Jason and Kyra, Cindy trailing, walked downstairs. Jason pushed open a side door. “Car’s parked in the next lot,” said Kyra.
“We can cut through the garden.”
The garden, a quiet green space that featured mown grass, scattered trees and benches, also held a number of sculpted pieces—a figure of a despairing woman in chiseled wood; a ten-foot metallic serpent rising from its coiled tail, called River Spirit; a hand rising from the ground that stood taller than Kyra, holding an enormous egg. Noel snapped pictures with his cell. “What’s with all these?”
“No idea,” Jason said, and led the way.
Kyra felt unclear regarding Jason Cooper. She granted him his distress—son in a coma with no end in sight would be upsetting. But if she and Noel were to learn anything about the comatose kid, Jason would have to be more forthcoming. “Noel said Derek was found by an old lady with a dog.”
“She’s known up there, walks the dog at night, says she hardly ever sleeps,” said Jason, without turning around. “Got home and called 911.”
They arrived at the car. Kyra told Noel about the B&B reservation. “Oh,” he said. After finger-dashing around a Campbell River lodging site he’d found them two possible B&Bs. Now Kyra—or Linda—had one-upped him. He closed his laptop.
Jason got into the front seat, Kyra in back. Cindy slumped down beside her. Can’t be twenty yet, Kyra thought, but what a drawn, weary face. “He’s a strong young man, Cindy. Give him time to pull through.”
Cindy nodded. “I hope.”
The tension between Cindy and Linda still echoed in Kyra’s memory. “Being with him lends him your strength. But he needs time to find his own strength too.”
“I know.” She sniffed. “I do know.”
Jason turned to the back seat. “Which way, Cindy?”
Cindy gave directions—back out to Dogwood, a left, pretty soon a right on Merecroft. Just before the end of the road Cindy said, “Over there.” They pulled up in front of a cedar-shingled house set back from the road. To one side stood a small cabin.
“Nice place,” said Kyra.
“Thanks,” said Cindy. She got out. “Thank you.” She started from the car, turned, said to Jason through the open window, “He’s going to be fine.” She nodded to herself. “Just fine.” Quickly she headed toward the house.
“Make a U-turn,” Jason said. Noel did. After a couple of minutes he pointed his thumb over his shoulder “That’s the Beaver Lodge Forest Lands beyond there. Lots of trails and deer. A few bears, occasional cougar.” A couple of silent minutes later he added, “We’re close. Take the next left.”
Noel turned on a road called McPhedran. Another turn, Evergreen. The homes looked middle class, some upper middle. He wondered about the economy up here now that the Elk Falls Pulp Mill had shut down, any logs left shipped out raw, no value-added wages here. Most of the fish canneries had closed, too few salmon to keep the locals employed. The Honda reached the end of the road, cement blocks blocking auto entrance.
Jason pointed to a closed yellow gate. “Back in there.”
Noel read, ACCESS TO TWINNED HOLDINGS PIT. “What’s that mean?”
“No idea. But this is where the old lady found him. Her dog, really.”
“Any way of talking with her?”
“Don’t know where she lives.”
Noel and Kyra got out, stepped around the gate, and studied the area. They saw trampled ground desiccated from lack of rain. Tacked to a scrawny maple, a piece of yellow crime-scene tape. They walked to a point where the old road curved. Only the privacy of the area spoke to Noel. He took pictures, to keep the crime scene in their minds.
As if reading his thoughts, Kyra said, “Out of sight from any houses.”
“Yeah.” Noel started back. “I’d like to ring some doorbells.”
At the third house a woman in shorts and an oversized shirt opened the door. No, she hadn’t seen anything the night of the attack, just the Mounties’ flashing lights. The woman with the walker? Sure, Sarah McDougal, lives three houses down with her daughter. They thanked her.
Jason said, “I’ll wait in the car.”
“Jason.” It was almost as if Jason was undermining them. “We have to ask you some questions. Stuff we need to know.”
Jason shrugged. “Ask away.”
“How well do you know Derek?”
“What’re you talking about?” His voice held tight.
“Does he share things with you? His plans? His feelings?”
“We talk about what he wants to do.” He laughed, grimly. “Sometimes about what he doesn’t. About what he’s done that he’s glad he’s done. That the sort of thing you mean?”
It’s going to take a while, thought Kyra. “What about Cindy, for example. How he feels about her.”
“Mmm.” Jason considered the question. “Don’t really know. He likes her, you can see that. Doesn’t tell me much. If he talked about her more, it’d be with Linda.”
Like son, like father, Kyra thought. “I had a sense Linda doesn’t find Cindy a total charmer.”
“It’s not so much she doesn’t like her, it’s—I don’t know, kind of—see, they’re both so young, Linda thinks Derek’s got to finish his schooling, find a profession—he’s good with big machines, but he needs to get work. Cindy’s okay, but—you know what I mean?”
Could mean lots of things, Jason, but I don’t know which ones you mean.
“Let’s find Sarah McDougal,” said Noel.
Jason returned to the car. Kyra and Noel went up the walk to a white-shingled house. Kyra rang the bell. From behind the door the sharp yips of a dog. Then a voice said, “My daughter’s not here.”
Kyra said, “It’s you we want to talk to, Mrs. McDougal.”
“What do you want?”
“We’re investigating the beating of the young man. We hear you found him.”
The door opened a crack, a chain across the space. White curly hair, thick glasses covering brown eyes above a red nose. The dog yipped harder. “Go lie down!” The dog shrank away. “You’re not the police.”
Kyra said, “No, we’re friends of the young man’s father, we’re trying to help him.”
“Well, come in.” The door closed, re-opened wider without the chain. “This was once a peaceful neighbourhood.” Noel closed the front door. Using a walker, she led the way into a living room to the right. She sat on a straight-backed red-upholstered chair. “Have a seat.”
Noel and Kyra sat on a white couch. “Can you tell us about that evening?”
“Too many cars, too many.”
“Cars?”
“Willie and I were going to take a walk—” she pointed to the dog, now lying on a blanket—“that’s Willie. All these cars kept roaring by, right up to the cement blocks. And one across the street. And they parked there for a while.”
