The survivor

Thirty-Five

They had to drive by the school, which was a bad idea as far as Striker was concerned. Too many memories were still raw, and there were too many questions to answer. As if to shove this fact in his face, a horde of camera crews sat outside the front of the school, like spiders lurking in their webs. They were filming the mass of flowers and cards and baskets spread out all over the front lawn, where a makeshift memorial had been set up to honour the dead. Streams of people were out front, most of them still looking around in numb disbelief.

Striker eyed them all with a dark foreboding. ‘You recognise any?’ he asked.

Felicia shook her head. ‘Nope.’

‘Good.’ He drove on by the crowds towards the Chow house. ‘How many of the parents we meeting?’

‘Two.’

‘Just two? Where are the rest?’

Felicia pulled out her notebook to get the names right. ‘Conrad MacMillan, the Grade Eight kid that was killed, his parents are Archibald and Margaret. Archie’s on his way back from Scotland as we speak. He was over there dealing with an ailing father when all this happened.’

‘Christ.’

‘Yeah, welcome home. So just Margaret’s coming down.’ She read on. ‘William and Stefana are Chantelle O’Riley’s parents. They were all prepared to meet with us till Stefana had a meltdown. William was already on his way over, but he turned around to deal with her. Called back and said it was too soon, said they needed some time. A day or two, at least.’

‘And what about Tina Chow’s parents?’ Striker said the words with unease. Courtney had known Tina and Conrad.

And so had he.

Felicia cleared her throat. ‘Parents are Stanley and Doris Chow. Stanley’s taken their youngest child away from all this, so we’re just meeting with Doris.’

‘Three dead kids, two parents. Christ.’

‘There were other kids shot too, Jacob. Twenty-two dead, and the injured count is still unreported. We can talk to their parents too, if need be.’

He shook his head. ‘Not at this point. The others were random. We’ll see what we can find here first.’

They drove quickly past the school, turned right at the next corner and cruised along Hemlock Glen. They soon spotted a white two-storey with a white picket fence to match. Out front were two black Mercedes. It was the Chow house. Two women stood beside the backyard gate. One was Asian, the other white. Both were standing there as still as lawn furniture. Not talking. Not really doing anything. Just staring off into space.

The Asian lady blinked out of her stupor and held up a hand.

‘That’s them,’ Felicia said.

Striker pulled over. The half-frozen gravel crunched beneath the car’s tires. He stopped, turned off the ignition, then looked at Felicia.

‘You go with Margaret MacMillan, I’ll take Doris Chow. We’ll compare notes later.’

She nodded her agreement. ‘Focus on the Debate Club.’

‘Debate Club?’

‘I know it sounds odd, but after talking to Caroline and some of the teachers, it’s the only link I can come up with. Chantelle O’Riley and Tina Chow were in Grade Ten, but by all accounts they never spoke to one another outside of class, and they hung out in completely different social circles. As for Conrad MacMillan, he was in Grade Eight and didn’t talk to any of them — except for in the Debate Club. Conrad and Chantelle and Tina all belonged to it: so far, it’s the only connection we have between the three.’

Striker thought this over as he undid his seatbelt. ‘You ready?’ he asked.

‘No, but when has that ever mattered?’ She opened up the door and got out.

Striker followed, feeling sick to his stomach. He had no idea what to say to the women.

While Felicia and Margaret MacMillan walked down the bark mulch path to the east side of the house, Striker steered Doris Chow southward into the garden. He had never met Tina’s mother before but could immediately see the resemblance.

Doris was small, five foot at best. Thin, too. But not a lightweight. She looked strong and wiry, in good shape for a forty-ish woman. Her hair was naturally black, though it had a burgundy tint. It was swept back into a ponytail, held in place by a lime green scrunchie that stuck out against her hair and purple jogging suit. She wore no make-up, so the lines under her eyes and around her mouth gave away her true age, but she got away with it because she was naturally good-looking.

They walked on, talked.

Striker took his time with her. They discussed the little things first. The unimportant matters: how long she had been married, when she’d immigrated to Canada, how big her family was, and so on. Through it all, Striker kept reflecting on what losing Courtney would have done to him, had she been one of the fallen.

