strathcona Gardens, the ice rink in Campbell River, had informed him that Shane did have time booked tomorrow, ten to twelve. He’d been in today, had just left.
He sat back in a large black captain’s chair behind an ornate dark brown oak desk. It held a flat computer screen. He re-read some reports he’d printed up, needing to deal with their implications. He loosened his tie. Only when he came into the Vancouver Island Skating Union office did he wear one. These days ties choked him. In Ottawa he’d never been without one. Another reason to be pleased with his move west.
The ample office had maple walls covered with pictures showing the successes of his skaters. Even a couple of himself as a young competitor. Sadly he’d never advanced to celestial reaches; a case of bad vertigo came over him at eighteen. No physiotherapist could cure it—a vestigial disorder brought on by the spins and axels of performance itself. Nonetheless, he’d remained close to the sport, developing a number of fine talents. In BC they’d seen it as an asset to ask him to become Head of VISU. Well, honorary head.
Tomorrow he’d drive up to Campbell River. He should have called Vancouver yesterday, checked on Shane’s schedule there, saved himself a trip. He’d never liked calling ahead; arrive silently, get to see what’s going on with nobody knowing. Tomorrow he’d admire the remarkable technique young Cooper had developed.
Harold needed some good news. On return from the ferry he’d found two biannual scouting reports regarding his skaters in Baie d’Urfée and Toronto. Danielle Dubois was evolving well, though not as quickly as her trainer wished. The Toronto problem was Graham Pauley. He looked recalcitrant, as if he were fighting his coach all the way. Harold wondered if the problem wasn’t his sponsor. Steve Struthers had always been a shame, a publicly accused doper who wasn’t kicked out. Worse, Skate Canada had allowed him to sponsor the occasional skater. If Harold still lived in the east he’d have seen to it that Pauley not be allowed to let Struthers call him his protégé. Part of Harold’s problem, so far from headquarters, grew from lack of daily contact between members and the Board.
Part of a larger quandary. He needed the young people he backed to succeed. Four years ago, while Chair of Skate Canada, he had been partial to three men and two women. He had pushed regulations a bit on their behalf—better ice time, grant money channeled their direction, additional press coverage. They deserved it but he’d let his diplomacy become visible. Board members had approached him, saying his favoritism was inappropriate. After some heated discussion he had accepted this—not that he’d done anything wrong, just that public apprehension of partiality might cause an image problem for Skate Canada. Unfortunately the conversation had leaked out. He hadn’t resigned, but he hadn’t sought a second term.
Though stepping down as titular head, he’d lost no real power. Also without the Chair role he could be more involved. As his young skaters collected Junior and Senior golds, he’d be recognized for the visionary he knew himself to be.
Tomorrow he’d drive up to Campbell River. He’d never taken the Island Highway that far north. He looked forward to the journey, leave early, stop for breakfast in one of those quaint little towns along the way. He’d spend the night in Campbell River. He turned on his computer to find the best lodging.
• • •
The family sat around the kitchen table. Linda had returned immediately after shift change, she and her nurse driver-friend picking up an uncommunicative Shane. Tim had located his dad in the north woodlot, limbing the fallen trees he could access. Tim said Kyra and Noel wanted to meet with the whole family as soon as everyone got home.
Tim was delighted to be here as part of the family council, and that no one had suggested he shouldn’t be here. He wondered how Alana felt, an outsider, more than Noel and Kyra; as investigators, their role was central. That was another good thing. He, Tim, had entered into a first-name relation with the detectives. So they saw him as an adult. Then he had a dreadful thought: were they treating him as a Derek replacement? He glanced at his mother, his father. He saw increased worry on both their faces: still because of comatose Derek, more now because of what Noel and Kyra might tell them. His mom had insisted on tea, had just poured for Alana and Shane. Shane stared at it. Alana gazed out over everyone’s head. Damn, Tim thought, she has the most beautiful face. He wished he were two years older. Heck, here he was at the council, maybe he was her equal.
“Tell us what you learned,” Jason instructed Noel.
Noel did, explaining first that he and Kyra were present at the full proceeding; since they’d set up the confession, the Mounties and the kids’ lawyer had agreed on their right to be there. Noel described their conversations with Gast and Joe, mentioning Tim’s clever suspicion—Tim felt his ears grow red, and Alana gave him a smile. “The truth is that Derek went to the meeting on Evergreen to sell pot to two dealers. His source was to get half the $8000, his contact guys got $1000, and he kept $3000.”
Linda breathed in deeply. “You believe Gast and Joe?”
“I do,” said Noel, “and so do Kyra and the Mounties.”
