Dream Chasers (7 page)

“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 a young person could go far. Scholarships to university, berths on the Olympic team... For a young athlete on the rise, the sky was the limit in money and in fame. Jenna was going to have a very busy morning tomorrow, not only following up on the disconsolate Justin Wakefield but also ferreting out the star athletes who might have turned Lea's head.

Once the media broke the news about the backpack, Green realized someone had to get to Lea's mother before the woman came racing over to Hog's Back in a full-blown panic. The news leak had caused a small crisis in the police ranks, and Ron Leclair was frantically trying to stifle its source while still fielding directives about the search. In any case, Mrs. Kovacev's panic was unlikely to be soothed by the sight of the Missing Persons squad leader on her doorstep. The only other ranking officer, Brian Sullivan, was busy coordinating assignments with the duty inspector. Green considered sending him. Sullivan had an almost magically soothing effect on distraught victims, especially female ones. His very bulk inspired confidence, and his large square hands could be remarkably gentle.

Yet Marija Kovacev had not met Sullivan, and the sight of a large, official-looking stranger appearing at her door would be sure to frighten her. Besides, no matter how inept he was at support and sympathy, it was Green himself that she trusted.

Since Alta Vista was only a short drive away, he commandeered one of the patrol cars and drove to the Kovacev house. For a brief moment he sat in the cruiser, studying the neat facade and gathering his thoughts. Long evening shadows shrouded the street, blurring the details, but Green could discern a brick bungalow identical to hundreds across the city, built in the early fifties to accommodate the vets returning from the Second World War. But Marija Kovacev had made the most of the tiny box. A shaft of sunlight illuminated fresh white trim and lush, colourful flower beds that would have made Sharon green with envy as she wrestled their unruly, overgrown perennial weed patch into some semblance of style. It was a house tended with extraordinary care, by a woman grateful to be here, he thought. Sadly he picked up the evidence bin and got out.

When he rang the bell, the door flew open as if Marija Kovacev had been standing just inside. Her eyes widened, and she pressed her fists to her chest. Hastily, he held up his free hand in a reassuring gesture.

“We haven't found her,” he said. “But we've found what we believe to be her backpack.”

“Where?”

“By a bench at Hog's Back Falls.”

“Oh! A favourite place!” She drew herself tall and sucked breath into her lungs noisily, as if struggling for calm. “But what about Lea? Where's Lea? Are you looking...?”

“Yes, we're looking.” Spotting a media van headed down the street towards them, he took her by the elbow with his free hand. “Let's go inside. I'd like you to look at the items in the bag, to see if you can identify them.”

Inside the door, she turned to him. “Your shoes—” She checked herself with an impatient shake of her head. “Ach! What does it matter?”

A half dozen shoes were aligned in a neat row on a mat inside the door. Understanding her force of habit, he kicked off his sneakers and padded in his stocking feet across the immaculate although somewhat worn cream carpet. For an absurd moment, he was grateful that for once his socks had no holes in the toes. The living room had the same immaculate but worn look, with mended floral slipcovers and an ornate wooden crucifix over the sofa. He placed the bin on the coffee table and pried off the lid to reveal the contents, all now safely encased in plastic evidence bags.

Marija peered into the bin. Clutching her hand to her throat, she sank onto the sofa beside it. “What happened to her?”

“All the clothes were neatly folded.” As you taught her, he thought to himself. “There were no signs of trouble or struggling, nothing to suggest she was hurt or taken by force. We think she left there voluntarily.”

“But why? Where did she go?”

“We don't know yet. But we've got every available officer searching the beach, the park and all along the shoreline. We've brought in our canine unit too. As soon as anyone learns anything, I'll let you know.” He paused and gestured to the bin. “But you can help us figure out what she might have been doing. Are all these items of clothing hers?”

She nodded vigorously.

“Is there anything missing? Except a white tank top, which we retained for the canine unit. And a notebook, which we took down to the station for analysis.”

