RAPID DESCENT
The day started just like any other slalom. I rose at dawn, scrambled into warm clothing and eagerly hurried down to the water’s edge to walk the course. It was just as I had feared – the course designer had put an upstream gate right on the giant stopper known as the “Happy Eater”. I would be lucky to get through THAT one without getting my hair wet! The rest of the course wasn’t too bad, with the usual downstream stagger, spin gates and a couple of upstreams over some nasty-looking boils. Nothing I can’t handle, given luck, I thought. I stepped back and took in my surroundings. We were in the bottom of a spectacular alpine valley, the sides of which were clothed with sombre pine forest with occasional clearings of crisp green meadow and wild flowers. Through the bottom of the valley tumbled the river which was to provide today’s challenge, ice-cold and fresh from the meltwaters of the snow-capped peaks above. I shivered involuntarily at the very thought of the drenching I was likely to get later – an international competition such as this had to challenge even the most experienced of the men, so quite a few of us mere mortals in the ladies’ team were likely to end up swimming!
I found all three of them together, sitting on a rock overlooking the river. In other circumstances it would have been a spectacular scene, the boys in their brightly-coloured kit set against a background of tumbling water in shades of aquamarine and white, offset by the darker hues of the pine forest. The sun was shining and it would have been a perfect day had it not been for Gavin lying dead by the riverside. Andy got to his feet as I approached and gave me a nervous smile. "Nasty business, isn't it," he said. I agreed and sat down beside him on the rock. We chatted together for a while and I made mental notes as we went along. Vic didn't contribute much to the conversation and Andy was very quiet, speaking only in monosyllables and then only when asked a direct question. Stefan was slightly more chatty, and we managed a half-hearted conversation, but I was no nearer to solving the mystery. I had my suspicions, but I needed proof.
Written by my daughter as part of her GCSE English work.
© Catherine Davies 1998
Voices drifted across from the campsite; I turned and made my way back to greet my friends. “Hi, Catherine, what’s it like?” “What have they done with the Happy Eater?” “Has anybody got any milk? Mine’s gone off.” Yes, I thought, just the same as usual. I waited for my particular group of friends : Andy, an up-and-coming young paddler with high hopes for the top of the sport, Vic, an older paddler who took on the role of “minder” and who we teased and respected in equal amounts, Stefan and Helga, two new friends from the Slovenian team, and Gavin, another young star who hung around with us rather than we with him. Together, we set off to start our quest for the glory of the "Junior Worlds" - the competition which would decide once and for all who were the under-eighteen Canoe Slalom World Champions, girl and boy.
As the morning wore on, the time for my first run drew nearer and the butterflies in my stomach multiplied. I was almost relieved when my number was called and I could take to the water at last. I eased myself into my trusty kayak, fixed my spraydeck firmly into place, made a last-minute adjustment to my helmet, took a firm grip on my paddles and waited for the starter to give me the signal to "GO!"
The first gate was easy, to lull you into a false sense of security, I thought. A quick breakout for the next - great, just missed the pole but that's good enough. Then the water started getting serious. The deepening roar reminded me that something nasty was waiting round the next bend, just beyond a large outcrop of rock. The water tumbled and swirled like a mad thing in its effort to hurl itself over and round the boulders. There was only one way, and that was through the centre if I was to stand any chance of getting the next set of gates. A huge wave hit me full in the chest, momentarily blinding me, and at that moment the opportunity was lost. I felt a gate pole hit me on the back of my head, slid off another wave, and saw the next gate slide past just out of reach of my despairing lunge sideways. Above the roar of the water I thought I could hear the derisive cheers of my friends. "Just wait till it's your turn," I thought grimly.
"Let's see if you can do any better!" Nervously, I approached the Happy Eater, adrenalin coursing through my bloodstream, but it proved something of an anticlimax. Probably because I knew I had already lost the race by my previous errors, I executed a perfect breakout, slipped neatly across the stopper and through the gate and turned back into the racing current. As I crossed the finishing line in a very respectable time, a gleeful Gavin met me. "Pity you collected fifty-five points!" (As if I didn't know!) "That would have been a decent run. Good time, anyway." (Rub salt in it, why don't you.) I decided to be philosophical about it - I wouldn't give him the pleasure of seeing me upset - so I smiled sweetly at him, climbed out of my boat, hoisted it onto my shoulder and struggled up the bank to the footpath. Gavin, six feet of solid muscle and machismo, did not offer to help but strolled away whistling to himself. Andy came running up, took charge of my boat and paddle, and I followed gratefully behind.
