every which way. Mike remained adamant that drugs had not been involved. Like Billy’s denials, his words rang true to Holly. And naming an exact time for turning in, as if he’d been waiting and checking his watch until Billy returned. It fit. What other scenarios did that leave?
“That’s enough, then. Have Ann transcribe the tapes, and get a statement for them to sign later. Take them back to school.”
After the detachment door closed, Whitehouse turned to her. “Good bluff, and it worked, but only so far. They’re the sole witnesses to what happened on the beach. They’ll both claim she walked off of her own free will. And who knows, maybe she did.”
Holly frowned and looked at her notes from an earlier telephone interview with a counsellor at Edward Milne. “I still don’t get the motivation for any harm. Those boys don’t have a record of violence. Billy is an honour student. It was opportunistic to take advantage of her, but—”
“Who wouldn’t?” He made a rude noise. “Are we living on the same planet? Was ‘Say no to sex’ mother’s best advice?”
Holly tried to keep her face neutral. She didn’t want anyone guessing at her nun-like existence. Three boyfriends in ten years. “At least he used a condom. Score one for sex ed, or health ed, whatever they call it. Both boys agreed that Angie was acting strangely. From what I’ve read, she should have felt the effects of meth a lot sooner. Why was she was able to ride that bike all the way to the beach?”
“Everyone’s different. And maybe she brought it with her.”
“From the profiles, first-time users wouldn’t take the risk of experimenting alone.”
“Anything else to suggest?” Whitehouse began packing up his papers, filing them neatly in an alligator attache case.
Holly folded her hands. Surely they hadn’t considered every possibility. “Of all the ways meth is taken, what would be the slowest to reach the nervous system?”
He pursed his broad lips, a slight cut at the edge from hasty shaving. “Ingestion, I guess. Passing through the digestive system takes longer than shooting up or snorting.”
Holly snapped her fingers. “So she could have taken it at the camp. Or had it given to her.”
“To get the best rush, she should have been smoking it. Does this all matter?”
“Billy strikes me as an honest guy. He offered to take a polygraph test.”
He snapped shut the case. “So do it. Get Victoria to send out the unit. If the boys fail, and I’m thinking they will...everyone believes they can fake it...we’ll have more ammunition.”
Holly left to give Ann the directives. When she returned, Whitehouse was answering his cell phone. “Yes, yes,” he said impatiently, scratching the back of one hand until it bled. “Do what I told you, dammit.” Then he hung up.
“Bad news?”
“A new case out of Royal Roads University. Some professor killed his wife. Tried to make it look like an accident. Pathetic, really.”
Royal Roads, formerly a prestigious military training school, occupied a palatial estate in Langford. She swallowed, felt her blood charge through her veins at the word professor. “What kind of an accident?”
“Fall down the stairs. Trouble is, the blood spatters and prints don’t agree with what he said happened. We’ll nail the bastard to the blackboard, and it’ll be a pleasure. Academics think they’re so smart, but their heads are up their asses.”
She kept quiet, digesting the information. Arrogance was Whitehouse’s middle name. How comical that people despised in others the traits they nurtured. “I’m going to follow up that meth connection...all the way to Victoria if I have to.”
“Try the parking garage off Government Street. At least that was last week.”
Holly watched him leave...again, wishing that the wind would blow from the west to keep him far away from Fossil Bay.
Ann came into the office carrying what looked like a school blue book for exams. “I may have some information,” she said, her face alive and almost eager. “About that meth. Sean’s done a hell of a job. I’m proud of that kid.”
Riding around on weekends, Sean had noticed something suspicious at the end of Munson Road. More a muddy rut, Munson abutted an old farm with rocky pastures unfit for crops, hardly prime real estate. Eli Munson, a childless widower, had once run a marginal sheep operation there after the Second World War, but with his death, the land had passed into the public domain for tax arrears. Over the last thirty years, the small farmhouse and leaning barn had fallen into disrepair. Its signal feature for a meth lab was total privacy. Thick cedars woven together with huge firs kept it well hidden from the road. Even the lane curved so that the house couldn’t be seen. Ruts in the drive and the marks of truck tires showed that some recent traffic had passed. Teenagers looking for a private place to party? Ann paused with a proud grin. “Sharp, eh? Noticing those tracks. Not quads either. Too far apart.”
“He’s getting an A so far. Go on.” She watched Ann read from Sean’s notes. “Secret Report” was printed at the top of each page.
Sean had noticed a strange smell when he rode by. An unusual inland breeze was wafting odours from the property. Cat pee. “And my grandma has seventeen, so I know what that’s like,” he had added. When he crept closer, pulling himself on his elbows an inch at a time, keeping the bushes in front of him, he saw that the lower windows had been blacked out with tinfoil.
“Where’s Chipper?” On full alert, Holly planned to visit the scene, even though the boy’s imagination might be on overdrive. Still, his details were compelling.
“He went to Jordan River on a domestic complaint about ten minutes ago. It was pretty serious. Kelly Esterhazy might have a broken arm. Earl’s drunk. She’s drunk. Usually gives as good as she gets, just doesn’t have the size.”
“I’ll wait for him. If it is a meth lab, it isn’t going anywhere in only one day.” This time she’d make no assumptions, but go by the book. With back-up. Given the three-person operation, that was like juggling plates on sticks. She tried to raise Chipper on the radio, but he was away from the vehicle, tending to the Esterhazys. It chilled her that they were so isolated and defenseless at this end of the island.
Ann got a strange gleam in her eye and went to the window. “Andrea’s probably home. She could...” Then she turned too fast and winced. “No, forget it.”
Holly gave Ann points for wanting to contribute in a more active way, but she let the woman set her own limitations instead of saying something patronizing. Meanwhile, she got on the computer and ran the Capital Regional District program, which allowed her to focus on the suspect area. Manipulating the controls, she zeroed in. The end of Munson Road looked like one giant Sherwood Forest. Trees in all directions, except for a few isolated meadows. The land had retreated to nature quickly enough, though much of the periphery was scrubby alder. At the maximum focus, she could make out a small house and several outbuildings. No vehicles were apparent, but that meant nothing. It wasn’t a live feed. The satellite pictures came from a year or two ago. Maybe the house had been occupied then, maybe not. Squatters were rife in Victoria, but this far into the bush made an unhandy address...unless for good reason.
The only way in was the lane, one advantage
