chapter sixteen
It took a little while to adjust to the brilliant sunshine, and I was deep in thought as I walked back to my car. It was late afternoon and I was trying to decide where to park myself until my 8:00 p.m. appointment with Don, trying to forget that I could have been having dinner with Patrick.
As I was heading toward my car a smart little sports car turned in and Leslie jumped out.
“Any luck with your disks?” she called out.
“Not yet,” I said as she walked over to me.
“Is that why you’re here? I must say, I didn’t expect to see you again. Or are you here to lecture?” The innuendo was there, I could feel it, but the smile on her face seemed genuine.
“I wanted more information on the logging north of Dumoine. Patrick Whyte said he could get me the film of the info meeting. I came up to take a look at that.”
“What a zoo that was,” she said. “Don’t know what good it’ll do you, but it sure is entertaining, if you like controversy that is.”
“I’ve just taken a good look at it. There were a lot of angry people in that room that night.”
“Yeah,” said Leslie with a half-smile. “You can say that again.” She started turning away, “You going inside?”
I wasn’t, of course, but I nodded, and the two of us began to walk back the way I had just come.
“I didn’t notice Patrick Whyte there,” I said, as nonchalantly as I could. “I thought that was odd. Was he sick?”
“Patrick? No. He just isn’t interested in the logging up there. He’s a gung-ho environmentalist, but he opted out of this one. Don’t know why. You’ll just have to ask him.” Again, the little dig was there, not in the words themselves but in how she said them.
“I noticed you didn’t take part in any of the discussions.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she said, turning to look at me.
“Just that you seem to be in a delicate position. You’re studying moose, and logging makes great moose habitat. Maybe you stood to gain something if the area was logged.”
She stopped suddenly and stared at me.
“Are you kidding?”
We reached the double doors of the building in icy silence, and Leslie hauled one open.
I hesitated, then said, “Davies tells me you and Diamond once had a relationship.”
She stared at me, cold as a glacier stream, her mouth tight and narrow. Suddenly she smiled. “Boy, you are nosey, aren’t you? So’s Davies. Yeah, we were lovers once. And he was a royal asshole when it came to women.” There was a hardness to her voice, and something flashed into her eyes that made me feel uneasy.
“What do you mean?”
“He used women, although to be fair I don’t think he knew he did, but he did. He’d gobble them up, chew them to pieces, and then spit them out.”
The bitterness leaked through her smile like overflowing bathwater seeping through a ceiling.
“Is that what happened to you?”
“I don’t know what you’re trying to get at. I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s really none of your business.” She scowled. “We were lovers once, okay? We fell out of love. It was no big secret. He’s dead now and so what does it matter what we were to each other?”
“You got his job.”
“Sure, I got his job. I should have had it years ago, but that doesn’t mean I wished him dead. Anything else?”
“Actually, yes. What would Diamond have done with film he took on his trip?”
“He’d bring the roll back here to be developed, but obviously he wouldn’t have had a chance on this last trip.”
“Has anything showed up here?”
“I wouldn’t know. You’ll have to ask Patrick. Why are you so interested, anyway?”
“There was no film found among Diamond’s belongings — not even any unexposed film. It just seems odd, that’s all.”
“Sorry, can’t help.”
We parted company and on impulse I stopped in at the library, found a pay phone, and put in a call to Duncan. I waited for what seemed like an age before his booming voice blasted my ear.
“What can I do for you, girl?”
I filled him in on what I’d accomplished over the two days since I had talked to him last.
“Interesting, my girl, but no evidence to warrant reopening this case.” He paused and then asked, “Have you got a theory?”
“Sort of,” I said. “He could easily have been taking sleeping pills without his girlfriend knowing. He was the sort of macho man who wouldn’t want to admit to any weakness. But she also said he’d never take sardines into the bush because they’re too smelly and attractive to bears.”
“Do you believe her?”
