Never Hug a Mugger on Quadra Island (17 page)

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.