Way the Crow Flies (77 page)

The registrar says, “Would the accused stand, please?” Rick stands again. The registrar continues, “Gentlemen of the jury, look upon the prisoner and hearken to his charge.”

Jack keeps his eyes on the registrar. Across the aisle, Sharon McCarroll folds her hands and looks down. As though she were in church. She is wearing a pale yellow twin-set that she got in Denver when Claire was alive. Everything about their lives up until two months ago can be summed up like that: “when Claire was alive.” They have yet to say, “when Claire died.” Because she did not die, she was killed, but who can imagine saying, “when Claire was killed”? People are killed in car accidents and floods. Claire was murdered. And there will never come a time when her parents can say, “when Claire was murdered.” What they will say instead is, “when we lost Claire.”

“… Upon this indictment he hath been arraigned, upon his arraignment he hath pleaded not guilty and for his trial has put himself upon his country, which country you are.”

Sharon tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. She will testify today, then she will return to Virginia. Today is like the last day of school before the summer holidays. First there will be a quiz. She will describe precisely what she put in her daughter’s lunchbox and she will describe the clothes her child was wearing. She will tell the story of Claire’s last day: “Claire came in and asked me to pack a snack and I said, don’t you want to help me make an apple pie for the Brownies? She asked if she could go for a bike-hike instead and I said, sure, but don’t forget you have to change into your Brownie uniform before supper, and she said, ‘I won’t forget, Momma.’” Thinking of this brings a smile to Sharon’s face. Claire is still here, in this courtroom. Along with her clothes and her Frankie and Annette lunchbox, exhibit number 23. And her charm bracelet. Blair puts an arm around his wife and bends to look into her face.

“Now, gentlemen of the petit jury,” says the judge, “you have been sworn in this case and are therefore now seized with it. This young lad that we are about to try is charged with murder, which is the most serious offence known to our law….”

A pathologist from Stratford is here. He will testify as to the medical evidence indicating that she died in the spot where she was found, and he will testify as to time of death. He sent the jar of stomach contents to the office of the Ontario Attorney General, where members of the biological analysis staff re-created Claire’s snack, including the cupcake, which they baked according to a recipe provided by Mrs. McCarroll. They ate it, along with a piece of Babybel cheese, and apple slices, then vomited in order to compare it to the victim’s stomach contents.

“… and if you have heard any gossip about this case, as I am sure you have,” says the judge, “I don’t suppose it is possible to have lived in Huron County in the last two or three months without hearing something about it….”

A few rows in front of Jack, Henry Froelich’s head is bowed—he is wiping his brow. Jack sees the back of Karen Froelich’s head. Straight fly-away hair. Mousy, even. Then she turns, he glimpses her profile and something jumps just below his sternum. Some women have mouths that are actually better defined without lipstick. The
faint line bracketing the corner of her mouth—lips parted, close to her husband’s ear, whispering comfort.

“Please dismiss it from your minds now …,” says the judge.

Jack was at the preliminary hearing. It lasted a day. And given the little the prosecution could come up with, it’s a wonder the case proceeded to trial. Rick found the body. Rick was the last to see her alive. Rick fled from an intimidating cop. Time of death. End of story. Proving nothing. “… I would ask that you avoid reading any newspaper reports about this case and that you likewise avoid any radio reports or television….”

This is a farce. Two families are being put through hell because of a botched police investigation. The local civilian population may be sleeping easier in their belief that the murderer has been found, but most parents in the PMQs are still on alert. “… at the hotel in Goderich, where, if you are not comfortable, gentlemen, do not hesitate to make demands upon the county….” The McCarrolls are among the few who now believe Rick may be guilty. And who can blame them for desiring a swift end to this aspect of their grief? “… if those chairs become hard, gentlemen, I have already requested that rubber cushions be brought in for your comfort, since it is important that you be able to give your full attention to….”

Jack has put in for an early posting. He has gone over the head of the personnel officer at Centralia, straight to a superior officer he knew at 4 Wing in Germany. A couple of years ago Jack went out of his way to organize a last-minute flip to Canada on a service flight for this man’s family, earning an “any time I can do anything for you, Jack….” The group captain is now an air commodore at HQ in Ottawa—“What can I do for you, Jack?”