“How long?”
“Ten minutes? Fifteen? I don’t know, I didn’t have a watch.”
“Do you know what kind of cars?”
“And trucks. I told all this to the police.”
Noel asked, “How many trucks?”
“That I know. One up there. And two cars.”
“Old? New?”
“I don’t know those things. I don’t follow vehicle styles.”
“And where were you?”
“Just outside the door. Willie didn’t want to go for his walk with all those people there. Did you, Willie?” Willie looked up for a moment. “We waited till they left and—oh, we waited after that too. I think.”
“And why was that?” Kyra spoke as gently as she could.
Mrs. McDougal squeezed her eyes tight. “I’m trying to remember . . .” Her eyes opened wide. “The other truck. Across the street. Somebody had got out. He was the second. He walked toward the first truck, I remember that. Then I didn’t see him anymore. Then the other cars came, and finally they drove away. Roaring down the road. I just wanted them gone so we could go for our walk.”
“But they didn’t?”
“The cars, yes.” She sounded confused. “I just said that, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did,” Kyra said softly.
“Then the man came back to the truck here and got in and made a U-turn and he was gone too. But the other truck was still up there. Willie and I waited. And then, I thought I’d figured it out—maybe the people from the truck had gotten rides in one of the other vehicles. So if nobody was up there it was safe to go for our walk. I said that to you, didn’t I, Willie?” Willie thumped his tail.
Kyra nudged Sarah McDougal on. “So you headed up the road.”
“Yes. And Willie was already there and barking his head off. I was hobbling along, but Willie had found that poor boy. He just lying there, there wasn’t much light but I could tell he shouldn’t be lying like that. And when I got close I could see what was maybe blood, and I was scared—wanted to get away from there quick as I could.” She smiled, a sad little curve of the lips. “Which wasn’t very fast.” The smile went away. “But faster than usual, and I got home and I told Marcie, that’s my daughter, what I’d seen, and she grabbed her cell phone and ran up the road and she called 911. Well, the police came, sirens and all the lights flashing. Everybody on the block was there. And the police asked me questions, but I was so upset I couldn’t remember very much.”
“Did they talk to you the next day?” Noel now, fearing Mrs. McDougal would tire.
“Oh yes, and once after that. I told them everything. The poor boy. How is he?”
“He’s in a coma,” Kyra said. “Is there anything else you can remember?”
“I don’t think I know anything else.”
Noel stood, and Kyra. She said, “Thank you, Mrs. McDougal. You’ve been very helpful.”
Grabbing the arms of the walker she pulled herself to her feet. “Have I? I told all this to the police. Have they found out who did it?” She led them to the door.
“They’re working on it.”
She opened the door. “I can’t remember . . .”
Kyra said, “What’s that, Mrs. McDougal?”
“If I mentioned—the truck across the street. With a canopy on the back, or maybe it was a van. Can you ask them that? If I did?”
“We will. Thank you again. Goodbye.”
They headed back toward the Honda, the foliage along the sidewalk thick but penetrable. A man in a second truck or a van. With the group? What was that all about? They walked past Jason in the car and approached the yellow gate. Noel said, “Three groups meeting. One of them is Derek. A fourth arrives earlier. Two, then the fourth, leave. Derek, left lying on the ground. How do you see it?”
Kyra studied the path ahead, the trees along the side. She walked to the curve and followed the road. Open but overgrown—not a place for a casual stroll. No broken branches or empty matchbooks advertising a locale the mayhem provider usually frequented. No footprints on the dry ground. She needed to pee; a little privacy? She came back to the gate. “Okay. Either Derek was beaten by whoever was in the truck and the car that parked up here, and then they left. Or they left and Derek was okay and didn’t leave with them. Maybe waiting for the guy in the truck across the street, or maybe not expecting him but that’s who beat him up.”
“Right,” said Noel. “Does that get us anywhere?”
“We’ve got a couple of hypotheses.”
He grinned. “Moving forward, partner.”
“We’d better find Derek’s doctor.”
In the car they told Jason what they’d learned from Sarah McDougal. He’d heard all that from the police. Including the second truck? He didn’t remember. They drove down Evergreen. “Jase. Does Derek get along okay with most people?” asked Noel.
“What d’you mean?”
“Anybody who didn’t like him? Enough to beat him up?” She watched as Jason’s left shoulder slowly drooped. “What, do you suspect somebody?”
Jason’s head shook, just a little. “No. I wish I did.”
Noel glanced at him. “You think it was gratuitous? Derek just happened to be here? It could’ve been anybody passing by?”
“I don’t know.”
“What was Derek doing here?”
“I don’t know that either.”
“Who could’ve known he’d be here?”
Jason whispered, “I don’t know.”
Kyra said, “We’ll need you to give us the names of his friends. Here in Campbell River and on Quadra.”
“Sure. But they wouldn’t have anything to do with it.”
“They might guide us in valuable directions.”
“Anyway, the Mounties have already talked to them.”
Noel slowed the car and pulled into a commercial parking lot. “Look, Jase. You got us up here. We need information or we’re stymied. And you’ve got to tell us who to talk to about Derek’s life. Or we go back to Nanaimo tonight.” He opened his computer.
Jason sighed. “It’s just, it feels like—like I don’t have much of a brain left.”
“So let’s take it one bit at a time, okay? Now. His friends.”
Jason rubbed his chin. “On the island he used to hang out with a couple of guys, Nigel Meredith, and Sam Bristol, friends since grade one. And sometimes with The Demon—that’s what they called him, Demosthenes Catokis—except he’s the gentlest guy you can imagine. I’ll give you addresses and phone numbers at the house.”
Noel typed. “Any girls?”
“He dated Bertina the last year before he went to the college and until this spring. But then he met Cindy and Bertina was history. We all liked her. Bertina Anderson.”
“Pretty name,” said Kyra. “We’ll talk to her. What about Campbell River. Friends at the college?”
“I don’t know them but Derek used to mention a couple of guys. Mike Campbell, he’s in the heavy machinery department too. They’re close. Hockey buddies too. And Joe Daimley, another hockey buddy. Derek’d hang out with Joe and a friend of Joe’s, Gaston something—Gaston, French last name, Robitaille, that’s it. Gast Robitaille.” A rueful smile from Jason. “They drank a lot of beer together.”
