“Thank you,” she said, tapping the list. Lucas sat back down to wait, and I followed her upstairs to an interview room in Missing Persons. We got settled and were soon joined by another officer, who Fernice introduced as Detective Adam Ignace. He had a pitcher of water and glasses with him. She turned on a recorder and stated the date, time, and those present.
“First, Morgan, I’d like to talk about your abduction here in Vancouver and anything you can remember leading up to that.”
“Okay.”
“You teach at Simon Fraser?” she said.
“No, I have a job as a teaching assistant in the film department this semester. I’m subbing for someone who took sick at the beginning of the semester.”
“You’re not a professor then?”
“No, but my partner Lucas is an Associate Professor in the Criminology Department. I’m a filmmaker. I did my undergrad and masters in film at SFU. I’m working for one of the film profs, Sophia Paridopolis. She teaches the introductory film course. Half of her students are in my lab.”
“Who leads the other lab?”
“Carl Baraniuk. He’s an MA candidate in film.” I spelled his name for her.
“Does your schedule at SFU follow the same pattern every week?”
“Pretty much. I lead a seminar every Tuesday from 3:00 pm to 6:00 pm. I have office hours on both Tuesdays and Thursdays from 12 noon to 2:00 pm. It’s convenient to go for a run after my lab on Tuesday. I also run with Lucas, but those times vary, depending on our schedules.”
“On the Tuesday you were abducted, was your schedule as per usual?”
“Yes.”
“The film lab you lead is at the Woodward’s Campus.”
“The film department is part of SFU’s School of Contemporary Arts on Hastings Street East. The school is part of a larger complex called Foursquare. The old Woodward’s building is part of that complex.
“I moved here from Manitoba early this year. Still getting to know some of the landmarks.”
“I’m not from here either. I grew up in Thunder Bay, in Northwestern Ontario. I came here to attend university and never left.”
“Fernice tapped one of the sheaves of paper sitting on the desk in front of her. “I read through the statement you gave to Corporal James and I’d like to review it with you.”
She walked me through the events of the day I was abducted. I filled in the parts that were sketchy, starting with my dressing for the run, going down to the parking garage, retrieving the car, and leaving the campus to go to New Brighton.
“Did you speak with anybody before leaving?” I thought about that.
“I said goodbye to Odessa Tate as I was leaving. She’s the office manager of Contemporary Arts. I took the elevator down to the parking level.”
“Was there anyone in the elevator?”
“A couple of guys, and there was a young woman as well. I remember her because she said hi to me.”
“Did she call you by name?”
“She did. She called me Ms. O’Meara. I told her to call me Morgan.”
“Is she a student?”
“She isn’t in my lab, but I’ve seen her around. She’s definitely a new student. We’re not that formal in the film department.”
“What about the men in the elevator. Do you remember anything about them?”
“I think I remember one of them, a young guy, leaving the elevator with me in the parking area, but I didn’t notice much about him, or where his car was parked.”
“Were you aware of anyone following you as you left the parkade?”
“No. I was distracted, thinking about Carey Bolton.”
“We’ll certainly get to that. When you arrived at New Brighton Park, you parked the car and since you’d already changed, you were ready to run.”
“That’s right.”
“According to your interview with Corporal James, you don’t remember anything,” here Fernice consulted the sheets in front of her, “after you locked your car and left it?”
“I still don’t remember what happened to me at the park.”
“Do you remember running on the trails?”
“I have no memory of running.”
“You told Corporal James there was a man with longish hair who was parked beside you. He was leaning into the trunk of his car and you indicated that you don’t remember anything after you walked by him, is that right?”
“Yes. When I got out of the car and locked it, I was thinking about Carey. We’d been to the house on Franklin Street a few days before.”
Fernice looked at me blankly.
“All visits to the house are in the timeline Lucas gave you. It won’t be in the interview notes.”
“Okay. Please continue.”
“I must have been abducted in the parking lot.” With the words came a wave of intense fear and panic and without warning, I started to shake and cry. Ignace fetched a box of Kleenex and gave it me. It took a few minutes for me to regain control.
“That’s been happening a lot lately.” I looked at Fernice and I saw compassion in her eyes.
“We talk with a lot of women, and men, who’ve been victims of violence,” said Ignace. There are services available and we recommend you use them, to help you deal with what happened.”
“We’ll make sure you have the necessary forms before you leave today,” said Fernice.
“Okay.” I picked up my notebook and flipped it open. Carey’s picture smiled at me. Carey. The children. Still not safe. I took a deep breath.
“I’m having memory flashes. I’ve written down everything I remember. There’s a copy of my notes with the timeline.”
“Tell us about your memories,” said Fernice, flipping to that sheet.
“One memory is just sound: men arguing, not sure how many. Their voices are hollow, as though they’re in a tunnel. I remember fragments of what was said.” I read from my notes: “Our fucking house; my call, not yours; do it now; fucking native bitch; do what you want.” I took a deep breath. “I also remember a strong smell, a chemical smell. It was on my clothes. It wasn’t a friendly smell, for want of a better description. I know the smell. I should remember what it is, but I can’t. This isn’t a problem I normally have. My retentive and recall skills are excellent.”
