by Ted Wood
I did. It was good Irish Whisky and I filled my mouth and swallowed slowly, taking it in like fresh confidence. Then I held it out to him, but he shook his head. "Not yet. When I'm down I'll finish it for you."
He came in high over Olympia and followed the main road down from the Trans-Canada to the police station. Gallagher had closed off a section of the street, setting two flashing police cars at each end of a fifty-yard stretch. It was well lit and clear and Kinsella set me down gently as an egg in the center of it.
I unsnapped my harness and reached over to shake his hand. "Thanks for moving so fast, Paul, it's all that saved me."
He laughed, the high, hectic laughter of a man who has been badly scared. "What's this 'me, paleface'? I figured it was my ass I was saving."
I ducked out, bending back in to pick up my pack, then pushed the door shut. He took off at once and headed back to the motel where he housed his bird.
Gallagher was in one of the police cars and he swung it back beside the station and came over to me as I walked in through the door. "How'd it go?"
"Not good. The guy we want is up there in the bush. He fired at me as we took off."
"He did what?" Gallagher roared in surprise. "Jesus God. I thought we'd checked that area earlier. There was nobody close to that clearing."
I held up my pack. There was a bullet hole in one side. "Believe me now?" I asked him.
Gallagher waved me inside, bursting with anger. "Sonofabitch! We went over that area with a fine-tooth comb. Sam checked it out and everything. It was clean."
"Sam hadn't checked it out for three hours, not that side of the river. Whoever it was snuck back and waited until I was hanging out of that chopper like a yo-yo on a string. He shone a light on me and I fired first, otherwise you'd be checking my butt for bullet holes right now, instead of me checking this pack."
I set the pack on the counter top and started going through the contents. My fingers found my billy can. It had an explosive hole punched in the side of it. And inside, where I had packed my spare can of beef, there was a mess of spilled meat. But the bullet had been slowed by the meat and metal and had spent itself in denting the other side of my pot. I took it out and tipped it into Gallagher's hand.
Gallagher took it and whistled. "Okay. I believe you. Now come and sit down a minute and get a coffee while I holler for some help." Sam was lying on the mat behind the front desk of the station and he rose to his feet and wagged his tail when I noticed him. Gallagher went through the routine of handing him back to me, then poured me coffee, adding sugar, which I don't take but needed right now. I thanked him and sat and went over the events again. He heard me through twice, then lifted the phone and called the OPP detachment at Wawa. I listened, still shocked into the near-apathy that settles on survivors when there are other people around to take up the slack for them. I knew that if Gallagher hadn't been in charge, my adrenaline would be running and I would be doing all the things he was doing now, but in the warmth of that station with coffee in the cup, I felt like sleeping.
He hung up after ten minutes. "Good, that's taken care of. They're sending reinforcements at first light. A team of guys with tracking dogs and SWAT gear, the whole manhunt paraphernalia. They'll comb the bush, starting there, circling until they know he's not in the area, then beating the river back down to my men." He stopped talking long enough to light a cigarette, quickly and without ceremony, showing he was back on the weed as badly as ever. "We've got the bastard in a vise. The river's the only road out for him."
I downed the last of my coffee and stiffened my shoulders to come back to the land of the living. "Not necessarily. He could walk out through the bush if he chose. It would take him a week maybe, but he's only thirty miles from the highway. He could come out anywhere."
Gallagher shook his head. "No," he said firmly. "You've seen that bush. If he could make a mile a day he'd be doing well. He won't want to put himself at risk that long. It's my bet he'll make it out at night on the river. Only there's gonna be my guys waiting for him a couple of miles from the highway, just when he might try to get cute and cut out through the bush."
I nodded. I didn't share his horror of the bush. It was no worse than the terrain I'd humped through in Nam and we'd covered eight, ten klicks a day, carrying an eighty-pound pack and watching for enemy all the way. But at least he had a plan that made sense, and that was something to be glad about. "So what about Tettlinger? Have you questioned him yet?"