Noel typed. “Anybody else?”
Jason thought. “They were the closest.” He thought some more. “Linda might know. Timmy too. Probably not Shane, he’s away a lot.”
Noel closed the computer lid and started up the engine again. “Thanks. That’ll be a start.”
Kyra said, “Who’re the Mounties who’ve been working on the case?”
“Huh? Oh, Dorothy Bryan. She’s good. And Harry Latiche. Hard man. Professional, I guess. But I’ve seen him off duty and he’s way more relaxed. Hell, long as he does his job.”
The names Albert had given Noel. “We’ll talk with them after the doctor.”
• • •
Linda unlocked Jason’s Corolla and got into the driver’s seat. Alana tried to sit in back with Shane but Tim opened the other door and slid in. Alana sat up front.
Linda drove onto 2nd Avenue. To the back seat she said, “I hear Austin’s back.”
“Yeah,” said Shane.
“They were in the office when Dad and I got there,” Tim volunteered.
“Oh? What’d he say?”
“Not much.”
A mystery conversation to Alana. Why didn’t Shane want to participate?
Tim said, “T. Shorty asked if I was playing hockey this year.”
“He pick you up at the ferry this morning, Shane?”
“Yep.”
“T. Shorty Barlow runs the Zamboni at the rink,” Linda informed Alana.
“Wow. I’d love to drive a Zamboni.” Alana laughed.
“Sometimes Shorty gives rides,” said Tim. “Or I could. I know how to drive it.”
“How do you know that?” his mother asked.
Alana turned around. Tim had his cap on backwards. He shoved at it. “Oh, Shorty showed me.” His voice rose on me. He took off his cap, turned it around and pulled it over his face. Alana grinned.
In the ferry lot Linda passed a plastic card to the ticket-taker and got it back with their fares subtracted. She drove into the line-up. The BC ferry, with its blue and red stripes over white, glided into its berth.
“What did Austin say?”
“That he’d come to see me skate.”
“Well, duh.” To Alana, Linda explained, “Osborne has been sponsoring Shane.”
“Do I recognize his name? Wasn’t he an Olympic champion?” She’d look him up as soon as it was polite.
“Yeah. Late nineties,” Shane said, as if it didn’t matter much.
“Wow!” Definitely check him out.
“He usually drops over.” Linda started the engine and put it in gear.
Amazing, thought Alana. All these famous skaters.
Parked on board, Tim got out and slammed his door. Wow, is she ever pretty. Shane sat silent, staring out the window. Tim walked up to the front. Not the prow, he knew—the ferry ran forwards and backwards. He stared for a few minutes at the Quadra shore approaching.
“Hey Tim.”
He turned. Randy, the guy who sometimes helped his dad. “Hi Randy.”
“How’s it going, fella?”
“Pretty good.” The ferry approached the dock’s guide rails.
“How’s your brother doin’?”
“Not so great.” What the heck was Randy on about? He had a sense Randy didn’t much like Derek—cool vibes between them when Randy had helped out on the woodlot the last couple of autumns. “Still unconscious.”
“Damn shame,” said Randy. “Sad.”
Randy didn’t sound sad. “Yeah.” Tim started back to the car. “See you, Randy.”
“Right. September in the woodlot, right?” The ferry scraped against the barrier. A crewman reached for the attaching cable.
Wrong. “I don’t think so.”
“No?” Randy’s brow furrowed.
“No. Dad’s got his friend Zeke to come in.”
“Oh,” said Randy. “How about that.”
“See you.”
A minute after Tim had left the car Linda pulled out her cell phone. “Hi Barb, I’ve got Jason’s friends, the detectives I mentioned . . . Oh the same. Vital signs stable . . . Thanks, we do too . . . On the next ferry, I think. Your rooms still open, I hope? . . . No, I didn’t ask.” She looked at Alana. “Would they share a room—?”
Alana quickly shook her head.
“No, two . . . Don’t worry about the breakfast part, they’ll eat with us . . . Thanks, Barb. Oops, we’re unloading.”
Linda pocketed her phone just as Tim slammed back into his seat. She looked back at Shane. “Did Austin say when he might come by?”
“No.”
She turned around. Shane was sitting with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. She had never seen him sit so still for so long. Linda started the engine.
• • •
Dr. Pierce was running late. Would they be able to come back at five?
Noel turned to Jason. “How’s that for the ferry to Quadra?”
“If we have a short chat with the doctor, and if the ferry’s running a little late we can maybe get the 5:25. If there’s no overload. Otherwise it’s the 6:15.”
“We’ll be back at five,” said Noel to the receptionist.
Kyra saw a sign: Washroom. “Catch up with you.” Pregnant, demanding again.
“We’ll wait,” said Noel.
She reappeared shortly. They walked out to the car.
Jason said, “I’m betting on the 6:15. Pierce is often late.”
“What’s his specialty?” asked Kyra.
“Internist. Good guy, by and large. Not nearly as bad as McPherson, Derek’s surgeon.”
“Fits all the clichés about the surgeon-god?”
“More like surgeon-king. Campbell River’s not big enough for a god.”
Noel said, “Time to see the Mounties.”
“I’ll call, see if either is in.” Jason found his cell phone and pressed in a pre-set number. Constable Bryan could see them.
• • •
Linda drove through an evergreen forest, trees speckled with slanting sun. Alana was not used to trees this towering, and this green. San Diego was more brown, and pastel-colored houses and palm trees. This road was narrow; at home there’d be an eight lane freeway cutting through the trees.
After many curves Linda turned onto a narrow graveled driveway and pulled up in a carport beside a two-storey log house. They all got out. Shane stalked to the door, opened it and disappeared. Linda, watching, frowned.
Alana set her purse-strap over her shoulder. A large vegetable garden lay to the right of the house. Clematis entwined a trellis to the roof. “What a pretty place!”
“Thanks,” said Tim. “It’s okay.” His hat was on backwards again.
“Come in, Alana.” Linda led the few steps to the door. The back door, Alana realized.
