Dream Chasers (14 page)

“You'll check him out anyway, right?”

“Oh yessir. I was about to do that when I encountered this other problem.”

“What other problem?”

“The one S-Staff Sergeant Sullivan told me to tell you about—”

“Bob!”

“Yessir? I mean, yessir. It's Lea's mother. She's here at the school asking the students all the same questions we are, and she's getting to them before we can.”

“Then stop her!” Inwardly Green kicked himself. Marija Kovacev had warned him of her plans, but he had been too rattled about Hannah to forestall her.

“Sullivan says... Well, we were wondering how to handle her.”

“I'm near the school,” Green said, stretching the truth a little, for he was sitting in the parking lot fifty feet away. “I'll speak to her. Where is she now?”

“That's the thing. She's in the cafeteria, having a long chat with Justin Wakefield.”

Green's first glimpse of Justin Wakefield did not put him in mind of Lea's Romeo. True, even folded into a chair, the young actor was obviously tall, and he had the brooding good looks that seemed to set female hormones flooding. His dark hair was pulled into a wavy ponytail, revealing three silver studs and one long musical note in one ear lobe. He wore a plain black
T
-shirt stretched over lean shoulders and a silver link choke chain around his aristocratic neck. Vanity oozed from every pore. Green thought that if a man like this killed, it would not be from unrequited love but from outrage that any woman on earth would choose another man over him.

He was seated at a table in the corner facing the room, the better to be on display, Green suspected, and he stopped talking to watch Green's approach. Green had ditched his Bagelshop
T
-shirt for the standard polyester suit, and although his slight frame, freckles and youthful face didn't look much like a cop, he supposed the attire was enough to give him away. Who else would be wearing a suit and tie on a sweltering day like this?

Green studied Justin's expression carefully but could see no trace of fear, grief or guilt. Merely resignation and a hint of noble sorrow. But the boy was an actor, after all. Marija Kovacev was facing the other way, engrossed in conversation, but now she swung around in surprise. Green could see no sign of guilt in her either at being caught interfering. She was elegantly dressed in a floral summer shift, and her hair was back in its neat bun, but her face was ravaged by grief and lack of sleep. Deep lines furrowed her brow, and purple bruising circled her eyes. She brightened at the sight of him.

“Inspector Green! Some news?”

He shook his head. “But I have plenty of officers interviewing staff and students. We're trying to trace her movements that evening. Mr. Wakefield, my men will be talking to you too.”

If Justin was surprised that Green knew his name, he gave no sign. Perhaps fame seemed natural. He arranged a regretful look on his face. “Of course. Although I don't think I can help much, I haven't seen Lea in weeks.”

“Justin and Lea dated,” Marija said.

“Nothing serious,” Justin hastened to add. “For either of us. I was so busy with rehearsals that we hardly saw each other.”

Green hesitated. Gibbs needed to conduct an official private interview with Justin, and Marija Kovacev had no business participating in the investigation at all, but this was a rare opportunity to see how the youth answered personal questions about Lea in front of her mother. The interaction of the two might shake loose some secrets as well.

“Did you see her Monday night?” Green asked. “I understand she was getting together with a group of acting friends.”

Justin gave no indication he knew it was a lie. He shook his head unhappily. “No. Like I said, we hadn't touched base in a couple of months.”

“What were you doing Monday night from nine p.m. to nine a.m.?”

Justin didn't even blink. “I was at home writing a paper. One of those student all-nighters.”

“Alone?”

“Well, my parents were in the house.” He cocked his head casually. “Why all the investigation? I thought she drowned.” Green shrugged easily.

“Because she died in a public place, there will be a coroner's inquest. We're just laying the groundwork. Do you know who she was with that night?”

“Like I said, we sort of lost touch. Mrs. Kovacev just asked me if I knew who she was dating, but I'm so out of her circle now.”

“What was her circle?”

“The Newcomer's Club and lately, her Outdoor Ed friends. She was really getting into sports.”

“Names?” Green made a show of readying his notebook.

“Oh, I don't know. The school will have the class list.”