"I've started. But he's playing it cagey. Wants to see a lawyer before he'll say a word. The guy who fronted for him after he took a swing at you is out of town for the weekend, so I'm waiting for a ringer to drive in from Thunder Bay. Along with all the bloody media people in the world. Two murders in a day has got everybody churning. Anyway, the lawyer ought to be here by midnight. We can start then."
"Maybe I can have a word with Tettlinger, off the record," I suggested. Gallagher looked at me, breathed out a stream of cigarette smoke, and shook his head.
"No. For two reasons. First, you're in shock. You need a break from this bullshit. And second, it may queer it for us if he doesn't have a lawyer there at the time, even though you're not a cop in this town." I said nothing, and he said, "Okay?"
I nodded wearily. "If you say so. And what are you going to do with your time?"
He butted his smoke purposefully and stood up. "I'm going back to Sallinon's place to ask him some more questions."
"Need company?" I wasn't sure I wanted to go with him. I'd had enough of direct violence for one day. I didn't feel up to the fencing and evasion that Sallinon was going to stage for us.
Gallagher solved it for me. "No," he said firmly. "But I'll bet Alice Graham could stand a little company. She's heard the news about the shooting of Onyschuk. She may give you hell, but she'll be glad you're back. Meanwhile, I'll have ballistics check out the slug you gave me."
I nodded and stood up. I was drained, ready to call it a day and head home to lie down, too weary to contemplate going to bed with Alice. I needed time to get my head back together. But one last thought nagged me and I gave it to him. "You know, I figure this guy, or guys, whoever they are, have got air support."
He frowned. "What makes you say that?"
I told him about the winnowed ground where the body had been found. "Somebody had let down there with a helicopter. I know the signs. And another thing. He, or they, whoever it is, moves too fast in the bush to be doing it alone."
Gallagher stood up slowly and looked at me as if I were a mirror and he was practicing his thoughtful face. "Did you hear anybody up there, while you were waiting?"
"No." I shook my head. "No, but that doesn't mean it wasn't happening. We know there's other choppers in this area. If Laval and whoever is in the bush has a line to one, that's all they need, we can't police all the comings and goings."
Gallagher took out his notebook and opened it at the back, writing himself a quick unofficial note. "Maybe we can't," he said, "but I can sure as hell check the log books of all the aircraft in the area. I'll get on it first thing in the morning. But for now, go and sleep awhile. I need you bright-eyed and bushy tailed tomorrow."
He offered to drive me to the motel, my own car still being out at the helicopter home base, but he had only one man to spare so I called a cab. The driver looked at Sam warily. "You blind, Mac?"
"No. He's not a Seeing Eye dog, he's a police dog, trained to a hair. Let's go."
He shook his head. "It's in our rules, no dogs." He hesitated. "Wanna see the book?"
I was too tired to play games. I just shook my head. "You wanna see his teeth?"
He flinched. "No. I don't want no trouble."
I sat down wearily and patted the seat beside me for Sam. The interior was old and scuffed and smelled of vomit and pine-scented disinfectant. "Good," I said. "Head up to the motel beside the highway and I won't make any."
He still shook his head officiously so I told Sam "Speak," and he filled the cab with terror.
The driver held both hands up and shouted "Okay," and drove me to the motel without another word as I quieted Sam and sat back, patting him gratefully.
I got out at the motel office, not sure if Alice had kept the room open for me—I had told her I would be away overnight and she probably needed the space. She wasn't in the office. Instead, there was a card propped up against the locked door. "Manager in the dining room." That made my shoulders droop a little. I needed a shower and change of clothes before I was fit for human company, but I walked over to the dining room anyway, still carrying my pack and rifle. I set them down in the shadows beyond the circle of light around the doorway and told Sam "Keep," then went inside.
Alice was standing with a tableful of customers—noisy, cheerful men wearing leather coats with cloth sleeves and sports-club insignias or Legion badges on the pocket and hats with the crests of their companies. Men in the north put their hats on as they shave in the morning and take them off for bed, so I knew these were all locals.