One by one the others took their runs. Helga's run was even more disastrous than mine and she became one of the anticipated swimmers at the Happy Eater, much to Gavin's amusement. The boys did much better. Andy's was the ideal "fast and clean" which most slalom paddlers can only dream of, no touches at any of the gates, a deft flick of the paddle here and there, perfect lines and an unbelievably fast time. "That will take some beating," said Vic. "How does it feel, Champ?" Andy smiled modestly and muttered something about it not being over until the fat lady sings - at least, that's what it sounded like, a bit inappropriate, I thought. Gavin was the only one not to congratulate Andy; "Perhaps he's had to go and get ready for his run," was Andy's generous interpretation.
Stefan completed his run without disaster, and was happy to get away with only five penalty points for one slight touch on a gate. He'd hoped the judges hadn't noticed it, but they had! Gavin's kayak eventually appeared on the river, twisting and weaving its way through the obstacles, natural and man-made, which made up the slalom course. The Happy Eater was no longer hungry, for it didn't "eat" Gavin, but he failed to get through unscathed and gave the nearside pole a resounding "thwack" which set it swinging wildly. "Andy's got it in the bag!" shouted Vic, stopwatch in hand, "Gavin's nowhere near as fast!"
Our first runs over, we went to check with the scoreboard. As I already knew, I was well down the list of the female competitors although at least not at the bottom - that honour was reserved for the swimmers! It was the men's competition which interested us. Helga turned away from the board with a puzzled look on her face. "I thought you said Andy was faster than Gavin," she said to Vic, "and that's without penalties?" "What on earth? Gavin's been given a clean run - and just look at the time!" Vic studied the board grimly and left without saying another word. "Are you going to enter a protest?" asked Helga. Andy hesitated, then shook his head. Paddlers who argue with gate judges, even half-blind ones who couldn't tell a gate pole from a white stick, are not the most popular of people. He shrugged. "I'll just have to get a blinder of a second run," he said. THAT would need a miracle - fractions of seconds divide the places at this level, so to make up nearly six whole seconds would be nearly impossible.
All too soon it was time for our second runs. As I sat waiting on the start line I mentally rehearsed the course, as I had done throughout the lunch break. "A little further to the right as you pass those rocks, then you'll get those two gates," I told myself, repeating what Andy had been telling me earlier. "GO!" I almost missed it, but instinct took over and I set off simultaneously with the stop-watch clicking on. Sweep stroke, bow rudder - great, that one was clean, whoops! - quick support, that will have cost half a second or so - sprint between the gates to make it up. My second run was better than my first, maybe not as fast but with no fifties this time and just one careless touch on a relatively simple gate. Not a winning run, but not one to be ashamed of either, and at least I'd finished without either swimming or having to roll. Helga followed a little while later. Understandably nervous after her morning's dip, she took it very steadily but was rewarded with a good run and only ten penalty points, which she was well satisfied with. The boys' turns came - Andy flew down the course, knocking an unbelievable four seconds off his first run time and once more "going clean." It was a brilliant performance, but still not enough to beat Gavin's suspect time.
Vic had come back by now and was strangely quiet, but we put it down to him being disappointed by Andy's failing to win the title. "Did you see Andy's second run?" asked Helga. "What? Oh, yes - great, brilliant run," he mumbled, then turned away as if to avoid further conversation. Helga looked at me and shrugged. Stefan's second run produced a little improvement on his first, but not enough to put him among the leaders, and we waited expectantly for Gavin. The seconds ticked by, and then the minutes. Gavin failed to appear. "It's not like Gavin to be late for a run," observed Andy. We all agreed, particularly as, barring accidents, Gavin looked like winning the event and therefore becoming the J18 World Champion. It would be totally out of character for him to miss this opportunity for glory. Gavin's name was called over the public address system, and still he failed to appear. The competition continued without him, and we began to worry. "Something's wrong," said Stefan. "We'd better go and look for him." The boys set off upstream, towards the start, and Helga and I went downstream to see if we could find him. Vic said he would stay put, just in case Gavin turned up of his own accord.
The path along the river bank beyond the finish of the slalom was overhung with branches and slippery with mud, so we had to pick our way carefully along it. "Look!" I exclaimed, pointing to one side. A set of paddles lay beneath the lowest branches of a pine tree, half hidden from view. I reached down and pulled them out. "Are they his?" asked Helga. "They could be," I replied, "but they're a common make." "What's that? It looks like blood," she whispered nervously. I wasn't sure about that either, so, putting the paddles to one side to collect later, we pressed on. Helga was just a little way ahead of me when she stopped abruptly and gave a little whimper. "What's the matter?" I asked. She said nothing, but stretched out a trembling finger and pointed at something she could see, projecting from behind an outcrop of rock. I pushed my way past her to take a closer look. It was a foot, encased in a canoeist's typical wet-suit boot, but the owner was hidden from view behind the rock. I took a deep breath and stepped forward.
