“Gunshot residue. GSR.”
“Right. And if you’ve got evidence, then you can link someone else to the crime. Me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“If Brian Marriott had just been pushed off the cliff to die from the fall, there wouldn’t be any way of linking the physical evidence to me. Shoot him first, and they can plant the evidence.”
“The FBI says they found traces of GSR on your shirt.”
“Yeah, on a shirt I never wore once on the trip. It was a light polypropylene shirt I carry in case of bad weather or if I need something to sleep in.”
“What are you saying?”
“Whoever killed Brian knew that I got up early every morning and went for a walk. He found the shirt in my bag, put it on, shot Brian Marriott, and threw him over the cliff. Then he put the shirt back. Nancy, it’s a set-up. This isn’t just a case of incompetent policing. I’m being framed.”
“By whom?”
“I don’t know. We figure that out, and I’m off the hook.”
Nancy sat at the table and tapped her pencil on her notebook. Her raven-black hair was tied back in a businesslike ponytail. “We’re going to have to do both. Let’s do what Perry asked and address all of his questions. But let’s do some digging. Poke around a little.”
Cole was excited. “Now you’re talking my language!”
“Cole, we’ve got to be careful.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Whatever Brian Marriott was poking around in got him killed.”
THEY SPENT THE rest of the day compiling lists of people who might have seen Cole during the three days he was in East Glacier before the hike. They broke at suppertime, and Cole went out to feed the chickens and pigs. When he was done, his mother was waiting for him by the back door.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, darling.”
“What’s up?”
“Do you have time to chat?”
“I should help Nancy in the kitchen—”
“She’s fine. She knows her way around.”
“Sure, then.” Dorothy pulled on a pair of boots, and she and Cole walked in silence toward the large garden that stood between the barn and the house. Then Cole said, “What’s up, Mom?”
“I’m sorry that I’ve been so distant since you arrived.”
“It’s alright. I’m sure I haven’t been the most fun to be around. Funny how a murder rap will do that.”
“I owe you an explanation.”
“No, you—”
“Cole.” Dorothy turned to look at him. “This whole thing with the death of your friend, and you getting in trouble. I know that you have nothing to do with it.” Cole opened his mouth to speak, but Dorothy silenced him with a gentle glance. “I know you don’t, Cole. I’ve got to tell you that I feel a little responsible for the trouble you’re in.”
Cole protested, “My trouble has nothing to do with you, Mom.”
“Cole, when you were a boy, a lot of bad things happened to you.” Cole looked at the barn. “For the longest time, I chose to ignore them. Your father was very hard on you. Very hard. I tried to pretend that if I didn’t get involved, maybe he would just stop. Grow out of it. But he didn’t. I should have done more. Should have said more. But I didn’t, and you paid the price. I know that it left its mark. I’m afraid that it may have done permanent damage, Cole.” Dorothy Blackwater had tears in the corners of her eyes. “It made you angry, and that led people to believe you might have done this terrible thing.”
Cole drew a deep breath as he looked at the barn. He’d learned in the last year to take a moment and breathe when his anger appeared. He put a hand on his mother’s and held it. She looked up at him.
“I don’t blame you, Mom. Hell, I don’t even blame him anymore. I have to deal with this. Me. It’s too convenient to blame him for my anger. It lets me off the hook. I know maybe in the past I’ve let it get the better of me, but not now. Not anymore.”
“But the FBI—”
“I know. We’re going to beat this—Nancy and Walter and Perry and I. We’ve got a plan.”
He just wasn’t sure if he believed it.
AFTER SUPPER, NANCY and Cole took cold bottles of beer back to the table and spread out their papers.
“We need to find out what we’re dealing with.” Nancy tapped her pencil. “What was Brian Marriott into before he got killed?”
Cole considered this. “A lot,” he finally said and recapped what Brian was working on.
“That sounds pretty straightforward. Which side might have wanted him dead?” asked Nancy.
“I don’t know. We need to find out—I just don’t know how.”
“Tell me how Brian managed his files and his email.” Nancy had a mischievous glint in her eye.
NANCY HAD CALLED a friend and explained the situation. By the time they finished for the night, it had been established that Brian had used an online backup service; every file he’d worked on, and all of his email, was safely stored there in case of a computer crash. Now, Nancy and Cole sat on the front porch. A waxing moon rested heavily on the horizon, and the chatter of crickets was almost too loud for conversation.
“By tomorrow, we’ll have access to Brian’s backed-up files. These servers are tight, but my friend can get us in. I’ve used her once or twice before. And Walter and Perry will have talked to Charlie Crowfoot. We’re making progress, Cole.”
“I hope so. The extradition hearing isn’t getting any farther away.”
“Hang in there.”
They watched the moon rise across the black dome of heaven. It cast a pale glow on the folded hills of the ranch. Cole was making a list in his head of people who might have wanted Brian Marriott to shut up with his talk of an energy transition in Canada and who might have had access to him in the mountains of Waterton-Glacier Peace Park. It wasn’t that long a list. They sat and contemplated this as the evening fell around them. Cole fidgeted, and finally Nancy said, “What is it?”
