Inspector Green Mysteries 9-Book Bundle (284 page)

“Sir,” Nihls said quietly, “I cannot authorize that. I have limited human and financial resources at my disposal, and with those I have to provide police services to this entire district, including the Nahanni Park. My responsibility is to all the citizens, and the rules of police engagement are there to help me make an informed decision. If I committed my officers to the search, hundreds of kilometres up in the bush, then I would be ill-prepared to handle a real emergency down here, or even elsewhere in the Nahanni.”

“But can’t you use civilian search-and-rescue personnel?”

“I do, but the same concerns apply.”

The man was maddeningly right, and Green took a deep breath. All his career he had butted heads with the likes of Sergeant Nihls. Men who never took a step without checking the procedure manual, who said no if there was no box to check
yes
. By contrast, Green followed instinct that often led him into territory for which there were no procedures. The only thing that saved him from the wrath of the senior brass was the fact he was usually right.

Frustrated by his own impotence, Green considered threatening to go over the man’s head to his superiors, but he knew Nihls had already done that. Procedure, and the protection of his own ass, would have dictated that.

Now the man made his exit on that high note, tipping his head to Andy on his way out. She said nothing, but poured them all a fresh cup of coffee.

“That went well,” Sullivan said.

“Don’t.” Green paced restlessly to look out the window, where a sheen of dust from the Jeep still hung in the air. “I need to talk to that Constable Tymko.”

“You’ll get him in trouble.”

Green shot him a defiant look. “Only if Nihls finds out.”

“In this tiny town, he’ll find out.”

Andy stirred. “I have a cousin.”

Both men looked at her expectantly. She smiled. “He teaches at the high school, but in the summer he runs a youth camp. He can ask Chris to come over for some advice.”

Green nodded. “Thanks.”

Andy’s cousin Jethro was a clone of her, a tiny stick man with leather skin and the same quiet smile. His black hair was drawn into a neat ponytail that almost reached his waist. He was sitting on the riverbank with a bicycle propped beside him and a collection of willow strips and a half-woven basket at his feet. A tall, lanky man in an RCMP uniform and windbreaker was sitting on a log beside him. He was all limbs and angles, like an adolescent still growing into his body, and if not for the uniform Green would have taken him for one of the campers. But then he unfolded himself to his full six-and-a-half feet and stepped forward. He hesitated between Green and Sullivan before extending his hand toward Sullivan.

“Inspector Green? Chris Tymko.”

Sullivan laughed but Green suppressed a flash of annoyance. With his footballer frame and his unflinching gaze, Sullivan looked like a cop, whereas Green blended into the shadows. Smaller, slighter, and deceptively young-looking. It was an old problem, one that Green usually accepted with good humour. Being underestimated, indeed often invisible, had proved useful in the past.

Tymko blushed a deep crimson when he realized his mistake. Choosing his words carefully so as not to put the young man on the spot, Green explained his meeting with Nihls.

“The sergeant is correct, sir, as I informed you on the phone. There have been no developments in the case since we spoke two days ago.”

Chris had avoided his eyes, pretending to study the sand at his feet as he spoke. Green sighed and sat down on the log, motioning to Tymko to join him. “Chris, I’m here as a father, not a police officer. I need to know what to do to find my daughter. I don’t care how it’s done, whether it’s official or not. I just want to look for her, and I need your help.”

Chris chewed his lip. He had a friendly face that invited trust. Still too inexperienced to stonewall with conviction, Green thought.

“The Parks Office has been informed, sir, and they’re keeping an eye out. Asking boaters as they come down the river. And the pilots flying upriver know to keep an eye out too. She’ll show up.”

The muddy river swished past Green’s feet, carrying small bits of debris. A family of ducklings played in an eddy along the shore. He gazed out across the wide, flat valley that seemed to stretch to infinity. The place was so damned huge. He felt like an insignificant little speck in the cosmos. Somewhere out there, Hannah was in trouble.

“I can’t just do nothing,” he said. “You have a float plane. Could you —?”

Chris shifted his long limbs awkwardly. A dull flush spread up his neck. “The sergeant would have my ass in a sling, sir.”