Linda and Tim kicked off their shoes onto a pile of others. So Alana did too.
Another door opened into the kitchen, a large room with an ell-shaped counter, stools at one side, walls with pictures and posters tacked up. There were dishes in the sink, on the drainboard, stuff on the counters haphazardly tidied into piles. A comfy house, Alana felt.
Linda shucked her knapsack onto a chair by a TV and rummaged out two food containers. “Tim, take off your hat and show Alana the house.”
Tim whizzed his hat at the rack and it caught. “Hat trick! Come on,” he said to Alana.
He whirled her through the living room—another comfortable mess—a den with another TV and a computer, bookshelves, out the window a slanting sun, trees, vines, upstairs to bathroom, “Shane’s room,” the door tightly closed, “Derek’s room,” door also closed. Tim put his hand on the knob, breathed in and bit his lip. He turned away. “My room.” The door was open and Alana saw a jumble of bedclothes. “Parents’ room,” he pointed. A stained glass window at the end of the hall refracted the sun’s rays.
“Is Shane in a bad mood? Or is he always so silent?”
“Just another grumpy teen.” Tim smirked. So Alana did too. A conspiracy.
Back in the kitchen, Linda was poking about in the freezer. “Would you like a pop or something?” he asked Alana. “Or a beer?” He raised his eyebrows.
He was a cute kid. About as tall as Shane, fuzz on his upper lip, a few blackheads he’d likely tried to squeeze this morning. The sophomore look. “If you have some juice—”
Linda shouldered the freezer shut and backed away. Tim dove into the fridge. Alana said to Linda, “May I help you?”
Linda plopped containers on the counter. “We can have pasta with clam alfredo, have to nuke these and boil the noodles. Tim, please go pick salad stuff.”
Tim handed Alana a glass. “Blueberry cranberry.” He took a bowl and headed outside.
“When he comes back, you can wash the greens,” Linda said. “I’ll make some dressing and get the pasta started.”
“Is Shane always this quiet?” Alana asked.
Linda lifted a container lid and looked inside. She’d have been really pretty when young, Alana thought, dark hair, curvy figure. She wasn’t bad even now, probably forty, a few wrinkles, streak of grey. “Oh well, teenagers have phases,” Linda said, “I don’t suppose I have to tell you.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
A few minutes later Tim banged back in with a bowl dripping greens—lettuces, arugula, cilantro, mustard. Mostly leaves Alana didn’t recognize.
She started washing. “Did you say someone’s helping Shane’s career? Or does he get grants and things?” She’d heard Canadian athletes got government grants. “Is there a foundation like in the States?”
“Sort of. He’s carded so he gets some federal funding but it’s darn small. He’s got a sponsor.” Setting the table, Linda asked Tim, “Did you speak to Austin at the rink?”
“Not much. He and Shane pretty much stopped talking when Dad and I came in. Like they’d been arguing. You want a beer, Mum?”
“That would be nice.” She smiled at Tim. “In a glass, please.”
“Coming up.”
Alana thought of Derek, the lump under the covers at the hospital. And Shane, upstairs.
• • •
Immediately beside the arena, Campbell River’s RCMP headquarters. Five cop cars sat in front. A large flag rippled in the wind, its red maple leaf proclaiming, You Have Reached An Official Place. They walked in the front door. At a desk Noel asked for Bryan. Kyra asked for the bathroom and disappeared. By the time Dorothy Bryan, taller than Noel by at least half a foot, walked toward them, Kyra had returned. She reached out her hand. “Jason. How’s it going?”
“What we want to ask you. Dorothy, this is Noel Franklin and Kyra Rachel.”
“Kyra. Noel.” All shook hands.
About thirty, thirty-two, thought Kyra. Broad in the shoulders, good rounded face. Attractive enough except for that crew cut. “Thanks for seeing us.”
“Come on back to my office, a little privacy.” They followed her through a doorway into a common area, desks, a two-way radio, several computers, file cabinets, to a door which she opened and gestured for them to enter. They did. She grabbed a couple of folding chairs, followed and closed the door behind them.
They all sat, Bryan at her desk. The surface, Kyra noted, held mainly a thin computer screen and a keyboard. The screen sat on two Victoria phone books which raised the screen by four inches. Head level for a tall woman?
Jason said, “Dorothy, these are the detectives I told you about.”
“Jason says he’s hired you. Great, we’re glad to take help.”
Kyra said, “What can you tell us about Derek’s case?”
She pulled a file from a desk drawer and opened it. “We got a 911 call at 11:19 PM, somebody was lying on the ground out at the end of Evergreen Road. That’s—”
“We’ve just come from there,” said Kyra, thinking, that file is pitifully thin.
“Good. So you can picture it.”
“The call was from Marcie something?”
She glanced at the file. “Yes. Marcie Williamson.” To Kyra, “You’ve been busy.”
“We just spoke with her mother. Sarah McDougal.”
“Right. The lady with the dog. She said she’d stay till we showed up. We got there—that’s my partner Harry Latiche and me—a couple of minutes after the first responders. It was a code three for us, which means they can’t touch the victim till there’s an officer on site. So we checked out the wounded kid. Unconscious. The first responders stopped most of the external bleeding, covered him with a blanket. Couple of minutes later the ambulance arrived, it’s a code five for them. They got there quick, considering it’s got to be a local driver that takes the ambulance out—first responders can’t do that. The medic examined Derek and figured it was bad enough to get him to Victoria ASAP, so they brought him to the helipad and whirred him off. Unconscious all the time down there. They patched him up as best they could. Nothing more to do so he’s back here.”
Noel said, “You spoke with Sarah McDougal, did you?”
“Of course. She told us about some cars that stopped where Derek was beaten. She waited till they left before going for her walk.”
“Two cars,” said Kyra. “And a truck.”
“That’s right. The truck belonged to the victim—” Bryan glanced at Jason—“to Derek.”
“And,” said Kyra, “the other truck.”
Bryan looked her way. “Go on.”
“Mrs. McDougal mentioned another truck or van parked across the street. She wasn’t sure if she’d mentioned that to you.” Kyra described what they’d learned.
