Holly introduced herself to a group at the picnic table. “I’m going to talk to Mr. Johnson here, then Constable Singh and I will get your names and addresses.”
One tall and muscular girl with a tongue ring spoke up.
“How come? Wasn’t it an accident?”
Holly kept her voice low and reasonable, a combination of seriousness and approachability. “Just routine.”
When she heard a young man whisper “raghead” to his buddy, she shot him a stern look. A study in neutral, Chipper revealed neither by face or demeanor that he had heard anything.
She and Bob Johnson took seats on a huge log twenty feet from the group. Holly was determined to take her time and do things right from the start. “Mr. Johnson, you’re probably not familiar with our procedure for statements, but this is how it works. Tell me what happened in a chronological order. I ask questions and listen. Then you tell me again, and I write it down. I read it back to you to check the accuracy. Nothing too formal at this point.” She was trying to cover all the bases but realized how difficult that was with only a staff of two to handle a crowd. Suppose she missed something important? And worse yet, someone might be lying. The basic training scenarios, domestic violence, auto accidents, didn’t match. She thought of the tricky bar-fight scenario. How to winnow out those with helpful evidence and ignore the time-wasters, not to mention the confused drunks. With the events leading up to Angie’s death possibly taking place after dark, the circumstances called for a thorough investigation, leaving no one out. As Boone had said, certain information might help prevent future tragedies.
Bob told her what he had witnessed and when. He’d arrived at eight and snorkeled for an hour. Natural underwater treasures were one of the island’s greatest attractions. Because of its stable temperatures, the Northern Pacific had the greatest number of species compared to the more frigid oceans. Ninety species of starfish against only twenty in the North Atlantic. “One of the year’s lowest tides today. One metre. You can get out to the good stuff. Plumrose anemones, red urchins, maybe even a coonstriped shrimp or a sea cucumber if you dive deep enough.” He’d come back to the beach to snack on the coffee and muffin he’d brought, then gone back in for another half hour. That’s when he’d found Angie.
“And you’re by yourself here?” Holly asked. “Where do you live, for the record?”
“Oak Bay. We have a condo.”
With that tony address, Holly pegged him as an up-and-coming executive, especially when he added that he worked in Vancouver for Dell Computers. He also said that his pictures had appeared in B.C. Magazine.
Then she turned to a man who stepped forward with a mild air of authority. Well-groomed, his dark red hair with half-sideburns, he had a winning smile and soft grey eyes, crinkled at the edges. By his side on a leash was a tiny Yorkie, whimpering petulantly at the commotion. He picked it up and rubbed its silken head. A Harley Davidson bandana circled its neck. “Chucky,” he said. “More like the movie. He’s a real devil.”
An animal lover, Holly reached forward in reflex to pet the dog, but it gave a wicked growl, then a snap, and she pulled back her hand with an involuntary gasp.
“Sorry,” he said and gave the dog a mock shake, fastening its leash. “I’m Paul Gable. Vice principal.” He gave a gentle smile, then firmed up his lips as he watched her turn a fresh page. “It’s hard to believe this is happening. I don’t know where to start.”
He explained that Notre Dame sponsored a senior trip at the start of the year. The class had raised money through candy sales and car washes. Botanical Beach had been chosen for the hiking, kayaking, swimming and marine life, as well as its convenient distance from Sooke. That the area was rural and isolated was a bonus, since administrators hoped to keep the inevitable substance abuse to a minimum. They couldn’t prevent the occasional mickey of rye, but at least driving was already arranged. This year, two teachers had come down with early flu, so they were short on supervision. “I had to fill in myself at the last minute. Camping with teenagers isn’t my choice of weekend activities.”
Holly looked around. The crowd at the fringes had vanished. A slight headache from the sun began to explore her temples. Her hat felt tight. “So where are your students now?”
He looked wary, then embarrassed. “Um. Hope I didn’t make a bad decision, but I loaded up the kayaks and sent them back in the vans.”
“Back to?” If the students had already left for home, this was going to be much more difficult.
“To the campsite in Port Renfrew. It was awkward. We got to the beach around ten this morning. Didn’t even know Angie was missing. Some thought she had slept in, stayed behind.” He stuttered over the next words. “Then the diver found her. They say he moved...the body. Poor guy. I would have done it myself. You can’t let...” With a crack, his voice trailed off, and he looked at the sand.
“It was a natural reaction, Mr. Gable.” Holly’s reassurance seemed to relax his shoulders, and she smiled. “How long will you all be staying?”
“Scheduled for another day, but the trip is over. Preparations will have to be made. The family contacted.”
“I see. We’ll need to talk to some of the students. While they’re together, it’s more convenient for everyone.”
“Tell me how to help. The girls are all crying, and the guys aren’t far from it. They’ll probably need some counselling. Father Drew is a great guy in a crisis. A prayer assembly, then individual conferences as necessary. Teenagers don’t expect death to come calling. I remember when a boy in my fourth grade fell from a cliff. Harold Bach was his name. Just a quiet little guy, but he crawled out on a dare, and the ledge gave way.” He turned to her with naïve wonderment. “Why do I still recall his name? So weird. He wasn’t a close friend, and I didn’t go to the funeral. None of us did. Wasn’t expected in those days.”
The way he was rattling on seemed morbid. She needed to learn how to direct an interview, but sympathized. “Do you think about Harold very often?”
He scratched his head. “Once a year on Hallowe’en. That’s when it happened.”
“Then you’re reinforcing the memory, bumping the curve back up each time.” She checked her watch. “We’d better get to the camp so that you can start home now. Sooner is better than later for collecting information.”
Along the path, she pointed to the bike. “Yes, it’s one of ours,” he said, inspecting a metal tag welded to the frame. “We brought six trail bikes. They’re not allowed on the beach, but they’re fine for the park roads.”
“Could Angie have ridden it here?”
He shrugged. “I suppose so. Someone is supposed to be in charge of inventory at the end of the day, but maybe they slipped up, and it’s been here since we came over yesterday.”
“We’ll toss it in the car,” she said, motioning to Chipper to collect it.
As they returned to the lot, Gable stood awkwardly with Chucky, spreading his arms in a question. “My ride’s gone. Can you...”
She opened the rear door. “He’s welcome. We’ve had worse passengers. At least he’s sober.”
The trunk contained emergency equipment. A shovel, plastic cones, a blanket, rain gear, bottled water, even a stuffed bear in a plastic bag for when a child needed comforting. Chipper secured the bike, then tied the lid with polypropylene rope. He got into the front and started the engine. In the back seat, Gable shuffled around with Chucky in his arms, perhaps uncomfortable in the confines of a vehicle with reinforcements to prevent glass breakage. On one of her favourite shows, Cops, a suspect had braced himself and kicked out the rear window of a cruiser.
Holly rolled down the windows to catch the breeze. With its computer equipment, radio and brackets for a shotgun, the vehicle was crowded. Opening the clear slider so that they could talk, she half turned towards