Andy’s cousin, who until now had been quiet, looked up. “You could rent a plane. There’s always some for hire to fly people into the park and pick them up. You could hire one to fly you up the river valley.”

Green and Sullivan exchanged looks. At that moment, as if on cue, an engine roared and a moment later a float plane came into view from the direction of the town. It was lumbering through the water, laden down with huge pontoons. Green’s heart rose in his throat as it ran out of water and almost clipped some trees in its struggle to get airborne.

He nodded. “A plane like that?”

“Oh, likely smaller than that.”

Chapter Five

 “S
ooner or later, you know, we’re going to have to fly in one of those things,” Sullivan said.

Green had been peering through the truck window at the village. It had the prosperous look of a place lavished with government money as befitted the gateway to a world heritage site. It had a new arena, a visitor information centre, a library, and a couple of modern schools. It seemed a very civilized place from which to conduct a search.

Now he shot Sullivan a reproachful look. “Not before I try to light a fire under the park superintendent. I can understand the RCMP dragging its feet. They’ve got enough on their plate with this whole area and the whole gamut of crimes, emergencies, and crises to respond to. But everything that happens in the park is the responsibility of the park super, and a bungled rescue operation is not the sort of PR he’d want. I bet if he says ‘jump,’ the RCMP will.”

The Parks Canada office turned out to be a simple bungalow on the outskirts of the town, and except for the familiar bilingual Government of Canada sign on the lawn, it might have been the home of some moderately successful entrepreneur. A cluster of SUVs and pickups sat in the gravel parking lot out front, and when Green and Sullivan walked in they found several people browsing the pamphlets in the main room. It was an eclectic mix that included two young, bearded outdoor enthusiasts and an aging hippie couple. A young woman with spiked purple hair and a dozen piercings sat at a computer. She reminded Green of Hannah.

Introducing himself this time simply as Michael Green from Ottawa, he asked to speak to the superintendent.

“I don’t know,” she said without moving. “Can I tell him what it’s about?”

“My daughter is in a party of four who seem to have gone missing up in the park.”

“Oh!” She seemed about to say more but stopped herself. Instead she stuck her head inside one of the offices, and he heard a muffled exchange before she reappeared. “Come on in here, guys. Your lucky day, you get two for one today.”

About as deferential as Hannah too, Green thought as he and Sullivan made their way to the office. Inside were two men, both middle-aged and casually dressed in plaid shirts and jeans. The white man had a shiny bald dome, stooped shoulders, and a gut that spoke of too many hours chained to a desk. The Native was half his size but powerfully built with sun-creased skin and deep-set brown eyes. Despite the prominent no-smoking signs the smell of cigars hung in the air, and both men were grinning, perhaps enjoying the girl’s spunk.

“Pearce Bugden,” said the white man, extending his hand. “I’m the super here, and this is Reg Fontaine, chief park warden.”

Green picked up a trace of Newfoundland in Bugden’s speech. He introduced himself and Sullivan, but before he could even launch his opening strike, Bugden pre-empted him.

“We were just talking about your girl. Reg is up at our main Virginia Falls station, and he’s been asking every party that’s come through if they’ve spotted anything. Nothing. Your wife says —”

Green started. When had Sharon called? But an instant later he made the connection. “Ex wife.”

“Oh. Well, she says they have communications equipment, But they haven’t used it, at least to call for help. We’ve asked all pilots to keep an eye out — we have flights up there almost every day, at least to the lower river. We’re asking new visitors to report any signs. So far, nothing.”

“What else can you do?”

“At this point? Nothing.”

“But four young people have gone missing!”

“In all honesty, Mike, I don’t think they’re in trouble. It’s just not reasonable that an entire party and all their gear would be swallowed up without a trace. We’d find someone waving from the riverbank, or a backpack caught up in the brush. There haven’t even been reports of four people crammed into one canoe either.”

“But isn’t that significant in itself? Can four people just disappear into thin air?”

“They didn’t file an itinerary, so we don’t know where they were headed. Maybe they’re on a hike. We can’t search the whole backcountry. There’s thirty thousand square kilometres of park and that doesn’t count the section above the park where they started. They could be anywhere.”

