Walleye: An Eco Thriller in Temagami

by P W Ross

  “Jack, if this back-fires, my editor will have my ass.”

  “Do it. See you after the press conference. My boat, the town dock, one o’clock.”

  “Don’t disappoint me.” She knew Jack was the ‘Velvet Needle’ in all this and she needed to stay close. Peering smugly at Bob she limply handed him back the receiver.

  “Jack, what the hell’s that about. Dammit, I thought we’re in this together.”

  “We are. Talk to you tomorrow, and thanks.”

  Next call went to Rummell. “Eugene? ... Alexander.” A grunt of confirmation. “Just spoke with Parker. She knows about the boy and was about to send it in. I asked her to sit on it if you hold a press conference tomorrow. Up for that?”

  “How much does she know?”

  “Not much more than the boy’s dead. Whatever Will told the family.”

  “Why should she hold it? I wouldn’t.”

  “I promised her an exclusive from a reliable source if she held it off.”

  “Jack... Jack... Jack,” he moaned, “you’re gonna get us all in a giant shit storm here. How do you think Braxton will take this one?”

  “Tell him your men got word of what she’s up to and it’s the expedient thing to do. You’ll look like a star.”

  “Right Jack, a shooting star. You know what happens to them? If not, let me tell you... they flame out!”

  “Want me to call her back and give her the go ahead?”

  Rummell considered his options. Better him than her to release the news first. Braxton would see it the same way. Why did he ask Alexander to get involved in the first place? He shook his head.

  “Jack, I’m only going to say this once. Be very careful what you to say to that broad or I won’t be able to protect you and you’ll find yourself in a heap of trouble. Are we clear?”

  “Very,” he declared and hung up.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Jack turned to see Pony’s nervous, knowing gaze.

  “You’re on a slippery slope Jack,” she said and gave him a hug.

  “Why don’t we have a ‘nap’?” she invited.

  A new code word he could not and did not resist.

  Two hours later, he threw a couple of logs on the fire and started it up for Pony.

  “Come on dog,” he called to Duff and they sauntered to the workshop.

  Closing one of the double doors, he left the other open to the moonlight and the call of the loons. The shop was lit by one, large, bare bulb and the only other source of light was the goose necked lamp over the workbench. Using the step-ladder he retrieved a Coleman from the rafters. The mantle was still in place and he felt comfort in its’ hiss as it caught and shone bright hanging on a hook toward the back of the shop. It was not the light but its warm glow and the reassuring sound he needed for company.

  An hour later Duff growled, stirred, bolted out the door around the shop and up toward the cabin. Assuming it was Pony, he returned to the charts. Surprisingly the dog returned with Will MacKenzie.

  “Whoa... Jack, and what have we got going here?”

  Jack gave sheepish shrug. “You okay Will?”

  “Nope, that boy was a nephew. It’s personal now.”

  “How’d you get by Pony?”

  “Parked at the front dock and when I looked in she was curled up fast asleep in front of the fire.”

  Jack pulled out a bottle of scotch, found two glasses behind the dart board, poured them a stiff tote and stood beside one of the charts as Will settled into a chair and read the notations aloud.

  “LOCATION…

  • On or near lake/access?

  • Sites7/5/4/ miles apart

  • Pattern?

  • 20-16 miles from town

  • 10-8 miles from mine road.”

  A pause.

  “Jack, before we start, let’s get something straight.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’m not here for some circle-jerk where we sit around putting information up on the wall and then wait for a break. Rummell and Braxton have their thumbs up their asses. We’re going to have to make something happen to flush this guy out. On our own if we have to. You up for that?”

  “Will, I’m already in way over my head but I’ve got nothing to lose. You’re the one who has to be careful here. Braxton and Rummell will run you out of town if they think you’re taking it into your own hands. Because one of the victims is related, I’d have you off this thing right now.”

  “They can’t do it Jack. The Bear Island Council wouldn’t stand for it. Plus, they need me. Actually, us. We’re the only ones who really know the lake and will cooperate.”

  “All good?”

  “Affirmative,” Jack nodded.

  “Okay, let’s get to it.”

  “Well,” Jack offered, standing in front of the map, “I can’t get anything from the sites. No matter how I join up the dots, I don’t see much.”

  “Maybe there’s nothing to see.”

  “Tell you one thing, you can forget access from town or the Mine Road. Who’s gonna run fifteen miles down the Northeast Arm, get to the centre of the lake, then chase down the victims and go back. Doesn’t make any sense. At the end of the Mine Road you got Fred Swift right at the Marina and you’re not going to go in and out of there unnoticed. So how far are the sites from the hub?”

  Jack put his face right up to the map and checked the scale at the bottom right. “I’d say eight, six, four, and the last one roughly three miles from the centre.”

  Will rose and took the felt pen. “I think we use about an eight-mile radius with the hub as the focus.”

  And, just like this, we draw a circle. For my money our boy lives or hangs out somewhere in there.”

  “What makes you think he’s on the lake?”

