And On the Surface Die (13 page)

The mother swallowed with difficulty and looked out the streaky window, twisting a large diamond wedding ring ensemble. Within the short sleeves of her dress, bat-winged arms threatened to flap free.

The dynamics weren’t working. Holly caught Whitehouse’s attention, seeking an opportunity to ask a question. He gave a curt nod. “What did you think of Angie? We need all the information that we can get from her friends,” she said.

“Huh. I wasn’t her friend. Used to be before she got snobby. Big friggin’ swim star and all.”

Mrs. B frowned. “Lindsey, watch your language.”

“Were the other girls jealous of her success?” Holly asked.

“No way. Unless they were jocks. Who cares about that stupid stuff? No girl wants to look like a weightlifter.”

“Was she dating anyone?”

“Jeff. Last year. He got sick of her, too. Stuck-up bitch.

Somebody should have...” She blinked at their expressions and looked at her hands. “I didn’t mean nothing. He just stopped dating her.”

“Whose idea was that?”

“His, for sure. He tells me everything. We’re close.”

“Was Angie
close
with anyone else?”

A mischievous smile creased her face as if she had found a secret jewel. She batted her furry lashes. “There were rumours.”

“Rumours?” Whitehouse came to attention.

She lowered her voice and looked around. “Ms Bass. The English teacher.”

“Go on.”

Lindsey crossed her legs theatrically and gave her gum a workout. “The L word’s no big deal now. Ms Bass is okay. Angie never really said anything. But she was always in there after class with her English themes. Brown noser.”

“Your cooperation is appreciated. One last question.” Whitehouse shifted in his seat, tensing his muscles like a cougar preparing to spring. “Where would Angie get crystal meth?”

The girl’s hand moved to her face, then she brushed back her long brown hair in a classic avoidance technique. Whitehouse twitched. “We don’t mess with that sh—” she said.

“Lindsey, really. Your father will hear about this.” Mrs. B settled into a pout.

Whitehouse stood, cracking his knuckles. He seemed to look down on them like a colossus. “Come on, Lindsey. Blade. Black beauty. Crypto. Pink. Tick tick. Do I have to run down the alphabet?”

Holly stifled a grin as she remembered those bizarre names from a Victoria meth website. Whitehouse had been fishing in the same pond.

Lindsey’s eyes glittered, but the idea seemed more humorous than threatening. She began giggling, putting her hand over her bee-stung mouth. “Excuse me? Is that New York language from TV? Shard’s more common out here. Maybe jib.” She dropped her eyes. “I mean the kids that hang out in Victoria down around Cormorant and Blanshard call it that. Older people call it meth, same as the other stuff.”

Whitehouse tapped a pencil and broke the point, startling Mrs. B. Picking up a small cube sharpener, he began grinding, testing the point until he was satisfied. “How do
you
know so much about the terminology?”

Lindsey folded her arms. “TV, movies. Plus we learned about it in Contemporary Problems class.”

“So as far as you’re concerned, there’s no meth out here in sweet, innocent Sooke.” Whitehouse tried a smirk. It didn’t look good on him.

Lindsey threw back her skinny shoulders, revealing two fading hickeys.
A present from Jeff?
“I...can’t say for every kid in town. I don’t hang with anyone from Edward Milne. The Port Renfrew gang go there. Everyone knows they’re a rough bunch. Some of them have been in
jail.”
She spoke with a wide-eyed amazement that bordered on admiration. Bad boys were always an attraction. Even good girls paid the price.

When the Benishes had left, Whitehouse snapped shut his file and made a sour face. “We have two problems to track down. If anyone saw Angie on that bike that night, and where she got the meth.”

Something had twigged in Holly’s memory. “What about the Port Renfrew boys camping in the park?”

He shot her a caustic look. “I thought you took care of that. What did they say?”

Her stomach flip-flopped. “Well, I haven’t—”

“Jesus. Get on it, then. You’re a government worker, not some local yokel on island time.” He stood and wiped at his damp pants, the knife crease a memory. “I’m going to Angie’s house to check her room. Her father said he’d meet me there in an hour. And follow up on this English teacher, too, now that we have another confirmation. If you’d done your job right in the first place, I wouldn’t be doing it for you.”

“But at the time, we only—”

He stood and brushed at his wrinkled pants, scowling.

“Need I mention that you called
me
in?”

