Murder Sees the Light (24 page)

“So Westmorland followed George into the bush and killed him to stop him spoiling things for him in Ottawa. Except we only have a clipping that says so.”

“For what it's worth, I saw Westmorland throw George out the back door of his cottage unit on Saturday?'

“Good, so we've got the clipping, a motive, and a witness.” I told Glover about the elaborate way in which Des avoided being caught on the Kipp boy's film. I didn't want to throw Des to the wolves, but I figured that if he was innocent of murder they wouldn't come down on him for the extra-mural hanky-panky.

We were sitting about a quarter mile off the Rimmers' point. Their cruiser was tied to the dock and I could hear the distant high-pitched whine of a circular saw. Across the lake I could see the boat from the Woodward place was cutting doughnuts in the water not far from their cove. I didn't think it was Patten, but I couldn't be sure that cabin fever hadn't spread from Lorca to other members of the household.

“At the end of the first day up here,” Glover said, “I'd figured the first killing was a hate killing; you know, like somebody didn't like Indians. But McCord was the prime suspect. He never did have a good word for either Aeneas or Hec. Then George gets himself killed just to spoil my plot.”

“I'd heard that George was hard on Indians. Was it really as pronounced as that? Would he have, say, picked a fight with Aeneas in town?”

“Naw, that wasn't George's style at all. George would have waited for him where he parked his truck and pounded him there. He didn't want any witnesses. He comes from canny stock, you know. That mother of his got him out of more trouble than you got minnows in a bait pail.”

“What sort?”

“Oh, illegal stuff: theft under two hundred dollars, poaching, trapping in the park, hunting without a permit, or out of season, other things contrary to statute or the Provincial Park Act.”

“I heard that you grew out of wild days too.”

“That's right, I grew out of them. Hell, I'm not perfect. I got a girl in trouble when I was in grade ten, but I made it right. I married her. I'm supporting her and four kids. It's a real world out there and I'm real seven days a week. Some days I think I'll bust if I don't get a promotion. I sometimes think I'm in a dead end, that the clockwork of my life is running down. My wheels are spinning but they ain't even touching the ground. Damn it. It makes me so mad! Who told you about that? Never mind, I don't want to know. I suppose you heard that there was bad blood between me and Aeneas?”

“Yes, I did. Was there?”

“There was on his side. I tried to warn him off a woman once. She'd been keeping a whole clinic busy trying to keep up with her exploits. Aeneas thought I was telling him not to fool around with her because he was Indian. I was trying to do him a good turn without citing chapter and verse about the woman. That'll teach me to ration good turns.” He grinned, which deepened the dark lines on either side of his nose.

From out in the middle of the lake I could hear pieces of distant conversations without knowing from which direction they came. Far away I could hear a lumber truck crunching over a corduroy road deep in the bush. I heard a plop close at hand, and when I looked, concentric circles were opening out from the direction of the noise. “Trout,” Glover said. I took his word for it, and charted a new course back to the lodge. It only took me about ten minutes without asking any more questions.

TWENTY-TWO

I didn't want to drive all the way into Hatchway just to phone Ray Thornton, but that's what I was being paid for, so I did it. The Band-aids on my hands covering the blisters felt awkward on the steering wheel. I listened to news of the outside world sprinkled with static on the car radio. Hearing the names of heads of state in the newscasts made me feel like I'd been away in the woods for eight months not eight days. I parked the car in Onions' nearly deserted lot and dialled Thornton's office in Grantham.

“Yes, I'm still alive, but no thanks to you. Somebody up here's trying to kill me, Ray. I should get danger pay.”

“You're expendable. What about our friend? Is he still in one piece?”

“Sure. At least he was when I saw him yesterday. The bastard saved my life, Ray. He pulled me out of a sinking boat.”

“You're always dramatizing. Benny. Why can't you have a day like everybody else? You get up, you go to work, you come home, and you go to bed: what's wrong with that?”

“I can't make a living that way. Tell me, did you get that information I asked you about?” Ray then went over the car ownerships with me. After I'd cleared that up I tried to get him to open up about Aline Barbour. He wouldn't budge.