“Interesting. Anything else?”
She presented Bryan with their two hypotheses.
“I’ll go have another talk with Mrs. McDougal. Thanks for shaking that loose.”
Noel asked, “And your investigation? Where are you?”
Bryan shook her head. “Front burner. But we’ve talked to his friends, his girlfriend, his family, his teachers. Nobody can guess why anybody’d want to do this. We got his DNA in case there was somebody else’s blood on him, his medical records, his credit card and bank card, his phone records—the whole family’s phone records for the previous month.”
“The whole family?”
“Yeah. No leads there either.” She grinned at Jason. “The Coopers have a quiet telephone life. No long distance calls except to Shane when he’s training or competing. Shane’s made a couple since he’s been home, to his sponsor in Ottawa. And that’s it.”
“Nothing helpful in Derek’s truck?”
“Nada. Course if anything was stolen it wouldn’t be there.”
Being sly? “And?”
“We taped off the crime scene and searched the area but it was a dark night and we didn’t have any big beams. A team came out in the morning, walked the grid, sent stuff over to the lab. If any of it’s relevant we can’t figure out how.”
“The lab’s where?” Kyra was thinking, non-relevant evidence, no sense of possible theft, friends and family know nothing. And I don’t believe it.
“Vancouver.”
“What happened to the truck?”
“We taped that off too, notified next of kin—that’d be Jason—then towed it to a secure bay. We checked it out. Nothing out of place. It’s back at Jason’s.”
“Anything else?”
“Wish there were.”
Noel stood. “Thank you.”
“You learn anything, you let us know.”
“Will do.” The others got up and followed Dorothy Bryan to the front desk, and went out.
“See?” said Jason. “All dead ends.”
“Got to scrape at ends,” said Kyra. “Sometimes they’re not dead, just hidden.”
To Jason, Noel said, “Think she knows more than she’s saying?”
Jason paused. “She told me once about a kind of information that’s called holdback evidence. The kind of stuff only a suspect would know. If they have any of that, they wouldn’t be telling me. Or you.”
Noel checked his watch. 4:23. “Jase, where do his Campbell River friends live?”
“I can find out.” Jason went back into the station, returned a couple of minutes later. “Got phone numbers and addresses for Joe, Mike, and Gast. Check to see if anybody’s home?”
“We’ve maybe got time for one of them, if he’s close,” Noel said.
Jason pressed in one of the numbers. Ten rings, no answer. Second number. “That you, Joe? . . . It’s Jason Cooper, Derek’s dad . . . Yeah, so are we . . . Listen, can I come over for a few minutes? . . . No, right away, we’re so worried about Derek . . . Okay, I’ve got a couple of friends with me, they’re helping . . . Okay, see you in five.” He closed the phone. “He lives up on Peterson. Real close.”
Right on Dogwood, left on Evergreen, right on Peterson and they arrived in four minutes. A small low house with a long wide porch. Two young men, one with a shaven head and the other with long brown hair, sat in plastic chairs, drinking beer. Noel, Jason and Kyra headed up the short cement path to the porch.
The long-haired one got up and waved. “Hi there!”
Jason led Kyra and Noel up the steps. “This is Joe, Derek’s friend.” He introduced Kyra and Noel.
Joe said, “And that stewpot sitting there’s another friend, Gast Robitaille. That’s real shit what happened to Derek.”
“Noel and Kyra are trying to find out who did it. They want to talk to you both.”
“Sure,” said Joe. “Here.” He opened three steel folding chairs and they all sat.
Noel would have preferred to interview the two separately. No choice now. “Joe, you’re good friends with Derek?”
Joe looked over to Gast, who said, “Three of us are—were—god, I hope not—are best friends.”
“When was the last time either of you saw Derek? Before he was beaten, I mean.”
“Musta been three or four days before that.”
“We used to hang out a lot. Less in the last coupla months.”
“He has this girl that he’s hot for.”
“She’s pretty hot for him, too.” Gast leered at Kyra. “Cindy.”
“Day before he got hit, they went to her grad dance. And the evening before that they were together, too. Long evening, Derek said.”
“So you talked to him, but didn’t see him.”
“That’s it,” said Joe.
“Yeah,” said Gast. “Yeah.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Shootin’ the breeze,” said Joe.
“Anything about being in trouble, problems at home?”
“Naw,” said Joe, “he was pretty easy at home.”
“What about at school? Trouble with teachers, other students?”
“One guy he didn’t like—Prof Smothers. Teaches in HDCTM. He’s—”
“What’s that?”
“Heavy Duty/Commercial Transport Mechanics. That was Derek’s program. He was about to start his apprenticeship. Just before he was hit.”
“What about this professor, Smothers?”
“They just didn’t get along. But it didn’t matter he didn’t like Smothers, Derek was still acing the course. Acing most of his courses.”
Kyra broke in. “What’s your sense of Cindy?”
“She’s okay,” Joe said.
“Just okay?”
“Okay for Derek.”
“You like her?”
“Hey,” said Gast, glancing at Joe, “that’s Derek’s business.”
“The day he was beaten, did you see him or talk to him?”
“No,” said Joe, as Gast said, “Yeah.”
“Yes and no?”
“Hey,” said Joe, “you couldn’t have. We were working on your car all day.”
“Come on, we talked on the phone. You remember? We had to ask him—dunno—it was more’n three weeks ago.”
“And when you talked,” said Kyra, “how did he sound?”
“Like Derek. Why d’you want to know how he sounded?”
“Worried? Scared? Angry?”
“Maybe kinda excited,” Gast grinned. “Like he was in the middle of a big project.”
Joe turned to stare at Gast. “What project?”
“Cindy! Like he was in the middle of Cindy!” Gast giggled.
Joe shook his head. “Give it a break, Gast.”
Noel glanced at his watch. “Thanks for your time, guys. You think of anything else, get in touch, okay?” He handed them each an Islands Investigations International card. “Use the cell numbers.”
Through the whole interview Jason had said nothing. They returned to the Honda and followed Jason’s directions.
Kyra said, “Too casual by half.”
“They’re kids,” said Jason. “Derek spent a lot of time with them.”