Jack will move his family the moment his posting comes through. In fact, he will take his leave the moment the trial is over, pack his family into the Rambler and point it east for New Brunswick—now that school is out, it will be difficult to keep Madeleine within the PMQs and out of the woods.

“May it please your Lordship”—the Crown attorney rises, his robes likewise black but heavier, woollen—“and ladies and gentlemen of the—pardon me, gentlemen of the jury….”

Jack looks out the window at the tranquil square, picture perfect. Perhaps he should retire from the air force, hit civvy street. Go back overseas. As a consultant … for a big company … pharmaceuticals, widgets, it hardly matters. They’ll buy a house of their own, they’ll travel. Like old times. “… the time of death, to the time of finishing the last meal. Other times are also of importance—” Jack removes his jacket and straightens his back, wet now against the bench. The Crown attorney is outlining his case, such as it is. “… when she walked out of the house. That was the last time her mother ever saw her alive. But you will hear of her being in the playground of the school after that, where a Brownie pack—they are little girls commencing to be Girl Guides—was to gather. You will hear from two children who may be very important witnesses in your estimation, Marjorie Nolan and Grace Novotny….” The one name is familiar. Friends of Madeleine? What have they got to say? They were not at the preliminary hearing, no children were. “… they are girls from the same grade as Claire McCarroll and they were playing together that afternoon, and you will hear better from their own lips….”

The precise time Claire left the playground, the precise time she met up with Ricky and Elizabeth. Half the children in the PMQs will be called to establish for the prosecution that which is not even in dispute: Claire shared her snack with Madeleine and Colleen at such-and-such a time. She left the playground at such-and-such a time. She met up with Rick and left the PMQs, etc…. Why must the children be subjected to this?

The Crown attorney drones on, “… the place was a section of Huron County known to the children from the PMQs as Rock Bass. This is an invented name, you will not find it on any map, gentlemen. It is accessed by a dirt road called Third Line division road but you may expect to hear witnesses refer to it as ‘the dirt road,’ and it runs east-west between Number 4 Highway—that is the King’s Highway, not to be confused with County Road Number 4, with which it intersects farther north—as I said, between the King’s Highway and the Ausable River, this ‘dirt road’ is intersected—and this intersection may become important—by a section of road which is the southerly continuation of County Road Number 21, and which may be referred to in the course of this trial as ‘the county road’….”
Is the Crown doing it on purpose? Is this strategy? Jack looks at the jury: twelve drowsy men. What follows is a baroque account of how long it takes to jog while pushing a wheelchair from the PMQs to Rock Bass, linger long enough to violate and murder a child, then jog back again in order to return to the PMQs by a certain time. The judge grimaces and shifts in his seat.

It is not physically possible for Rick to have committed the crime at Rock Bass, then returned to the PMQs via the route he claims to have taken, in time to arrive home when his mother and several witnesses will say he did—including his basketball coach, who received a phone call from him from a phone number that Bell telephone records will confirm is the Froelichs’. The time when Rick left for his run and the time when he returned are not in dispute. All that is in dispute is where he went and what he did in between. “… you will hear that the accused claims to have exchanged a greeting in the form of a wave with a passing motorist, an air force man, on the King’s Highway Number 4, and you will hear a police inspector tell you that, despite a thorough investigation….” Jack blinks twice rapidly, his eyes stung by salt sweat.

M
IMI HAS TOLD MADELEINE
that she would rather she didn’t play with Colleen Froelich “for the time being,” or spend so much time over at the Froelich house. She has been careful to explain to Madeleine that it’s not because there is anything “bad” about Colleen or the Froelich family, it’s just that the Froelichs have a lot on their minds these days. Madeleine was guiltily relieved. The Froelichs’ house has become dark in her mind. So has Colleen—she is halfway to Claire.

