Inspector Green Mysteries 9-Book Bundle (286 page)

“Scott was an only child.”

“What about his mother?”

“Never mentioned her. Estranged, I think, living on the east coast somewhere.” More input from Fred. “Fred says she remarried. I don’t see what all this has to do with what’s happened, Mike.”

“I’m covering bases, that’s all. Trying to figure out if Scott was up to more than he let on.”

“He’s a lone wolf, I know that. That’s what attracted Hannah. And I think this trip was a kind of tracing his roots thing. I got the impression he and his father were close but his father lived for the past. Well, I guess he would, being a history professor. The house was full of papers. Stacks and stacks of mouldy old notes, student exams, whatever the father had accumulated his whole life. Even stuff from his grandmother. He was supposedly writing his memoirs. Fred tried to help Scott clean some stuff out one day with a truck and it was so bad he came down with an asthma attack. Scott wouldn’t let him set foot in the place after that.” Ashley paused. “That’s what makes me think he’s a good guy, Mike. He cares about Hannah. I think outside his studies, she’s the only thing he cares about now.”

Green had seen plenty of damage caused by men who cared too much, but there was no point arguing with Ashley. The woman had always painted the world in bubblegum pink. He shifted gears.

“You said last week he was a geology student at UBC?”

“Geo-something. To do with rocks, anyway.”

“Do you know who he’s studying with?”

“No, Mike, why would I know that?”

“I just thought maybe he mentioned it.”

“He hardly ever talked about himself. Shy that way. When he talked about himself, it was always about his summers up north. He had summer jobs researching rocks for his professor. I don’t see the appeal, myself, but he could get quite excited talking about how a little rock on a mountainside can tell us a whole story of how the mountain was formed.”

Something stirred in Green’s intuition. Rocks. Mountains. Was that Scott’s passion? Was that the real reason for his adventure on the Nahanni? Not a whitewater thrill but some sort of field exploration to further his own research?

He signed off, tracked down the number, and put in a call to the University of British Columbia geology department. He glanced at his watch as he listened to the ringing at the other end of the line. It was past five o’clock, and in July, what were the chances of reaching a professor in his office anyway? Green was mentally rehearsing a voicemail message when the phone was snatched up by a woman, breathless and very young.

“They’re all gone for the day,” she said when he asked to speak to the department secretary. “No one’s here but me, and I’m only here because I couldn’t get the spectrograph. Well, you don’t want to know that. You can call back, maybe tomorrow, but I don’t know because a lot of us are on holiday or out in the field or … and anyway, the real secretary is on mat leave. So that’s not much help.”

“Well, maybe you can help me. I’m trying to get in touch with Scott Lasalle’s supervisor, but I don’t know his name.”

For once the woman was at a loss for words. “Scott?” she said finally.

“Yes, do you know him?”

“Yes, I do. I mean did. Well, I guess I still do. But he’s not here anymore.”

“No, I know he’s on holidays up north.”

“That’s not what I mean. I mean he’s not in the department anymore.”

Green waited, hoping she’d continue. “He quit. Had a big fight with his supervisor and up and left.”

“Who was his supervisor?”

“Professor Valencia. Not somebody you usually walk away from, not if you want a future in the field.”

“Do you know what the fight was about?”

“Nope. Big mystery. Scott just said it wasn’t for him anymore.”

“When was this? Recently?”

“Oh no! Months ago. Sometime in February, maybe? We all wondered if it had to do with his father. Dying and all. Some sort of delayed nervous breakdown.”

Chapter Six

Whitehorse, September 20, 1943

My Darling Guy,

Parting is such sweet sorrow! Even though I know it’s not forever and it’s in a good cause, I wish there was an easier way. I know you are worried about me, but I’m in the best of hands. We women of the north stick together out of sheer necessity. Everyone is busy knitting booties and bonnets and bunting bags. Goodness, so many Bs!