He was lying face down across the path, his head and shoulders in the eddy of water sheltered by the rock outcrop. A thin stream of blood drifted downstream, turning the foaming water a delicate shade of pink. His scalp was thick with blood from an obvious head wound, and he was quite, quite dead.
The next few minutes passed in a daze. Somehow or other we got back to the slalom site and fetched help, although there was no help for Gavin now. The police were sent for, but in such a remote spot there would inevitably be a delay. I sat down to think things out. Who on earth could have done this awful deed? We knew how - we had already found the murder weapon - but who had the motive to kill Gavin? Who indeed! Gavin was not well liked, but did anyone hate him enough to kill him? I asked myself. I went back to my tent to fetch pen and paper, and started making notes.
"Victim: Gavin King, aged 17," I wrote. "Cause of death: head injuries and/or drowning. Murder weapon: one set of full carbon-kevlar Gorilla Grip slalom paddles." I chewed the end of my pen as I thought. I knew from all the crime stories I had read that a murder suspect had to have a motive and an opportunity, so I divided the page into columns with those headings and began to write names in a list down one side. We were all suspects, I supposed, although some were not very likely: Helga, for instance, had been with me all the time except for when she was actually on the water, and then we had all run down the course with her, shouting encouragement. None of the girls was a serious suspect. Helga was small, like most of the other girls, and although extremely strong for her size, could not have wielded the paddle with sufficient strength to kill Gavin with one blow, and could certainly not have held him under the water. It looked as if she was in the clear. I glanced across at her and saw her tear-stained face, her pretty blue eyes all blotched and red from crying, and crossed her off the list. She was not one of the suspects, I decided. Stefan definitely did not like Gavin. Gavin had been particularly unpleasant to Stefan, calling him "Kraut" and making various racist jokes in very bad taste, but was that sufficient reason to murder him? I wrote "personal" in the motive column. Stefan had had the opportunity to murder Gavin - although we had all escorted him down his slalom run, there had been several short periods when he had not been with us, and just how long did it take to batter someone to death with a slalom paddle? Vic had been behaving strangely for a while now, so I gave him serious consideration. We all liked Vic and he seemed to like everyone, even Gavin, but was that just an act? Clearly, he had not been happy when Gavin had been credited with a clear run and a time that he hadn't earned. Vic was obsessively honest and could not bear cheating in any form, so I wrote that down in the "motive" column. As for opportunity, he had left us on several occasions and had been absent for some time. Andy had the most obvious motive. Now that Gavin was dead, he was the undisputed Junior World Champion. He had also had the opportunity as he had been away walking by himself for some time. I had seen him myself, on the riverside path and disappearing amongst the trees. Had he made sure of the championship by eliminating his rival? Certainly he had the chance to do so, and the sound of the water would have drowned out any screams or cries for help. I added Andy's name and those details to my list. One by one I went through the names of all the competitors. Some I discounted almost immediately, others had either motive or opportunity but not both. Eventually I came up with just three main suspects : Stefan, Vic and Andy. I put my pen into my pocket and went to look for them.
Vic got up to leave the group, so I let him get a little way along the path then made an excuse to leave also. I followed, taking care to avoid him seeing me. He led me back to the slalom site, behind the caravans and to the control tent, so quickly I slipped around the back and leant casually against a convenient tree. I could hear every word that was being said, for they weren't bothering to lower their voices. "If you are going to cheat, you could have been more subtle about it!" I heard Vic say. "I wasn't the only one on the bank with a stop-watch, and everyone saw him hit gate seventeen!" "I don't care how many times you come and protest - the answer is the same : the results stand," replied the other voice. They were arguing about Gavin's winning run. It struck me as pointless, what with Gavin lying dead not too far away, but Vic carried on: "How much was he paying you?" The official spluttered and started to protest, but Vic was in full flow now. "Or did he have some sort of hold over you?" At this the official gasped and fell silent, but at that point someone else entered the tent, attracted no doubt by the raised voices, and Vic left. So, another suspect to add to my list, I thought.