Jason grabbed Noel’s arm. “Did they know anything about Derek getting beaten? Did they do it?”
Noel shook his head. “They were so scared of getting arrested they held nothing back. Their lawyer, Gaston’s aunt, Julienne Robitaille, impressed on them the importance of telling the Mounties every detail.”
Linda frowned at Noel. “Do the police think the buyers beat up Derek?”
Kyra broke in, “We’re assuming not. They’d have nothing to gain. If they wanted to buy more pot, Derek would be a good source. Besides, they drove off first. Derek was fine when Gast and Joe left. There was another vehicle, according to Mrs. McDougal.”
Tim fussed. Why would Derek break the law? Where would Derek find $8000 worth of dope? What would he do with the $3000 he kept? Then Tim understood, with horror, Derek did sell the pot. And he knew where Derek got it. “What happened to the money?”
“Derek paid Joe and Gast $500 each.” Noel said. “That left Derek with $7000.”
“Whoever beat Derek stole $7000,” Tim concluded. Which meant the supplier had lost the money and was probably furious. Uh-oh!
Jason asked, “What’ll happen to Derek’s contacts?”
“Mounties are questioning them. As long as they keep cooperating they won’t be charged. The Mounties are more interested in the buyers, two persons of interest. See who the buyers lead them to. And the growers. The in-between guys didn’t know.”
Linda whispered, “Who are they?”
“We’ve been told not to mention their names, Kyra said. “And you probably wouldn’t know them. Not even Derek did.”
“What happens now?” Jason asked.
“The investigation continues. Somebody other than the sellers or the buyers beat up Derek.”
“All we know is what we don’t know?”
“We know more than we did a couple of days ago.”
Jason glared at Noel. “Now do we have to thank you for learning Derek dealt dope?”
“He’s committed a crime, Jason. When he comes out of the coma, likely he’ll not have to serve time. Probation. Some rehabilitation. This was his and Gast’s and Joe’s first sale.” Noel had had to force himself to say: When.
Jason stood. “I hate it. Why the hell’d he do it! Goddamn!”
Shane, Tim noticed, was staring at his father. Then Shane covered his face with his hands. With the heels of his palms he massaged his eyes. Linda stood and embraced Jason. Alana looked from Tim to Shane and back. And a little smile for Tim; he forced an equally small one.
He got up and went out the door. He mounted his bike and pedaled up the drive to the road. He turned right, pumping hard. It’d be a stiff ride, uphill and winding a lot of the way. At least the sun still hung high. He needed to know why Derek had dealt dope. His eyes were heavy with tears. A dark green van pulled out of a logging road behind him.
• • •
Shane stared out the window of his room, seeing nothing. Derek had sold the pot so Derek’s goddamn brother could have the money he needed for his friggin’ career. In case Austin stopped supporting Shane Cooper! All done for Derek’s asshole brother. Poor goddamn Derek. Shane felt tears rolling down his cheeks . . .
• • •
“We’ll eat around seven,” Linda said to Kyra. “Would you like to go back to the B&B?”
Kyra very much wanted to lie down. But Noel said, “We should spend the time talking to Derek’s friends here on the island. You mentioned some names, Jase?”
“You’ve already talked to Jim Bristol, right? There’s Harry, if he’s around. I heard he’s working at two jobs on the big island, so he probably wouldn’t know much about Derek.”
“What about his ex-girlfriend? Bertina, you said? Bertina Anderson?”
“Sure, I’ve seen her in Heriot Bay so she’s probably on the island. You could call her, Hon, introduce Kyra and Noel?” To Noel and Kyra: “She lives pretty close by.”
Linda found Bertina’s number. Bertina herself must have answered because Linda immediately told the person at the other end about Noel and Kyra. She set the phone on its hook. “Bertina says she’ll meet you at the plaza, at Food and Funk.” She described Bertina. “I’ll call Jerry, too. But with his schedule, you may have to meet with him in Campbell River when he’s on a break.”
“Thanks, Linda. Come on, Kyra. Alana, want to join us?”
Alana looked about the kitchen. Shane had gone to his room, Tim was nowhere in sight. Learning that their son was a dope dealer, Harry and Linda might want to talk alone. “Sure.”
The three of them got into the Honda and headed up the driveway, Alana again in back. Kyra said, “I am so absolutely wiped.”
“We’ll talk to the girl, then you can go back to your room. You don’t have to bother about supper.”
“But I’m starving too.”
“We’ll eat and leave. Sleep would be good for all of us.”
Silence until Noel said, “We should’ve stopped by the girl’s parents’ place.”
“Yeah,” said Kyra.
“Why?” asked Alana.
“Because now she’s prepared.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing.”
