his focus and lack of energy. “Where are you today?” Nigel had said.
With the opening night of the show less than a week away, could it be that mentally he was somewhere else, Jenna wondered? Reliving the last moments of his girlfriend’s life?
Lea Kovacev’s name intruded into her hearing, and she glanced up to see the six o’clock news just beginning. The camera panned over a scene of rolling parkland, police cars and yellow tape before zeroing in on a group of officers in dark grey coveralls with POLICE in large white letters across their backs. They were poking at the underbrush with long poles. Jenna froze, dread crawling down her spine.
“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.”