  “Jack, get any of that nonsense Braxton was talking about out of your head. This guy maybe lived on the lake once!” he said, rolling his eyeballs. “He’s here. What do you think? ... he’s

  driving in from New Liskeard every couple of days and launching a boat? Doesn’t work. And he’s not camped out somewhere in the bush either. He needs a canoe, a fast boat and instant lake access. You think he’s been haulin’ a goddam bear trap around in the back of his pickup?”

  Jack pinned up a new chart, labeled it Assumptions and noted, lives on the lake within eight miles of the hub.

  “Let’s talk about the murders.”

  “Not so fast.”

  “What?”

  “What’s the why of these locations?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, he either knows where these victims are, or where they’re gonna to be, their routines.”

  Will pointed one finger.

  “You’re a quick study Jack. For sure he’s on the lake or how else does he know Wainright’s route to church every Sunday?”

  “Or where the boys poach, or where the logging trail is,” Jack added as he included, Knows the victims and/or routines, to the Assumptions list.

  “Alright... the murders.”

  The roll read:

  • Murders

  • Brutal / theatrical / dramatic / horrific

  • Different / same

  • Meant to be found

  • Fearful

  • Slick / planned / smart / sick

  “Not exactly how the experts would put things but I get the point. Big question is the cage. If they were all meant to be found, how come the tourists get dumped out of sight?”

  “Got my doubts about that too, but I kinda go with Brautigan on that one. Walleye thought they would come up, but who knows, and maybe it doesn’t really matter. The fact that a couple of folks can simply disappear off a houseboat without a trace is pretty dramatic in itself.”

  “Maybe you’re right. It’s theatrical and the rest were brutal. I guess horrific fits the bill, meant to shock fits as well. I know what you’re getting at with different/same. They’re all very different but very much the same because they’re so ... so ..
. I dunno ... maybe staged is the word, like he’s proclaiming something we’re supposed to unravel.”

  Jack sipped the malt and nodded agreement. “So, what’s the declaration?”

  “If we knew that Jack, we’d be home and dry.”

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  “Anyway,” Will continued, “what the hell is fearful supposed to mean?”

  He shook his head in admission that he wasn’t really sure what he meant.

  “Guess I mean its sort of the outcome. It’s how the whole town feels, you and me included. I think maybe Friscolanti is right. This guy is some kind of terrorist. If the definition is simply to instil terror he’s done it in spades and he is a terrorist. Maybe that’s the objective.”

  “The motive Jack, the motive,” Will corrected him, chuckling.

  “Alright, if he’s using terror tactics to get the message across I still don’t get it. I associate these guys with politics, religion and fanaticism. Can’t figure what’s driving this guy.”

  Frustrated, he went to the Assumptions chart and added terrorism/mission/message? Then he moved along to:

  • TIMING

  • Time of day?

  • Date?

  • Interval?

  • Season?

  “Don’t throw it out Jack, but in this case it’s probably irrelevant. Only thing sure was that it wasn’t gonna happen after freeze up. The timing here is simple. Get it done, don’t be seen, don’t get caught and don’t leave anything behind. All of which is the case here. It says he’s smart and the killings well thought out. Only thing relevant here is these murders are in quick succession, like there’s some sort of deadline. What’s the rush? I don’ know. All we know is that it’s tourist season and he’s brought the town to its knees but that doesn’t necessarily help us much with motive.”

  Jack dutifully added deadline/event to the growing list of assumptions along with another question mark.

  “Talk to me about the victims.”

  VICTIMS

  • Commonality, between/other

  • Background

  • Occupation

  • Age/sex/nationality

  • Associations

  • Tourists/lawyer/resident/logger/native youth

  “So, what about Hansel and Gretel?”

  “The tourists? What’s to say? They’re swimming, fishing, taking photographs, screwing, smoking some dope and loving the lake. He brings her to a place he cherished as a boy.”

  “What about a jilted lover? A grudge that goes back to his canoeing days here?”

  “Forget the romantic crap. A jealous lover gets crazy, kills one or the other, usually one not both and doesn’t care much about theatrics. The operative word here is tourist, period. Nobody here cares either way. Just part of the local economy. End of story. Wrong place, wrong time.”

  “Wainright?”

  “Henry? That’s a little closer to home. Retired lawyer, generally well liked, and former President of the Property Association. Got some roots here but still considered to be an interloper, from away.”

  “That what I am Will, an interloper?” Jack asked, somewhat wounded.

  Will nodded “Essentially Jack, but for now I’ll just consider you the resident amateur sleuth.

  Tell you what, I’m gonna level with you. Only the folks on The Bear Island rez know, but I’m not a Temagami. I’m Potawatomi Algonquin from the western Great Lake territory. Years ago, I came here to moose hunt, met my wife and never went back. Our dialects are pretty similar but at first, I could barely understand her. Anyway, we’re in this together now Jack and although I don’t think we’re quite ready to be blood-brothers, I’m going to call you ‘giimoozabi’, Trusty Friend.”