“It can cut both ways,” said Noel. “But we’re more successful just showing up at the door.”
“How do you know? Maybe if someone had time to get ready, you’d’ve learned more. You can’t clone the situation? Do it two different ways?”
Noel laughed. This niece was not half bad.
They reached Heriot Bay Road. Nothing coming, just a cyclist riding away. From behind it reminded him of Tim Cooper, then he noted a van behind him and accelerated across. At the plaza he stopped in front of Food and Funk. There she was, as described—small, rich head of brown hair glowing in the angled sun, pug nose. Jeans, sandals. A T-shirt saying THE BEATINGS WILL CONTINUE UNTIL THE MORALE IMPROVES. Noel thought, maybe not so nice after all. Or a fine sense of humor.
Bertina was staring at the approaching group. No, mainly at Alana, Noel realized.
Kyra said, “Bertina Anderson?”
The young woman nodded.
Kyra made introductions. Bertina said to Alana, “Are you a detective too?”
Alana smiled. “Just tagging along. Learning the ropes.”
Bertina pointed to some tables. “We can sit right here.”
The moment Bertina sat, Alana placed herself across from the girl, leaving Noel and Kyra to sit across from each other. They caught each other’s glance: Not ideal.
Bertina sought first Noel’s then Kyra’s eyes. “So this is about Derek. How is he?”
“Unchanged.”
“Oh, he’s changed. From the Derek I used to know.”
“You knew him pretty well?”
“You could say that. We spent a lot—a lot—of time together. A year and a half.”
“What was he like when you knew him?”
“Sometimes sweet, gentle. Sometimes moody. Or way more than moody.”
“More?”
She shrugged. “Angry.”
“At you?”
She thought for a moment. “In those moods, at whoever happened to be nearby.”
“Was he a tough guy?” This, suddenly from Alana.
Noel wondered, during the second it took Bertina to answer, would she respond to a question from the trainee?
She did. “Tough, yeah. He could hold his own. I thought about that when I heard he was beaten. Somebody must have blindsided him. Maybe two or three of them.”
“Mean, sometimes?”
“No, not mean. He honestly liked people. Most of the time.”
“Can you think who it might’ve been?”
“To beat him like that? He could tick people off but nowhere near enough for that.”
Alana again: “Did he ever tick you off, ever?”
Bertina stared at Alana for fifteen silent seconds before saying, “Not at first.”
“But later?”
“Yeah.”
“About what?”
For more silent seconds Bertina kept her eyes focused on the table, elbows on it, chin on her fists. “Lotsa things.”
“For instance?”
“Just stuff.”
Alana leaned across the table and spoke softly. “Like seeing other girls?”
Bertina looked up. “Not while he was going with me. He wouldn’t have dared.”
“So he ticked you off about—?”
Bertina waited for a couple of seconds. “I have to go. My mother’s waiting supper.”
Alana reached over and took Bertina’s forearm. “Did he get ticked off about sex?”
Bertina’s lips twitched. “Why’re you asking that?”
“Lots of guys get ticked off about sex.”
“Derek never did.” She shook her head. “In the beginning.”
“And after?”
Bertina pulled her lips in. Then she sighed. “Yeah.”
Noel and Kyra watched. Two teen-aged girls in normal conversation . . . ?
“What’d he want?”
“You know . . .”
“I know about some guys. I don’t know about Derek.”
“He—he wanted more. And more. Not like early when we were going together. We’d hike, we’d swim, we’d go to the movies and sometimes we’d fuck or just hang with other kids. But more and more, sex was all he wanted.”
Alana whispered, “Insatiable?”
“Yeah. We never did anything else.”
“And?”
“No and. I told him, if we couldn’t do other things too, get lost.”
“Off he went, just like that?”
“Yeah. After a year and half, off he went.”
“Did you try to patch it up? Did he?”
“It was like we were both worn out with each other.” She stood. “I really do have to go.”
Kyra said, “You can’t think of anyone else he might have got ticked off at?”
Bertina shook her head.
“How about his family?”
A short snort. “He’d do anything for his family. He thought his father and mother were saints. He was so damn proud of his brothers. He’d do anything he could to make their lives better. Like Shane, for example— No, I’ve got get home.” She stepped over the bench.
Kyra repeated, “He’d do anything for Shane? What did Shane need?”
“It’s nothing. Look—”
Kyra said, “It could be important. For Derek. You cared for him, once.”
“Cared?” She sniffed. “I loved him.”
“Because he was a great guy. To his family. To Shane.”
“Yeah. Shane. Lotsa worry about Shane.”
“But Shane was—is—in a great place. Maybe going to the Olympics.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“Isn’t it certain?”