“Whoever killed Brian wants me out of the picture as well. They couldn’t kill us both up there. It would be too obvious. That’s why I was set up. Brian had to die, and I have to go to prison for it. In a state that has the death penalty. Somebody wants me gone, maybe even dead too, Nancy. I just don’t know why.”
TWENTY-TWO
OTTAWA, ONTARIO. JUNE 1.
THE DEATH THREAT WAS WAITING for him in his in-box when he arrived at his office.
From: UNDISCLOSED
Subject: You are a dead man
To: Brian Marriott
Marriott: You are a DEAD MAN. Stop now and maybe you’ll make it through the summer.
The email had been sent from an account that listed only an IP address. Brian copied the address into a search browser and came up with nothing. Whoever had sent the email knew more about computers than he did, which wasn’t saying much.
His hand went to the phone. He should report this to the RCMP. Making a death threat was a crime, and while he didn’t take it all that seriously—he’d been threatened before—he was curious who was behind it. Somebody didn’t like him much, but for what reason? It seemed that everybody considered him a turncoat or a traitor. Which one of his so-called friends had he crossed?
“YOU WANT ME to what?” Rick Turcotte sounded amused.
“Go on a hike with me.”
“Like where? The Gatineau Hills?”
“I was thinking something a little bigger.”
“Algonquin? Do people hike there, or just ride around in canoes?”
“Rick, I was thinking about Glacier National Park, Montana.”
There was a long silence. “Why?”
“To talk about climate change. Think about it. The public believes your government isn’t doing enough on climate change. So, you go on a fact-finding mission. It’s international in scope, so you’d get a ton of good press.”
“You know I’ll have to run this up the flagpole—likely all the way to the Prime Min
ister’s Office. You know how the PMO feels about these things. Who else would be along?”
“HI, TARA, IT’S Brian Marriott.”
“Hi, Brian. I’m writing to deadline right now.”
“This won’t take long. I have an idea.”
“What else is new?”
“I wonder if the Globe and Mail might be up for sending its hotshot science reporter on a hike this summer.”
“Oh, a junket!”
“Well, it’s more like a forced march through rugged mountains packed with grizzly bears and cougars, but sure, a junket.”
“Brian, is this some sort of publicity stunt?”
“No, it’s an honest-to-god fam tour of Waterton-Glacier International Peace Park. Did you know that Glacier used to have a hundred and twenty-five glaciers and now only has twenty-six?”
“Who else is going?”
“I’m talking with Rick Turcotte, Jessica Winters from Cool-it!, and Dr. Peter Talbot from the USGS.”
“And from the press?”
“If you agree, it will be just you on the hike. You get the exclusive. We’ll do pre-and post-hike media in Ottawa, New York, Washington, and elsewhere.”
“When?”
“July.”
“JOE, IT’S BRIAN.”
“Oki, Brian.”
“Oki. How are things on the Blackfeet Nation this fine day?”
“Things are about the same as usual. We had another hearing last night about the fracking issue. Somebody is greasing their palms.”
“I know it, Joe. Listen, remember we talked about a hike? I wonder if you’d like to act in the official capacity of cultural heritage tour leader. I’m lining up some folks to come to your neck of the woods to see what’s going on. Get some publicity for the cause.”
“When do we leave?”
“YOU DID WHAT?” Cole Blackwater sounded like his usual skeptical self.
“I’ve invited some folks to go for a hike this summer. Waterton-Glacier. See what climate change is doing on the ground and talk about solutions.”
“Who?”
“Jessica Winters, Peter Talbot, Tara Sinclair, Joe Firstlight. I’ve got folks from the governor of Montana’s shop. Maybe even Rick Turcotte.”
“Did the steering committee approve this? I don’t remember hearing about this.”
“I was hoping you’d help me sell it to them.”
“What makes you think I’d do that?”
“Well, first off, I was hoping you’d lead this thing.”
“Keep talking.”
BRIAN MARRIOTT SAT in his office. He opened his Internet browser and clicked on the bookmarked page of the fishing magazine in which there was a photo of the Minister of Natural Resources with the former US senator and China’s ambassador to Canada.
Then he opened the email containing the death threat.
He sized both windows so that they appeared on the screen next to each other. Then he opened a third window, navigated to the home page of Green Earth, and found Charles Wendell’s biography. He looked at the smiling photo of the young, idealistic man. He sized that window so that it too appeared on the same screen as the photo of the minister and his friends and the death-threat email.
He printed out the death threat, the bio page from Green Earth, and the photo from the online magazine and put them in an envelope addressed to himself. He slipped the envelope into his coat pocket. He had a place at home he could put it for safekeeping. Brian deleted the email from his computer and from his backup server.
TWENTY-THREE
EAST GLACIER, MONTANA. AUGUST 2.
“WHAT?” COLE WAS ON THE phone with Perry Gilbert.
“Charlie Crowfoot is dead. He was transferred to the federal detention center in Great Falls, Montana, and he committed suicide.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. They wouldn’t tell me. We’re going to meet with the FBI right now. Maybe they will have some answers.”
“What does this mean for us?”
“I don’t know, Cole.”