  “Should I be flattered or... ”

  “Take your pick. By the way, for your info Chief McKenzie basically adopted me, so you might say Pony is kind of a half sister... remember that.”

  “Copy that.”

  “Back to business. So, what are the big issues around the Property Association?”

  “I think they’re basically what they’ve always been, a bunch of well-heeled and camouflaged NIMBYs. In one form or another they’ve bin around since 1931 with the objective ‘to be properly organised to meet any commercial invasion’.”

  They still think of this lake as some sort of private reserve and basically do everything they can to keep it that way. They don’t fool anyone but they represent a pretty sizeable tax and economic base for the town. They’re a force to reckon with and have their nose into everything. They gave Henry the boot when they felt he was too soft on the native rights land issue.”

  “What did they think of him on Bear Island?”

  “They actually thought he was starting to get it, but didn’t make any difference, he was out.”

  “Enemies in the Association?”

  “Sure, but who’s gonna kill someone over a policy issue? Everyone knows there’s going to be a land settlement, just a question of negotiation.”

  “Maybe for your folks Will, maybe not for others. He wouldn’t be the first person killed over a land dispute.”

  “Is that what it really is?”

  Will’s eyes narrowed, wondering how Jack really felt about the land claim. It was true he could see the issue only from the native perspective, which was actually pretty straightforward. The Europeans had come, stolen the land they had been on for centuries, destroyed their culture and had all the power. The mission for the native community was to claw back as much as they could and ensure they never got fucked over again. At the same time, the trick was to never really settle anything ‘once and for all’. Who knew what the future would bring? The secret was always to make gains and leave a crack in the door open for future negotiation.

  “And the logger, Sawchuck?”

  “Cut trees.”

  “And that most likely is all there is to it. Even if he’s screwing your wife, you going to the effort of setting a bear trap, or, would you rather look him in the eye shoot him?”

  “What does that leave us?”

  “Trees Jack, just trees. Trees and money. The price of lumber is so high now that they can use Sikorski helicopters to take it out of the bush almost tree by tree.”

  Jack poured himself another scotch, plunked down in one of the chairs and peered back and forth between Will and the charts building a new-found respect for the officer and his ability to cut to the chase.

  “Who’s interested in trees Jack?”

  “Corporate, pine and pulp.”

  “Yeah.”

  “The loggers, work.”

  “Right, the motives for those two are clear.”

  “Who else?”

  “Environmentalists.”

  “Bingo!”

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  “Yes, environmentalists. Some are knowledgeable, most are not. They’re tree-huggers, spikers, road blockers and generally bleeding-heart liberals looking for a cause. Don’t know shit from shinola. You want to add something to the list?”

  Jack wrote Corporate and Environmentalists. Studying the notes for enlightenment of sorts, he reached into his top pocket, took out his makings and rolled a cigarette.

  “Those things will kill you.”

  “Not at the rate I smoke them. Let’s step out for a while and take a break.”

  On the back dock Jack finally asked the question he had been avoiding.

  “Tell me about Mathew Potter.”

  “Not much to tell really. Just one of the kids on the reserve out having some fun, fishing where his ancestors have for hundreds of years. We’ve used weirs and fish traps there for centuries. A buddy apparently was supposed to go with him that night but he bailed at the last minute and Mathew went on his own.”

  Will was staring out into the darkness speaking quietly, upper lip occasionally twitching.

  “Only seventeen, Jack. Thought he’d impress the family and come back with a big catch all on his own. It’ll be hard for me not to kill the so
n of a bitch if I catch him one-on-one and I tell you, I’m gonna catch him.”

  After a brief pause, he said, “One other thing. What’s with you and Pony?”

  He knew this was coming. What to say?

  “I’m very fond of her, I respect her and we’re getting on well. Could be special.”

  Will’s penetrating eyes bore through him.

  “Don’t hurt her Jack.”

  They sat in silence for minutes that seemed like hours. The loons started up, the clear sky was starlit and the moon headed for three quarters.

  “Any ideas?” he prodded gently.

  “Sure. He knew the guy. Only way it could have happened without more of a struggle. He is ... was, a strong, wiry boy.”

  “What do we do next?”

  “Let’s keep on with what we’re doing. Might give us some idea as to what Walleye’s up to next. Then we’ll get together with... ”

  He stopped short and over his shoulder saw Pony trundling down the path with a plate of sandwiches and a six-pack.

  She wore Jack’s loon pyjamas under his old terry towel robe and a pair of flip-flops. Her hair was damp and pulled straight back.

  “Nice look.”

  “Northern chic. Thought you boys might be hungry. Will, you must have sneaked by me while I was asleep. How long have you been here?”

  “Hour.”

  “Saw your boat at the front dock. Sorry about Mathew. Close?”

  “We’re all close on the island, you know that.”

  Jack and Will sat down on the end of the dock, legs dangling, with the beer and sandwiches between them. Jack watched Wills’ eyes follow Pony into the workshop.