“Yeah, I do. He knew the bush well. It would have been dumb. As for the sleeping pills, I don’t know of anyone who has to take a sleeping pill in the wild. He’d been out there three weeks. He must have been in great shape, working hard all day in the sun, working up an appetite and then sleeping like a baby. No need of sleeping pills. And the weather was beautiful until late on the night he died — hot and humid and sunny. Easy to go swimming, even after the sun was down, and easy to dump any soiled clothes in the water to clean out the oil, but he didn’t. She’s probably right, although you could argue that he got too tired and simply fell asleep before changing. But it would be like a bloody beacon sending out an invitation to the bear for supper.”
“You do see the complicated in life, don’t you, Cordi? Diamond probably had someone else with him who had brought sardines and it all happened so fast that Diamond couldn’t get rid of them before the bear attacked.”
In one blinding flash I saw it. Why hadn’t I seen it long before this?
“Or maybe there’s another reason,” I said excitedly. “Maybe, just maybe, someone spiked his water and then planted the sardine oil on his pants.”
“What?” Duncan’s voice shook down the line like a jackhammer hitting metal.
“Put it in his water flask.”
“Put what?”
“Sleeping pills.”
“Hang on there, girl. You’re getting carried away. Even supposing someone did, he’d be sure to taste it,” protested Duncan.
My mind was racing, some of the pieces starting to fall into place. I thought back to his mess tent and the iodine tablets I’d seen.
“Not if he was using iodine tablets to purify his water. They’d mask the flavour of anything. What if the oil was spilled later, when he was sleeping?”
“My dear girl!”
“No, it’s not as crazy as it seems. I was talking to Don Allenby. He was very evasive, but he said something about sardines, and then he said something like, ‘Why would I bait him?’ At first I thought he meant ‘bait’ as in ‘taunt,’ but I’m not so sure now. How did he know about the sardines? It wasn’t public knowledge, was it?”
“No. It was never considered important enough to be reported as anything but fish oil. The public was given reassurance that the fish attracted the bear and if they’re just careful in the woods, it won’t happen to them.”
“Don was scared, Duncan. His comment made me think someone could have deliberately used Diamond as bait. The sort of thing bear hunters do in the spring. They set out bait in the bear’s known haunts and then they sit behind a blind and wait.”
“You’re talking murder, girl,” he said, and when I didn’t respond he said more forcefully, “You’re talking gibberish, Cordi. Even if what you say is true, how would they ever be sure the bear would be there? You’ve got to admit that it’s a very unpredictable murder weapon to choose.”
“I don’t know, Duncan. I haven’t yet worked that part out.”
Duncan was silent. I wanted desperately for him to agree with me, or at least to think my theory was possible.
“Don used the word murder before shutting up. But there’s no way I can prove it even if it were true and I found out who was responsible. It makes the fumigating of my larvae
and the stealing of my disks make a lot more sense, though. Whoever did it wanted Diamond out of the way but for some reason didn’t want his body found where he died, most likely because it would incriminate whoever it is. That could be just about anybody, but my bet’s on Don. He has the strongest motive of all: his child’s welfare.”
“And he knew about the sardines, a fact I never released publicly. You be careful, girl. I’d hate to lose you now that I’ve found me a forensic entomologist.”
I pulled the receiver away from my ear and looked at it. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’ve decided you should become Dumoine’s first forensic entomologist, girl, on a consulting basis whenever we need you. You have most of the criteria, and it wouldn’t take you long to get the hang of it. We’d just need you to help pinpoint time of death and stuff. You see, there is a dearth of qualified people willing to do this work. I know I’m being a little presumptuous, and you don’t have to say a thing right now. Just think about it and we can talk later.”
He was being unbelievably presumptuous, but before I could say anything there was a loud clanging juddering noise over the lines and I jerked the receiver away. Through the noise I could barely hear Duncan’s voice: “Gotta go! They’re drilling holes for a new fancy-dancy telephone line. Think about it.” And the line went dead.
