Blue Star

by Valerie Van Clieaf

  “That’s a nice touch.”

  “Maybe I should spike my hair,” Lucas said thoughtfully. I’d followed him to the bathroom, where he was eyeing his thick, black hair in the mirror.

  I rolled my eyes behind his back as I reached for foundation to cover my bruises.

  “I saw that, Morgan. I’ll only use a little.”

  “Bart! You should have stopped them!” said Kate.

  “You’re kidding. Right? That would have been like standing in the path of a fast-moving six-wheeler and waving at it with a hanky.” Bart gently waved an imaginary hanky. “Detective Fernice told Morgan she went to the boat yard and nothing was amiss. It’s the only possible yard on the inlet, given everything Morgan remembers. You can’t blame her for wanting to check it out for herself.”

  “Of course not, but we should have gone with them.”

  “We know they’re going to be there.”

  “What if it’s scene of the crime!”

  “Kate, we don’t know yet if it’s the scene of the crime, not for sure anyway. It’ll be okay. They’re going to stay in regular communication with us. And they’re wearing disguises. And at the first sign of trouble, they promised me they’d get the hell out of there.”

  “Disguises. How do you disguise tall and gorgeous?”

  “Not as hard as you might think. He pulled up the selfie Morgan sent him. Morgan was wearing a blonde, shag wig and enormous shades. A very colourful butterfly tattoo was visible on her neck.

  “Oh, my god,” said Kate. “She has worked her magic once again.”

  “Today they’re in disguise as the odd couple—not a hint of urbane sophistication. Her breasts seem to have sprouted. I’m no expert but I’m reasonably sure her breasts aren’t quite as large as that.”

  “The hell you aren’t,” Kate grinned, trying to give him a playful poke in the arm which he deflected.

  “The makeup is great.”

  “She’s so good with makeup, isn’t she,” said Kate.

  “Lucas spiked his hair. I think that’s a nice touch.”

  “I like the clip-on sun visor. He looks a bit like a deranged golfer, with his hair sticking out in all directions above it. He’s wearing makeup too!”

  “I’ve never noticed how beautiful his eyelashes are,” said Bart.

  Kate knew Bart was putting a lot of this on for her benefit. She moved in for a hug. Fernice found nothing at the boatyard. Morgan wanted to have another look. But what if they didn’t find anything? Meanwhile, Carey, or someone close to her, had been badly hurt. Kate’s sense of this was strong and it lingered, adding to her growing sense of futility.

  “I think Carey’s being drugged. That could explain why my communication with her is so sporadic.”

  “Of course. She’s being drugged. I should have thought of that.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Melanie gave Carey a sleeping pill. She pretended to swallow it, then climbed into bed and closed her eyes. Melanie wanted to get back to whatever she was doing and left the room quickly. As soon as she was gone, Carey spit it out. She was still awake when several men came to the gatehouse a few hours later. Phineas was with them. She could hear Bobbie crying. He was downstairs tonight, in the front bedroom where Seth slept. There was talking, then she heard Bobbie crying again, then the front door open and close.

  “We didn’t charge enough,” said Phineas. “He’s going to make plenty off him. A shame we couldn’t sell Georgina.”

  “We should get rid of her. She’s too much trouble.”

  “And expensive,” said Phineas. “Can she still work?”

  “Oh yeah. It’s a walking cast.”

  “What about the concussion?”

  “Doc says that could be a problem for us.”

  Carey thought that the only reason they didn’t sell her was because Ange wouldn’t let them. She wanted to escape and get help, but it was hard to plan because sometimes, when she was supposed to be awake, she was asleep and sometimes, like now, she was the only one awake. Seth wouldn’t answer Carey’s questions when she asked him. Not about anything. She was sure he didn’t want her to escape, as though he needed her here. She knew that he got in trouble with Ford if he caught him talking to her. Bad trouble. Seth never did anything to stop Ford from beating him up, like Ford had all the power and he didn’t have any. It didn’t make sense to Carey. Seth was almost as big as Ford.