“Look, Benny, maybe I should drive up and talk to you. It's about my client. Let me think about it overnight.” I'd asked him about Aline, and he started talking about his client. I supposed that it added up, but right then I couldn't see it.

I bought some hamburger buns and a package of Shopsy's corned beef at Onions' and then hit the homeward trail. I tried baking potatoes in the big stove but I couldn't get it going. The cats weren't interested in my leftovers either.

I didn't go into the Annex that evening. I intended to but I fell asleep waiting for it to get dark. It was after eleven when I heard the power go off. The sound of the dying generator brought me out of a dream in which Patten and his friends were chasing me over the Little Crummock portage with me in full pack and carrying a canoe. Whenever they started gaining on me, Aline appeared in her terrycloth robe and made them run up a different path for a minute. Then they were hot on my trail all over again. I got up, went outside, listened to the crickets for a few minutes, and then tried to go back to sleep again. This time the dream involved a rattlesnake that wiggled its way out of a burlap bag in the bow of the canoe I was paddling far from shore. It had the face of a massasauga rattler I'd seen stuffed once, but this one wasn't crooked or dusty. It was well aware of where my bare feet were placed flat-footed on the ribs of the boat. When I sat up in a sweat, the rattle continued. But the snake wasn't at the foot of my bed. It was the screen door, and somebody was scratching fingernails over the wire.

My wristwatch, parked on the night table, blinked 12:46 at me in ruby numerals. “Who is it?” I shouted at the screen.

“It's me,” came a woman's voice. “Lorca Shahn.”

“Who?”

“You know—Lorca, Norrie's friend.” I heard the door open and close just as I slipped out of bed and put warm feet on a cool floor.

“You have strange visiting hours,” I said as I reached for my pants. I hadn't brought a bathrobe with me. I lit a candle on the night table and pulled the bed together to hide the snakes and the chase through the woods. The candle sculpted Lorca's cheekbones dramatically. She leaned against the doorpost. “What's this all about?”

“You don't have a drink by any chance, do you?” she said as she pulled a chair around from the kitchen table.

“Sorry, I'm all out. How would you like a lake trout fillet instead? I may have some shampoo or hair conditioner.”

“Skip it. I hope you're not mad at me for going through your wallet? I didn't tell anybody.”

“That's nice to know. What's eating you at this time of night?” Lorca was wearing tight jeans, a white T-shirt, and a green plaid shirt over it with the sleeves half-rolled.

“Nobody knows I'm here, if you're worried.”

“What's happened up at the Woodward place?”

“Norrie's getting ready to leave.”

“That's not exactly news.”

“He wants me to go with him and I don't want to go.”

“Where's he planning to go?”

“He has some sort of idea to live on a boat for a while. I'd hate that. I don't want to waste years of my life on a Goddamn boat, never seeing people, never getting ashore because the cops are waiting with subpoenas and warrants. I hate that stuff.”

“But you don't know yet whether he has to do that kind of a flit. The Supreme Court may rule in his favour.”

“Okay, if that happens I'm happy. I don't mind living in San Clemente or Vegas. I mean, I know all those people. But I don't want to become Mrs. Arthur Shipley for the rest of my life. I'm too young to be buried alive running around the Mediterranean Sea. I mean, I can't even talk to the people. Who would I talk to? I don't know Greek or Italian or Spanish. I don't even know any French, except for the names of perfumes.”

“You've got troubles all right. So Shipley's the name on Norrie's new passport? It didn't take him as long as I thought.”

“He got the birth certificate almost by return mail. That helped.”

“The Canadian passport is one of the most esteemed the world over. All sorts of people go to great lengths to get one. Tell me, Lorca, what if Patten just goes back to the States?”

“I'll go with him. I mean, I love Norrie. He's been real sweet to me. Don't get me wrong. I like going to the big rallies and seeing Norrie out there and helping so many thousands. I mean, he is truly a great man. But if he's going to go off and live on a boat and get the news on the radio forget it. He doesn't need me. I'd rather just get a job somewhere. I was a receptionist once, I can do it again.”