“I know some names,” Marija interrupted. “Larissa, Kaylee, Crystal... Maybe the social worker knows more. She was very interested in all Lea's friends.”

Green glanced up from his notes. “What social worker?”

“I don't know her name. She works for the school board. Lea's gym teacher told me that she asked him all kind of questions. He says she has some ideas who Lea's boyfriend is.”

Jesus H! thought Green. What the hell is this? Not only do we have the victim's mother running around contaminating the witnesses, but now we've got some school board social worker mucking up the waters even worse.

T
he
principal of the school looked appalled. Anton Prusec was a tall, gaunt man whose elaborate combover did nothing to conceal his shiny, sunburnt pate. He carried himself in a permanent stoop as if ducking to keep his head out of the line of fire, and in this case he seemed irritated that such an inconvenience as a dead student had placed his school, and himself, in the spotlight.

He immediately ushered Green into his office and paged the social worker. “Jenna Zukowski,” he muttered. “She's inexperienced and was probably just trying to help. But I wholeheartedly agree, Inspector. It's inappropriate and unacceptable. Absolutely. I didn't even know she was here today. I only asked for the board's crisis team for two days, and to be quite honest, our own guidance people can do the job perfectly well. But one must be seen to be doing all one can.” Irritated, he picked up his phone. “Has Ms Zukowski answered her page yet? Then page her again!”

He hung up and fiddled with his computer. “It's been a very busy few days, and there are so many details to attend to. One expects everyone else to do their part, you know, and to know what that is. The ship must go on. I have over a thousand students and nearly a hundred staff at this school, and each one of them requires my attention. The staff from the school board, well...”

He tapped his pen against his lips as if to shut himself up, then swooped on the phone again to punch in another number. He was obviously calling Jenna Zukowski's boss at the school board, for he explained to her in terse superlatives that her social worker had gone far beyond the bounds of her authority and had interfered with a police investigation. He demanded an immediate reprimand.

“I want to speak to Ms Zukowski myself,” Green interjected.

Prusec repeated Green's request with alacrity, as if relieved that his own outrage was being seconded by the senior brass of the police. During the ensuing silence, Prusec covered the mouthpiece and nodded at Green gravely. “The director of professional services is an absolute dragon lady. Ms Zukowski is likely to be filing attendance reports for weeks.”

Presumably the social work equivalent to traffic duty, Green decided. The principal returned to the phone for a brief conversation. He jotted down some notes before thanking the dragon lady and hanging up.

“Ms Zukowski is not in her board office. That's not unusual. These people are almost always on the road. But I have her cell phone number...”

“Could you contact her, please?”

Prusec looked nonplussed. Playing secretary to the police, even an inspector, did not appear to be commensurate with his own status, but he paused only briefly before punching in the number. Clearly he'd sized up his options and the possible repercussions of refusing, and he'd elected to safeguard his career. He waited in silence for a few moments before leaving a crisp message asking Jenna Zukowski to contact him urgently regarding a police matter. Even before he'd hung up, he was rising from his chair.

“She's not answering. But as soon as she returns my call, I'll put her in touch with you.” He headed for the door and stood aside to encourage Green to pass through.

Green remained in his chair. “I'd like to speak to your gym teacher.”

Prusec started as if in alarm. “Ah. Which one? I have five.”

“All five then. It will only take a moment of their time.” Green smiled expansively. “If you'd be so good as to give me a room where I can conduct interviews.”

Seizing the chance to end Green's occupation of his office, Prusec was quick to eject one of the vice-principals from hers so that Green could move in. It was little bigger than a closet, obviously occupied by the most junior
VP
, but it had a phone and computer. Within three minutes, the first gym teacher was knocking on the door. It took three gym teachers and half an hour before Green got to Ken Taylor.

The young teacher poked his head in the door as if afraid Green would bite it off. His face was flushed, and a sheen of sweat coated his brow. Green gestured the man to a chair and waited in silence until he had settled himself. Taylor was breathing hard, as if he'd been running. Was it fear of Prusec, or something else?

