Norah McClintock presents...

Other Titles

Password: Murder

Harley’s dad was killed in a car crash — a car Harley was driving. But lately, Harley has been having doubts. Is he out of his mind to think that maybe, just maybe, his dad’s death wasn’t all his fault?

Scholastic Canada Ltd.
ISBN 0-439-94764-2 PBK
224 pages
Ages 12 and up
4 3/16” x 6 ¾”

Excerpt

School or police station. Harley weighed his options. If he went to school, he wouldn’t improve his chances of passing. If he went to the police station, he might actually learn something.

“I feel obligated to ask you why you aren’t in school,” Sergeant Weatherspoon said, glancing at his watch.

“I’m on my way there,” Harley said. It was a lie. “I have a spare first period.” Another lie. “Did you find the file?”

“I could call the school,” Sergeant Weatherspoon said. “I’m sure they’d be happy to check your timetable for me.”

“I’m sure they would,” Harley said. The sergeant made no move for a file. “I’ve been in the hospital — ” Sergeant Weatherspoon was watching him carefully. “ — an institution for people with psychiatric disorders,” he amended, “for the past eight months. Unless an angel comes down and sits on my shoulder, I’m going to be repeating the year. But I promise you that I’ll go to school the minute I leave here. You can call the school office and check on me.”

The sergeant peered at him for a moment, then slid open a desk drawer and withdrew a manila file folder. He opened it.

“There’s not much here,” he said. “There were no witnesses. All we have is your statement — I guess you remember what you told us.” Harley remembered vividly. “And a statement from the truck’s driver.”

“Steven Dorion.”

The sergeant nodded. “He told the investigating officer that he had been working long hours. He didn’t admit it and I couldn’t prove it, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he was pushing himself too hard. He’s an indie, working out of Collingwood.”

“Indie?”

“Self-employed. Independents don’t work for a trucking company. They own their own rigs, bid on runs. Every hour they’re off the road or every hour they’re late getting to a destination, they’re losing money. Sometimes they drive themselves too hard. There are regulations, even stiffer now than they used to be, but they’re hard to enforce. Anyway, Dorion said that just before the accident, he saw something on the road — he thought it was a deer or some other animal, but he wasn’t sure, the sun was so bright in his eyes.”

“What?”

“What?” Sergeant Weatherspoon said. He looked confused.

“You said the sun was bright in his eyes.”

The sergeant looked down at the file. “That’s what he said. I checked it myself. The sun didn’t set that evening until — ”

“There was a cloud,” Harley said. “Just before the truck jack-knifed, the sun went behind a cloud.”

Sergeant Weatherspoon considered this. “Maybe he was mistaken about the sun. But it was pretty clear all that day. Or maybe you’re remembering it wrong. Shock can do strange things.”

Harley nodded, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was right. He’d replayed that day, those few moments, hundreds of times.

“Anyway,” Sergeant Weatherspoon continued,” he hit the brakes. The truck jack-knifed. The restraining belt snapped — apparently it was faulty. His reactions were slow because of fatigue, and, well, the car you were driving plowed into his truck.” Sergeant Weatherspoon flipped the file folder shut. “Mr. Dorion was at fault for the truck jack-knifing, but as for your car sliding into him, well, he’s not actually responsible for that part of it. Sorry.”

“That’s it?” Harley asked.

“That’s it,” the sergeant said. “Why? Were you expecting something different?”

Not so much expecting, Harley thought, as hoping.