You and Gaetan are the talk of the town. I know he will have success in Edmonton. With all this excitement, investors will be lining up, and you will prove all those horrid naysayers wrong. With the papers so full of dreadful war news, what warms the heart more than beautiful jewellery? There will be plenty of buyers, even here in town. Whitehorse is overrun with Americans since they joined the war. They have quite taken over the place. Building new highways, airport, oil pipeline, and refinery. And soldiers everywhere! There are so many new buildings that you will scarcely recognize the place when you return. An eventuality which is all too far away!

As always, I remain,

Your loving wife, Lydia

Prince Edward Island, July 14

 A
cellphone trilled deep in the jumble of clothes and towels beside them. Detective Bob Gibbs sat up and began rummaging in pockets. Detective Sue Peters rolled over and shielded her eyes from the broiling sun.

“Seriously, Gibbsie! You brought it to the beach?”

“Well, I …” He gave a sheepish grin. “A hard habit to break.”

“This is our honeymoon. We’re incommunicado, remember? July, Prince Edward Island, red sandy beach?”

He was still rummaging, first in his pants pockets and then in his shoes. The phone continued to ring. “I know, but it might be an emergency. People know not to call us.”

“Let voicemail pick up. You can check it when we get back to the cottage.”

He plunged his hand into their day bag. It emerged triumphantly clutching his phone, silent now.

“Who was it?” she asked, sitting up and brushing sand from her bare stomach. The pink and yellow bikini had been a wedding present from her sister, a message that she had nothing to be ashamed of. That she was alive and whole and in love, the scars more badges of honour than disfigurements.

It had taken her nearly a week to work up the courage to wear it to a beach, with its clamourous parade of perfect bodies and glistening copper skin. There were no stares, no pitying smiles, no averted eyes. Bob — wonderful, shy, bumbling Bob — had been right.

Now he was sitting beside her on their beach towel, a thick, fluffy number featuring a garish collage of seashells and suns that had been another gift from her sister. He was staring at his phone display. Nothing shy and bumbling about his expression; he had snapped to attention.

“It’s the inspector.”

“What inspector?”

“Inspector Green.”

Sitting here on the beach with the volleyball players and gaily coloured umbrellas, she felt so far removed from the Ottawa Police Major Crimes squad room that at first the name made no sense to her. “What’s he doing calling you here?”

“He has all our cell numbers. It must be important, it’s his private cell. Probably a question about a case due in court.” He started to clamber to his feet. “I should call him back.”

“Gibbsie! Listen to his message at least. Maybe it can wait.”

He looked down at her with a rueful smile. They both knew he would call right away. When it came to the job, Bob Gibbs could never say no. Particularly to Inspector Michael Green.

“I’ll only be a minute.” He leaned over to plant a kiss on her lips. She slid her hand up his inner thigh, trying to tempt him, but he merely grinned and slipped away.

He was gone longer than a minute, and when she saw him coming back toward her along the wide beach his stride was purposeful and his expression worried. She struggled to her feet, trying to hide the stiffness of her damaged body.

“What’s wrong? What’s the emergency?”

“Not an emergency. At least, not like you’d think. He has something he wants us to d-do. Off the record, not a case, and he said we c-could refuse but I-I …” His stutter betrayed his confusion even more than his bobbing Adam’s apple.

“Bob! What! What’s going on?”

“His daughter has gone missing up north, and he and Staff Sergeant Sullivan have gone up there to look for her.”

“Oh, no! How? Where?”

Gibbs told her about the Nahanni canoe trip and the broken canoe.

“But we’re in Prince Edward Island,” she said, puzzled. “The other end of the country. How can we help?”

Flustered, he explained about Hannah’s boyfriend and the possibility he had lied about his plans.

“He may be unbalanced. There’s a mother out east here somewhere —”

“Out east is a big place. Where?”

“He doesn’t know. He wants us to try to locate her and find out if she knows anything about what her son is up to.”

“Try to locate her. Hmm. Do we have a name, at least?”

“No, but we have her son’s name, and we know she used to live in Vancouver —”

“Ah.” She smiled wryly. “He wants you to work your Internet magic to find out her name, address, and whole life story.”

He sat down beside her and ran his hand across her back. For a moment he didn’t say anything. Together they listened to the rush and hiss of the surf.

“He sounds really worried, Sue.”

