The Cardinal Divide

by Stephen Legault

  “What have you got to tell me, Cole? This isn’t a social visit.”

  “I thought we were working on this together, Nancy.”

  “We are not working on anything together Cole. You’re a source. I’m a reporter. What have you got?”

  “I’m hungry,” he said. “I’m going to eat some of your dinner.” He walked over to the table and flipped open the box. Half a vegetarian pizza was left. He picked up a slice. A couple of mushrooms dropped to the floor. He began to eat.

  He could tell that this infuriated Nancy. The mushrooms and the delay.

  He sat down in one of the chairs, stretched out his legs, and chewed. “What have you got?”

  “Christ, you can be difficult, Cole.”

  “You’re no walk in the park yourself, Nancy.”

  She sat down at the little desk across the room from him. She ran her fingers through her long dark hair and sighed. It was so familiar. The long hair cascading down across her shoulders. The way she tilted her head slightly to the left when she spoke. The way her eyes looked in the half-light of a darkened room. He was beginning to remember her the way she was before the disaster. Before the disaster called Cole Blackwater.

  “So Mike Barnes has a history. It’s not a long one, but it’s colourful,” she said. “Before he worked in mining, he spent some time in the forestry sector. This was before doing his MBA , and before marrying into the mining industry. He worked for a medium-sized logging company in northern Ontario and Manitoba called East Woods. They specialized in salvage operations and in taking over timber licences that had been abandoned by smaller operators. They would buy up the licences of operators that were going out of business one way or another, assume the operation, sometimes even with the outgoing company’s crew and equipment, and after cutting everything that they could, wind down operations quickly and efficiently. I guess that’s where Barnes got his skill as a hatchet man.”

  Cole listened. He ate a second piece of pizza.

  “Interesting enough on its own, but I did some digging with a few contacts in one of the communities he worked in. A few years ago, after you ruined my journalism career, I was covering a flood in Manitoba and got to know a few local reporters in the area. Anyway, I called in a favour, and I’m told that Mike Barnes has a history of fooling around. No big deal, I guess, but it’s led to trouble. About ten years ago, in one of his very first jobs, he slept with one of the forestry mill workers’ wives, and the worker found out and tried to kill him.”

  “You’re kidding me,” said Cole. He held a third piece of pizza in his hand.

  “I guess Barnes scheduled the man on night shift so he could come over and bone the wife. The worker got suspicious – you know, little things that the wife would say or do. He came home one night during his meal break and found Barnes in the sack with the chick. He flew into a rage and tried to strangle Barnes with a belt.”

  Cole shook his head. “How did that end?”

  “The wife conked her husband on the head with a lamp and knocked him out. Barnes got the hell out of town. No charges were ever laid.”

  “Guy hasn’t learned his lesson.”

  “Looks like it might finally have killed him,” said Nancy.

  “Not so fast, Sherlock,” said Cole, getting up to go to the bathroom. He spotted a half-full bottle of wine (when it came to booze, the bottle was always half full in Cole’s view) on Nancy’s night stand, and he retrieved one of the plastic-wrapped cups from the bathroom and poured himself a full glass.

  “Like some wine?” Nancy rolled her eyes.

  “Don’t mind if I do. So you think that George Cody is our man?”

  “Makes sense, given what we know.”

  “Because someone else tried to kill him for boffing his wife, you figure this time George Cody was successful?”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not saying it’s not possible, but I don’t see how an incident ten years ago could catch up with Barnes in Oracle. I doubt George Cody found out about Barnes’ past and decided, on behalf of men everywhere, to put an end to his philandering ways.”

  “It was easy enough to find out,” said Nancy. “A couple of phone calls.”

  “Yeah, but you’re a sophisticated reporter with a major newspaper. George is a bartender with a baseball bat.”

  “Was a sophisticated reporter with a major newspaper. Then I met you, shithead.”

  “Whatever. My point is, it doesn’t seem possible that George would have known about Barnes’ past.”

  “Nevertheless, it could be that Barnes’ past finally caught up with him.”

  “Or that at least his bad habits did,” added Cole. He took a slug of wine and drained his glass. He was feeling more relaxed, thanks to the food and the wine. “I was thinking along these same lines this afternoon. I was out at the mine looking at the crime scene with the lawyer from Legal Aid.”

  Nancy raised her left eyebrow. “Really? What did you learn?”

  “I don’t think that Mike Barnes was killed where the RCMP think he was killed.” He told her about the crime scene and his belief that whoever killed Mike Barnes likely hadn’t been hiding among the drill bits and steel.

  “Then where?”

  “I don’t know yet. We need to check a few things out.”

  “We?”

  “Yes, we, as in you and me. I need you to check and see if there is any blood in either George or Deborah Cody’s car. If either of them – ”

  “Or both of them,” interjected Nancy.

  “Yes, if either or both of them killed Barnes somewhere else on the mine site, they might have used a vehicle to get the body from the site of the murder to the mill. It’s a big place, and Barnes was a big enough man that Deborah, and maybe even George, would have needed some assistance in getting Barnes to the mill for disposal.”

  “Why would they choose the mill as a place for disposal?”