I stood in the doorway for a moment, gathering my energy for polite chitchat. Then one of the men saw me and pointed and spoke to Alice. She turned, mouth open in surprise and delight. She came toward me so quickly that she knocked a chair over. One of the men laughed, but another straightened it and looked around for a second one to put next to it.
She weaved between the tables to reach me as I came in from the door. "Reid" was all she said, but it sounded like a prayer.
She reached out both hands and I held them and looked down into her face and grinned. "Hi." I squeezed her hands gently to let her know how I felt, then put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her toward me.
"I heard you'd been shot at, that they hit Mike Onyschuk. I was so worried," she said.
"No need to be," I grinned. "I've been shot at before, they generally miss." She looked at me and the care glowed in her face.
"Thank God," she said. "Do you have to go out again?"
"Not tonight, anyway. I'm off duty. I was hoping for a shower and a steak and some sleep."
The corners of her mouth turned down in a suppressed smile. "Which will it be first?"
"In the interests of public welfare, it should be the shower. I haven't even washed my hands since morning." I held them up and she pretended to wrinkle her nose.
"Well, I was a good girl and checked in here, like you told me. I'm in unit four, and I've got your bag there with me. Why don't you head over and shower while I dig out the best steak they've got in the icebox and make sure Hector doesn't set fire to it."
"That would be great. Just fifteen minutes and I'll be ready for anything."
She laughed and ducked away from under my arm to take her key out of her pants pocket. "You had better be," she said.
So I collected Sam and my gear and went back and showered and changed and left Sam in the room while I came back for the steak. When I arrived the miners all managed to somehow fill one table and leave another one vacant. Rough they may be, but there are no more courteous people anywhere. I knew they would be all over me with questions about the shooting later, but they left me alone with Alice while I ate.
The steak was perfect and Alice had whipped up a rich sauce to go with it and opened me a Heineken, the only imported beer she carried. She sat opposite me and said, "Forget about conversation, we'll talk when you've finished."
"Very considerate," I told her with my mouth full, and she laughed.
"I remember my mother quoting from Punch magazine, something about the old wife's advice to the bride—feed the brute," she said, and we both laughed.
It was perfect. I could wash away the memory of hanging from the rope, a helpless target for the killer in the clearing. I knew the memories would come back later, just as I was falling asleep, the way they always do until your mind has had enough time to digest them all, but for now I was a happy man. And then the dining room door opened and Gallagher came in. He was wearing his parka and he kept his hat on so I knew this wasn't a social call.
He moved between the tables, nodding briefly to everyone who greeted him. When he reached our table he gave an old-fashioned salute to Alice and said, "Hey, Alice, nice to see you. Mind if I join you for a minute?"
"Sure," she said, but I could see her happiness withering. She watched anxiously as he pulled up a chair from the first vacant table and sat down across from me.
"How's the steak?" he asked me, but it was not lighthearted, it was a stroke, getting the courtesies out of the way for the next words he spoke, even before I could answer. "Can Alice spare you for an hour when you're through? We have a problem."
Alice said, "Well, excuse me, I should take care of my customers," and left, smiling politely. We both half stood as she left, then Gallagher slumped down again.
"What's up?" I asked him, pushing the plate away.
He sniffed. "The circle is getting smaller, buddy. I was just down to see Sallinon at his house."
"And?" I finished the last of my Heineken.
"And his wife said he was out in the garage, so I went out back and he was." He paused again and coughed. "Poor sonofabitch was hanging there. Been dead an hour by the look of him."
20
You need me to handle the investigation?" It wasn't really a question, I already knew the answer.
He nodded. "I really do, Reid. I know you've had one hell of a day but I've only got one man available, what with guys in the bush and Onyschuk in the hospital. I need Jackaman with me when I talk to Tettlinger, to play the usual games. My other guy is a rookie, I only hired him last spring. He couldn't handle a homicide."