“I mean, I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, but this guy Crowfoot was the principal witness against me. Doesn’t this mean—”
“I don’t know. It could. The FBI likely has him videotaped picking you out of a photo lineup. That might be all they need. It’s too early to tell.”
“Perry, you need to find out how he died.”
“I know, Cole.”
“Are you going to Great Falls?”
“We’ll see. I’m not sure if that will help. I doubt very much they will let Walter or I anywhere near the body. I’ll call the district attorney and find out.”
“This is a mess. We’ve now got three bodies.”
“Cole, only one of those was a murder.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Well, it seems as if anybody who is involved with this fiasco ends up dead: first the guide, Blake Foreman, and now Charlie Crowfoot.”
Cole explained his speculation about being framed.
“It’s a plausible theory, Cole. But right now we have to focus on the extradition. How are you and Nancy coming along? Have you made any headway on your list?”
“Yes and no. Perry, there weren’t many people who saw me on the day the FBI says I bought the gun. I was out driving around the Rocky Mountain Front. I stopped for gas. I have that receipt. I was back in East Glacier that night. There’s enough time between those events that if the feds want to suggest I picked up the handgun, I could have.
“We’re also looking at this from another angle. Who on the hike might have had a reason to kill Brian? We’ve gone over a list of everybody else on the hike. Any one of these people could have killed Brian. It was only a matter of luring him out of the tent. But that’s where the theory breaks down. Very few of these people wanted Brian dead. The climate scientist, the reporter, and the Montana bureaucrat had no reason that we can find. None. Joe Firstlight was a friend and would have been the last person to want Brian dead. That leaves Rick Turcotte. I think that Brian’s supposed defection to the do-gooders riled Rick, as it did many people connected with industry, but I doubt it was enough to make a rising political star want to kill someone.”
“Unless Brian had something on Rick that could keep that star from rising,” said Perry.
“Right, that’s what we need to find out. Brian and I talked a lot. What I’m starting to realize is that he was into a lot of things that we didn’t talk about. I still have my suspicions about Brian.”
“What do you mean?”
“Did he really change sides? You hear about this sort of thing. A condo developer becomes a hard-core environmentalist and donates his money to charity and starts a successful green business; a politician changes his stripes overnight after he reads The Weather Makers. But really, how often does this happen?”
“You think Brian was playing for both teams?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure he had decided which team he was on. Nancy and I are onto something that might provide some answers.”
“Is it legal?”
“We hadn’t thought of that.”
“I don’t want to know about it.”
“Good, because I wasn’t going to tell you anyway.”
“Just don’t end up in jail before I can keep you out of jail, Cole.”
“It’s nothing like that. Just some snooping. We haven’t looked at the guides as suspects, and I think we need to. Derek McGrath operates East Glacier Guiding. Blake Foreman is dead. I don’t think the FBI and the RCMP are taking the possibility that he was involved with Brian’s death seriously. This guy turns up in East Glacier just as Derek is looking for help? Does that sound like a coincidence?”
“No, not really—”
“It doesn’t to me either. I want to know where the original guide is. Was he really sick, or is he also missing?”
Perry was quiet a moment. “We’ll find out more about what happened to Charl
ie Crowfoot first. Then we’ll track down Derek McGrath and find out what happened with his guides. Okay?”
Cole made a sound at his end of the line.
“Hang in there and be careful.” Perry hung up. He turned to Walter Blackwater and smiled. “Your brother is a piece of work, man.”
“You should try being related to him. Where are we at?” Perry filled Walter in as the two men ordered. “I don’t think we’re in a position to visit with Charlie Crowfoot’s mother today. I’ll call Joe and let him know. Let’s go over to the FBI instead and find out what the hell went wrong with Crowfoot. Then I say we take a drive over to East Glacier and have a chat with Derek McGrath, see if we can’t get some answers about where Blake Foreman really came from.”
FBI SPECIAL AGENT Steven McCallum lacked the contrition that Walter and Perry expected from a law-enforcement officer whose prisoner had died in custody. “He was in the hands of federal marshals,” he said by way of explanation.
“The marshals were holding him for you,” said Perry.
“Be that as it may, it’s their problem, not ours.”
“You just lost your key witness against my client,” said Perry.
“We didn’t lose anything,” said McCallum. “We have a signed confession. We have Mr. Crowfoot’s signature on a photo lineup that indicates he sold the weapon that killed Brian Marriott to your client. That will suffice for the extradition hearing.”
“We’ll see.”
“You’re going to challenge this evidence?”
“You’ll have to come to Canada to find out. I’d like to see the postmortem on Mr. Crowfoot when it’s done.”
“I don’t think that will be part of the discovery in this case, Mr. Gilbert.”
“I think knowing how your key witness died will be very important to this case. I’ll take it to a judge if I have to.”
“You think he killed himself to avoid testifying?” asked McCallum.
“I don’t know why he killed himself, but I’d like to know how, and if there is any further evidence that relates to this case, I expect to see it. Now, gentlemen, let’s turn our attention to the case of Blake Foreman. Please tell me what you know about his death.”
The Glacier Gallows Page 11
