“Because he screwed up with three major gangs tonight. Between Sy, Mongo, and Munch, surely someone will find him.”

“Make that four gangs,” said Sammy. “You forgot about us. We’re the biggest gang.”

Connie nodded and said, “Cocktail better hope we find him first.”

“For sure,” replied Jack.

As soon as Connie was gone, Jack started flipping through the pages of her file.

“What are you looking for?” asked Laura.

“Clue to a murderer,” replied Jack.

“Think Cocktail’s real name is in there?”

“I can find out who Cocktail is. That’s not who I’m looking for.”

“You’re not looking for Cocktail?” asked Laura in surprise.

“Not at the moment. When we were ambushed tonight, Cocktail made a comment about us not being on his honour roll.”

“He’s a teacher!”

“With what happened to Amanda, I’m guessing he knows her. In the morning I’ll go to the school when classes have started and look through their yearbooks. Bet I find his picture.”

“Why didn’t you tell Connie? You’ve even got her looking for fingerprints. He likely won’t have a record if he’s a teacher.”

Jack looked toward the ceiling as he took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. He turned to Laura and said, “I want to talk with Amanda Flowers first. She was adamant about not testifying again.”

“We are talking about nailing Cocktail for the murder. That part doesn’t need to involve Amanda.”

“I don’t think Cocktail is our murderer.”

“You what? Not the murderer! He tried to kill you tonight!”

“I mean as far as the priest goes. Tonight, when Mongo got stabbed with the pitchfork, blood sprayed out. A little got on Cocktail and he freaked out. Started cleaning himself immediately. Gave Rashard hell and was worried about getting AIDS.”

Laura thought for a moment and said, “Whoever killed the priest wasn’t afraid of blood. They would have drenched themselves in it.”

“Exactly. I don’t think Cocktail did it. I think he only dragged the body inside to hide it from view while they cleaned out the lab.”

“If it wasn’t the lab rats, then who did it?” asked Laura. “It wasn’t a robbery. He still had on his gold crucifix.”

“Gabriel called me tonight before I met with Sy. You remember she said that Noah’s grades have fallen in the last couple of years … fighting in school?”

Laura nodded.

“Gabriel called to say he lit a neighbour’s fence on fire for no apparent reason. Said he has been throwing temper tantrums one minute and crying over nothing the next.”

“What are you getting at?”

Jack pointed to the file and said, “Read the background that Connie dug up on Father Brown. He was at Kuper Island from 1971 to 1974. You familiar with the history of that place?”

Laura’s face turned grim and she nodded. “Indian residential school where the children were taken from their families in a government project to try and force them into assimilation.”

“You know what happened to those children?”

“Lots of sexual abuse by the priests.… Oh, man. You’re thinking Noah was sexually abused by Father Brown?”

“It’s possible. His behaviour falls in line with post-traumatic stress disorder. Classic symptoms.”

“But he wouldn’t have killed Father Brown. The amount of force … the blood … it would have been discovered in the house.”

“Noah isn’t responsible, but the rage exhibited in the murder makes me think it was someone who knew him. Many people who attended the residential schools never recovered. Drug addiction, suicide … and alcoholism,” said Jack, carefully enunciating the last word.

“One of the winos,” said Laura.

Jack nodded and said, “Connie’s list of winos is in here someplace. I read it before. Some she found by hanging out at the liquor store and talking to people. Others she got from fingerprints off of empty bottles in the area.”

“Connie’s pretty astute at interviewing,” said Laura. “If she talked to the culprit I bet she would have her suspicions. She would have said something.”

“She didn’t find them all. Some were never — here it is,” said Jack, pointing to a list of names, most of which had been stroked off. Two names remained.

“One looks Ukrainian and one aboriginal,” noted Laura.

“She has an alphabetical index with notes on every name. Let’s see what she has done to find them,” said Jack, turning to the index. “Forget the Ukrainian. What does Connie say about the aboriginal … criminal record three pages long … mostly theft … drunk driving … a few assaults … most of these started years ago and are out of Prince George. Last few are local. Connie has contacted social service agencies … shelters … Prince George … this guy’s locale doesn’t fit.”

“So much for that theory,” said Laura.

Jack turned back to the list of names. He flipped the page over and saw one more name at the top of the next page. It was not stroked off. “Take a look,” said Jack, jabbing at the name with his finger. “John-Wayne Charlie.” Jack looked at Laura. He felt no elation at his discovery. If he had been asked to solve the murder of a pedophile he would have declined.

“Charlie is common to the Chemainus, Cowichan, Duncan area north of Victoria,” said Laura. “Next door to Kuper Island.”

“I know.”

Jack checked the index and found that John-Wayne Charlie’s criminal record consisted entirely of offences related to public intoxication. Many of the offences were committed in Duncan.

Jack read Connie’s notes to see what action she had taken to locate John-Wayne. “Connie called Duncan Detachment and a note says someone went to his brother’s place … a guy by the name of Gunnar Charlie. Gunnar said he hadn’t seen his brother in five years.”

“Any other clues as to where he hangs out?” asked Laura.

Jack checked the criminal record again and said, “The funny thing is, John-Wayne’s last conviction for public intoxication in Duncan was only two years ago.”

“His brother gave a flippant response to cover for him.”

“Exactly,” said Jack, grimly. “First thing in the morning I’ll call Gunnar. Let’s see if John-Wayne Charlie has returned home.”

Jack started flipping through the file again and said, “Connie has a photo of Father Brown before he was murdered. I’m going to take it.”

“What will you say to Gunnar when you phone him?”

“I’ll tell him I’m with the Department of Indian and Northern Affairs and say that there is money owed to his brother.”

“That might work.”

Jack had a deeper feeling of depression. One more lie a white man tells an Indian …

Chapter Forty-Three

Jack and Laura waited at Queen Elizabeth Secondary School until the bell announced the start of the first class. Minutes later, they introduced themselves to the secretary who rounded up several copies of school yearbooks from recent years.

It only took Jack a couple of minutes to find a picture of Cocktail taken when he was addressing an assembly. Cocktail was clean shaven in the picture, but Jack had no doubt it was the right man. He nudged Laura and gave her the thumbs-up sign.

“Betty, excuse me,” said Jack, with a smile at the secretary. “Could you tell me who this person is?”

Betty used her feet to propel the castors on her chair over to Jack and Laura. “That is Lyle Ryker,” she said. “He’s no longer with us.”

“His name is familiar,” replied Jack, flipping through his notebook. “I believe your principal, Morris Bloomquist, mentioned him before. Someone popular with the students I understand. Taught math.”

“Yes, he did. He’s the nicest man,” continued Betty. “He organized a humanitarian drive with the students for that big tsunami in Thailand. I was sorry to see him leave after last semester.”

“Where did he go?” asked Jack, not looking up from his notebook as he found the notes he had made earlier.