  Seth asked her about her leg again today. It really bothered him that her limp was getting worse. She told him not to feel sorry for her. When she was older, she’d be having one last operation, at least she hoped it would be the last one. This one would help her foot point straight ahead and that would take the pressure off her knee. It would be better if she could exercise, but they were never allowed to leave the house, even if they asked nicely.

  CHAPTER 21

  Alex got an early start for Prince George. He’d been on the road an hour when his cell rang. It was Jeri.

  “Are you in the office?”

  “No. On my way to P.G.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Not sure yet. I might have found a link to our tweeter. I’ll call you soon as I’m done there.”

  “Okay.”

  As the miles rolled by, a worrisome unease settled over Alex. He didn’t for a minute think that the visit from the RCMP officer to Tanya Boyce was routine. When, a few hours later, he finally pulled up and parked in front of her apartment complex, he checked the area carefully before exiting his car and moving to the main entrance.

  Tanya answered the buzzer quickly and let him in. She was on the ground floor at the back. He was hoping the fact that his Indigenous heritage was evident would have some play with her. It did. The look of relief when she opened the door and laid eyes on him was unmistakable.

  She showed him into her small but tidy living room, indicated he sit on a brown sofa and offered him a cup of tea and a sandwich. He accepted both and waited while she went off to the kitchen to prepare them.

  He thought through what his approach was going to be. He’d have to tread very carefully.

  “I hope you like salmon salad,” Tanya said shyly as she placed his sandwich and a cup of tea on the coffee table in front of him.

  “Oh, very much, Ms. Boyce; a personal favorite,” said Alex, thinking of the hundreds, maybe thousands of salmon he’d caught and eaten. He took a bite and pronounced the sandwich delicious, smiling at the middle-aged woman in front of him. Her long, dark hair, streaked with grey, was loose on her shoulders. Cheeks once round and full had sunk in a little. The eyes that looked at him now were intense.

  “You’ve lived here for a long time Tanya?” Although he already knew the answer, he wanted to put her at ease.

  “Fourteen years. It’s small, but it’s my home.”

  “It’s a nice place and has a real homey feel,” he said truthfully.

  “Thank you,” she said, lapsing into silence. Alex filled up the space with appreciative bites of the sandwich and sips of tea. This wasn’t going to be easy. She was quiet and presented as somewhat timid, was probably always this way with strangers, maybe everyone.

  “I’m glad the local detachment still has your son’s case in their active file.”

  She said nothing at first; just watched him eat.

  “It was strange, him visiting,” she finally said, very quietly. “It’s been quite a few years since they last came. And now you’re here,” she said, looking at Alex quizzically.

  He nodded, acknowledging that. “Can we talk a little about your son Seth?”

  “Of course. That’s why you’ve come.” She paused, then quietly said, “He’s been gone almost eight years.”

  “Yes, I saw that in the file. I know that it was a long time ago Tanya, but is there anything that you remember, anything at all, that might have indicated that Seth was having a problem. Maybe he was in trouble you weren’t aware of. Thinking back, was there any reason for him
to leave without telling you?”

  She looked down at her hands which had been clasped tightly in her lap. Finally, after a long silence, she raised her eyes and looked at Alex.

  “I didn’t notice any trouble, until it was too late.”

  “Was he having trouble at school Tanya?”

  “Yes, he was. But then he had the testing and they finally knew how to help him and that had just started. He was doing better. His grades were better.” She lapsed into silence again.

  “What was he tested for?”

  “They said he had dyslexia. It was hard for him to read and write.”

  “Can I ask you Tanya what you meant by too late? You said you didn’t notice any trouble, until it was too late. Are you talking about his dyslexia?”

  There was another long silence. Alex remained silent as well, sipping quietly on his tea, giving her all the time she needed.