“Until Cindy came along,” said Kyra.
“I think she was settling Derek down, cooling him out.”
“What was he like before?”
“Just a normal kid.”
“Drinking beer, smoking pot, having lots of sex?”
“I guess. Twenty years old, that’s what they do.”
“But after Cindy came along?”
“Oh, more responsible. Like the guys said, acing his courses.”
Noel glanced at his watch. 5:05. Into the office parking lot. They got out, walked in, and Jason said to the receptionist, “We have an appointment with Dr. Pierce.”
She scowled, recognizing him. “I’ll tell him you’re here.”
Kyra said, “Looks like the 6:15.”
At 5:25 a kid with a stethoscope about his neck approached Jason. “Hello.”
Jason gestured to Noel and Kyra as he introduced them. “This is Dr. Pierce.”
Kyra hoped her shock didn’t show on her face. The man looked barely twenty. Tall and skinny, ruddy face, thin eyebrows blond like his hair, small hands. She pulled herself together. “We’re investigating the Derek Cooper incident. What’s his condition, medically?”
Pierce turned to Jason. “You’re okay with my answering their questions?”
“I brought them here for that.”
He led them to his office and closed the door. “I’ve told the police all I know.”
Kyra said, “It’ll help us hearing you directly.”
He nodded. “Derek endured a major trauma. Major traumas. He has severe traumatic brain injury, as well as injuries on his ribcage, pelvis, shoulder and both upper arms. As you know, Jason, it’s something of a miracle he’s still with us. He must have a powerful will to live.”
“I think he does.” Jason’s voice barely above a whisper.
“What’s actually happened to his brain?” Noel asked.
“Well, there’s bilateral damage done to the reticular formation of his midbrain, but in terms of treatment that gives us as much information as saying you need flour to make bread.”
“What does it say on his chart, about the kind of treatment he first got?”
Dr. Pierce squinted at Noel. “Why do you ask that?”
“I’m wondering if he was conscious when he was found. Did he say anything? Was he tested on the AVPU scale?”
Kyra stared at Noel.
Pierce smiled. “I’ll get his chart.” He consulted his computer.
“Noel, what are you talking about?”
“It’s a scale I read about—goes from being Alert to receiving Vocal stimuli to feeling Pain stimuli to being Unconscious.”
Pierce read a file on his screen. “No, when he was first received in Victoria they did an RLAS test on him.”
Noel nodded. “That’s way more complex, isn’t it.”
“Yes,” said Pierce. “It has eight separate categories, or levels. It’s used early on and it can measure shifts between levels. Sometimes they change back and forth between higher and lower. Let me see—” he scrolled down and shook his head. “With Derek, the coma deepened until it finally leveled out one level before the lowest. And no—” he glanced at Noel, “no mention of anything he might have said. Sorry.”
“And his prognosis now?”
“Comas on the average—and I’m speaking statistically here—last from between a couple of weeks to just over a month, and I—”
“So he could be coming out of it soon.” Jason spoke quietly.
“Some comas last much longer, I have to warn you. Some patients progress, if that’s the right word, to a vegetative state. Others do die while in a coma.”
“And someone in a coma as deep as Derek’s?” Kyra’s voice was hushed.
“Depth of the coma isn’t always a predictor of the chance of recovery. Somebody with a low chance might still wake up.”
Jason sighed deeply. “So what can we do, Dr. Pierce?”
“We can and will take care of him as best we know how. We’ve got some excellent people here. You can wish or hope or pray or whatever you do best. Visit him, one or two people at a time. Patients who’ve come out of a coma have reported they were aware of loved ones and friends in the room and that gave them more strength to come out. Time’s the only thing we have on our side right now. And Derek’s natural strength.”
Noel nodded, and said, “Has deep brain stimulation been considered?”
Kyra squinted at him, but said nothing.
“It’s the wrong kind of injury,” said Pierce. “No one I’ve consulted thinks DBS would be of any value here.”
Noel glanced at his watch. “We’ve taken enough of your time, Dr. Pierce. Thank you.” They shook hands with Pierce and left the building.
Back in the car Jason said, “Thanks for asking those questions. Now I know more about Derek’s condition.” He smiled ruefully. “Not that it helps.”
“But Jase, Linda’s a nurse. She must’ve asked questions like that.”
“I think she has. I just haven’t asked what she’s learned.”
“Why not?”
“I think—I was afraid of what she’d tell me.” He paused. “And of watching her tell me. With Pierce, it all came out more—objectively? And it looked like he thought he was talking to a professional.”
“I guess,” said Noel as he drove into the line leading to the ferry booth. Jason passed Noel a plastic card. “What’s this?”
“A fare card. They subtract money that’s credited on it.”
Kyra couldn’t believe that Jason hadn’t talked with Linda about all this. Kyra would have wanted to know everything, the tiniest detail.
• • •
“Here they are,” Linda announced as the back door opened. Kyra, Noel and Jason added their shoes to the sprawling pile. Jason pulled on slippers. Noel wiggled his sock-clad toes. Kyra took in the sun slanting across the wooden cabinets, the dinner preparations, Linda bending over a pasta pot on the stove.
“I see a beer there,” Jason noted. “You two like a drink before dinner?” He looked at Kyra, Noel. “Could be gin and tonic, scotch—“
“Gin and tonic would be terrific,” Noel said.
“You got juice or a pop?” Kyra asked.
Jason got down glasses, found mixings, cut limes, clinked in ice, poured and handed. They thanked him.
“Where are the kids?” Jason asked Linda over the sound of water coming to the boil.
“Shane’s in his room. Don’t know about Tim and Alana.”
Jason invited them into the living room.
Another pleasant light-filled room. Kyra sank into an overstuffed sofa, thinking, I like this house. Electronic beeps and whizzes emanated from around a corner.
“Sounds like they’re at the video games,” Jason explained, half apologetically.
Noel raised his glass to Jason and Kyra. “Cheers.” He sipped, and walked to the window. The woodlot trees began about sixty meters away. A hill rose beyond them, the land cleared. “Are those sheep up there?”
Jason looked out. “Alpacas. Their wool brings more than sheep’s wool and they crop the grass to no-never-mind the same.” Kyra got up to see.