  Cole cocked his head to one side to indicate he wasn’t following.

  “Why choose the mill? Why would George or Deborah gather that the mill was the best place for disposal?”

  “Beats me,” said Cole.

  “Me too.”

  “But I’m not so certain that the Codys are our best suspects.”

  “Really? Then who?”

  “Hank Henderson.”

  “You’re kidding me. The assistant mine manager?”

  “Now acting mine manager,” said Cole.

  “You think ambition led him to club his boss and take his job?”

  “Why not? The man has been at the mine for half his working life. He’s been the assistant mine manager for a long time. Passed over twice for the top job. And then in walks Mike Barnes with a plan to kill the mine. I think that might be enough to rattle a couple of screws loose from Hank Henderson’s head and lead him to commit murder.”

  “I don’t know. Seems a little weak.”

  Cole grinned. “When you lost your job at The Globe and Mail, what did you want to do?”

  Nancy looked down and then up into Cole’s eyes. Hers were burning. “I wanted to kill you, you bastard.”

  “Case in point.”

  16

  “You got in late.” Peggy McSorlie dropped pancake batter into a hot pan. “I hope you don’t mind,” Cole said and made a beeline for the coffee pot. In a moment he had a cup full, with cream, just the way he liked it. It was half-past eight. Gord McSorlie was already at work in the yard. Cole sipped his coffee. “This detective work involves a lot of late-night snooping around.” Cole winked.

  “Just be careful about what you’re snooping around. Remember the old cliché, curiosity killed the cat?”

  “I’m very careful,” said Cole with a grin. This PI work wasn’t too bad after all. He was almost looking forward to his day, something that hadn’t happened since he’d arrived in Oracle. Something that hadn’t happened for a long time, period. He rubbed his cheek. He needed a shave. Had to take better care of himself. Not let himself go to pot. He n
eeded to stay sharp. A man’s future was at stake, after all, and so was an amazing landscape.

  Cole ate a stack of pancakes, and when he was done he cleared the table and washed the breakfast dishes. That settled, he and Peggy sat down with a second cup of coffee to discuss what came next.

  “I need to go back to the mine today,” he said. “There are just too many loose ends out there. There’s the mysterious disappearance of the appointment book. And I can’t believe that the night watchman didn’t see anything out of the ordinary that night.”

  “Do you think he might be in on it too?”

  Cole sipped his coffee. “As far as I’m concerned, everybody in this town might be in on it. One thing I’m reasonably sure of is that Barnes was here to shut the mine down, with special orders to make it look like things were actually going full steam ahead.”

  Peggy nodded. “Maybe that’s why he was so forthcoming when you talked with him.”

  Cole grinned and sipped his coffee. “Don’t forget, Peggy, my cover was already blown then. In fact, it never was a cover at all, knowing what we know now about the mole. Maybe Mike Barnes himself placed that mole inside our group to ensure we stayed on track with our plan to shut down the mine for him.”

  “Wow. That’s one serious conspiracy theory.”

  “Maybe, but I’m not willing to rule anything out right now.”

  Peggy grinned. “Speaking of moles.”

  “What have you found?”

  “I’m at work on that list. I’ll have it by the end of the day.”

  “How many names on it?”

  “Five right now, but I should have it down to three by this afternoon.”

  “Can you set up meetings with these people for me tomorrow?”

  “What do I tell them?”

  “Say we’re on the move with a strategy and that I want to check in with each of them personally about their part.”

  “And what are you really going to do?”

  Cole was silent. Then a smile spread across his face.

  “What is it?”

  “I just got a really good idea.”

  “Tell me!”

  “What if I feed each of them a separate story, something juicy, that the mole would certainly want to leak to the press? And then we see what happens.”

  Peggy leaned forward. “We watch to see which of the stories turns up somewhere that it shouldn’t, and then we know who our mole is. Do you think they might be wise to that trick?”

  Cole finished his coffee. “Maybe. But we can try to diffuse suspicion by telling them that I plan to meet with everyone. It’s worth a try.”

  They agreed to brainstorm a few different stories for Cole to feed the suspected moles. Peggy’s job was to find out when Dale would be transferred from Oracle to Red Deer.

  “While we’re on the subject of the press, Peggy, there’s something I need to tell you,” said Cole, a little bashful.

  “What is it?”

  “Well, I’ve been working with Nancy Webber on this.”

  “The Edmonton Journal reporter?”

  “Yes. We knew each other in Ottawa, and I trust her. She loathes me, but I still trust her. She’s helping me dig up some material that I couldn’t get on my own.”

  “I don’t know, Cole. What if she’s just using you to get a story?”

  “I’m pretty sure she is, Peggy,” said Cole with a doleful smile. “But I trust her to keep quiet until I give her the OK . I won’t do that without talking with you first.”

  “All right,” said Peggy, but she wasn’t entirely convinced.

  They finished their coffee. Cole said before leaving, “Peggy, I get the feeling that we’re running out of time on this.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s been a week since Mike Barnes was killed. In a couple of days all our help will to disappear. Dale will be transferred to Red Deer. Perry Gilbert will be back there as well. Nancy Webber will have to head back to Edmonton, and she’s been the most helpful of the three, despite the fact that she hates my guts. We need to wrap this up and soon.”

