Tracking down the writer of the note would be tough. He or she would be one of the hundreds of residents of the Hazeltons who had been canvassed in the first days of the search and asked about Lenny, amongst other things. Now, with the heat coming down, the writer of the note was afraid of being implicated in a lie, and since that person hadn’t been alone when they’d supposedly seen Lenny, as the note said “we,” the writer of the note feared their companion would talk first.
The simple but complicated logic scrolled through Leith’s mind as he looked at the wet and grubby little note, and it left him irritated. The writer was mistaken, or Lenny was lying about where he was on Saturday. Either way he would have to be brought in, along with Tex, and questioned once more. Leith called Jayne Spacey and told her to hunt him down.
There was more drama in the late afternoon when Scott Rourke made a personal appearance, the kind that sent papers flying, and had to be escorted out by Constables Thackray and Ecton. Thackray and Ecton returned, dusting their hands and laughing, and Spacey came along soon after, accompanied by a truculent Lenny Law.
Leith sat down with the kid in the interview room. The best approach was direct, he decided, and he laid the note on the table, read it aloud, looked Lenny in the eyes, and said, “So what about it?”
Lenny Law’s approach was even more direct. Arms crossed, he looked Leith in the eyes, and said, “Yeah, so?”
“Yeah, so why’d you tell us you were in Prince George?”
“I was supposed to be is why. Frank thought I was there.”
“You’re going to have to explain yourself. I’m confused.”
Lenny sighed. “I get up Saturday, and Frank’s decided I should go to George with Tex. I said no, I don’t want to go. He said yes, you damn well go, and in fact he’d already called Tex, and Tex was on his way over. He gave me a bunch of spending money and practically pushed me out the door. I know why he wanted me out of there, too, because the rehearsals were shit, and they didn’t want me sitting around hearing them doing fuck-all for Ms. Blackworm.”
Leith opened his mouth and shut it. The boy was glowing with emotion, angry as a bee, but he was on a roll, and it was best to just let him spew.
“You want to know why the rehearsals were shit?” the boy went on. “Because of her, Ms. Blackworm, coming around, telling them to be like this, be like that, Kiera should go on the treadmill, Frank should cap his teeth, add some theatre to their act, get professional, making them think they’re something they’re not. She wants them to use other people’s songs, and far as I know, that’s called intellectual theft, right?”
Leith thought it wise to agree and nodded his encouragement.
Lenny finished on a lamer note. “They’re all on edge, ever since she came along with her big ideas. That’s why I didn’t go to George.”
“I don’t get the connection,” Leith said. “Sorry.”
Lenny steamed in silence for a moment and then said ominously, “Something was going to happen. I could feel it. I couldn’t just leave them here by themselves, could I?”
“Something as in what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Something between Frank and Kiera? Were they angry with each other?”
“No,” Lenny snapped. “Frank and Kiera are the most in-love people in the world. They’d never do anything to hurt each other, ever.”
Leith knew all too well how the most in-love people in the world could hurt each other. He said, “Where was Kiera when you left the house with Tex?”
“She was gone. Everyone was gone except Frank.”
“And you didn’t go to Prince George?”
“No. I got Tex to dump me just outside of town and walked back. He promised he’d cover for me, but that’s all. He didn’t do anything wrong, so don’t go harassing him.”
“You walked back home to Kispiox?”
Lenny smirked. “No way, man. Frank would be pissed if I showed up there after he’d sent me packing. I went to my parents’ place.”
“You stayed with your parents?” Leith asked, surprised. He’d read an interview with Roland and Clara Law, typed up by Constable Dion, which said in black and white — albeit Dion’s black and white — that they hadn’t seen any of their sons in years.
“I stayed in their old gazebo thing,” Lenny said. “Out back. I stash a bag there, a book or two, hang out sometimes, whenever I want to get away from Frank. He can be a real old lady.”
Leith briefly marvelled that there existed a teenaged boy who read books, and without a cattle prod. “And your parents don’t know you’re there?”
Lenny Law gave a mean laugh and asked if he could go now. He said he was hungry and tired, and Leith had no right to detain him.
Leith let him go and sat thinking. Lenny’s words hadn’t shed new light on the situation, exactly, just a different pall. The tension within the band was ramping up, if Lenny could be believed. Kids could be wildly inaccurate in their statements, but usually Leith could find a grain of truth in there worthy of follow-up.
The day ended and nothing further came in, not from Frank Law’s mouth or further anonymous tipsters or the community at large. Nothing but a higher stone wall, Leith thought, gloomily enjoying his metaphors, and the waters were indeed muddied. Still, Bosko seemed pleased. He had told Leith in an aside, “They sure do love Frank, don’t they?”
Across the squad room, the big man was now talking to Giroux about something less serious. Beer, it sounded like. Leith scowled and eavesdropped. Microbreweries, calories, and warm versus cold. Giroux maybe saw him scowling and called across the room to him, “So we’re going up to my place to confer about all this stuff further. Top brass only, but you’re invited too. Coming?”
* * *
As he pulled his jacket on, Dion asked Jayne Spacey out for a beer, thinking that after a pint or two maybe she’d edge toward forgiveness. But she was great at holding a grudge, it seemed, and told him that no, she’d love to except she’d stepped in a big pile of dog crap and was looking forward to spending the evening cleaning her boots. There was wit and sarcasm in that, but there was also true hatred. He’d noticed the other constables seemed to like him less too, even easygoing Thackray, and Pam the desk clerk. No smiles, no attempts at small talk. And maybe it was just himself, or maybe it was something Spacey had said about him, a half-truth of some kind. Or outright lie.
He signed out, drove to the IGA for a deli wrap, then returned to his car and followed his fold-up tourist map northeast out of town, looking for somewhere wild where he couldn’t possibly run into anybody he knew. Using the cruiser for recreation wasn’t permitted, but this wasn’t recreation any more than driving out to the Black Bear for dinner was, and they all did that. The map led through Kispiox, more or less where Scott Rourke lived, but splitting off onto a different gravel road. He landed on an outcrop of rock, where he left the car and walked down a steep trail criss-crossed with dirt bike tracks, down to where the map said a river would flow. And it did, broad and ice-cluttered, green and strong.
From studying maps and brochures, he knew this water had shed off the mountain ranges to the north, joining forces to become this, the Skeena. The river travelled through the land, past his boots, down around that S-bend, and on for another five hundred kilometres before releasing into the ocean at Prince Rupert.
He felt bloodless, not quite alive, and his eyes were watering in the wind. The cold day grew colder as the sun went down, leaving the world steel grey and thunder blue. He sat on a fallen log with a first-class view of the water coursing by on its endless journey. On the far shore those