“Supper’s ready!” Linda called. “Shane!”
“Coming,” Tim yelled, over whizzes and beeps.
“Shane. Now!”
Jason strode to the foot of the stairs. “Shane!” He gave Noel and Kyra an exasperated look. Upstairs a door opened.
Tim and Alana appeared and they all entered the kitchen. “Sit anywhere.” Linda cocked her chin at the long refectory table. Tim and Jason slid into what probably were their accustomed places. Two more placemats looked used; Noel, Kyra and Alana took places in front of crisply folded napkins. Shane arrived and sat, his face a cipher.
Linda placed a steaming bowl of penne on a trivet, reached back to the counter—
Alana stood quickly. “Let me help.” She grabbed the salad bowl and brought it to the table. Linda added bread, butter, grated parmesan.
“This looks great,” Kyra said, picking up the pasta server. “Alfredo?”
“Clam alfredo,” Tim informed her. “We collected the clams yesterday.”
Clattering of dishes and cutlery, passing of bread and salad, munching.
“What’s your first competition this fall, Shane?” Alana asked.
Her tone was sprightly, as if she’d practiced the question in her head. Noel looked up. Her face was flushed.
Shane gave her a shadow of the smile his family knew from competitions. “September 24th. An Olympic qualifying event.”
“That’s exciting! Where will it be?”
Kyra wished Alana would tone the worship down a bit. But maybe she had. Maybe this was mild. She hadn’t leapt onto his lap. Yet.
Shane kept his smile on her a moment longer: rewarding the fan. “Germany. If I go.” He forked another mouthful of alfredo into his mouth.
Kyra saw a glance pass between his parents.
“Whaddya mean if?” Tim’s voice squeaked and he coughed.
Stuffing in a last mouthful, Shane pushed back his chair and left the table. His footsteps banged up the stairs.
Linda called, “Shane!”
Tim said, “Woooweee!”
“Timothy. Behave.”
“It’s Shane who’s gotta behave,” said Tim.
Jason said to Noel, Kyra and Alana, “I apologize for him. But he’ll apologize to you too.”
“Jase, no need. We were all eighteen once and—”
“Eighteen’s plenty old to be civil. He goes out on the ice and he smiles at the whole world.” Jason glared. “So we know he knows how to smile.”
Tim said, “He thinks he’s the great Shane. What he really is is the great Shame.” He giggled.
Alana tried not to. She covered her mouth. Tim caught her eye. She made an effort to sit straight and look serious. She rolled the two rings on her right thumb.
“Whatever else he is, Tim, he’s a member of this family. And tonight it’s his turn to do the dishes.” To the rest, Linda said, “Have more. There’s still dessert.”
“Let him miss it. Let him be hungry.” Tim drank his water.
“This is delicious, Linda.” Kyra helped herself to more salad and bread. She passed the alfredo to Alana, who shook her head and passed it to Noel.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have asked him about his next competition. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” Jason reassured her. “Shane knows better.”
The rest of the meal passed in strained small talk. Linda brought strawberries from the fridge, ice cream from the freezer. They finished. Linda stood. “Jason, please tell him he has to be down here and finish his supper.”
Alana, getting up, said, “I could do the dishes.” She reached for a dessert plate.
Linda glanced at Alana’s ringed fingers. “Thank you, but this is Shane’s responsibility. He’ll clear, too. You three go to the den, that’d be best.”
Jason got up. “I’ll get Shane.”
The three guests stood and left the table. Tim followed them.
Linda realized she felt more worry than anger. Even when he’d come home last Christmas, Shane had been easy to spend time with. Proud of his skating, of course. Though the terrible fall, that must have unnerved him. But he’d got up, and seemed okay. Still, this business of living mainly inside himself, acting as if no one else were around, this wasn’t her Shane. She’d already let herself wonder, could it be some form of depression? She worked occasionally with patients diagnosed as bipolar. Shane didn’t act like those people, but some symptoms were similar. Did it have anything to do with Derek’s beating, that Shane wasn’t around to defend him? Except Shane was so rarely at home— If she still smoked, this would be the time for a cigarette.
• • •
Jason climbed the stairs and knocked on Shane’s door. “Shane?” No answer. He knocked harder, spoke evenly. “Shane. You coming out?” Again no response. “I’m coming in.” He turned the door handle.
Jason flicked the light switch. Shane lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The walls were covered with posters of skaters, Dick Button, Tim Wood, Toller Cranston, Austin Osborne, Brian Boitano, Johnny Weir; and a few women, Gretchen Merrill, Peggy Fleming, Michelle Kwan. And three smaller posters of Shane—including, Jason knew, Shane’s favorite, costumed as a faun—a vest across his chest designed to look like curly hair grew on it, tight pants that gave the same effect, skates designed to look like hooves above the blades. The spectators, a year ago last spring, his first try at Juniors, had gone wild. He’d made it to the podium with, as he said it, only a bronze medal. But he’d become the darling of the crowd.
Shane hadn’t seemed to have noticed his father, let alone the light coming on. “Shane.” No answer. “Shane!”
Now Shane turned slowly and looked over to Jason. “Yeah?”
“You okay?”
“Fine.”
“That was very rude.”
“What?”
“Stomping off from the table.”
Shane squinted at his father. “Sorry.”
He didn’t mean he was sorry, and Jason’s anger grew. “You may be the idol of millions on the ice, but here you’re my son and my guests are your guests. You’re coming down to apologize.” Shane stared at Jason, slowly shook his head, got up and headed for the doorway. Jason followed him downstairs. They passed the den, Noel and Kyra, Tim and Alana deep in conversation. Jason said, “Later. Into the kitchen.”
Linda sat at her desk. She glanced at Shane as he came in. “Your evening for the dishes.”
“Dishes? I haven’t done dishes in a year.”
“Exactly. And do not speak to your mother like that.”
“It’s okay, Jason.” Her tone mellowed. “Shane, what’s wrong?”
“Why should anything be wrong?”
“Derek comatose to the world is pretty darn wrong.”
Shane sighed, hard. “Yeah. That is.”