“Only if he keeps getting the support.”
“But he’s had it for years. Austin Osborne thinks Shane is as good as there is.”
Bertina sighed. “Austin’s had some bad luck lately. Financially. Like the whole world, right? All those companies going broke. That’s where Austin’s money is. Was.”
“Derek told you all this?”
“Yeah. Just before we split up. The recession hit Austin hard. I said I’d heard Austin had whacks of money, he’d been supporting Shane so long, why would he quit now? And Derek said something else Shane had told him, that maybe Shane didn’t want Austin’s support any more.”
Was this the Shane Kyra had seen, the Shane that had to be supported in order to take the skating world by storm? “Why would Shane say something like that?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know if he did. Derek was rambling about Shane.”
“Did Austin actually say that to Shane? That he’s going to have to stop supporting him one of these days?”
“I guess it depends on the economy.” A rueful laugh. “Isn’t that what everybody says, it all depends on the economy?”
• • •
At West Road Tim turned up hill again. Then down, and eventually left onto Heriot Bay Road, more steep sections. At least the young trees let a lot of light onto the road—clear cut, his dad had told him, the year he was born. He went everywhere on his bike, his legs were strong. He was on the school track team, ran the hundred meters in just over eleven seconds and was the fastest of the four in relays. He was headed away from the ferry, few cars trying to pass but lots coming toward him. He hated it when two cars met right beside him. He was still pedaling hard as he passed under the Bristol Greens arch over to the house. “Yo, Jim! You there?” No answer. In one of the greenhouses? He called into sheds one to five. No one. In six he found Jim picking green beans. Large full bags lay in the cart beside him, each bag marked ten kilos. Tim wondered how much Jim and his father got for a bag of beans. “Hey, Jim!”
Jim whirled around. “Oh. Tim.”
It was like he’d scared Jim. “How you doin’?”
“Fine, great. What’re you doing here?”
“Thought I’d go for a bike ride.”
“Well. Nice to see you. Everybody okay at your place?”
No, nothing was okay. What the heck was wrong with Jim. “Not too great.”
“Derek’s stable?”
“Yeah. Stable.” He didn’t know how to ask Jim except to ask straight out. “Some detectives Dad hired found out Derek was up at the end of Evergreen to sell pot. Eight thousand bucks’ worth. You have any idea where he got it?”
“He went there—? He was selling pot?”
“You’re his best friend. Did he ever say anything about dealing?”
“What’re you talking about?”
“I’m talking about my brother getting beaten up. Where’d he get the pot?”
“Tim, believe me. I don’t know.” Jim’s neck flushed red.
“Did you give him the pot to sell?”
“Course not. That’d be illegal. Our marijuana is medicinal. We’re not allowed to sell to anyone except Compassion clubs. It’s all controlled. You know that. God, how can you even ask me if I gave Derek the pot. That’s not allowed. Don’t go spreading rumors! We could get in trouble if people starting thinking that way! Hear me?”
Yeah, Tim heard. The command, and the fear. Maybe it hadn’t been a great idea to ask him straight out. Better back off, get the hell out of here. “I wouldn’t start any rumor, Jim. I’m just upset about Derek.”
Jim took a deep breath and blew the air out his mouth. “I know that, Tim. Just go home now and don’t even think those things. Okay?”
“Okay. I won’t.” Except how can you unthink something once you’ve thought it, something so obvious? “We eat at seven. I need to be home. See you. Happy picking.” He walked out the door, then turned. Jim hadn’t moved. “Take care.”
Now he ran to his bike, jumped on and again pedaled hard. Out under the arch, out onto the road. Okay, he’d made the suggestion. Really only a question. Jim said no. Explained ten times too hard. Kept on talking. Yeah, Jim was scared. Maybe not because of the question. Maybe he’d been scared before Tim got there. Maybe he’d worried about being accused ever since Derek got beaten up. So was it really Jim who supplied Derek with the pot? If so, he’s out $4000 and really pissed off. Maybe Jim was in Campbell River—? No way, not Jim! Maybe when he got back he should tell the detectives his suspicions? He slowed his pedaling. They could follow it up.
He felt rather than heard the roar behind him, glanced over his shoulder. A van, coming on fast. He pulled onto the verge, soft earth—not too far, the ravine looked ragged. Boy, that van was driving way too fast for this road. And way too close to the verge—didn’t the guy see him? Oh god, he did, he was aiming at him! Tim pulled as far toward the ravine as he dared and still the van was coming on, the right fender looked huge, it struck the bike and sent it and Tim flying into the ravine—an instant idea in his brain: Jim, trying to kill him—