“So you’re going to do nothing.”

Bugden’s expression hardened. “We’re not doing nothing. We have numerous search procedures in place. But until we find further evidence of distress or they miss their take-out rendezvous, more intensive procedures are not warranted.”

Green fought back his impatience. He needed the man’s help, and bullying him would not gain him that. He softened his tone. “I know my daughter. I know she would try to get word to me if she thought I was worried. She would know that a lost canoe would scare the hell out of me.”

Green saw Sullivan glance at him, and he prayed the big man would have the sense to keep quiet. In truth, Hannah thrived on scaring the hell out of her parents. In her younger, angrier days, she thought nothing of disappearing into the street culture for days at a time. In the past year he thought she’d made some headway on growing up, but maybe six months back with Ashley had reversed all that.

“And maybe she will call, Mike. Let’s give it a couple more days at least,” Bugden said, his temper back in check. He stood up, signalling the end of the interview.

“I’d like to go up there myself,” Green said. “At least fly over, to get an idea what we’re dealing with. Can you recommend a good pilot I can hire?”

The superintendent pursed his lips in thought. “Sure thing. Good idea. It’ll run you about three grand, but Ben of Wolverine Air —”

Green sucked in his breath at the cost.

“I’m flying back up in a couple of hours,” Reg said in a singsong gravel drawl. “I just came down for this meeting.”

“Who are you flying with?” Bugden asked.

“Ian Elliott. He wants to check out the storm damage up the river and plan some alternatives for his groups. But he’ll be coming back down here first thing in the morning. He might be willing to take you along.”

“Ian Elliott?” Green masked his surprise. “The head of Nahanni River Adventures?”

“Yup. He’s much more than a suit. He’s a legend, been guiding on the Nahanni for over thirty years. He personally vets every trip he sets up. You can’t get a more knowledgeable river man than him.”

“What kind of plane does he use?” A Learjet hopefully, Green thought.

“He’s got a little Cessna 185. Can’t get a better bush plane than that up here. Hundreds of kilometres of bush with mountains rising out of nowhere, and you never know what kind of postage-stamp lake you’ll have to land on at the end of it.”

By now Green had revised his image of Elliott from a jet-setting businessman to a shaggy-haired bushman, so the sheer ordinariness of the man came as a surprise. First his sunny blue eyes and broad smile, then his battered Tilley hat perched atop pure white hair. He had plain, practical clothes and a slight frame that looked neither muscular nor strong. In short, an everyman like Green, easy to underestimate.

He also required no explanation or cajoling to agree to their request. They met down at the dock where Elliott’s little plane was docked. As soon as the handshakes were over, he gestured to Green and Sullivan’s light windbreakers.

“First, let’s get you some warmer gear. We’ll stay overnight somewhere up there, and the temperature can really drop. You two have sleeping bags and a tent, right?”

Green manage a nod, still transfixed by the tiny cigar tube he was about to board. This whole day was rapidly spinning out of control.

“Our gear is all at Andy’s,” Sullivan said.

An hour later Green was clinging to the roof strap as the little plane bounced over the water and accelerated down the river. The noise was deafening. Elliott had equipped them all with earphones and headset, and as the plane miraculously angled up into the sky, he smiled.

“How are you doing? First time?”

It was not actually Green’s first time. Years ago, as part of a drug raid in rural Quebec, he’d flown in on an RCMP helicopter and vowed never again. He croaked a “Fine.”

“You’re in for a treat. Usually we don’t fly directly over the river, so as not to disturb the wilderness experience for those down below, but today we’ll follow it up. You’ll see some astonishing topography. Once we reach the juncture with the Nahanni itself, I’m going to fly as low as I can, but sometimes the winds make it hard to get over the mountains. I don’t want to crash into a mountaintop.” He flashed a teasing grin.

As if in response, the little plane bounced around as it climbed toward the clouds, and Green felt his stomach lurch. Shreds of white mist whipped past his window. Elliott flew over the Liard River as it meandered west in fat, lazy loops through a wide green valley. Gentle rolling hills rose up the sides, forested in rich, dark green. Beautiful, Green thought. Almost tame.