“That's the spirit.”

“You're making fun of me, Mr. Cooperman.” She was resting her chin on the palm of her hand with the elbow supported by one faded blue knee. I pulled out a cigarette and lighted it in the candle flame. I tried to look serious.

“What does the name Aline Barbour mean to you?” I couldn't miss the reaction the name had on her—a slight tightening of her mouth, a small change in her posture.

“I don't think I know the name. Is she one of the guests at the lodge? I haven't had a chance to …”

“I thought you wanted help? If I'm going to help you I need to know you're being straight with me. I know you know what I want to know.”

“Just because I don't want to run away with Norrie and live on his boat doesn't mean that I'm going to turn State's evidence, or whatever they call it up here. Norrie trusts me.”

“Okay, so trust him back. Just tell him you'd prefer to live in San Clemente and hear from him regularly by mail. I'm sure he'll understand.”

“You're making this hard on me, Mr. Cooperman. I don't like telling tales out of school.”

“Don't say another word. I'm on your side. Mum's the word.” She got up from where she was sitting and began walking around the darkened cabin. I could see her silhouetted in the doorway, and later hear a match strike. The flare of her match caught a white mask-like face for a second. She threw her shadow around the room like a sail in a heavy gale as she shook out the match, then the dark returned, darker than ever.

“There's a ride back to Toronto with me, when I'm finished up here,” I said to the red end of a suspended cigarette. “And I'll be finished the moment Norrie leaves. Now why don't you tell me about that revengeful bitch.”

“You were listening? You bastard! I have nothing but contempt for you.”

“The offer stands. I've been called worse. I used to be in the divorce business. Murder's clean by comparison. Less personal, somehow. Aline's up here for a reason. She's not just diving for clams and working on her tan. If she's planning a big surprise for Patten, the more people that know about it, the less chance it has of succeeding. I'm going to put the kettle on. Will you stay and have a cup of tea?” I couldn't see her face, but I saw that she was drawing thoughtfully on the cigarette, and I heard her release the breath. I brought the candle in from the bedroom and set it down on the pine table. When I wobbled the kettle, I could feel it had enough water left. I lit the gas burner and set about finding mugs and teabags. I didn't look at Lorca; I kept my head aimed at the kitchen counter. It was a ploy to make her talk. If it worked I'd know more about Aline; if it didn't it would be a long time before the kettle boiled.

“Aline used to know Norrie a long time ago. Before I came along. I never met her, but I heard from the boys. She was with him maybe five years. But that was ten years ago. I've been with Norrie nearly three years, on and off. We split up one time when he was getting a little too ecumenical with his relationships. I put a stop to that. I moved to Washington and let Van show me around.”

“Who's this Van I've been hearing about?” I asked innocently.

“Van? That's Senator Gideon Van Rensselaer Woodward. From Vermont. It's his cabin we're staying at. He doesn't come up any more, not since he lost his son.”

“Did Patten meet the senator up here in the park?”

“Sure. He practically adopted him. He was the same age as Gideon Jr., but he was much more at home in the woods. He taught young Gideon all about fishing and trapping and things like that. That's how the senator got to take such a fancy to Norrie.”

“So later on, Patten followed Woodward to Washington.”

“That's where everything started. That's where Norrie saw the blinding light.”

“How long after the kid, Junior, died?”

“He was a teenager—seventeen, eighteen, something like that.”

“Same age Patten went to Washington. Interesting.”

“The senator thinks the world of Norrie. Norrie helped Van get on his feet again after his kid's death. So what if he helped Norrie when he began his ministry?”

“So what, indeed, Tell me, Lorca, about Aeneas Du-Fond.”

“Who? I never heard of him,”

“He's lying dead in the morgue at Huntsville. He's the Indian who was murdered.”

“That's right. I remember. He came to see Norrie.”

“And he gave something to him and asked him to do a favour. What was it he gave Norrie and what was the favour?”

“It was a lump of gold. I mean it looked like gold. He came to see Norrie the day it rained last week. Was that Thursday? He came in his canoe about an hour before it got dark.”