“We’d seen her from above, her pink hat. We’d all been given Kinabulu toques from the company sponsoring the trip. Some got red hats, some black. But hers was the only hot-pink one. It looked like she’d set up with her tripod on a rock ledge and was filming. From that ledge she’d have had a good line of sight down to the small bay where Jasmine’s rod was found, where there were signs she’d slipped.”
Rachel’s words chased through Angie’s brain.
I also left the camp. After the guides. I followed the bank upriver along a promontory of land that jutted out into the Nahamish. From the point I filmed some footage looking back at the campsite. I wanted the ambience of the fire and smoke in the gathering dusk. I was there filming when I heard men screaming.
Had she lied? Why? Had she been filming Jasmine fishing alone in the dying evening light? Is that why the final footage had gone missing?
Or was Jessie lying now?
“Why was it not mentioned in the coroner’s and police interviews that you’d seen Rachel filming from the ledge?”
“No one asked me where the other women were while I was gathering wood. It was an accident. We were all doing our best.”
“Did anyone else see Rachel Hart on the ledge?”
“I don’t know. Probably not.”
“So you were the only witness.”
“Jeezus, what are you looking for here?”
“Did you like her, Jasmine?”
“Whether I liked my clients or not is immaterial. My son, Hugh, would say the same—whether he liked you and your partner was not an issue. It was his job to show you the ropes and take care of you.”
Angie hurriedly zipped open her sling bag and removed her file. Using her body to protect the contents from rain, she took out a screenshot of the group of men at the Hook and Gaffe.
“Could you please identify for me everyone in this photo?”
His body tensed at the sight of the photo. His gaze shot to her face. “Why?”
“Jasmine upset some of these guys. We captured this image from VHS footage that documents the entire exchange between Jasmine and these men. If you don’t help me, Mr.Carmanagh, someone else will, and I’m going to be asking what you’re trying to hide.”
Hostility crackled off him. He flicked a glance at his office, to where the man had disappeared. Returning his attention to the photo, he pointed and said, “That’s Budge there at the back of the crowd, standing by the bar.”
Surprise rippled through Angie. She peered closer at the image. Jessie was pointing at a huddle of men near the bar, to whom she’d paid little attention. “Budge Hargreaves? He was also there that night?”
“Yeah.”
“He looks a lot thinner. I wouldn’t have recognized him.”
“Lost his wife about fourteen months prior to that day. He’d pretty much been on a bender and in a bad way since her death. After she died, he sold their place in town and moved out onto Tollet land.”
“Who’s that standing beside him?”
“Darnell Jacobi.”
Angie’s pulse quickened. “The RCMP officer?”
“He was a rookie back them. Fresh out of depot division. His dad was staff sergeant of the Port Ferris detachment at the time.”
“So Constable Jacobi is friendly with Budge Hargreaves?”
“Look, I don’t know a guy worth his salt whowasn’tin the pub that night. It was hometown hero Robbie Tollet’s big game in Helsinki. That’s a big deal, okay? It was right before the original Jets folded, and it’s a small goddamn town. We all know one another.”
In her peripheral vision Angie saw a different male exiting Jessie’s office. He was big and blond, and he started toward them.
Angie pressed on fast. “And the others in the photo?”