“Is that why you’ve become so—so withdrawn? Worrying about Derek?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Look, son,” Jason said, “We all are. But we have to go on with our lives, and be part of each other’s lives too.”
Shane tightened his mouth, a look of exasperation.
“So put on an apron. Dishes into the machine. And wash the pots.”
A large dramatic sigh from Shane.
Linda said, “You’re worrying about more than just Derek. Something to do with your skating?”
“Why do you say that?”
“I’m asking you.”
“I’ve just got to keep training. That’s all.”
“Austin said you looked great on the ice today.”
“I didn’t feel great.”
“What didn’t feel great?”
“Everything I tried. My axels, my loops, split jumps, everything.”
Linda put her hand on his arm. “Are you still upset about the fall you took?”
“No! For godsake, leave it alone.”
But he’d been upset. He’d gone about cursing himself aloud. Word about that had gotten around because Shane never cursed. “It wasn’t your fault, Shane—”
“Mom, I was the only one out there, okay? Nobody tripped me. I misstepped. I blame me, okay? Nobody else.”
Jason put a hand on his shoulder. “Tell me, son. You afraid you’ll fall again?”
Shane took a couple of steps backwards. “Look. My legs didn’t do what I told them, what I’ve told them to do hundreds of times, thousands, and they always do. That one time it didn’t happen. Okay? It’s that simple.”
“Still, if you’re worried—”
“Stop it! Just leave me alone about my skating.” He grabbed an apron. “I’ll get this place cleaned up. Just leave the kitchen! Okay?” He glared at both of them.
They exchanged a glance, headed for the back door and out. On the deck Jason turned to look back. Shane, as if in slow motion, tying the apron. Linda said, “I’m worried about him. Was before he came downstairs.”
“Yeah,” said Jason.
“Think he should see someone?”
“Like?”
“Maybe Dr. Materoff. Or Dr. Lum.”
“I don’t think he’d go.”
“So what do we do?”
“How about a walk? It’s a pleasant evening.”
“Just around the garden, then. I’ve got to take Kyra and Noel over to Barb’s.”
“Okay.” Jason took Linda’s hand.
• • •
In the den, Kyra and Noel had been interviewing Tim about Derek. The friends Tim listed were the same names as those they got from Jason and the Mounties.
With a glance at Kyra and Noel, Alana asked, “Who was his closest friend?” No one commented on the past tense.
“Sam Bristol,” Tim said. “Since way back. Derek sometimes helped out in their greenhouses.”
“You like Sam?” Alana continued.
“Yeah.” Tim cracked his knuckles.
Kyra thought: Go Nancy Drew. Someone had to. Kyra was flesh-and-bone tired.
“Where’s their place?” Noel took out his laptop.
“Up the road. On Fir. Off Triggerbrook.”
“Derek sounds like a neat guy to have for a big brother,” “Nancy” observed.
“Yeah.”
As laconic as his father? Noel wondered.
Kyra took back some reins. “You and Derek and Shane, the three of you hang out together?”
“Not much, not since Shane started competing. Before that we all played hockey.” Tim stared at the computer, at the abandoned game sticks.
“What about Derek’s girlfriend? Cindy?” Alana asked. “You like her?”
Tim shrugged. “I liked his last one better. Bertina. She joked around.”
“Where’s she live?” Noel asked.
“On Pidcock Road.” Tim looked at him. “It’s not far.”
“What about his friends at school?” Noel checked his computer. “Gaston? Joe?”
“They’re okay.”
No enthusiasm, Kyra noted. “No better than okay?”
“They drink a lot of beer, and all.”
“What all’s that?”
“Oh, they’re a couple of dopeheads.”
“A lot of toking?”
“I don’t know.”
Seconds of silence till Alana observed, “Cindy seemed keen on Derek today.”
“She usually drapes all over him. Glad Mom put some limits on her visits.”
“We’ll call on her tomorrow.” Noel closed his laptop.
Linda, Shane and Jason came in. “We interrupting anything?” Jason asked.
All of them shook their heads.
“Sorry I was rude,” Shane said, eyes cast down. “I got a lot on my mind.”
“I bet you do,” Kyra acknowledged. “Training for an Olympic trial.”
“Please excuse me.” Shane moved toward the stairs. “Goodnight.”
A moment’s silence as controlled footsteps ascended.
“Alana,” Linda stated, “you can stay here tonight. You’re very welcome. Barb only has two rooms.”
Alana looked at her uncle. “Okay with you?”
Noel looked at Linda, who added, “She can have Derek’s room.”
Kyra caught Tim’s downward eyecast.
“Yes,” Uncle Noel acquiesced.
“Thank you. And thank you for a lovely dinner.”
In spite of the dyed hair and tight midriff-baring top, nothing wrong with Alana’s manners, Kyra thought. Unlike mine if I’m not poured into bed instantly. “If that’s okay, maybe we could get along to Barb’s.” Please, please, before I sink to the floor right here.
“Tim,” Linda’s tone no-nonsense head nurse. “Please make up Derek’s bed. The maroon sheets.” A small painful glance passed between her and Tim. She cupped his shoulder. Noel saw, fleetingly, the face of the man he was becoming.
“I’ll help you,” Alana said.
Tim reached for the peak of his absent cap. “It’s okay.” He left for the stairs.
They were momentarily quiet, held by Tim’s footsteps, the squeak of the linen closet door, the opening and closing of Derek’s door. The sadness, Tim’s pain, Linda’s and Jason’s, become audible.
Linda broke the silence. “I’ll take you to Barb’s. It’s not far.” She meant both of them, but looked intently at Kyra.
“Our suitcases are in the car,” Noel stated. “We’ll drive so it’s there in the morning.”
“I’ll go with you and walk back. Oh, Barb’s not feeding you.” From the freezer Linda took two chocolate croissants and put each in a sandwich bag. “These should hold you till you come back.” To Jason: “You’ll be around?”
“Yeah, in the woodlot. Coffee’ll be on and the door open.”
“Thanks,” Noel said. “We’ll collect you in the morning, Alana.” He gave her a hug.
“Oh! My backpack’s in your car.” She went out to get it.
Kyra begged to use the bathroom for a minute.