Inspector Green Mysteries 9-Book Bundle (290 page)

He sipped his wine, feeling the tension between them. He tried to salvage the evening. “I don’t want Hunt going off half-cocked, that’s all. As much to keep him out of trouble as to not make things worse for the missing party.”

She said nothing.

“Truce?”

She nodded. Very slowly. “Hunt is a nice enough guy, but flying is all he knows. He can hang out in his own flying cocoon, he can land and take off just about anywhere, he can read clouds and wind like a Native. But he has trouble with all the forms and regulations and red tape. He wouldn’t survive a week down south in one of the more commercial airports with advanced instrumentation. He doesn’t like to admit it, but I think he’s afraid someday they’ll take his licence away. So he comes to me sometimes for help with forms or new regulations. He knows I won’t laugh at him and I won’t turn him in. We need him up here.”

He sneaked a glance at her profile, which was soft and affectionate in the fading light — at her downcast eyes and her slightly rueful smile. He hated to break the spell.

“I know … I know this puts you on the spot, but could you keep an eye on him? If he seems to be getting himself into something he shouldn’t — concerning those missing canoeists, I mean — or if he tells you any more, could you …” His voice died in his throat at the look in her eyes. Dark, stormy, and full of reproach.

Fort Simpson, July 16

Green checked Andy’s answering machine for the third time in an hour. It was Monday morning. They had been in the north since Wednesday, but he felt no closer to finding Hannah.

“We would have heard the phone,” Andy said, pouring him more coffee. He’d already had more than enough that morning, but he didn’t object. “And I would have answered it.”

“I know.” He forced a tight smile. “But I can’t stand just sitting around waiting for answers. Why don’t people call back? Where the hell is that pilot? I left him four messages!”

Sullivan sipped his own coffee wordlessly. How well he knows me, Green thought. Words were a waste of effort until he wound down.

“Weekends are slow,” Andy said. She was still trying for rationality. “A few people called back. That Daniel Rothman’s mother.”

“And all I succeeded in doing was freaking the poor woman out. It looks like he didn’t tell his mother anything either!”

Now even Sullivan joined in. “But now we know Daniel has wilderness first-aid training and was a last-minute addition to the group. Not a close friend of Scott’s, so maybe not in on the planning.”

Green nodded glumly, recalling his conversation with Mrs. Rothman. Her son — Danny, she called him, as if he were six years old — had met Scott on a weekend canoe trip on the Fraser River earlier that spring, where they were both practising their whitewater skills. Scott’s interest had been piqued by Danny’s paddling skills — that he gets from his father, Mrs. Rothman said with heavy disbelief — and even more by his medical training. “You’re the answer to my prayers, he’d said, and he even offered to pay half the cost of Danny’s trip. I thought that was suspicious, but you know, you mention a wilderness river to my son and there’s no way he’s not going. Sure didn’t get that from me, but his father’s been taking him and his sister camping since they were little. Me? Bugs, snakes, bears? Not on your life. But who listens to me?”

Who indeed? Green thought when he finally extricated himself. He felt a rueful twinge when he realized that Daniel had probably kept quiet for the same reason Hannah had. To avoid the panicked parental rants.

If Daniel Rothman had been included in the party because of his medical skills, an idea that set Green’s fear racing, Pete Carlyle appeared to be the only true friend of Scott’s going on the expedition besides Hannah. The two men had been studying under the same professor in graduate school. The professor Scott had disagreed with so strongly that he’d quit the department and walked away from his graduate degree. Professor Valencia was off doing field research in Colombia and had not yet returned Green’s phone calls.

Green picked up the phone again, flipped through his notebook, and dialed Pete’s sister again. Luckily she was home.

“I told you everything I know on Saturday,” she said.

“I know. But I’m looking further into what they were studying. I understand Pete and Scott were both studying geology. Do you know exactly what?”

“Geology, right. Something to do with what happens inside mountains when the ground thaws. I know Pete spent a few months researching in the mountains up near the Alaskan border last summer.”

“Do you know what he was working on?”

