The boys walked back to the camp in the midday heat, their hands in their pockets and their feet kicking up the dust in the road as they went over everything they now knew. The longer they thought about it, the more it became clear that, despite what Roger Sprott had said, it still looked bad for Muck.

They had barely turned into the camp laneway when Simon, half out of breath, came running up to them.

The whole camp had been looking for the boys. There was a big meeting about to get under way at the main building.

 

Mr. Cuthbertson and Mr. Lindsay were running the meeting. Standing to one side was the older policeman who had twice interviewed Travis. Everyone looked very serious. Travis had never seen his father look so grey and grim.

“Inspector Cox has a brief statement for us all,” said Sarah’s father, and even before the policeman opened his mouth, Travis knew it was not going to be good news.

Inspector Cox waved a piece of paper above his head. “This is from the forensic office in Toronto, where they’ve been doing ballistic tests on the rifle we discovered in the lake and the single bullet that killed Mr. O’Reilly. It’s a match.”

Travis’s heart sank. He felt Nish’s hand on his arm, tightening.

“In district court this morning,” Inspector Cox continued, “a charge of first-degree murder was laid against Mr. Albert Munro.”

None of the kids had heard Muck’s real first name before. It almost seemed as if it wasn’t him. But it was Muck, and it was hard to imagine worse news.

Travis was afraid to look at Nish. He was afraid they would both start crying. He looked, instead, to the far side of the room, where most of the Aeros were gathered with their parents. Sarah had her arms around her mother and was sobbing into her shoulder. Travis felt his own eyes tighten and sting and knew that a hot tear was rolling down his cheek. He didn’t care.

Mr. Cuthbertson had something else to say: “Under the circumstances, the Provincial Police have told us we can now do as we wish. We think it best we close down the camp and head back home. You should return to your cabins to pack. Departure time will be six p.m., sharp.”

The room emptied without a sound, apart from a few sobs that couldn’t be held back. Travis and Nish and the rest of the boys from “Osprey” walked back without a word, their heads down.

They passed by the main equipment shed and then by Buddy’s cabin. The police had already taken down the yellow plastic ribbon that had marked it off as a restricted crime site. It seemed the investigation was over.

“I can finally get my tape recorder back!” Data exclaimed when he noticed.

Travis turned on Data, furious.

“Get a life!” he shouted. “Do you ever think of anybody but yourself?”

But Data was already running toward Buddy’s cabin.

“Jerk!” Nish called after him.