“Okay, we have concern about a house. We have men very angry with you and we have an unfriendly, chemical smell that you’re familiar with, but can’t remember the name of.” She paused and looked at me. “And we also have you, at some point, held somewhere that echoes a lot.”
“And last night, I remembered lying on a hard surface, like concrete and something that felt like stiff wool against my face.”
“This is excellent Morgan. Can we return to the sounds for a minute? Is there anything else distinctive about them?”
“Besides the words, the rest is a jumble of sound.”
“Try to describe it, if you can.”
“Well ... There was a loud banging sound, very rhythmic, like a hammer; and there was a kind of humming sound too.”
“Humming?”
“There was a humming that held all the sounds together, running underneath all the other sounds. I know that’s an odd way to describe it.”
“Not at all,” said Fernice. “Is there anything else?”
It was a struggle to put my fear into words, without tears. I didn’t want to start crying again. Crying made me feel worse. More vulnerable.
“You probably already have this in your notes, but I had trouble talking when I was first rescued. It wasn’t that my throat was dry, although I was very thirsty. What I mean is, that my throat felt bruised, as though there had been something around my neck. The bruises are still there. I’m sure I was strangled or choked. To be honest though, I have no recollection of this actually happening.”
Fernice nodded, her face serious. “The medical report from the hospital indicates that the bruising on your neck is consis
tent with strangulation,” she said. “Is your throat still sore, Morgan?”
“No. But it was hard to eat. For days. My partner is a good cook and he kept trying. Yesterday I forced myself to eat something. Today as well.”
“Was it easier this morning than yesterday?” said Ignace.
“It was.”
“It gets easier. Don’t push yourself too hard.”
Fernice consulted one of the sheets in front of her. “It shouldn’t be long before we have the forensics on the clothing you were wearing.”
“Lucas told me he gave you a DNA sample, so that you can rule him out.”
“He did. Is there anything else you remember since you gave your statement last Thursday?”
“Yes. Last night I remembered that my abductor was wearing boots with a lot of maroon and blue paint spray splatters.” I showed Fernice and Ignace with my hands, just how close my face I had been to those boots. They exchanged a glance.
“Anything else?”
“No.” I didn’t mention the glowing orbs of light but the thought of my conversation with Lucas last night made me smile.
“Is there something else?”
“No.” No way I was telling them about the lights.
“Okay. There is one more thing I want you to know.” Fernice paused before continuing. “The rape kit done at the hospital captured DNA evidence of two men. They haven’t been identified. Neither was a match for your partner.”
I saw Ignace worry his lower lip. Something about that was comforting. I nodded but didn’t say anything.
“Are you okay, Morgan?” she asked.
“As okay as I can manage right now.”
“Do you remember the rape?”
“No,” I said, holding on for dear life. “But the bruising, and soreness. I could barely walk. It was plain to me I was raped.”
“I’m bringing this up now because you may remember the attack when you’re alone. A memory like that can be devastating.”
Great. When I remember the rape, I’ll feel even worse.
“It would be good for you to talk with someone,” she said.
“I got it.” It was an automatic response. I just wanted her to shut up about it. There wasn’t anyone I wanted to talk to, not about this. She didn’t bat an eye.
“We’re treating this as an abduction, aggravated assault, forcible rape and attempted murder.”
I nodded.
“You were born and raised in Ontario, right?” The question came from Ignace.
“Yes, in Thunder Bay, at the top of Lake Superior.”
“Used to be Port Arthur and Fort William.”
“Not many people know that.”
“I’m a history buff,” he explained. Morgan, do you mind if I ask you about your ancestry?”
“No. My mother, Eva and her mother and father are Ojibwe. My grandparents belong to Greenwood Lake First Nation. Mom died of breast cancer about 10 years ago. My father, Daniel O’Meara, was born in Ireland. His family moved to Canada when he was still a boy. Mom and Dad met in Thunder Bay. Dad died of a heart attack a few years ago.” ‘Love at first sight,’ dad always said. ‘Listen to him! It was months before he won me over,’ mom would insist, laughing. I miss them. What I wouldn’t give to have a cup of tea with mom and dad in our old kitchen; visit Nokomis at Greenwood; go out for a beer with my cousin, Tanaka.
“Must be hard. Losing both parents,” said Fernice.
“It is.” I looked at Ignace. “When people ask, I tell them I’m Anishinaabe, but my dad was Irish.” I stopped there.
“I get it. I’m Cree but I know there’s some Scottish in there somewhere,” he said. “Are all your family in Ontario?”
“Pretty much. I’m close with my mom’s side and especially close to my Nokomis. My granny,” I added, for Fernice’s sake. “Most of them live in North Ontario. Dad only had one sister, my Aunt Ailis. I haven’t seen her since I was a child. She lives in Nova Scotia.”
