The Glacier Gallows (6 page)

The room filled with raucous applause. The minister stepped from the crowd, shook a few hands, and took the podium.

“Thank you, Secretary Turcotte. Friends, let me tell you that I have great comfort with Rick Turcotte representing my ministry in the House of Commons when I'm away on the nation's business. Heck, I might even take a few more fishing trips knowing that a fighter like Rick is speaking for me in the House.” There was laughter and a spatter of applause.

“It's a real pleasure for me to welcome you to Parliament Hill. I understand that you've had a chance to meet with many of my colleagues in Parliament today. I'm told that this was the most successful Hill Day for the Petroleum Resources Group since you started these visits. I don't suppose that has anything to do with the fact that the people of Canada saw fit to elect a majority government last year? Maybe it's just that in February the Ottawa weather is irresistible.” There was another round of applause and laughter, and the minister paused.

“Let me get to the heart of my reason for joining you tonight. You have a real opportunity as an industry to sell our energy to new markets worldwide, and this government will make sure that the conditions are right for you to do that. With China, India, and other developing economies hungry for our clean, ethical oil, Canada is in a good position to become an energy superpower. That means jobs across this country and prosperity for future generations. But we can't be an energy superpower without protecting the environment.”

“Sure we can!” yelled someone in the audience, and everybody except Brian laughed.

“Believe me, friends, we'd like to, but in this day and age, it's just not possible. If I had my way, we'd send all the environmentalists back to their trust funds where they belong. Lock 'em up and throw away the key. But we live in a democracy, and as much as I might not like it, we've got to pay some lip service to what the environmentalists have to say.” The room was quiet and Brian risked a glance at the visitors from Calgary. Even they recognized that the unscripted moment by the minister had put him on thin ice.

“What I'm here to tell you, and what I will announce officially from the press gallery tomorrow”—the minister got back on track—“is a new set of guidelines that will make it easier for new technology to address greenhouse gas reductions. This will include the development of new guidelines for the production and supply of alternative forms of energy across Canada: wind, solar, geothermal. The purpose of this set of guidelines will be to make it easier for businesses like yours to diversify your energy-production technology to stay competitive in the twenty-first century.” The crowd applauded, and it felt to Brian Marriott that half the people in the room turned and looked at him.

“So once again, welcome to the nation's capital. I hope you enjoy your night and I look forward to your support for these new alternative-energy guidelines. And, of course, I look forward to ensuring that this government supports
you
.” The minister stepped down and shook a few more hands.

“Did you see that coming?” Roger asked Brian.

“I had no idea.”

“Really, not even a little?”

“We've asked for a review but didn't think it was on their radar screen. I mean, I talked with Rick about it last month, but . . .”

“Brian!” It was Rick Turcotte. He shook hands with Brian and introductions were made. “Well, what do you think?”

“I don't know what to think.”

“It's what you wanted, right?”

“Sure. I mean, we'll have to see what the actual announcement looks like.”

Rick laughed. “Wow, now you really sound like an environmentalist: always hedging your bets; never sure if you can actually congratulate big bad government. Be there at 11:00
AM
tomorrow. I'll put a guest pass aside at security.”

“Sure. Rick—”

“No buts. Just be there.”

“Are you going to lump the regulatory review on greenhouse gas technology in with alternative power?”

“Yes. Why?” replied Rick.

“Well, it's apples and oranges.”

“It's still all fruit. I think you should be happy. We'll clean up the atmosphere and open new markets domestically and abroad. It's a win-win.”

“Win-win for your government and the oil and gas sector, maybe. What else will be in the regulatory review?”

“Just come to the press conference. You might have an opportunity to chat with the minister afterward.”

“I'll try to clear my morning.”

“Good. I hope you don't have to disappoint one of your Greenpeace friends by not having a decalf soy latte with them.” The Calgary men laughed.

Brian left the room and walked down the long corridor alone. He wondered what kind of trap he was walking into the following morning.

