“Toni—”
Before he could say anything else, before I started to cry, I turned and pulled on Captain’s leash. “Let’s go.”
It wasn’t until later that I realized Ryan never said the real murderers should be caught—he asked if I wanted them to pay for it.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CAMPBELL RIVER
AUGUST 1996
After Ryan and I showed up at the police station, blood on the truck, an officer put us in a room. Frank McKinney and Constable Doug Hicks came in. I’d cried when I saw McKinney, choking out between sobs that “something horrible happened to Nicole.” His face was stunned and serious while I tried to tell him our story, stumbling and incoherent at times. Ryan had to step in and finish my sentences. When they said they needed to talk to us alone, I grabbed Ryan’s arm, saying, “No, I need him here with me,” but they said it would help them sort things out faster. Someone brought me a blanket and a warm cup of coffee. McKinney gave my shoulder a squeeze and said, “I know you’re upset, but try to walk us through the night, Toni. Take it one step at a time. You drove out to the lake?”
I told them again what had happened, what we found when we got back to the truck, begging, “Please, you have to go, help her. We can’t leave her there.” I still couldn’t fathom that she was dead, that she was far beyond any help.
The other officer, Hicks, said, “We’ve sent someone out there, but we might need your help locating her. Do you think you could go back to the lake with us, Toni?” I didn’t like the way he said my name, the familiarity, like we were friends. He didn’t know me. I turned to McKinney, spoke only to him.
“I’ll go if you need me to, but…” The idea of going back there was terrifying, yet I couldn’t stand thinking about her still there alone. I said, “What about my parents? Who’s going to tell them?” The thoughts going through my mind were overwhelming. My teeth wouldn’t stop chattering, my body shaking. My mom. My dad. I wanted them there with me, but I was scared of how much pain they were going to feel when they found out what had happened.
“We’ll have someone talk to them soon,” Hicks said. “We just need to confirm some things first.” They asked questions like “Did you see anyone else at the lake?” “How long did you leave her alone?” “How much had you been drinking?” “How much drugs had you taken?” “Have you had blackouts before?”
I didn’t know why any of it mattered. I just wanted them to help Nicole. They stopped the interview and left for a while. When they came back they said that they needed us to go up there with them, they couldn’t find Nicole. They got Ryan, who was also pale and shaking, his eyes bloodshot like he’d been crying. We drove up to the lake in the back of McKinney’s car, huddled together, not talking, just gripping hands. The lines on the road blurred. I went in and out of shock, sometimes almost numb, then all of a sudden gasping with sobs. Once, I met McKinney’s gaze in the rearview mirror. I remembered then how Nicole was his daughter’s friend, how he’d have seen her often at his house. I wondered if he was glad his daughter was safe at home, not dead at the lake.
When we got near the lake I saw other vehicles, a coroner, and more cop cars. I couldn’t speak anymore, my body shuddering with violent shivers, and Ryan had to point out where we’d been parked. One of the car’s headlights shone for a moment on the water, and I saw Nicole’s body, still on the shore.
I started screaming, again and again.
After that all I remember is Ryan trying to calm me down, Hicks saying, “Get them out of here.” The rest is still hazy, scraps of voices and lights flashing and uniforms. McKinney stayed at the scene and another officer drove us back to the station, where we were separated and questioned again. By then someone had told my parents and they’d been brought to the morgue to identify her body. Ryan gave the police consent to search his truck, which was then seized. Ryan’s parents showed up and took him home. He gave me a hug before they left, looking worried as he whispered in my ear, “Be careful what you say.” Then he was gone. I was kept in a room with a female officer who kept asking me questions about my job and school, but I couldn’t focus on anything she was saying. I just wanted to go home, wanted my parents.
A couple of hours later, the female officer drove me home. Another female officer was sitting in the living room with my parents. She stood when we entered. Frank McKinney was there too, sitting beside my mom on the couch. My dad rushed over, grabbed me in his arms, and held me tight. I broke down sobbing and felt his body shaking against mine. Over his shoulder I could see my mom on the couch, her face white. There were makeup streaks down her cheeks, the skin red and splotchy, and agony in her eyes.