  “There’s something I want to show you,” she said. She rose from her chair and left the room. He heard her go to another room, open the door, and enter it. After a short period of time she returned. She was holding a sheaf of papers. She walked over to the couch and silently handed them to Alex, then returned to her chair. He was holding the yellowed drawings of a young child.

  “Are these Seth’s drawings?” he asked.

  Tanya nodded.

  He started to look through them, laying each one in turn on the couch beside him. One drawing depicted trees, grass, a house, and a very yellow sun behind a dark grey cloud. Some of the drawings didn’t look finished, although he knew this to be normal with some children, bored with one idea, on to the next one.

  He moved the picture of a boy and an adult, which appeared to be finished to the pile on the couch beside him. Alex looked down at the next drawing in his lap and had to struggle for composure. He lifted it up carefully.

  A man stared at him. He was wearing a shirt which Seth had begun to colour—now a faded shade of blue. But what caught his attention and held it was a yellow stripe down the side of one pant leg. Desocarras looked at the yellow stripe on his own pant leg and knew that Seth had drawn an RCMP officer. He felt like he’d been sucker-punched. In a box drawn to the right of the officer was a child, a partial figure only, with large eyes, no nose or mouth. Beneath the box, Seth had printed: boy disapeering; disappearing spelled incorrectly.

  Alex looked over at Tanya. She had her head down, her hands clasped so tightly, the skin of her knuckles showed white. He continued to hold the drawing, waiting for her to look his way, but she was caught up in her own feelings.

  “Has anyone else seen these drawings, besides you and me?” he asked her gently. She glanced at the pile of drawings beside him, then with sadness at the one he was holding.

  “No.”

  “You didn’t show these drawings to the officer investigating your son’s disappearance.” It was a statement not a question.

  Tanya shook her head no. “I didn’t find them until I went through his things, quite a while after he was ... after he was gone,” she finished softly. “I was afraid to go to the police.”

  “I am so very sorry, Tanya,” Alex said. What else could he say? He examined the last few drawings.

  “With your permission, I’d like to borrow this one,” he said indicating the drawing of the police officer and the boy in the box. “I’ll return it when I’m through with it, but that might be awhile.”

  “I don’t want it back.”

  Alex nodded in understanding. “Was Seth involved in a youth group of any kind say, at a recreation centre, or a church group?”

  “He belonged to the boy’s club at my church. They met once a week. He loved that group,” she said, so softly he barely heard her.

  “And which church is that Tanya?”

  “Coming to Faith Christian Centre,” she answered, smiling for the first time. It’s downtown and easy to get to. We’re welcome there. I go every week. I belong to the women’s group.”

  “Tanya, do you remember the name of the officer who came to see you yesterday? I’d like to get in touch with him about my investigation.”

  “Inspector MacLeish, Ford MacLeish. He goes to my church. It’s him that runs the boys club.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Seabreeze Boatyard was tucked away on a small side street in North Vancouver, not far from the Lions Gate Bridge that connects downtown Vancouver with the cities of North Vancouver and West Vancouver. It was located about a block up the street from the parent company. We drove past and the front gate was unlocked. We parked our Mazda rental about two blocks away, then doubled back to the entrance and walked through.

  Our story was simple. Lucas, now Maurice DeGris, had an uncle who had died recently and left everything to him, including an old wooden sailboat. Uncle had been ill the last few years of his long life and he hadn’t kept up with the yearly maintenance. Maurice wanted to make the old boat seaworthy and was interested in getting an estimate. I was his wife, Tansy. The low murmur of a radio got louder as we walked toward the shop. There was no door on the gate side, so we started around the left side of the building. A high, wide door stood part way open.

  “Hello. Anybody here?” I sang out in my best falsetto as we entered the large shop.

  “Lucky for us, Tansy, someone is here!” said Maurice, all ebullience as he caught my eye and nodded in the direction of a younger man, hard at work, scraping the hull of a boat.

  “Hi, I’m Mitch. How can I help you?” His glance took us both in. I caught amusement in his eyes, so much better than suspicion.