"Let's go." I stood up. I could see Alice standing beside the cash register at the bar, careful not to look at me. "Give me a minute."
"The car's outside," he said, and left, not stopping to talk to any of the people who spoke to him.
I went over to Alice. She looked up nervously. "What's happened, Reid? It's something bad, I can tell it."
"It's Sallinon, the taxidermist. He's died suddenly. Gallagher wants me to handle the investigation for him while he gets on with the rest of the work that's piling up."
Her hands were resting on top of the cash register and as I watched she clenched them into fists and squeezed until the knuckles whitened. "Where is it going to end?" she asked softly.
"I think this is just a coincidence,” I lied. "But it's routine for the police to investigate. Should take a couple of hours, that's all."
She unclasped her hands and laid them flat over all the keys on the register, making it a deliberate calming motion. "Reid, I get scared around you. Since you came we've had more trouble than this town has seen in its whole history."
"It was coming anyway," I said. "It started when that guy was killed up on that island and Prudhomme changed places with him. All I've done is trudge around after him, picking up the pieces." She said nothing, just stood looking down at her fingers. I felt powerless. I knew she was suffering from the shock that women feel more deeply than men in the presence of violence. It's not that they are more afraid. Most times they're not. But they have an inner logic and rationality that men lack. They can't understand violence, it makes no sense. And that disturbs them.
She looked up at last. "Will you be very late?"
Now I reached out and touched her hands, lightly. "I don't think so. It's a suicide. A couple of hours should take care of it and then I'll come back. Do you want to keep Sam with you while I'm away?"
She shook her head. "No. I'll be fine," she said, and as her eyes locked on mine she added, "I'll still be here when you get back. Room four."
I stooped and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, then turned and left.
The police car was outside the door and I spoke quickly to Gallagher. "I have to bring Sam, he's in Alice's room." Gallagher growled something and I went and got Sam and put him in the back seat, then jumped in and Gallagher pulled away, a seasoned policeman's way. You don't see many veteran coppers laying rubber even for a killing.
&
nbsp; "Looks like suicide," he said as we drove. "I've cut him down and left my guy to guard the scene until you get there."
"How high off the ground was he?" It's a good starting question. Many suicides don't even take their feet off the ground, they tie the rope around their necks and loll against it.
"He had an extension cord tied over one of the rafters and he'd stood on a toolbox and stepped off. He could have stepped back on again if he'd changed his mind."
"No signs of a bang in the head, nothing?"
"Nothing." Gallagher was positive. "I took a careful look, he hasn't got a hair out of place." He turned onto Sallinon's street. There were four or five cars outside, and Gallagher swore. "Dammit. Looks like the whole goddamn ladies' aid is over cheering up the widow."
"Good thing there's somebody with her. It'll keep her off our backs," I said, and Gallagher humphed and said nothing.
He pulled up behind a car as close as he could get to the house and we got out. "I better introduce you," he said. "As far as they're concerned, you're working with me because Prudhomme was involved in your jurisdiction. I phoned the pastor for her and he turned up before I came away. He's a good guy but a bit of a mother hen. He may get sticky about you talking to her, use whatever charm you haven't used up on Alice, otherwise you'll be out of there in two seconds."
I let Sam out of the car and told him to stay, then walked behind Gallagher up to the front door. He tapped and entered and we were greeted at once by a pretty blond woman in her forties. Gallagher took his cap off. "Hi, Mrs. Andersen. I just wanted to introduce my deputy, Police Chief Reid Bennett. Can I have a quick word with Ida?"
"She's through here," the blonde said. She was wearing a sleek blouse that looked a little dressy for this end of the world and her hair was swept back from her face with a carelessness that had taken hours. She looked at me the way my Marine recruiting sergeant weighed me up when I first walked into his office. "How do you do, Chief. My name is Gretchen Andersen." She extended her hand and smiled a formal little smile.