Holly seethed for at least ten minutes after Whitehouse left, then found Kim Bass’s number. Her home phone had no answering machine, so Holly made a note to call the school and find out her free period. In their interview at the beach, Bass had looked entirely normal except for dark circles under her eyes. Insomnia, she claimed. She had admitted taking an over-the-counter sleeping pill. Holly traced a few contemplative patterns on her note pad and wondered whether the teacher had been dealing. The morning’s troll of the online
Globe and Mail
had reported a principal in Detroit selling drugs, not to students at least, but distributing from the school itself. Unheard of in Canada, but for how long?

“I’m going to Rainbow Elementary with Sean Carter to start this year’s DARE instruction. Andrea should be here in five minutes to take over the desk,” Ann said. Larger posts had many civilian positions, but Andrea operated on an on-call basis. DARE stood for Drug Abuse Resistance Education, a ten-week program.

Ann’s face was pale, another line etched into the broad forehead as she leaned against the doorway out of necessity, not languor. Holly asked, “Are you feeling all right? Are you okay with the duty?” She regretted her quick words, though prompted by concern. Officers didn’t consult their staff as to whether they were equal to ordinary assignments. They assumed it. For insight, Holly had searched the Mayo Clinic website to learn about the symptoms of DDD. Standing for long periods was as painful for Ann as sitting. Walking was easiest, though fast movements weren’t advised. No wonder she couldn’t assume active duties.

“Of course. Why do you ask?” Ann’s tone was defensive, and her spine stiffened, though Holly saw her wince.

Flashing a smile that she hoped looked reassuring, Holly added a casual gesture. “No reason. That’s fine then. Tell me how it goes.”

Fossil Bay was too small to justify the many programs of a larger division, such as Restorative Justice, Drug and Alcohol Counselling, or Family Counselling, but friskier retirees liked to combine their daily exercise with bike-patrol duty. Those who could drive to French Beach or China Beach worked the Park Watch, writing down license plates for reference in case thefts occurred. Young Sean Carter kept an eye out for “suspicious” activity, including abandoned cars and trash dumping. Garbage collection was privatized in the area and cost about twelve dollars a month per household.

Ann lined up a pack of bright, kid-style brochures fresh from headquarters. “I like going to the school. At that age they’re still open to ideas.”

Holly remembered Ann’s boy and saw an opportunity to reach out. “I guess you learned that raising...your son.”

In a rare gesture, Ann searched her eyes, as if to ascertain Holly’s sincerity. Apparently she found positive signs, because she continued. “The greatest school on earth. But Nick was a handful for awhile.”

Holly’s pulse jumped a few kilometres. How far should she go towards establishing friendship? Keep her radar open and pull back at the least sign of discomfort, banana-slug style? “That’s hard to believe. He’s a teacher now, isn’t he? You must be proud.”

Ann nodded, apparently warming to the conversation. “He could have become a serious problem at one point. Got in with a bad crowd. I was posted to Wawa when he was fifteen. Home of the giant goose, and I speak in a social sense, too. Absolutely nothing to do if you had no money for a snowmobile, boat, or motorcycle. We couldn’t even afford cable. Our rabbit ears pulled in one patchy U.S. station.”

Holly perched on the side of the desk in a casual but interested pose. “So what happened?”

Ann did an impromptu stretch. “Booze. He was picked up drunk after a house party gone bad. Three thousand dollars in damages. Two young girls nearly died from drinking punch from contaminated windshield fluid jugs. When he sobered up, I told him I’d sign him over to Children’s Aid if he pulled a stunt like that again. I arranged with a colleague to take him to the agency for an interview. Showed him some legal papers already filled out.”

Holly’s mouth opened at the imagination and the desperation. “Shock therapy. Would you really have...”

A thin smile crossed Ann’s mouth, the first so far. “I was very tempted. You have to know when your resources aren’t equal to your responsibilities. But he smartened up. First he got a part-time job at a motel, then a scholarship to Acadia University.”

“So your bluff worked. I wouldn’t have had the nerve. And where is he now?”

“He teaches high school up around Prince George. Third year already. English. Can you believe? He wants to be a novelist but knows he needs a day job.”

“Sounds sensible.” Holly had enjoyed their surprisingly productive conversation. Then as the wall clock ticked, she said, “Guess I’d better get moving. I thought we’d seen the last of Whitehouse, but now—”

Ann gave a dismissive snort. “I knew Phil Whitehouse when we were on the force together in Richmond. He’s a bully, but he usually gets the job done, methods aside. Don’t think he’d remember me, though.”