Since I was still in the building I wandered back to Diamond’s lab, hoping Patrick would still be there so I could ask him some more questions. Transparent reason, but better than none. The door to the lab was open, and I hesitated before I knocked and walked in. I heard a quick breath, a rustle, and a book or something falling.
“What are you doing here?”
“I might ask the same of you,” I said as Lianna moved out from behind a bookcase and stared at me. She said nothing at all, and the silence became uncomfortable. I folded first.
“I was looking for Whyte. Thought he could tell me more about Diamond’s role in the logging issue. Maybe you can help me.”
Lianna still hadn’t blinked, still stared at me with her carefully made-up eyes, and it unnerved me.
“You were there. I saw you on the film. Sitting with the loggers. Isn’t that an odd thing to do? Supporting the loggers when your husband was so against them?”
“Look, lady. I’m my own woman. Just because I was married to the guy doesn’t mean I have to agree with everything he did. In fact, I actively disagreed with most of his ideas. I own a cottage up in the area. There’s no road access, no hydro, but it’s a beautiful spot. I’d love to get a road in there. I hate rustic living, but I love the country. Go figure. The loggers claimed they would put in a road. Besides, it annoyed Jake to see me there and that made me feel good.”
“You hated him that much?”
“Hate isn’t the word. I resented him. I resented all that he did to me. I resented his work. It took him away from me, and even when it didn’t he’d bring his damn work home.”
“Is that why you left him?”
She looked at me, tilting her head to one side, and I thought she wouldn’t answer, but instead she spat out, “Yes, that and his continuous string of mistresses. He paid more attention to them and to his goddamned study animals than he ever did to me. He started bringing his bloody cats home six years ago. The first one was a little three-month-old cub. It was pretty cute and it didn’t stay long, but then there were more and most of them needed to be bottle fed at all hours of the day and night. They’d mew and puke and pee and the house smelled awful all the time. I couldn’t bring anybody home it was so bad. We couldn’t even make love when the damn things were around. If they mewed he’d be gone in a flash.”
She looked at me defensively as if wanting my support. I nodded in sympathy, not because her life had been invaded by cats but because of the string of mistresses. Even if I didn’t like her I could feel sorry for the pain he had caused her and the hatred that had resulted from it.
“The last straw,” she said, “were two ugly, naked cubs, so young their eyes weren’t even open. He and Jeff had brought them in one night a few years ago after returning from New Brunswick to pick up some sperm for Jeff’s artificial insemination project. You know about Jeff?”
I nodded and she continued.
“They only stayed a night, I made sure of that. I threw them all out the next day. I guess he went up to Jeff’s, but we didn’t talk to each other much after that. It was over even then, you see. I just hadn’t wanted to admit it. But then that little bitch Shannon appeared and I couldn’t take the humiliation anymore. I’d given him so many chances. I threw his stuff out in the yard six months ago, changed the locks on the door, and filed for divorce.”
“Why did you lie about the little black book?”
She looked at me and smiled. “So you’ve been talking to Shannon, have you? I wondered how long before you’d find out from the bitch. You suspected right from the start that I was lying, didn’t you? I know that now, but I thought my act had convinced you.”
When I didn’t answer she continued.
“If I’d told you I was looking for something that belonged to Diamond, as his bitter ex-wife, what would have been my chances that I would have got a straight answer from you?”
“But how did you know Diamond had written his will in it?” I said, evading the question.
“My lawyer told me Shannon was claiming there was another will. She’s not very bright, you know. She told my lawyer it was in Diamond’s diary. But she could-n’t come up with it, so I knew she didn’t have it. I hoped the police did. I figured he owed me and that the bitch didn’t deserve a thing.”
“Didn’t you get anything in the divorce settlement?”
She laughed again, a sad, sorry little laugh.
