by Lou Allin
She bridled at his course language, but it wasn’t her role to teach the man tact or sensitivity. “The boys thought that she was acting strange. Makes sense now. We just got the results of the polygraph. Their stories didn’t make the needle flinch. Maybe you were a bit rough on them, especially Billy.”
He ignored her reproof. “Breaks of the game. Move on. Let’s deal with this Pasquin scum.” He reached for the typescript of the interviews, ran his long finger down the pages in speed-reading and stabbed at the last paragraph. “Can we break his alibi? Little Lindsey lies with him, and she’d lie for him.”
“He had no way of getting to the beach. But even if he wasn’t with her when she drowned, he’s responsible for Angie’s death. He must have suspected what happened. Didn’t even go after her or report her missing, the son of a bitch.”
The phone at the main desk rang. They could hear Ann answering, then some measured responses. “Corporal, you’d better come in here.”
Holly approached the desk. The corners of Ann’s mouth fell, and a crease appeared between her eyes as she muffled the phone. “It’s Mrs. Jenkins. Billy’s tried to commit suicide.”
Between gasps and sobs, the mother was speaking so fast that Holly could hardly understand. “Damn all of you. Mike came over and found him in the boathouse. Cut him down as fast as he could. They’re sending a helicopter from Victoria to take him to the General. Thank god my neighbour keeps oxygen for her emphysema. I don’t even know if it’s helping.”
“Calm down. You’re doing all you can.” A muffled wap-wapping announced the rescue bird heading west. “It’s passing here now. Better look for a place they can land. Is he conscious?”
“He’s breathing, but there’s no response. Why did you make life hell for my boy? He didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not a crime to have consensual sex. Kids are kids.”
“I’m so sorry. We...talked to many students. Mike and Billy were the last to see Angie.” She felt sweat trickle down her back. But she hadn’t given Billy the third degree. That had been Whitehouse’s job. “I tried to be as easy on him as I could.”
“You said it was routine. He told you he’d take that test, that polygraph. And he passed, didn’t he? Did you want his life, too? Is that how you—”
They hadn’t called the family yet with the results, but his mother knew he had been telling the truth. “I never thought he had anything to do with Angie’s drowning.” A minor lie. To be objective, she needed to suspect everyone.
“This is a very small village. Gossip is cheap entertainment. Some people are making jokes about how he was showing off with a white girl. Do you people have to make it so hard for us? We’re not second-class citizens.”
Holly bit back the fact that Coast Salish blood ran in her veins. A feeble way to establish rapport at this critical point. “Please tell me more. Has he done anything like this before? Did he give you any indication that he was depressed?”
The response was instant and strong. “Of course not. He’s a great kid. Sure he doesn’t talk much. Neither does his dad. They show their love for their family by hard work.”
“I’ll stop by the hospital as soon as I can. And I need to talk to Mike. Is he with you?” The circumstances of the discovery were critical. Asking more questions now when the woman was wondering if her son would live or die wouldn’t help.
“Save your concern. I’ve got to go watch for the helicopter.”
She hung up with a slam.
Holly sat with a large rock lodged in her throat. She told Whitehouse what had happened. “Suicide rates are brutal for young aboriginal men, but more in the far north. I blame myself.”
He made a scoffing sound and went to fix himself a coffee. “For what? Acting too fast? That’s the way we’re supposed to work. You don’t sit on information for weeks and chew it like fucking cow cud.” Then he tested the brew and added more sugar. “Pasquin admits that he gave her the meth, and I’m out of this kindergarten. Lord god, why me?”
Holly felt her stomach rise. That happy moment couldn’t come soon enough. And with the polygraph clearing him, why had Billy grown so desperate? Was even a misdirected shame that powerful?
Jeff was brought in with a sneer on his face a few hours later, his grandmother in tow again. He wore his school clothes, but he’d taken off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt six inches down his smooth, shaven chest. He looked as if he had regular dates with a tanning bed, and Holly could imagine the golden pectorals. “This is getting boring,” he said with an arrogant whine as they seated themselves. “I’m due at a swim meet in Richmond. Don’t want to miss the ferry.”