“I've already spoken to three police officers,” he said. “I don't know what more I can add. I taught Lea Kovacev Outdoor Education, but I would never have encouraged her to dive in dangerous waters. Outdoor Ed is not an extreme sport; it's about combining fitness with nature.”

“Do you know Jenna Zukowski?” Taylor blinked several times in obvious surprise.

“I just met her yesterday.”

“Under what circumstances?” Taylor looked alarmed.

“Why? Is something wrong?”

“No, I'm just following up on what she discussed with you. I might add that I'm not happy about her interference in police matters, and I'd appreciate your telling me precisely what you two spoke about.”

“Oh. Well.” Taylor brushed his palm across his damp forehead. “She seemed to think Lea was murdered, or at least that a boyfriend had encouraged her reckless behaviour. She was asking about my students, trying to figure out who that boyfriend was.”

“And did she have any leads?”

“She seemed to have this notion that the boy was a high achiever. A future star. We've got lots of those here.”

“Any names?”

Ken Taylor wiped his brow again. Despite the frigid air conditioning in the office, he was still flushed and sweaty. “Really, she had nothing to go on, so I'd rather not repeat gossip and rumour. Innocent boys may be affected.”

“An innocent girl is dead.”

Taylor's jaw quivered, but still he said nothing. Green chose a softer tack. “We'll be looking at numerous individuals, Mr. Taylor. No boy is going to be accused of anything on your word.”

“I did tell her, if she was looking for a boy with star power, she couldn't do any better than Riley O'Shaughnessy. I've been regretting it ever since.”

“Who's Riley O'Shaughnessy?”

Sullivan glanced up in surprise from his double smoked meat sandwich. Green had called him at the station and asked to meet him at Nate's Deli. “Why?”

“He's a student at Pleasant Park, and his name has come up as a possible boyfriend.”

Sullivan had stuffed a fistful of French fries into his mouth, and now his jaw hung open. “Holy Mother of God.”

“Okay, so this would be big news?”

“In the hockey world, yeah. He's an idol to my boys. Small town kid makes the big time.”

“So he's a hockey star? The kid's only eighteen!”

“Future hockey star. He's a probable first round draft pick that I think the Edmonton Oilers are hoping to pick up.”

“What's a first round draft pick?”

Sullivan chuckled. “It always amazes me how a guy born and raised here in Ottawa can know so little about hockey.”

Green scowled at him. “So my father didn't
schlep
me to the hockey rink every weekend at six a.m. What did he know about being Canadian?”

“For the uninitiated, eighteen is the youngest age a hockey player can begin playing in the
NHL
. You know what that is, eh? The National Hockey League?”

Green rolled his eyes. “I think I've heard of it. I'd have to be living under a rock for the past month not to know Ottawa has a team. Didn't it lose something?”

Sullivan bristled, the recent loss in the Stanley Cup final obviously still a sore point. “They made a good run of it. The point is that, just like most other sports leagues, the
NHL
has this complicated system to allow teams to pick from the pool of promising eighteen-year-olds. Each team gets assigned a number based on their standing that year. For example, the Philadelphia Flyers ended up last of thirty teams this spring, so they get one of the first picks of the pool. The Anaheim Ducks won the Stanley Cup, so they get the thirtieth pick.”

“So the weakest teams get to pick the best.”

“Ah, the good Canadian boy catches on fast! Yeah, it's supposed to level the playing field. When all the teams have picked their first choice, that's called the first round.”

Green smiled as the light dawned. “So there are thirty first round picks. And you don't necessarily get who you want, because the team ahead of you might have grabbed him. How do they keep track?”

“Well, this all takes place with lots of hype in a big open forum at the end of June called the
NHL
entry draft. This year it's being held in Columbus, Ohio. There's lots of suspense and horse-trading. There is round after round, going on all weekend. It's brutal on the kids waiting to see if they'll be picked, but being a first round pick is a really big deal, pretty much guarantees them an
NHL
career. They're the top thirty eighteen-year-olds in the world.”