or in pubs. This was her private space, and if it was a pigsty, who was to care?
She was feeling particularly annoyed after her futile afternoon. No one else at the high school seemed to want to confide in her or to speculate on the identity of Lea’s boyfriend. When she hinted that he might be one of the school’s acting students, they clammed up even more. Even the female teachers, from whom she’d expected a little solidarity. No one wanted to imagine that one of their perfect boys next door might have a dark side.
The drama teacher turned out to be Nigel, the handsome young teacher who’d been offended by the cops’ suspicions earlier in the day. No way he was going to give the cops any other innocent victims to go after, he said. Jenna stayed around to watch the rehearsal of the musical West Side Story, which was being staged that weekend by his senior students. She noticed that the three leading boys were not only handsome but talented. They belted out their songs with a clarity and power that might take them as far as Broadway some day.
She wrote their names carefully on her list of suspects. After the rehearsal, she hung around the main door of the school, hoping to see what they did afterwards. None of them acted at all guilty, at least as she imagined guilty people should act. No agitation or preoccupation, no shifty eyes or furtive gait. They laughed with friends, talked about acting ideas, hugged each other and headed off to bus stops. Two of them linked up with girlfriends who were waiting outside the door and went off with arms entwined. Unless my Romeo is not just a killer but a cheat, I can scratch them off my list, she thought.
That left Justin Wakefield, who played Tony, the doomed lover in the story. He had a voice like honey-coated chocolate and dark liquid eyes to match. Not that Jenna was obsessed with chocolate, although over the years, many more of her pleasures had been derived from the luscious confection than from men. Justin had emerged from the stage door with his knapsack over his shoulder and his head bowed in a sulky scowl. He had barely acknowledged the hugs and the encouragement from the others in the cast and had slumped to the bus stop alone.
As if he’d lost his best friend.
Jenna had scurried back inside the auditorium, anxious to catch Nigel before he left. Even if the drama teacher denied it, she should be able to tell from his expression whether Justin was Lea’s boyfriend. Nigel had not had too many kind words about Justin’s performance throughout the rehearsal, which he called worse than a braying donkey, so she hoped he would not be too protective.
Her hopes were soon deflated on that score. Nigel was talking to the musical conductor and paused only long enough to glare at her. When she finally seized a break in the conversation to pose her question, he exploded.
“You are playing a very dangerous game,” he snapped. “It’s no business of yours who Lea’s boyfriend is. If the cops want to know, they will ask. But I will tell you this, in the hope you’ll take your nose out of it. Lea is not Justin’s girlfriend. Plenty of girls would like to be, and I’m sure one of them is, but it’s not Lea.”
“Does she hang around with the acting crowd?” Jenna pressed. “Maybe one of them will know more.”
He took a deep breath, as if trying to make up for his initial rudeness. “She hung around here, yes. Sometimes. She liked the story and wanted to understand how each character felt.”
“Anyone in particular she hung around with?”
“I’ve already told the police all of this.” He picked up his thick black binder and turned towards the door. “Look, the students are upset enough as it is. Let’s just leave it alone and let the police do their job.”
I would do that, she thought, if they knew what they were looking for. But who else besides her knew about the secret lover, the Romeo to her Juliet. In fact, wasn’t West Side Story a modern-day version of the play, and wasn’t the character of Tony the same as Romeo? How was that for a coincidence?
By the time she left the auditorium again, it was after five thirty, and the rest of the school was deserted. There was no chance to follow up on Justin or to inquire about other school leaders who might fit the bill. Musicians, artists, maybe even exotic poets. Tomorrow she would have limited time to poke around, because she was booked at another school in the afternoon, so at this rate she might solve very little of the mystery unless another student came forward to confide.
As was her habit upon arriving home, she grabbed a Diet Coke and flicked on the television in the background as she sat down with her laptop. Google was her best friend. It had an answer for everything, from techniques for dealing with cross-dressing twelve-year-olds, which they’d never taught her in social work school, to the real scoop on the latest man she’d met at yoga. She navigated its quirks with ease and typed in the words “Justin Wakefield Pleasant Park Ottawa”. Those few specific terms should be enough to catch anything there was on the net about the boy.
There were some newspaper reviews of shows he’d been in and an article about a recent Ottawa fringe show, but best of all, the very first hit was Justin Wakefield’s own web page. How easy was that? She clicked on the link and found a gold mine. Blazoned across his home page was the announcement of his acceptance into the National Theatre School in the fall. A quick check revealed the school to be the most prestigious drama school in Canada, with an impressive roster of alumni including Sandra Oh, Michael Riley and Colm Feore.
Justin’s web page provided a list of previous acting credits, which to her untrained eye seemed astonishingly long for a boy barely eighteen. There was also an effusive bio which thanked his devoted parents for recognizing his talent early and making the move to Ottawa from the town of Prescott so that he could pursue his dance, singing and drama lessons. Jenna had passed through Prescott once when she took a wrong turn off the 401 from Toronto, and she knew it was minuscule. Justin Wakefield, poised on the brink of future stardom, had come a long way indeed.
Some testimonials from directors and acting coaches described the sophistication and charisma that shone through, despite his simple beginnings. His confidence and work ethic were a rare treat among today’s spoiled and insecure stars, they said. Jenna recalled the scowl on his face earlier in the day when the director Nigel had criticized his focus and lack of energy. “Where are you today?” Nigel had said.
With the opening night of the show less than a week away, could it be that mentally he was somewhere else, Jenna wondered? Reliving the last moments of his girlfriend’s life?
Lea Kovacev’s name intruded into her hearing, and she glanced up to see the six o’clock news just beginning. The camera panned over a scene of rolling parkland, police cars and yellow tape before zeroing in on a group of officers in dark grey coveralls with POLICE in large white letters across their backs. They were poking at the underbrush with long poles. Jenna froze, dread crawling down her spine.
“We have yet to receive official confirmation,” the local reporter was saying. “However, an anonymous source within the police services here told CTV News that a backpack has been found somewhere within the Hog’s Back Park, and although police are waiting for formal identification, it seems likely from the description that it belongs to the missing teenager Lea Kovacev. She was reported to be going with friends to a beach, and just across the road, a few hundred yards away is Mooney’s Bay Beach—” the camera cut away from the reporter’s face to a broad, crowded expanse of beach, “a popular gathering spot for teens. Numerous sports such as tennis, ultimate frisbee and beach volleyball are played there, and close friends describe Lea as an athlete active in several high school sports. There is no word yet on the whereabouts of Lea herself, but police are optimistic that this discovery will narrow down the search.”
Jenna shut her laptop in a trance. She had just had an epiphany. Sports! That was another field in which
