Ann-Marie MacDonald - Way the Crow Flies

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.

“WERE YOU ACQUAINTED with Claire McCarroll?”

“Yes sir. She lived four doors down from my house on St. Lawrence Avenue. My daughter Lisa attended Brownies with her, and they were to attend a flying-up ceremony together that evening.”

Steve Ridelle is standing in the witness box. He is in uniform.

“During the happenings in question here, doctor, what appointment did you hold?”

“I was senior medical officer at the Royal Canadian Air Force Station Centralia.”

Jack should be at work, but he has taken another day of leave. It is just after ten o’clock, the temperature outside in the square is eighty-six degrees today. Higher in here. In the row ahead of him, people have already begun to fan themselves slowly with hats and newspapers. In the back, the row of reporters bend to write.

“Dr. Ridelle, are you familiar with the place referred to as Rock Bass?” asks the Crown attorney.

“Yes sir, I am.”

“Were you a quarter-mile west of there, between a cornfield and a woodlot, in a field lying fallow, on the morning of April fourteenth, Sunday?”

“I was.”

“And did you see there a body?”

“I did.”

“Will you describe the scene as you saw it?”

Jack is here because Henry Froelich told him that medical evidence would be presented today. He wishes to hear the total absence of direct evidence linking Rick to the scene. He is here because he cannot stay away.

Yesterday the Crown attempted to read out Rick’s statement, which the police had taken immediately after his arrest, but the defence objected because neither a lawyer nor a parent had been present at the time. The judge sent the jury out while he listened. As Jack expected, apart from a couple of places where the boy was obviously rambling with exhaustion, there was nothing remotely incriminating. The jury returned and Jack watched their faces as they learned that the judge had ruled the statement inadmissible; surely they were bound to assume there had indeed been something incriminating in the statement — otherwise, why would the defence have objected? Couldn’t the judge have anticipated that?

“The body was lying flat on its back with the lower limbs, the two legs, parted. Under a tree, an elm. The body was clad in a blue dress….”

All the witnesses are repeating what they have said many times, and speaking as plainly as possible — the way one is trained to communicate in the military. No narrative inflections to lure the listener or to warn of a bump in the road.

“It was — the body was covered by reeds, I should say bulrushes, and flowers, wildflowers, although due to the rain and, I think, probably animals—”

“Was the face visible?”

“The face was covered.”

“With what?”

“A pair of underpants.”

“Cotton underpants?”

“Yes sir.”

Steve Ridelle received his posting in May, and he has lost no time moving his family. He has returned in order to testify.

“Are these the underpants?”

“Yes.”

Jack watches the Crown attorney return the patch of yellowy cotton to the table up at the front. Exhibit number 49.

Sharon McCarroll is no longer present. She has returned to Virginia to be with her mother.

Photographs are produced, the jury is sent out, a voir dire ensues, the jury is brought back in and the pathologist is called.

“The stomach was removed as a whole and was held over a sterile jar and was opened so that all the contents went straight into the jar which was then sealed and labelled….” Jack glances across the room. Blair McCarroll is still here. It isn’t right that he should hear this. “… the jar up to the light to see what we could see and we saw a small amount of brownish….”

The next half-hour is taken up with parsing the contents of the snack. It is tricky, establishing time of death via stomach contents. Digestion is not an exact science. It can accelerate or it can slow, depending on circumstances — such as fear.

McCarroll is staring at the back of the bench in front of him, his expression neutral.

Blood was taken from her heart. Her heart was weighed. It was normal. Her height, her weight, everything was normal. “The patient had marks upon the neck….”

The patient? Jack looks up.

“… bruises on the windpipe but no sign of a ligature, and the face was grossly congested, was bluish black. Bluish, anyway….” A pair of hands. Thumb marks on the windpipe. Her non-fatal injuries were examined. Steve is recalled.

“… there was no pubic hair, and on the right-hand side of the outer lip there was an area where the skin, the superficial topmost layer of skin, had been ripped right away over an area about the size of my fingernail….”