She sighed. It had been on the tip of her tongue to protest. This was their honeymoon. A hard-fought, hard-won reward for the struggle that had brought them to the altar, when two years ago she’d thought she would never walk again.

The inspector had no right to intrude on this. He ran every moment of their lives the rest of the year. His whim was their command. Yet even as the protest formed on her lips, Sue knew they would not turn him down. For all his demands and his impossible hours, he had always been there for them. The first to champion her efforts to return to work, the first to see the unique talents in rookie Bob Gibbs when he’d been too timid to interview his own shadow.

She laid her head on Bob’s shoulder and gave a rueful laugh. “Well, we’ve had one week of sun and sand. Not bad. And our cottage has wireless Internet, so we should be able to get a lot done without even leaving the privacy of our bedroom.”

He kissed the top of her curly head. She’d cut her unruly hair short for her wedding and dyed it the same carrot red it had been before the attack.

“You,” he murmured.

Fort Simpson, July 14

“You did
what
?”

“I asked Gibbs to track down Scott Lasalle’s mother.”

Sullivan continued to stare. His fried eggs sat forgotten and his coffee cup was suspended halfway to his lips. Slowly he lowered it. “I don’t fucking believe you.”

“He’s on the east coast. So’s the mother.”

“He’s on his honeymoon!”

“I know. He could have said no.”

“But he didn’t, did he? Jesus, Mike, we may not know what the hell’s going on here, but this is not a full-scale, no-holds-barred police investigation.”

Green shoved away his own plate of fried eggs. “And I’m not sitting around here waiting for Nihls and Bugden to decide it is! There’s not a lot I can do up here, Brian. I don’t know a riffle from a raffle, but I do know how to conduct an investigation. I’m going to find out everything I can about this bastard who’s seduced my daughter. I’m going to get inside his mind until I understand his every move. Where he’s gone and why.”

Finally Sullivan raised his cup to his lips and took a long, deliberate sip. He set the cup down. “All right. I understand. If it was Lizzie —”

“But it’s not Lizzie. Your daughter grew up in a nice, stable home. She’s got brains and a father who’s been there for her all her life, so she doesn’t do crazy things. She doesn’t go running after guys who will give her nothing but grief.”

Sullivan eyed him searchingly, then thrust back his chair and stood up from the table. Andy, who’d been hovering near the kitchen archway, gave him a stern look. “You guys have to eat. Before the hunt, a warrior has to eat. Old wives’ tale.”

Sullivan laughed. “I’m not letting those outstanding eggs go to waste, don’t worry. But right now, can you get us a couple of notebooks? Old cop’s habit.”

She grinned and disappeared. Alone in the room, Green sensed Sullivan’s eyes upon him. He knew he’d gone too far, opened up the wound too deep, but he’d felt powerless in the face of his fear. He’d had to lance the wound.

Andy was back within a minute. Sensibly, Sullivan said nothing as he returned to the table with two notepads emblazoned with A
NDY’S
C
ROSSROADS
and featuring her trademark moose and grizzly on the front. He gave one to Green, opened his, and took out a pen. “Okay, what do we need to know?”

“Scott’s state of mind. His intentions. Not what he told the bush pilot, but what he really planned to do. Why the hell he went to the Nahanni. Why he insisted on starting at the very top, at Moose Ponds.”

“We don’t know he insisted. Your ex-wife said they wanted the challenge. It’s all remote whitewater up there, the road less travelled. Adventurers like that.”

Green had been jotting some notes and he slashed a line through his page impatiently. “But it all boils down to his state of mind. I’ve got Gibbs and Peters working on what the mother knows, but we need other sources. His graduate supervisor, what he was working on, why he quit, his fellow students, other friends.” Green glanced at his watch. He had woken late after a fitful night. The sun was already high in the sky and the village was enjoying the weekend. Andy had made them breakfast at nine o’clock but it was still early to call anyone in Vancouver.

“There are also the two other guys on the trip. We can talk to their families.”

“Right.” Green shook his head to clear the cobwebs. That line of inquiry should have been obvious to him. “Their names should be on the bush pilot’s manifest. That Constable Tymko should have it.”