“You’re due for a cellmate, Jeff,” Whitehouse said, the cold arc of his voice slicing through steel. “We know you gave Angie that meth, probably without her knowing it. Several people have told us you supply the school, including the man who cooked it.”
“Cooked it? What is this meth?” Mrs. Faris asked. She rose to come to his chair. Whitehouse waved her back to her seat, where she trembled with palsy. Her powdered cheeks were the colour of light purple hydrangeas. The thin hair had been recently permed and a pink scalp showed.
“Supply the school? That’s a good one. Do I look like a friggin’ drug dealer? Whoever told you that is a damn liar.” A worm of a pulse began to beat in Jeff ’s temple, and he brushed at it like a traitorous friend.
Whitehouse moved closer, and put his hand on Jeff ’s arm. “You could face some serious time. Everything would go down the tubes for you.” He paused and folded his arms. “But...” He let the word draw out.
“You’re gonna take Neil’s word? He’s nothing but a...” Suddenly he stopped, his strong hands gripping the chair arms until the fingers grew bloodless.
“I never mentioned any names.” Whitehouse’s voice dropped so low that Holly had to strain to hear. It was more effective than a shout.
Jeff ’s brow broke out in a shiny sweat, and his pupils began to dilate. Holly hadn’t noticed what tiny, round ears he had.
“But what? You said ‘but’.”
“Admit you gave Angie the meth. You didn’t know she’d wander off. Lindsey’s already vouched for your whereabouts. Take a week or two of rehab. Everyone loves a reformed sinner. Get on with your life. This is your one chance.”
As a car with no muffler roared by, all eyes went to the grimy window. In one corner, a tattered web held the desiccated remains of a fat fly. Holly heard the front door open, then the cruiser started, and Chipper took off down the road. Still Jeff said nothing. The wall clock in the main office beat ragtime with her heart. Whitehouse tipped back in his chair, inspecting his ragged and angry nails with cool bemusement.
Jeff finally shook his head and stuck out his lower jaw until the underbite made him resemble a bulldog. “I don’t know. I think I need a lawyer.”
“You’re getting way too complicated. Do you want to be tied up for months, or do you want this over fast and neat?”
Whitehouse gave an elaborate sigh and lifted a sheet of paper from the bulletin board. It was a flowchart.
Jeff looked at it as if it were printed in Sanskrit. “What’s that stuff?”
Suddenly Mrs. Faris began slowly sliding to the floor, her weary little eyes rolling back in her head. Jeff shrugged and folded his arms, cocking one eyebrow. “She’s only fainted. Whenever she gets upset. Says it’s her heart. But the doctor said it’s just nerves. Women.”
Whitehouse sent for water as they helped Mrs. Faris back to a seat. When it arrived, she sipped slowly, and her eyes cleared. “I’m all right. Sorry to cause a fuss.”
Reassured she could stay with the group, Whitehouse went on. “You’re still covered by the Youth Criminal Justice Act, Jeff. That’s your ace.” He traced the flow, from the investigation to the report to the Crown Counsel. “If charges were deemed provable, two choices were possible. Extra-judicial sanctions, involving a contract which the youth could meet (end of matter) or not meet. “So if you didn’t complete the contract, you’d
go to court, same as if you fought the charges in the first place. There will be a bail hearing if you’re in custody...”
“In custody? What if I don’t make bail? We’re not rich.” For the first time, Jeff dropped his guard. In his exalted mind fed by Hollywood glamour, he probably thought that a million dollars was at stake. In Canada, bail was nominal. No sleazy cement-block bond businesses anchored backstreet corners. People put up the family home for surety.
“Calm down. You’re a good risk, so it’s a mere formality. Then at the bail hearing, you plead guilty or not guilty. One way there’s a trial, the other a pre-sentence report and then sentencing.”
Jeff groaned. “I’m all turned around.”
“It’s an easy out for you. Tell us the truth, and you could end up with community service. Teach kids to swim. Along with regular school attendance and curfews, that could be part of the contract.”
Holly tossed her superior an “are you kidding” glance, but he remained straight-faced. Something almost friendly shimmered in his eyes. The effect troubled her.
“Community service. I’ve heard about that. It doesn’t sound so bad.” His face brightening, Jeff sat back.