“Oh sure, but not my fair share, never my fair share. I’m just lucky he forgot to change his will in time. I deserve to get something out of his death. I got nothing out of his life.”
chapter seventeen
Ihad a lot of time to kill before my meeting with Don so I cruised around Dumoine looking for a park to walk around in and then I went hunting for a nice little restaurant. I settled for a little cafe that had only one waitress for eight tables — and they were all full. My nose was so plugged up that the food was tasteless, and I regretted that I hadn’t gone to buy some antihistamine. I didn’t get away from the restaurant until 7:ffl and I was afraid I’d be late for my appointment with Don. It took me a while to find his house, and it was just past 8:00 when I finally pulled the car up in front of it. The house was a small, rundown two-storey affair squished between its neigh-bours and sporting a postage stamp–sized front lawn. There was no car in the skinny driveway and the garage door was tightly closed.
I parked the car on the street, collected my box of Kleenex, and walked up the front walk. The lawn was neatly cut, but there were no flowers at all. The screen door was a marmalade colour and the bilious green paint of the inner door looked like some terminal disease. There was a sheet of paper taped to the door. I opened the screen and looked at it:
Sorry I’m not here. Come on in and make yourself at home. I’ll be back at 8:30 or so. Please don’t leave. Beer in the fridge. Sorry. Don.
Feeling like an intruder I cautiously opened the front door and called out, just in case he was back and had forgotten to retrieve the note. But there was no response, so I went inside and closed the front door behind me. I found myself in a tiny foyer crammed with a neat row of boots below an equally neat row of old jackets, each on its own peg, totally at odds with the outside of the house.
I moved into what appeared to be a living room, tables neatly stacked with magazines, nothing out of place, and the curtains drawn even though it was still light outside. The house was stuffy and incredibly hot, not a single window open and no air conditioning. I wondered how Don could stand it. I was sweating already and I’d been inside for only thirty seconds.
A large oil painting of a hare took prime spot above the mantelpiece that framed a bricked-in fire
place. There were two pictures on the mantel. One was a family photo of Don and his wife and their little girl, who looked to be about four years old in the picture. She had blonde hair like her mother’s and dimples, but her eyes were deep brown like her father’s, whose hand rested proudly on her tiny shoulder. Don was looking down at his daughter with such an expression of raw love that I was momentarily dragged into his tragedy, until I forced myself to turn and look at the other picture.
There was very little left of the four-year-old in the scarred face and vacant eyes of the girl securely strapped into the wheelchair. I looked at the picture, wondering about the depth of the pain and guilt to which Don’s little girl had taken him. Had it poisoned his mind and dragged him down into desperation in his need to provide some sort of life for her? Had it driven him so far as to turn him into a cheat? Had it perhaps driven him even further than that? Had he been involved in some way with Diamond’s death to prevent the fraud from becoming public — from ruining his life and destroying his ability to care for his little girl?
I continued on through the living room to the kitchen, which was immaculately clean, from the gas stove, with two brightly coloured pots sitting on the front burners, to the tiny refrigerator. No microwave, no dishwasher, no frills here, and the dishes were mismatched. There was a sort of hissing sound, coming from the basement near the stove, and the fridge’s motor suddenly leapt to life and made me jump.
A door led out of the kitchen into a back room, which Don had turned into a study of sorts. Unlike the other rooms this room was messy, as if someone had been in a great hurry and been interrupted or something. I put my Kleenex box down on the desk and glanced over the papers, but there was nothing there except some unpaid bills. One was huge — a third and final notice for $20,000.00 from a private nursing home.
I put it down, feeling suddenly dizzy, and gripped the chair back, my stomach heaving. The wave of nausea passed, but my head was feeling heavy and achy. I thought about what I had eaten at the restaurant and wondered about food poisoning. At least I knew I couldn’t be pregnant. It had been months since I’d left Luke. I hoped Don would come soon. If I was getting sick I wanted to get home and be sick in private. I went back to the living room, not wanting him to surprise me in his private study. A car door slammed and I jumped. Guess my nerves were on edge along with my queasy stomach.
Forever Dead Page 19