She fingered the bags and rooted around between them. “Her...ah, bra and panties.”

Green recalled the skimpy white tank top. No nubile seventeenyear-old girl would even consider wearing a bra underneath, even if it could fit. But he sensed Marija was uncomfortable enough as it was. “What kind of bra and panties did she wear?”

“White. I always buy her white. Perhaps she is wearing them?” She shook her head almost angrily, as if rejecting the evidence of her senses. “No. Lea would not leave her clothes and go away only with bra and panties.”

“What about a bathing suit? Did she own one?”

“She has three bathing suits. She loves swimming.”

“Can we look at them? See if any are missing?”

She seemed to recover some composure at the possibility her daughter was not running around half-naked. Rising, she led the way down the narrow hall to a tiny bedroom at the back. It was freshly painted in Wedgwood blue, with matching blue flowered curtains and duvet—a marked contrast to Hannah's “eggplant”—and to Green's amazement, her clothing was all neatly folded in her drawers. The girl was abnormal!

Marija emptied the contents of the top drawer on the bed and began to sort through the lingerie, all of it delicate but a practical white. She set aside first a red Speedo then a shapely black one-piece with virtually no back. She frowned.

“Her new bikini,” she exclaimed in dismay. “It's not here. I don't like it, and I tell her that, but...” She shrugged in resignation. “Recently she wants to dress like all the other girls.”

Green made a mental note. Romantic setting, warm summer evening, sexy bikini... This was all fitting together. “What colour is it?”

“Yellow and black. It's very little, only covers...” Her voice faded awkwardly. “Lea says it is not good for swimming.”

I don't think swimming was foremost on her mind, Green thought. Marija had obviously made the same deduction, for she flushed as she busied herself folding the items back into the drawer.

“Is she a good swimmer?” he asked. She nodded. “She is good at many things. She took lessons in the public pool.”

“Diving too?” Marija looked up from her folding, startled.

“What?” “Does she like to dive from the high diving board?”

Marija frowned, and Green could see her trying to make sense of his question. Suddenly, fear raced across her face. “The falls? You think...”

“I don't think anything. I'm just looking at possibilities.”

Marija pressed her hand to her mouth. The stark panic in her eyes gradually died as she wrestled her emotions under control. Reason crept back in, and she shook her head. “No. Lea loves to swim, but she's careful. She's a lifeguard, and she knows the dangers of water. Never.”

Unless she was so drunk or high she threw caution to the wind, Green thought grimly. Teenagers did foolhardy things all the time, believing in their utter invincibility, when in fact the human body is very fragile indeed. Before Marija Kovacev could make the same observation, he focussed her on practical details. “Is there anything else missing that may give us a clue? Even something fairly ordinary?”

She had moved from the lingerie drawer to straightening the knickknacks on the top of the dresser. A photo of a man in a silver filigree frame, her father perhaps, two hand-painted ceramic dolls, a Swiss cuckoo clock, a carved wooden jewellery box and an assortment of creams and make-up containers. She ran her hand lovingly over the jewellery box as she considered his question.

“Sergeant Leclair asked me the same question, and police searched all through this room yesterday, looking for clues. They even took her cell phone bill to check her records.” She broke off with a sharp intake of breath. “Her cell phone! It should have been in that bag! She carries it everywhere. Possibly she took it with her where she went?”

“Does the bikini have a pocket?”

The brief flare of hope died in Marija's eyes. “No, there is not cloth for that.”

Then where would she carry it? Green thought. She had left all her clothes and even her wallet with all her bank cards. Clearly she had not planned to go very far or stay away very long. Moreover, if she had gone for a swim, she would certainly not have taken her phone into the water. Not with the cost of the latest little gadgets. A further thought struck him.

“Does her cell phone have a camera or a video?”

Marija nodded. “I bought it for her birthday in April. The salesman said it had all the best technology. I can't understand how to operate it, but Lea was thrilled. She took pictures of everything.”