“And you’re a first offender, right?” Holly added, piling on.
“You don’t want a criminal record, do you?” Whitehouse asked. “Cooperate, and we may be able to keep this quiet. Otherwise...” He arched one eyebrow and tipped back his head.
“Jesus, no. I don’t want to lose a chance at a scholarship. I want to go to the University of Michigan, and the U.S. is pretty tough on drugs.”
Whitehouse stubbed his thick finger on the paper. “That’s our deal, and it’s a fair one. Tell us what happened.”
Mrs. Faris whimpered, “Tell them, Jeffie. You’ve always been a good boy. This has to be some terrible mistake.”
Jeff rubbed a hand over the blond stubble on his scalp. His neck was smooth and strong with the lustre of youth. “All right already. Here’s what went down.”
Whitehouse spoke slowly and evenly. “And don’t leave one...thing...out. Even going into the bushes to take a leak.”
Cracking his knuckles in a jumpy fashion, Jeff began by admitting that he had a goal of “getting it on” with Angie. He’d made bets with other boys at the school. She’d been friendly enough with him during the weekend. He’d turned on the charm with compliments no girl could resist. When he told her he was writing a poem for her, she’d almost agreed to date him again, but dating wasn’t what he had in mind.
“I took some blankets, see, to this out-of-the-way place in the woods. Pretty soft there, lots of moss. I had a whole bottle of white rum, too. Headbanger overproof stuff. Couple of Cokes. So I was feeling pretty good. If I could just get her out there, we’d have lots of fun.” He looked man-to-man at Whitehouse. “Know what I mean?”
“Go on.” Whitehouse fixed his hawklike eyes on Jeff.
With an unholy grin, Jeff warmed to his seduction. His thumb and finger came close to touching as he illustrated his progress. “I was almost there. One more soft and easy move.” Disgusted with his glee, Holly asked, “Then why did you have to give her the meth?”
“Boy Scout motto. Always prepared. It was an extra card. I might not ever get things set up like that again. A hundred-fifty bucks was riding on old Jeffer. Plus, she was in for the time of her life.” He stopped for a moment, wiping at his forehead. A sheen was breaking out on his face as if he’d done the butterfly for eight hundred yards in record time. He cast a sidelong glance at his grandmother. Her breaths were coming in spurts, like little fishes. “Does she have to hear?”
“I’m afraid so,” Whitehouse said. “And don’t hold back. This isn’t a kindergarten birthday party.”
“It was the timing, see? I offered to make s’mores for her. Nice and toasty. We were at one of the smaller campfires. Only one or two others. No one was paying any attention. I pushed the jib into the middle, put on the chocolate and Graham crackers. So sweet, she’d never notice it. It’s no big deal. I tried it once.”
Holly felt a sour taste rise in her throat. “And...” Whitehouse looked perfectly serene, like he’d taken a pill. He gazed at the video recorder with a fond look. Would he go over the tapes many times to celebrate his victory?
“At first she seemed cool and dreamy. I steered her off in the direction of the little bed I’d made and sat her down. Then I remembered the rum was back in the tent. I told her to wait.
She was getting steamy. I could tell by her eyes.”
“Then how did you get her to the beach over at Botanical?” Whitehouse asked quickly. Holly had to approve of the trick move.
Jeff jumped up. “The beach? I never got her to the beach. How the hell could I? What kind of a game are you playing?”
“If you say so, I believe you, Jeff. Go on, then,” Whitehouse said.
Jeff sat down again. “I had a few more chugs, maybe too much, ’cause things started to slow down. Lost the path for a minute. When I got back, the bitch was gone.” He sat down with a thud, hands on his thick thighs, powerful pistons of energy. “After all that work.”
What a lucky ass he is, Holly thought. The facts were working in his direction. Too bad that Billy was paying the price.
After the preliminary paperwork had been completed and the pair had left, Whitehouse removed the tape and labelled it. Then he tidied his papers and evened out the edges. “That was lucky. If he’d had a lawyer present, we might not have this confession.”
A question remained on Holly’s face. “No one from the school said he was dealing. Smart move.”