“No. Like I said, I just tune him out when he gets talking.” Her voice rose. “But I do remember him saying Scott was upset after he quit the program. Maybe even obsessed? Like he was throwing everything else aside for this one new project. He was even paying Pete’s way, and they weren’t even that close.”

“No?”

“Not before this. But Pete never was one to turn down an offer of free money, not since our father turned off the tap.”

Through Andy’s living-room window, Green saw a dusty black Jeep pull into the drive. An unfamiliar man climbed out, small, wiry, and wrinkled from the sun. He took off his baseball cap to scratch his bald head, then reached into his cab for a little black bag.

Andy glanced out. “Here’s your pilot now.”

Hastily Green thanked Pete’s sister and hung up just as Hunter Kerry pushed through the front door. He favoured one leg, which gave him a rolling gait. He and Andy nodded to each other cordially but Green sensed no warmth between them. Kerry tossed the bag onto the dining table amid the clutter of notebooks, pens, and laptops, then swung his stiff leg around a chair to sit down.

“I was passing by and decided to save us both a phone call.”

“Thank you for taking the time, Mr. Kerry,” Green said. Despite his best behaviour, a touch of sarcasm crept into his voice.

“I’m out in the bush a lot,” Kerry said as if to explain the delay. “And I got no reason to think anything’s gone wrong with that party. They’re not due for pickup for another week. But I’m glad to get rid of this meantime.” He tapped the bag.

Green pulled it closer and opened it. “What’s this?”

“One of their day packs. Left it on the aircraft. Usually you wear it around your waist so it’s nearby if you dump.”

Green rummaged through the contents, which appeared to be mostly emergency supplies. “Does this mean one of them is without their emergency supplies?”

“Yes, sir, but the others will have them. Not a big problem. The phone battery is another story.”

Green picked up the battery and his chest tightened. “This means they have no way to call for help.”

“No new-fangled way, but there’s still lots of ways. Ways we’ve been using for decades, before all this satellite shit. Flares, beacons, bright-coloured flags, even old-fashioned smoke signals. Any experienced wilderness trekker knows to go out into the open on the riverbank and wait. And those guys are experienced.”

“How do you know?”

“Just listening to them talk as we flew up. They knew every mountain range and landmark. They could tell alpine and boreal and moraines and kettles, and all the different rock patterns like solifluction lobes and frost polygons. They can read the land, and if you’re going to get lost that’s a good thing.”

“What else did they say? Anything to hint where they might go besides the river?”

“No, sir. Mind you, I wasn’t listening the whole time. I’m kinda deaf and so it’s hard work over the engine noise. They did get pretty excited by the Ragged Range, but then it’s a pretty awesome sight. Serious rock climbers practically cream themselves.” He shot a sheepish glance at Andy, who didn’t react.

“Why didn’t you give this bag to the police?”

Hunt shrugged. “Why would I? I was gonna give it back to the party when I picked them up. But then you called, and I figured …”

“But you must have known there’s concern about them. Did you at least tell the RCMP about it?”

Hunt shoved his chair back and stood up. “Like I said, sir, I been in the bush. But I did tell Tymko, off the record. Anyways, I got a run to make, and that’s about all I can tell you. I still have their take-out in my book, so if they show up earlier or you hear any different, let me know.” He headed toward the door.

Green didn’t move. “Just a couple more questions, Mr. Kerry. The young woman, Hannah, how did she seem?”

He scrunched up his face. “Fine, I’d say. What do you mean?”

“I mean was she excited, scared, unhappy to be there?”

“Oh, no, definitely excited. If she’d leaned any farther to see out the window, she’d have fallen out. And she was all over that Scott guy too.”

“How did he seem?”

“I wondered about that. He was super excited but uptight, like the whole trip was his responsibility. He was the one did all the talking. On and on about the mountains, the creeks, and the water flow. Stuff that was Greek to her. Still, in all, they were a good bunch of kids. I’m betting they’re just off adventuring, the way kids do.”

After he’d gone, Green examined the contents of the bag more closely. It was then that he found the small plastic packet with the piece of paper folded inside. Once he had it spread out in front of him, his heart began to race. He’d seen enough crucial clues as a detective to recognize a possible breakthrough.