  Maurice jumped right in, introducing us, and launching into the story of his uncle and the old boat. I’d never heard Lucas plumb the depths so convincingly. Even I was carried away by his desire to restore the old treasure. I simply kept nodding and gazing raptly at my guy. Mitch, clearly one who loved what he did, stuck out his hand at the end of Lucas’s grand soliloquy.

  “Your old boat sounds a dream,” said Mitch. “Why don’t you bring her round so I can have a look?”

  “That would be wonderful,” said Maurice.

  “I have to warn you though, sometimes the older ones, if they’re left a little too long, they’re beyond restoring and that can be quite a disappointment. But you say it’s only a couple of years since she was maintained properly?”

  “Yes, yes, that’s right! Just a few years,” said Maurice, jubilant. “When would you have time?”

  “Next Monday would be good. Mind you, I’ll have to charge you for the appraisal, and it can take a few hours. I have to get inside the hull for some of the tests I do. Then, if it’s a go, we’ll talk price and an estimate of how long it should take. How does that sound?”

  “Wonderful,” gushed Maurice while I smiled demurely.

  “This is such an interesting place Mitch,” Maurice continued. “All of these beautiful tools. How long have you been doing restoration work?”

  “About 10 years now. Would you like to have a look around?” He was obviously pleased with the interest and I got the impression he was here on his own a lot.

  “We’d love to, wouldn’t we darling?”

  “Oh yes,” I agreed. Needing no further encouragement, Mitch lead us off to the left of where he was working, electing to begin the tour there. We spent the next half hour getting a first-hand account of how old hulls are prepped and repaired and then made seaworthy and barnacle resistant with the newest finishes. This yard also arranged for the restoration of cabins and decks as well. Lucas nodded and sashayed his way through the entire tour while I scanned every available nook and cranny for clues.

  “Do you live here, Mitch?”

  “Oh no,” he said. “I’ve got an apartment up the hill on Eighth Avenue.”

  “You must have a nice view of the inlet then,” said Maurice.

  “Yes, I do have quite a view. And I have a boat moored nearby, at the marina under the bridge.”

  “Long hours?” I asked.

&
nbsp; “Oh, no. I’m always gone by six.”

  “It must be lovely for you,” I said. “The inlet is so beautiful in the evening.”

  “It is, yes, but it can get a little loud when the wheat pool is operating.”

  “Right. It’s on this side of the inlet, isn’t it?”

  “About half a kilometer away,” Mitch said. “Not nearly far enough! I have to wear earplugs sometimes, or I can’t hear myself think.” I smiled at Mitch, then looked at Maurice.

  “Well, we should let Mitch get back to work.”

  “Thanks for the tour Mitch and we’ll see you Monday. I’ll call to confirm, of course.”

  Mitch smiled broadly at Maurice, who he was clearly quite taken with. “See you Monday then,” he said.

  I waited until we were across the yard and through the gate before broaching that I wanted to return that evening. Lucas beat me to it.

  “Did you hear that Morgan, about the docks being noisy!”

  “I sure did. I want to have a look inside that office space.”

  “The room with the closed venetian blinds.”

  “Yes. That old wooden door doesn’t look very strong. Quite a big space back there I think.”

  “We could use wire cutters to get through the fencing around back. But how are we going to get into the building? It’ll be locked.”

  “There’s a fairly low window on the same wall as the main door, single sash design, sliding tongue to lock it, no screen.”

  “We’d have to break the glass to get in. What about an alarm?”

  “I didn’t see any sign of one, which is surprising, but there you go—all good for us.”

  “You’re sure? It’d be a disaster if we tripped an alarm and the police found us breaking and entering,” Lucas said, matter-of-fact.

  “Point taken. There were two conspicuous signs warning of a Catchem alarm system.”

  “I know that system. We had it at the outreach office downtown. Setting and disarming it is done close to the main door.”