“No one was asked, according to your notes. And bluffing’s done all the time, girl, on both sides.” Whitehouse shrugged. “An educated guess. And he took the bait. As for the morality of the strategy, better us than them. And if I were him, I wouldn’t count on that scholarship. It’s out of our hands.”
In the first round at the beach, drugs hadn’t been a question, but she knew better than to make excuses and sound weak. The girl paused and tapped a pen. “Billy’s suicide attempt has me wondering. He must have known he was in the clear.”
“Maybe not. It wouldn’t be the first time someone fooled the machine, but be glad we’re not going to trial. A defense attorney would have a field day with those tests exonerating his client. Drugs. Dark. She slipped and fell. Short of a camera on the beach, we’ll never know. This one is a wrap. Huh, I’m always saying that, and you turn up something new. Stop it. That’s an order.” His rare attempt at a joke surprised her.
She checked her watch, counting the minutes before she’d see his back. “I promised his mother I’d check on Billy, even if she doesn’t want me to. I feel responsible. It’s different when you meet someone face to face in their home.”
“Grow up. If every officer felt like that, the justice system would collapse.” He eyed her through cobra-green slits, as if concealing a nictitating fold. “I’m not sure you’re tough enough for this. Probably be a corporal all your life, not that there’s anything wrong with that...for a woman.”
Holly felt her blood start to simmer, then reminded herself that Whitehouse was one second from gone. Excusing herself, she turned on her boot heel and left the office. “I’ll be at the General, Ann,” she said over her shoulder as she went out the door.
She seethed all the way down winding Sooke Road, then over to the Island Highway and off at Helmcken Road to the parking lot of the old General. Even the small deer that cropped grass in relative safety behind a chain link fence shielding a greenbelt didn’t improve her mood. The upbeat sounds of Victoria’s own Nelly Furtado singing, “I don’t wanna be your baby girl/ I don’t wanna be your little pearl/ I just wanna be what’s best for me” seemed a sound retort to Whitehouse’s sexism.
In the foyer, she stopped at Tim Hortons for a coffee to steady her nerves, managing to spill some on her uniform. She dabbed at it with a serviette and was offered ice water by the cashier. This small courtesy improved her demeanour. The w
orld seemed divided between those who thought people were basically good and those who regarded them as callous opportunists. The half-full, half-empty syndrome. Which was she? Which should she be? Was the choice between sucker or cynic?
She approached the main desk, where a smiling volunteer offered help. “A young man was brought in today from Port Renfrew by air ambulance. I’m not sure where to find him.”
The woman punched buttons, asked blunt but efficient questions, and finally told her that Billy was in the Recovery Room. Holly got directions and, weaving in and out of the busy loom that was critical medical care, arrived in the ER lobby. Medical smells pricked her nose. Disinfectant. Soap. Ammonia.
She called a nurse over, introduced herself, and was told that Billy was still unconscious but breathing on his own. “He may have tracheal damage, but since he’s relatively stable, we’re not subjecting him to an invasive inspection. We can do only so much at once. Miracle workers we aren’t.”
“What would we do without you?” Everyone knew about the high burnout rate for front-line professionals. “May I see him? He’s been part of a case I’m on.”
The nurse took her through the doors to a curtained cubicle at the back. One side was open to a central control area with monitors and a technician. Billy lay on a gurney with bars to prevent falls. He was hooked up to oxygen and a couple of drips. “I’ve got to go,” the nurse said. “Dr. Morrison will probably be back for another look. She’ll answer your questions.” She wiped Billy’s brow with a cool cloth from a metal bowl. “He’s somewhere else now, but I have my fingers crossed.”
The first thing Holly noticed was an angry red line on Billy’s neck, raw and weeping in places. Narrowing her eyes in concentration, she recalled an elementary concept from medical forensics class. If he’d hanged himself, the mark would have been more vertical. This was horizontal. As if someone had choked him first. She could even see finger bruises on his neck where he’d tried to ease the noose. Where was the damn rope? For all she knew, the mother had thrown it away as an evil memento. Gritting her teeth, she trashed herself for forgetting proper procedures that should have taken every possibility into account. More problems of policing remote places. A detachment in Port Renfrew might have made the difference.