Never Hug a Mugger on Quadra Island by Sandy Frances Duncan, George Szanto Page B

foundation like in the States?”
    â€œSort of. He’s carded so he gets some federal funding but it’s darn small. He’s got a sponsor.” Setting the table, Linda asked Tim, “Did you speak to Austin at the rink?”
    â€œNot much. He and Shane pretty much stopped talking when Dad and I came in. Like they’d been arguing. You want a beer, Mum?”
    â€œThat would be nice.” She smiled at Tim. “In a glass, please.”
    â€œComing up.”
    Alana thought of Derek, the lump under the covers at the hospital. And Shane, upstairs.
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    Immediately beside the arena, Campbell River’s RCMP headquarters. Five cop cars sat in front. A large flag rippled in the wind, its red maple leaf proclaiming, You Have Reached An Official Place. They walked in the front door. At a desk Noel asked for Bryan. Kyra asked for the bathroom and disappeared. By the time Dorothy Bryan, taller than Noel by at least half a foot, walked toward them, Kyra had returned. She reached out her hand. “Jason. How’s it going?”
    â€œWhat we want to ask you. Dorothy, this is Noel Franklin and Kyra Rachel.”
    â€œKyra. Noel.” All shook hands.
    About thirty, thirty-two, thought Kyra. Broad in the shoulders, good rounded face. Attractive enough except for that crew cut. “Thanks for seeing us.”
    â€œCome on back to my office, a little privacy.” They followed her through a doorway into a common area, desks, a two-way radio, several computers, file cabinets, to a door which she opened and gestured for them to enter. They did. She grabbed a couple of folding chairs, followed and closed the door behind them.
    They all sat, Bryan at her desk. The surface, Kyra noted, held mainly a thin computer screen and a keyboard. The screen sat on two Victoria phone books which raised the screen by four inches. Head level for a tall woman?
    Jason said, “Dorothy, these are the detectives I told you about.”
    â€œJason says he’s hired you. Great, we’re glad to take help.”
    Kyra said, “What can you tell us about Derek’s case?”
    She pulled a file from a desk drawer and opened it. “We got a 911 call at 11:19 PM , somebody was lying on the ground out at the end of Evergreen Road. That’s—”
    â€œWe’ve just come from there,” said Kyra, thinking, that file is pitifully thin.
    â€œGood. So you can picture it.”
    â€œThe call was from Marcie something?”
    She glanced at the file. “Yes. Marcie Williamson.” To Kyra, “You’ve been busy.”
    â€œWe just spoke with her mother. Sarah McDougal.”
    â€œRight. The lady with the dog. She said she’d stay till we showed up. We got there—that’s my partner Harry Latiche and me—a couple of minutes after the first responders. It was a code three for us, which means they can’t touch the victim till there’s an officer on site. So we checked out the wounded kid. Unconscious. The first responders stopped most of the external bleeding, covered him with a blanket. Couple of minutes later the ambulance arrived, it’s a code five for them. They got there quick, considering it’s got to be a local driver that takes the ambulance out—first responders can’t do that. The medic examined Derek and figured it was bad enough to get him to Victoria ASAP, so they brought him to the helipad and whirred him off. Unconscious all the time down there. They patched him up as best they could. Nothing more to do so he’s back here.”
    Noel said, “You spoke with Sarah McDougal, did you?”
    â€œOf course. She told us about some cars that stopped where Derek was beaten. She waited till they left before going for her walk.”
    â€œTwo cars,” said Kyra. “And a truck.”
    â€œThat’s right. The truck belonged to the victim—” Bryan glanced at