‘You want me to look?’
‘I’ve got a hunch who this kid is, and I think you know too.’ He looked up at the Principal. ‘Be warned, he’s been shot in the face. Most of the damage is out the back of the head, where the bullet exited, but still… it won’t be pretty.’
‘Okay,’ she managed.
Slowly, Striker stood up, to reveal the body behind him.
‘You recognise this kid?’
Principal Myers said nothing for a moment. She just wavered on the spot, and Felicia had to grab her arm for fear the woman would careen over. After a few seconds, tears slid down her face as she whispered, ‘It’s Sherman. My student helper.’
Striker nodded. ‘Now we know who turned off the video.’ He ducked out from under the crime scene tape. Spoke softly. ‘Who was this kid, Caroline? I mean, really. Who did he hang out with?’
‘He… he was a good kid. Really, he was. A good kid.’
‘Good kids don’t murder other kids.’ Together with Felicia, Striker guided the Principal away from the fallen gunman, to the other end of the cafeteria where there were no bodies or blood to distract her. Once there, he sat her down and said straight to her face: ‘Whatever image you had about this kid is gone, Caroline. Forget it. He’s not what you thought. I need you to be sharp here. Think hard. Who was Sherman Chan, and who did he hang out with?’
The woman reached into her suit jacket and pulled out a package of Kool Lights. Menthol.
‘Not in here,’ Striker said. ‘It’s a crime scene.’
She put them away. ‘He… he didn’t have a lot of friends. Sherman was a computer kid, a bit of a loner, really. Though he did hang out with two other boys. One was from the computer lab, and the other was his friend’s friend. An older boy by a few years. Previous drop-out.’
‘Their names?’
‘Raymond Leung was one of them,’ she said. ‘He was Sherman’s friend in the computer lab. A foreign kid. Exchange student from Hong Kong. Doesn’t speak a whole lot of English. I can get you his details.’
‘Good, we’ll need them.’ Striker wrote down the name in his notebook, then looked at Caroline. ‘And the other kid? The older one — the drop-out.’
‘Que Wong.’
‘Que Wong?’ Striker’s eyes shifted back to the crime scene behind them, where Noodles was taking swab samples from the headless gunman. He gave Felicia a quick glance, making sure she said nothing, then focused back on Principal Myers. ‘I need to speak to these kids, Caroline.’
She nodded. ‘I think they live together,’ she said. ‘I’ll get you their contact information. And photographs.’
Striker stopped her. ‘They haven’t been located yet?’
‘Raymond never showed up for school today, and as for Que — well, he’s been gone from this school for a long time now. Never really was in attendance, even when he was here.’
An electric sensation pulsed through Striker, but he said nothing more. As he ushered Principal Myers out of the cafeteria, he told her he needed their yearbook photos, or whatever else she had that was more recent. On the way down the hall towards her office to get him the printouts he required, she stopped, leaned against the wall, and wept.
Striker looked away and sighed. She was damaged goods now. Nothing would ever be the same for her again. Certainly not in this school.
And maybe not in life.
Felicia came up next to him. ‘Good instincts about Black Mask. You were bang on right about the kid.’
He turned to face her. ‘I know that. I always knew that. You should have known it too, instead of listening to Laroche.’
She let out a tight breath. ‘Look, Jacob, I never said I didn’t believe you.’
‘And you never said you did, either.’
‘You’re picking at straws.’
‘Am I? Look at the dead kid over there and tell me that.’ Striker tried to suppress his anger, but couldn’t. ‘ We’re the only reason more kids aren’t dead, Felicia. Us, not Laroche. And here Mr White-shirt wants to take my gun away. Un-fucking-real.’
‘Jacob-’
He turned away and grabbed his cell. He looked at the screen, saw that there were no calls, and grimaced. He dialled Courtney’s number again, got the latest Britney message, something about someone being a womaniser. That was good, it meant she was fine, though more concerned about changing her voice messages than contacting her father. Again, he tried to leave a message but couldn’t. He shut off the phone. Cursed. Caught Felicia’s stare.
‘She’s still screening her calls,’ he said.
‘She probably doesn’t know what happened yet — you know how teenagers are with the news — and she sure as hell doesn’t want you to know she’s skipping school. She probably has no clue about any of this. Otherwise she would call, Jacob. You know that.’
He looked at her like she was crazy. ‘How couldn’t she know? It’s been hours since the shootings.’
‘I don’t know. Maybe her cell died, maybe she left it at home, maybe she’s turned it off to avoid you because she knows she’s in shit. Who cares? We know she’s all right, people have already told us that. One of those girls — Marnie Jenkins — spotted her on a bus near the mall not an hour ago. She’s out there having fun.’
Striker moved to the cafeteria window, stared outside. The sky was losing light, everything looking colder and darker. It felt like it had two years ago when the problems with his wife, Amanda, were at their worst. Just prior to her death.
‘What time is it?’ he asked.
‘Almost four o’clock.’
Christ, he thought. Over seven hours since the shootings. It felt like days. Another life.
And now, maybe it was.
He drew his Sig and slid out the mag. He replaced it with another full one, out of habit, then put the pistol back into the holster. When he looked at Felicia, she was eyeing him warily.
‘What are you thinking?’ she asked.
‘I’m thinking the world has gone crazy.’ Striker scanned the cafeteria, took one last look at the hell he would never forget. At the blood that was everywhere, turning the floor into a giant red-and-white checkerboard. At Noodles, who was still taking fluid samples from one of the gunmen. At Sherman Chan — Black Mask — the student helper Striker had shot dead.
At everything.
It was too much. All too much.
‘I’ve had enough of this,’ Striker said. ‘I’m drowning in the shit. I need to leave this goddam school for bit. Clear my head. Everything here is too close.’
Through the double-doors, Striker spotted Caroline at the end of the hall. She had returned with the yearbook pictures, and Striker went out to meet her. He took them, thanked her, and left her standing and staring at the crime scene in front of her.
When Felicia caught up to him, Striker spoke aloud: ‘Sherman Chan was Black Mask. That fact is undeniable. And as far as we know — at least from the ID in the gunman’s pockets — Que Wong was White Mask.’
‘Which leaves only Red Mask,’ Felicia said.
‘Right. According to Caroline, Raymond Leung lived with Quenton Wong. He was also known to hang out with Sherman Chan. So it can’t be a coincidence that Raymond was absent from school today.’
‘You think he’s Red Mask.’
‘There’s only one way to find out.’
They headed for Kerrisdale.