  “Let’s get cracking then,” said Peggy.

  Cole called Perry Gilbert on his way into town. “Anything on the murder weapon?” he asked.

  “You’re not going to believe this.”

  “Try me.”

  “The results got lost.”

  “You’re right. I don’t believe it.”

  “They have to redo them.”

  “How long?”

  “Another two days. Friday.”

  “And when does Dale go to Red Deer.”

  “Friday. Saturday at the latest.”

  Friday then. Two days. Cole could feel time working against him. But he had to admit that he liked this part of the fight: the clock running down. It made time for one last play. For one last flurry of punches. And then what? Then either you hit the mat, your opponent did, or you both sat back down.

  As he drove through Oracle he dialled Nancy Webber.

  “Webber.”

  “Blackwater.”

  “Ha ha. What do you want?”

  “They’re moving Dale on Friday. Saturday at the latest.”

  “I heard this morning. I’m a reporter you know.”

  “I know. We have to pick up the pace.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  Cole hit the gravel road and pressed the pedal down. “Can you follow up on George and Deborah today? I’m headed out to the mine right now.”

  “Cole, do you really think that the killing could be linked to Mike Barnes’ job? You know, to shut the mine down?”

  “Could be. That might be Hank Henderson’s motivation.”

  “How do we find out who knew that the mine was actually slated for a shutdown?”

  Cole thought about it.

  “Hello?”

  “I’m deep in thought. What if I call someone and see what I can learn?”

  “Who?”

  “Can’t say. I need to keep him out of this.”

  “Fine, be that way, but call me back.”

  He hung up without saying goodbye. He dialled Jim Jones. “Jim, it’s Cole.”

  “Cole. How’s the body count?”

  “Funny.”

  “Not exactly how I expected you to stop the mine, but I’ll take what I can get.”

  “Jim, this call is probably being monitored.”

  “Fat doughnut-eaters can listen all they want,” laughed Jones. “They won’t take you alive. Good work, kid.”

  “Seriously Jim, I have a favour to ask.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Who got copies of the environmental assessment? And when?”

  “I can try to find out. The thing is still not in the public domain. I worked with a review draft.”

  “Can you look into this ASAP?”

  “I’ll try, Cole. What has this got to do with anything?”

  “I better not say, Jim.”

  “It’s going to cost you.”

  “I’ll stock up on my way back through Jasper. Spend the night. We’ll have a real hoot.”

  “Deal.”

  “Call me.”

  “It might take a few days of sweet-talking.”

  “We’re running out of time, Jim.”

  “I’ll do what I can, Cole.”

  What next? He drove and pondered.

  At 11:30 he reached the mine. He learned at the gate that JP Juror, the night watchman, started his shift at 2 PM.

  “Can I wait for him at the office?”

  “He doesn’t report there,” said the guard.

  “Can I wait there anyway? Beats sitting around in my truck.”

  “Hold on,” the guard said and picked up the phone. “OK,” he said after quick conversation. “You can wait in the front entrance hall.”

  Perfect, thought Cole. Then all I have to do is figure out how not to be seen by Hank Henderson, and find my way up to Mike Barnes’ office.

  He parked in visitor parking and walked u
p the steps. He glanced at the mill and shook his head. No way was Barnes lured across a hundred plus yards of darkened yard to the mill building. Unless, of course, he suspected a trespasser. Cole ruled that out. The only person likely to throw a monkey wrench in the mill was van Stempvort, and Cole was pretty much convinced of Dale’s innocence.

  The office building was quiet. Mike Barnes had let a dozen people go when he came on board, in the name of reducing redundancies, and until a week ago anyone not involved with the running of this particular mine site was weeded out. How many of them had foreknowledge of the plan to close the mine? Did any of them have the necessary motivation to kill Mike Barnes? Come on, Jim, Cole thought, I need something to point us toward a suspect.

  Cole walked right past the empty reception desk and mounted the stairs at the south end of the building. At the top of the third flight of stairs Cole had to take a rest. By the fourth floor he was breathing so hard his stomach felt tight and his heart protested. He was repulsed by himself, by what he’d become, and promised himself to get back into shape if he ever got out of Oracle.

  He walked down the hall to the former manager’s office. Tracey sat at her desk.

  “Hi there,” he said. “It’s Cole Blackwater.”

  “I remember we met that night.... I’m Tracey Blake, remember? I’m Mr. Barnes’ secretary. Was, I guess,” and she looked down at her hands.

  “In the front hall, right,” said Cole, then added, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Me too. He was a good man.”

  Did she know anything about Mike Barnes’ private life?

  “The front gate called and told me that you’d be waiting at reception and asked if I’d look in on you. You’re supposed to be downstairs, aren’t you?” she raised an eyebrow at Cole. “Do you have a meeting with someone?”

  “Well, there was nowhere to sit downstairs,” Cole shuffled his feet. “I’m here to talk with the night watchman, but I don’t have an appointment and I’m early. Tell me, how are you holding up?”