It was a thought that left him feeling sick.

They reached the end of the garden where a row of bare thornbushes surrounded a lone cherry blossom tree. The tree was large, easily thirty feet tall. Oddly, it was still in bloom, with many of the blossoms having fallen to the ground, mottling the half-frozen grass and bark mulch in pink tones.

Doris stooped to pick one up. She rubbed the petals between her fingers and murmured, ‘This was her favourite, the cherry blossom.’

‘I can see why.’

As she stood there, looking at the beautiful pink flower in her hand, all of a sudden Striker saw the other side of her. There was frailness there. Like a piece of rubber band that was stretched too far and trembling from the pressure. It pained him to push her any further. But it was necessary.

He turned to face her. ‘Mrs Chow, have you thought about why? Why Tina?’

She looked up. ‘There is no reason. Just evil kids with guns. They were shooting everyone.’

Striker met her stare, shook his head. ‘There’s more to it, I’m afraid. I think Tina was targeted.’

Doris’s face paled. ‘Targeted?’

‘Yes. Would you have any idea why?’

‘But there were so many kids…’

‘A lot of kids were shot, Mrs Chow, yes, I know. But from the evidence I’ve seen, three of those kids were targeted specifically. Tina was one of them. So was Conrad MacMillan. And Chantelle O’Riley.’

Doris’s face twitched, but she managed to answer and maintain her composure.

‘But my daughter didn’t socialise with those kids. I’d never even met Margaret before this morning.’

‘I know that, and that’s why this investigation is so hard. There’s a common connection here somewhere, and we have to find it.’

Doris looked away towards the mountains. The soft fall wind blew her hair back, but the scrunchie kept all but a few hairs tucked in place. She stood there for a long moment, and Striker allowed her the silence. When she spoke again, she seemed flustered.

‘I’m sorry, my mind is racing. I can’t seem to take it all in.’

Striker helped her out. ‘I’ve heard Tina was part of a Debate Club?’

This seemed to give Doris a jolt. ‘The Debate Club. Oh, yes. She loved it so much! She excelled at using her mind, and she made friends through it. Had some wonderful experiences. They took a trip, you know, last September. All the kids went. Twelve of them, I think.’

‘Where did they go?’

‘Hong Kong. Tina was so excited, she talked about it for weeks.’ The memory brought a weak grin to the woman’s lips, and she laughed sadly. ‘If there was one thing my daughter was good at, it was talking.’

‘What did they debate, here and in Hong Kong?’

She shrugged. ‘Normally, they would debate anything that was pertinent. And hot — they liked hot topics. Abortion. The death penalty. Assisted suicide. When they went to Hong Kong, the topic was freedom and world religions. National sovereignty. The debate was on China’s rule over Tibet. It caused quite a stir — they had to cut the tournament short.’

‘Why?’

‘They didn’t say.’

Striker thought this over. ‘Did Tina speak on the subject?’

‘They all did, as far as I know.’

‘But you weren’t there?’

She shook her head. ‘No, only Principal Myers went.’

Striker wrote this down in his notebook.

‘Do you have any children, Detective Striker?’ Tina Chow suddenly asked.

Striker thought of how Courtney had known Tina, a small fact Doris was obviously unaware of. ‘A daughter, yes. She goes to Saint Patrick’s.’

This seemed to shock the woman. ‘She is… okay?’

‘She was skipping class yesterday.’

Doris smiled, as if this was funny. She let out a soft laugh, then suppressed another cry. The pink petal fell from her hand and blew away in the gentle breeze. Blew away as easily as Tina Chow’s life had blown away just twenty-four hours ago.

Striker saw her face quiver, saw how she was slowly losing the battle with her composure.

‘I’m sorry,’ he offered quietly.

Doris nodded and the tears finally came, running freely down her thin, pale cheeks. When she spoke, her voice was barely audible.

‘Enjoy every day with her, Detective,’ she said. ‘Every minute, every second. And appreciate her. Appreciate all the small things.. you never know when they’ll be taken away.’