GLACIER NATIONAL PARK, MONTANA. JULY 10.

WHEN THE STEADY WHOCK-WHOCK-WHOCK OF
the Black Hawk helicopter had finally died, Cole looked into the cloud of dust to watch four men disembark. He expected them to be wearing suits, but all were dressed casually in jeans or chinos and dark windbreakers. One of the agents stopped to help a fifth person, a woman in her fifties, step from the helicopter. She carried a small backpack but didn't appear to be a law-enforcement officer.

Inspector Reimer walked to where the
FBI
officers huddled. Cole's brother, along with the special investigator from Glacier National Park, had climbed the trail to join the exchange. Soon a conference of a dozen people was under way. Cole's heart caught in his throat when Inspector Reimer turned and pointed to him. He straightened up as if he'd been caught with his elbows on the dinner table. A moment later, one of the
FBI
agents walked over and stood before him.

“Mr. Blackwater?”

“That's me.”

“I'm Special Agent Steven McCallum. Sir, we would like to talk with you.”

“I just spent an hour talking with Inspector Reimer.”

“The
FBI
and the
RCMP
will be sharing jurisdiction for this very unusual situation.”

“How is it unusual?”

McCallum looked over to where the cliff fell away toward Waterton Lakes. “The deceased was camped in the United States and his body was found in Canada. That doesn't happen very often. Final decisions on jurisdiction will have to be a conversation for some people above our collective pay grade. In the meantime, I'd like your help getting to the bottom of this. Do you mind?”

The officer's politeness was disarming. “Pull up a rock.” Cole pointed to a flat stone.

McCallum sat down. He was joined by a second
FBI
agent who stood nearby. Cole looked as the Black Hawk powered up. “It's going to join the search for Mr. Foreman.” McCallum pulled a notebook from his jacket. “When was the last time you saw Mr. Marriott alive?”

“About ten last night. I was heading to my tent, and he was up talking with a few other hikers.”

“Who was still up?”

“Um, Derek McGrath, our lead guide, and Blake Foreman. I think Rick Turcotte. There might have been others. I didn't really pay attention.”

“Which tent is his?” Cole pointed to one. It was red and orange, a sleek European-style dome outfit. “Did you happen to see him reach his tent later in the evening?”

“I didn't. I pretty much went straight to bed.”

“Didn't hear him?”

“No. There was a little wind last night. Once I was inside, that's all I heard. I was asleep by ten thirty.”

“What time did you wake up this morning, Mr. Blackwater?”

“Around five. I usually get up before the sun when I'm in the backcountry.”

“It must have been a nice sunrise.”

“Hard to go wrong up here. Unless it's snowing.”

“Well, no snow today. You didn't see Mr. Marriott when you got up? He didn't join you for the sunrise?”

“No. Brian usually slept until around seven.”

“Where did you walk to?”

Cole pointed to the eastern edge of the ridge.

“From the top of that rise, could you see the camp?”

“I could see the kitchen, but not the tents. I was sitting on the other side of a big boulder, out of the breeze. And I spent most of my time looking east.”

“But you would have noticed if Mr. Marriott had been up wandering around, getting coffee and what have you?”

“I might have. But I was absorbed.”

“When you came back to camp, how long did it take for you to realize that Mr. Marriott was missing?”

“I don't know. Not long. Ten, fifteen minutes. I just assumed that he was sleeping in.”

“It didn't occur to you that maybe he had gone off to do the same thing you were doing?”

“We did have a quick look around before organizing a more thorough search.”

“Tell me about Mr. Marriott.”

Cole hesitated. “He was a city guy. He liked
this
. Doing this hike was his idea. But he was uncomfortable out here too. He told me a couple of mornings ago that sleeping on the ground wasn't very conducive to a good night's rest. I think he was looking forward to getting to Waterton tonight and being in a bed.”

“Who do you think killed Mr. Marriott?” McCallum continued.