I made my way back to the camp-site and crawled into my tent. Lying on my back staring at the canvas, I began to organise my thoughts. Andy: although he had the motive and the opportunity, I just did not see Andy as a murderer. He was good-natured, easy-going - simply not right. Yes he dearly wanted the championship title, but he wanted to win it, not take it by force. Stefan: I didn't know him very well. He was certainly big and strong enough to overpower even Gavin, what one thought of as "typical" east European in looks and build, and Gavin had made him the butt of many cruel jokes. Did he have a temper to match his looks? Vic: I had thought of him as a main suspect until a few minutes ago, but now I was no longer so sure. Quarrelling with that official so loudly and publicly was hardly the action of a man with a secret to hide. And what of the official? Now he had a motive, too, especially if Gavin had been blackmailing him. I had to find out more.
I crawled back out of my tent into the afternoon sunshine and made my way back down to the control tent. I stepped inside and put on my most innocent smile. Seated behind the table was a dark-haired man who I didn't recognise. he looked up. "Can I help you?" It was the same voice I had heard before, arguing with Vic. The badge on his chest said "Event Organiser" in several languages. So this was Emil Schmidt. I had heard of him - who in the slalom world hadn't - but this was the first time we had met. I asked him some inane question about results sheets, didn't really listen to his growled answer, thanked him with my prettiest dimpled smile and left quickly.
Emil Schmidt, the Romeo of the slalom circuit. he fancied himself as a ladies' man, and he was certainly good-looking, but the girls - at least the ones with any sense - avoided him like the plague. He had a very possessive wife, so they said, and one with money, enough to subsidise his hobby and enable him to travel to slaloms all around the world. Did Gavin know something that Emil would rather she didn't find out about? I decided to investigate further.
I made my way back to the campsite, passing through the caravan parking area as I went. I glanced towards a rather smart camper van which was parked a little to one side, and thought I caught a glimpse of someone slipping in through the closing door. I felt sure it was Emil Schmidt. When I got back to our less luxurious tents I mentioned it. "That's a smart camper Emil Schmidt has," I remarked casually. "Camper?" replied Stefan. "Emil's van is over there, the one with the green awning. That camper belongs to Maria, the Austrian girl. You know, the one with the long red hair." The pieces of the jigsaw were beginning to fit. I went into my tent once more and began to write.
It was late in the afternoon before the police finally arrived, and the shadows were lengthening across the valley to give a suitably sombre backdrop for the occasion. After inspecting the scene of the crime and examining the murder weapon, the Detective Inspector in charge sent for Helga and I, as the ones who had found the body. He questioned Helga first but before very long it was my turn and I was ushered once more into the control tent, now converted into an interview room. They told me that the paddles, in spite of being so smooth, had not provided any fingerprints. "Wet," said the policeman, succinctly. I told him what I know and then handed over my notebook. He was not impressed. "Thank you very much, my dear, but I really think you ought to leave the detective work to the professionals," was all he said. I was used to being treated as if I didn't have a brain in my head so I pressed on. "I think you ought to read it," I urged him, "I've had plenty of time to think it out. Emil Schmidt is most likely your man: he has been having an affair with Maria and I think Gavin found out and was threatening to tell his wife. If she left him, that would be the end of his canoeing and he couldn't bear that." The Inspector looked unconvinced but promised to "look into it" and dismissed me.
The interviews continued on into the evening and eventually it was Emil's turn. By this time I had told my friends my theory, so we hung around as near as we could, straining to hear anything from inside the tent. There was only a low murmur of sound, indecipherable over the sound of the rushing water, until suddenly Emil's voice rose above the background noise. "You can't prove anything!" he was shouting, "I deny everything!" the policeman's voice came in now, calm and soothing but definitely louder. "I think you had better come with us, sir, we will be needing you to help us with our enquiries." The tent flaps parted and they came out, Emil's elbow in the firm grasp of the Inspector's hand. As they passed by, the Inspector turned to Vic. "You seem to be the most senior person here at present; your organiser is coming with us, so I suggest someone else takes over the running of this event as he will not be back in time to finish it," and with that he ushered Emil into the waiting Police car.
That night, the awards ceremony finally took place. Helga and I stood by and cheered as the presentations were made. Neither of us had made it into the final three in our event, but I was delighted to hear my name called as "Ladies' J16" - the highest placed in my age-group. After I collected my trophy I turned and saw Andy, smiling at me as he applauded. Then it was the turn of the men's event. Vic announced to the assembled crowd that Emil had been charged with Gavin's murder, having broken down and confessed at the Police Station. Gavin had not won the event, but was blackmailing Emil over his affair with Maria. Then he continued with the presentations. "In third place, Stefan Brinkl, of Slovenia," and Stefan stepped up with a huge grin to cheers and whistles. Second place went to an American paddler, and then it was time to announce the winner. "Let's hear your applause, please, for this year's Junior World Champion - Great Britain's Andy Carling!" and he stepped up onto the platform to accept the prize that was rightfully his.