She smiled faintly at the memory, obviously failing to see the sinister connection between pictures, panties and the missing cell phone. But Green spotted it, and his sense of foreboding grew.

A
t
six thirty the next morning, Ruth Mendelsohn left her house in Old Ottawa South with her Nova Scotia duck tolling retriever. She crossed Billings Bridge, which spanned the Rideau River about four kilometres north of Hog's Back Falls. By the time the river reached the bridge, it slowed to a languid pace as it meandered through marshy bays along the shore. From the bridge, Ruth spotted an official-looking Zodiac in the middle of the main channel. Not giving it much thought, she walked her dog up the bike path beside the river, relishing her early morning coffee and the chirping of the songbirds in the trees. This was her favourite time of day, before the roar of cars blocked out the birds and the breakneck blur of commuter cyclists transformed the bike path into a Tour de France circuit. Once they were far enough from the traffic, she glanced around and surreptitiously slipped off her dog's leash. He bounded off across the grass towards the shore. Ducks quacked and flapped angrily out of reach, but for once Digby had no interest in them. Instead, after snuffling excitedly along the shore for a moment, he disappeared behind an overgrown alder and began to bark furiously. Ruth recognized his high-alert, alien-invasion bark.

Shouting at him in vain, Ruth hurried towards the shore, swearing as the coffee sloshed out of her cup and spilled down her shorts. When she rounded the bush, she saw him in the shallow water at the river's edge, barking at the police team out on the river. Ruth's first reaction was guilt, for dogs were not allowed off-lead in this park, let alone in the water. She tried to grab his collar, but he danced further out of reach. Her sandals sank into the wet mud.

Her second reaction, once she'd absorbed the diving gear and the waterproof yellow clothes, was that this was about the missing girl. They were dragging the river for her body. Although they hadn't acknowledged Digby's presence, the earsplitting barking could hardly be improving their focus.

Digby, however, was not to be reassured, forcing her to wade ankle deep in muck to secure his collar. As she leaned forward to snap on his leash, trying not to think about the turtles and mud-dwelling creatures that might be tempted by her toes, she caught sight of a yellow and black object coiled around a reed. At first she thought it was some exotic snake, and she recoiled with a small shriek. On closer inspection, she realized it was cloth, and when she fished it out of the water, she saw it was the skimpiest bikini bottom she'd ever seen. She pictured it stretched over her own expansive tush, and the unflattering image made her chuckle.

Don't suppose anyone even missed this, she thought. Then she raised her head to consider the men combing the river bottom just off shore. What were the odds, she wondered? The bikini wasn't remotely like the description of the girl's clothes reported in the media, yet it looked almost brand new and showed no signs of fading or rot from being in the water for long.

“Hey!” she shouted to the men in the water, brandishing the sodden bikini. “This was in the water. Could it be important?”

The driver of the boat looked over at her with an annoyed frown that vanished the instant he saw her find. He got on the radio, and within seconds he gestured to her urgently. “Stay in the water exactly where you found it, ma'am, and wait there. An officer will be right there.”

Ruth stared at the slip of clothing in dismay. The police reaction told it all. They believed the girl had drowned wearing this bikini. Only now, when they found her body, the poor girl would be nearly naked.

The police responded very efficiently from that point, taking her statement and her contact information before sending her firmly on her way. Police in dark coveralls swarmed the marshy area by the alders, and others fanned out along the water's edge up towards Hog's Back. She could see similar activity on the north bank of the river, and she shuddered. She'd lived in her old brick house by the Rideau River almost thirty years. It was a tame river, at least within the city, since its force had been blunted by dams and canals. Small children frolicked in its waters, along with the frogs and ducks. She couldn't remember the last time someone had drowned in the Rideau, unlike its larger and wilder sisters, the Ottawa and the Gatineau. It seemed impossible that a girl in her prime, especially a strong swimmer as the papers reported, could have died here.