“Your middle name,” said Fernice. “It’s an unusual spelling. Alice: named after your aunt?”
“That’s right. The Irish Gaelic spelling.”
“Are your family members aware of what happened to you?” Ignace asked.
“Yes, after my rescue was made public. Lucas has spoken with everyone and has been very reassuring, though initially, he was close to hysterical.” I didn’t smile and neither did they. I guessed hysterical was something they dealt with a lot.
“Your mother and father are both deceased, and you have relatives but are not in close contact with them,” said Ignace.
“That’s about right.”
“If you were missing, the only person or persons who would be immediately aware would be your partner and close friends here in town.”
“Until news of my rescue hit the papers, no one knew I was missing. Lucas phoned everyone last Friday to let them know I was home.”
“It isn’t our intention to be intrusive or disrespectful but as police officers, we’re aware that Indigenous women are more often targets of violence than other women. I want to be sure I have a clear picture of your circumstances and how close you are to your family. At this stage of the investigation, we don’t rule out anything.” Fernice picked up the timeline. She looked at Ignace.
“I just got this.” He nodded and she took a few minutes to read through it.
“You believe that the abduction of Carey Bolton from Terrace and your involvement with the family, showing a keen interest in her case, led to the attack on you.”
“I do.”
“There’s reference here to activities that aren’t in Corporal James’s interview report. Regarding the phone call to Rosaline Bolton, the caller told her that he’d seen Carey going into a house at 168 Franklin Street, in the East Village close to the South Port.”
“Rosaline called the VPD first,” I said.
“Detective Hermes visited the house. She told Carey’s mother that no one was there,” said Fernice.
“Then Rosaline called her niece, Amelia Boudreau, asking her to check again. Amelia called Kate and I and we went to the house with her.”
“Kate Brennan.”
“Yes. She’s one of the teaching assistants for a first-year Criminology class that Amelia is taking. Kate is also a PhD Crim candidate.”
“What’s her thesis,” asked Ignace.
“A comparison of the Canadian judicial response to violence against women generally, as compared to the response to violence against Indigenous women and other women of colour.”
“Right,” said Ignace, letting that register.
“Back to the visits to Franklin Street,” said Fernice. “When the three of you visited, there was a young woman at the house who found your visit upsetting?”
“It was hard to tell. She was stoned and we thought her fear might have been drug related. Amelia left a message with Detective Hermes that we found her there.”
She scribbled a quick note. “But to your knowledge, there was no one else at the house at the time of your visit, that would be the second visit?”
“We thought she was alone at the time. Otherwise, we would have heard voices if others were there and none of us did. We were on the front porch so I couldn’t say for certain.”
Ignace and Fernice shared a glance. Hermes had given a report of her visit to Franklin Street at a team meeting the following Monday morning—in passing, really, but no mention of the phone call from Amelia though. There was no active file on Carey Bolton or Morgan O’Meara—she hadn’t been abducted yet.
“Then you and your friend Kate returned that evening.”
“Early evening. The house was dark and quiet.”
“And you went back, alone, the next day, and left a note seeking information about Carey and including your name and number.”
“Yes. The house seemed to be empty.”
“And you were abducted three days later.” She glanced at Ignace; continue
d reading.
“Michael Bolton, Carey’s uncle, saw her getting into a car behind the Clarendon, nine days after she went missing in Terrace?”
“Yes.”
“Bolton reported the sighting to us. He was interviewed by Gilbrauson two days later.” Another shared glance with Ignace. She scribbled another quick note on the pad beside her and continued reading.
“Carey Bolton has a distinctive limp.”
“She does, owing to a birth defect.”
“Bolton said there were two other children in the car, and three men, including the one who got into the car after Carey.”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” Ignace and I watched as she referred to Sergeant James’s interview notes, found what she was looking for and compared it to Lucas’s timeline. She sat back.
“I’ll make a formal request that the investigation into Carey Bolton’s abduction and your abduction are officially linked and that the VPD and the RCMP share all the information they have.”
“That’s great.”
She continued. “Have you noticed any unusual activity near your home, strange phone calls—anything that doesn’t sit right with you?”
“No, nothing, and Lucas has been hyper vigilant since we got back from 100 Mile House. We’re always together.”
“Always?”
“Always.”
“If you don’t feel safe for any reason or if you have any concerns or if you remember anything at all, I want you to call me. When I say call me, I mean immediately. Don’t worry about the time of day, or night.” She gave me her card. “Call my cell. If you get my voice mail, leave a message and I’ll get back to you ASAP. If it’s an emergency, call 911.”
“Got it.”
“Last, but most important, don’t do anything on your own.”
“Like I said. That’s the plan.”
“Good. Thank you for coming in Morgan. Detective Ignace will get you an application for Victim Services on your way out.”
Fernice and Ignace watched Morgan and Lucas leave the station.
“I’ll follow up with 168 Franklin Street.”
“Yeah. See if you can get us contact info for the owner.”
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