It was an old will dated 1944 in the name of Guy H. Lasalle, presumably a relative of Scott. The grandfather, perhaps? The will mentioned mining shares and mining claims, but it was the handwritten notations that caught his interest. A date, some directions, and a string of numbers that meant nothing to Green, although he sensed they were important. Why had Scott brought this? Why take such care to pack it up and transport it into the wilderness if it was irrelevant to their journey?

He refolded the paper carefully and stood up. “I’m going to pay another visit to Sergeant Nihls at the RCMP. See if he knows what these notations refer to. I have no idea, but I’m willing to bet Scott does.”

Chapter Nine

 S
ergeant Nihls mouthed the numbers silently as if it would help him understand them. His eyes drifted down the flimsy piece of paper. He turned it over to look at the blank back, and then he squinted at his computer screen, clicking through links. For several minutes he ignored the two detectives seated opposite him.

Green resisted the urge to drum his fingers. He and Sullivan had waylaid the RCMP commander on his way into the detachment at 10 a.m. Nihls strode in, harried and impatient like a man who’d already done a day’s work on the battlefield and had another awaiting him inside. Since Green needed the man’s co-operation, he forced himself to behave.

“You say Hunter Kerry just gave this to you?”

Green nodded. This had already been mentioned several times, but he bit his tongue.

“There’s no mention of it in Constable Tymko’s report.”

“Mr. Kerry didn’t report it.”

The sergeant raised an eyebrow then, the first hint of reaction on his deadpan face. “He didn’t, eh?”

Green leaned forward, as if willing the sergeant to share his urgency. “This changes things. It gives us two new pieces of information. First of all, the kids don’t have a functioning emergency phone —”

“May not have.”

“That’s close enough. So if they’re in trouble, they may not be able to call for help. And second, this wasn’t a simple pleasure trip down the Nahanni. Scott Lasalle is after something, and whatever it is, those numbers are a clue. Do you know what they are?”

The Mountie pursed his lips. “They wouldn’t tell him a thing by themselves.”

“But what do they refer to? A piece of property? A file or case number?”

“If I had to guess …”

“Guess.”

A shadow of a smile flitted across the man’s rigid face. “It’s probably a mining claim number.”

Green stared at him. “You mean this Guy Lasalle owned a mine?”

“Not owned, no. No one owns mines in this country, Inspector. People can own the surface land but, with rare exceptions, everything under the surface is still owned by the Crown.”

Green knew that. It was one of those obscure quirks of law that sometimes found its way into trouble. Mainly when some poor unsuspecting farmer or cottager suddenly found his property being dug up by a mining speculator who’d decided there might be nickel, uranium, or some other valuable metal under his fields. All the speculator needed was a permit from the Crown, and the drills and back hoes could move in.

He rephrased his question. “He had a claim to a mine?”

“Looks like it could be,” the officer said. “The first number, that is. But it’s all irrelevant today. That claim is almost seventy years old. I don’t know what the law was back then, but now a claim is only good for two years unless you do some work on it, and even then it’s only good for ten. After that you have to piss or get off the pot.” He waved the paper dismissively. “This is nothing but a historical curiosity.”

“But Scott might not know that. And if he’s gone looking for a mine …” Green looked at the huge map of the southwestern district of the Northwest Territories that hung on the commander’s wall. Apart from a few small villages clustered along the rivers, the land was empty. He went for a closer look. “If he went looking and ran into trouble, without a satellite phone —”

“There are other ways to signal for help. We have found nothing.”

“But you’ve been searching only along the river. These directions say it’s twenty miles to Nahanni. What if they ventured inland and ran into trouble?”

Sergeant Nihls looked grim. “The South Nahanni River is over five hundred kilometres long. And there’s also the North Nahanni and the Little Nahanni. That is millions of acres. Without more details, impossible to search.”

“But we have reference points: Watson and Dawson. Where are they?”

“Those directions make no sense. Dawson’s up near Alaska, way off the map. Watson Lake is nowhere near here either.”

Green studied the map. Nihls was right. Even using the locations as triangulation points, the result was nowhere near Nahanni National Park. He considered the notations again. “What about this mining claim number? Somewhere there will be a record of the claim. Where?”