Holly had seen a graduation picture of Ann in the files, fit and determined, a world away from those extra twenty pounds. “He’s over fifty, old enough to be a Superintendent or even Chief Super. What’s holding him back?”

Ann assumed an owlish look increased by the two small puffs of hair over each temple. “Hot temper. He socked another inspector shortly after making the grade. Seems the other guy blew a case he’d worked on. They’ve had their eyes on him ever since. He never backs down. Gets his teeth in like a bulldog on a bear. Problem is, if he’s wrong, then there’s no steering him off the road to hell.”

Gravel crunched outside from a braking bike. Ten-year-old Sean came in and walked up to Ann, admiration clear in his shining butterscotch eyes. His round cheeks were pinked with exertion, and he could barely catch his breath. “The school sent me over. Are you ready? Can I carry anything?” He gave her a winning smile. Like many south coast youngsters, he wore long, baggy shorts well into the fall. Holly had seen him walking in a downpour with no umbrella, just a hoodie over his head. Immune to rain, with the high metabolism of youth. His sweatshirt bore the picture of a familiar detrivore: Nanner Slugs Rule!

Ann handed him a bundle of flyers and bookmarks. Clearly she had bent the principles by making Sean an honourary member of the Bicycle Patrol even though the official age was nineteen. He couldn’t have a uniform, but she’d found him an old badge for his jacket. It read: RCMP GRC: Gendarmerie Royale Canadien POLICE, with the crown at the top adapted from St. Edward’s for Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II.

“I hear you’ve been doing a great job as our...auxiliary member in training.” Holly shook Sean’s small hand, then gave him a salute.

He saluted back in smart style. “I’m going to be a horseman when I grow up. Are you called a horsewoman?”

“Close enough. Though we drive our ponies now.”

“Cool. I have my own horse. Daisy’s fifteen.”

Many households with acreage kept horses, the benefits of a rural zone. Holly felt his enthusiasm blow through the detachment like a healthy breeze. Working with the community made a strong alliance. “Then you might like to try out for the Musical Ride.”

Ann’s face relaxed. With the distraction of the boy, Holly was enjoying the interaction. Had the tension been broken?

With talents like Ann’s, Holly could imagine the humiliation of a desk job. Was there another way she could contribute? The small team could start to build on its individual gifts.

“Pardon us for one more second, Sean. Official business.” While he put a finger on each of the Wanted posters on the bulletin board as he read the information, Holly pulled Ann aside. “This crystal meth connection. See what you can learn from your students.”

Ann reached for her jacket. Her large hand had strong, blunt nails. “Oh, come on. They’re too young.”

“So I hope, but they have brothers and sisters. And younger kids are always underfoot. They may have heard something.”

“That’s true.” Ann opened the door for Sean. “And for the best picture of drug use out here, call Sooke. Ask for Corporal Hoicks.”

Andrea Bonhomme passed her and settled into the front desk with a large thermos. She was tall and willowy, a retired loans officer. Her strawberry blonde hair was gathered in one gorgeous braid down her back. Like them, she wore traditional shirt and pants with a volunteer patch. Without people like Andrea to fill in the gaps, life would be much more difficult for the detachment.

As Holly learned when she called, Corporal Hoicks had worked with the Drug Unit in Victoria and had his finger on the pulse of the Capital Region. The man’s voice was ragged with concern. “Christ, yes, it’s a regular epidemic. And we haven’t even seen the tip of the iceberg yet. Sorry for the lame joke. Meth is as bad as crack any day.” He explained that most people thought that the drug was limited to scabrous nether regions of urban areas. But even suburban housewives could become addicted. The unparalleled rush, hours of euphoria, the cheapness at ten dollars a “point,” or tenth of a gram, and the availability made a toxic and fatal combination.

“So it’s here after all. My case isn’t just an anomaly.” She felt an undercurrent shoot through her core, like turning over a mossy rock and finding a den of poisonous newts.

His laughter was grim and ironic. “It’s in Sooke, guaranteed. Didn’t take long to snake its way over from the street scene in Victoria. Their Specialized Youth Detox Centre has seen meth victims increase nearly six times in the last few years. Over seventy per cent of admissions are for meth. Average age, sixteen.”