“I have no ungodly idea.”

“None? Surely you must have your suspicions.”

“I don't, really. Most of these people had no real relationship with Brian before this trip. I can't imagine what anybody's motive might have been.” Cole recapped what he had told Reimer about Brian's relationship with Rick Turcotte.

“Did anything happen on the hike that would have led to hard feelings?”

“Not really. I mean, we're not all of the same stripe. Rick and Brian got into a few good-natured arguments over the last few days, but nothing that would make a man want to kill another. Maybe there was some bad blood between them before and Turcotte was just biding his time, but I don't think so. Are you sure he was murdered? It just seems too improbable.”

“We're reasonably sure. The medical examiner is with the body now. She's flown in from Calgary, and we gave her a lift up. She will make the final determination and provide us with a time of death and other pertinent information. What about the guides? Did Brian have words with any of them?”

“No, not at all. He mostly dealt with Derek, the lead guide. Tad wasn't talkative but was completely congenial. And the third man, the one gone walkabout, was pretty quiet. He was nice enough, helped with the tents and was competent in the mountains, but I don't know if he and Brian said ten words to each other the whole time.”

“So with the exceptions of Mr. Firstlight and Mr. Turcotte, there was no one else on this trip who had a prior relationship with Mr. Marriott?”

“That's right.”

“Did Brian say anything to you during this expedition? Anything that would lead you to believe he was in danger?”

Cole thought a moment. McCallum and the other agent watched him. “Before we started the hike, he said that he was into something, something big, but he didn't say what. He told me that we'd talk about it after the hike was done.”

“Was this work related?”

“Yes. It wasn't like he was into a drug deal or anything, but he wouldn't tell me anything more and I didn't push him.”

“We'll get to Mr. Marriott's work in a minute.” McCallum checked his notes. “With the exception of Mr. Turcotte, nobody had harsh words with Mr. Marriott while camping here in Glacier?” Cole shook his head. “That brings us to you, Mr. Blackwater. You obviously knew Mr. Marriott, didn't you?”

“I did.”

“Isn't it also correct that you and Mr. Marriott haven't been getting along very well on this trip?”

“As well as we usually get along,” Cole said and immediately regretted it.

“Mr. Blackwater, it seems to me that you are the only person on this mountain who had an antagonistic relationship with the deceased, and who had quarrelled with him both in public and in private over the course of the last five days. You seem to me to be the man here with the strongest motive for wanting Mr. Marriott dead.”

OTTAWA, ONTARIO. FEBRUARY 12.

BRIAN MARRIOTT ADJUSTED HIS SCARF
and prepared to step from the West Block and into the falling snow. He had been sandbagged, and by a senior Cabinet minister at that. He had his friend and long-time political compatriot Rick Turcotte to thank.

Some of David Canning's announcement would be good news for the Alternative Energy Group. A review of the regulatory process to allow new energy solutions across Canada would help many of the companies that made up the
AEG
. To lump a review of the country's failing approach to traditional oil and gas development into the same process muddied the waters.

What worried Brian the most was not what the minister had said, but what he had not said. What else would be in the regulatory review? A minister like Canning could bury less-savory elements of a review in hundreds and hundreds of pages of material. Brian would have to start digging.

Now he faced an awkward dilemma: what to do about the following day's press conference in the Centre Block. In the past when he'd been invited, it was to applaud the government's plans to expand the tar sands or approve a pipeline. He had been their lap dog. Now he was in an unfamiliar position. He didn't know what was going to happen and that worried him.

Before he left the building, he dug into his pocket. The one person he knew who might provide some advice was three time zones away. He looked at the time on his Blackberry—10:00
PM
eastern, so only 7:00 on the coast—and then dialed the familiar number.

“Blackwater.”

“It's Brian.”

There was a pause; Brian imagined that Cole looked at his watch, wondering why he was calling after business hours. “What's up, boss?”