Summer holidays.
No more homework, no more books! No more teachers’ dirty looks!
Glorious June. Madeleine spent the morning with Auriel and Lisa, running through the sprinkler in their bathing suits, until the pool opened over on the base. Then they put on their
bright new thongs, still springy at the heels, grabbed their beach towels, sunglasses and Auriel’s transistor radio, and headed over for three hours of splashing, cannonballing, choking, and stinging water up the nose. “No running on the deck!” They sunbathed on the Riviera with Troy Donahue and shrieked with laughter when Roy Noonan’s swim trunks ballooned in the water. When they returned to the PMQs, hungry for lunch and replete with sun, there was a moving van in Lisa’s driveway.

Now the three of them sit in Auriel’s pup tent, peeling her sunburn. They are so much older and wiser than when they last gathered in this enchanted orange twilight and watched the dust motes float across the triangular mesh window. Auriel’s mother has allowed them to bring their pyramid of peanut-butter-and-jam sandwiches into the tent in honour of Lisa’s farewell. The girls knew the moving van was coming today but it is still a shock to see it: the yellow ship rocking across the painted waves. The Ridelles are moving to B.C.

“Wow,” says Madeleine, peeling a perfect strip of translucent parchment from Auriel’s shoulder. “It’s got like fingerprints on it, and little holes like for your hair and everything.” They examine the gossamer moult, reducing it to powder between their fingers.

The three have exchanged comics and promises of undying friendship. They have agreed to write, and not to start shaving their legs or having a boyfriend without first informing one another.

“I know,” says Madeleine, “let’s meet in the schoolyard in the year 2000.” Auriel’s eyes widen, extra blue against her freckles, which are browner against her sunburn. Lisa opens her mouth in silent wonder, her hair almost white with summer.

Auriel stretches out her hand, palm down. Lisa places hers on top of it, and Madeleine places hers on Lisa’s.
All for one
.

It is on the tip of Madeleine’s tongue to suggest that they become blood sisters, but she hesitates. There is a whiff of disloyalty in the notion of being blood sisters with anyone but Colleen. There is also a corollary effect: the taint of knowledge—of some shame—that Madeleine associates with Colleen, even though she never told her about the exercises. Inside this pup tent, Madeleine is a normal, carefree girl. There is no need for blood.

They have brought out their autograph books. Madeleine opens hers and flips forward, looking for the first blank page after Germany—the printing from grade three looks glaringly childish. The name
Laurie Ferry
rises from the page but it’s a moment before a face takes shape to go with it …
your best friend
.

Lisa writes in Madeleine’s book,
Yours till the U.S. drinks Canada Dry, love your best friend (not counting Auriel) Lisa Ridelle
.

Yours until Niagara Falls
, writes Madeleine.

And Auriel writes,
If you get married and have two twins, don’t come to me for safety pins! Love Auriel Boucher
.

The smell of chlorine and canvas will forever be the smell of best friends and sweet summer.

Auriel and Lisa hug each other. Madeleine looks away, worried lest things start to get mushy—
parting is such sweet sorrow, doc
. She stares at the crumbs on the floor of the tent, feels the flattened grass beneath it—
this is the last time I will ever sit in this tent
. The Bouchers are moving too. Mr. Boucher will roll up this tent tomorrow and pack it into their VW van.

Lisa blurts out that she is in love with someone and now she will never see him again. “Who?” both Madeleine and Auriel press her.

Lisa shakes her head, then finally cries out, “Mike McCarthy!”

“You love my brother?”

Lisa buries her face in her hands and nods.

Then Auriel declares her love for Roy Noonan, “even though he’s such a square!” Madeleine gapes in amazement and switches on the transistor. Like a sign that they really will remain friends forever, their theme song comes on, “It’s My Party.” They stare at one another, open-mouthed with delight and disbelief, and sing their hearts out along with Leslie Gore, crying if they want to.

Tears sting Madeleine’s eyes, still stripped by chlorine, and she sings louder.

That afternoon, the moving van heaves away round the corner like a huge beast and disappears, and the Ridelles’ house sits empty and blank.

“W
ERE YOU ACQUAINTED
with Claire McCarroll?”