The Moose Jaw (37 page)

I told him I’d like to see it.

He said it was out in his car, but there were a few other things I should know before I read it. Then he went on.

“What Pokey found back in there was two mutilated corpses and a burned down fishing lodge – more specifically, the McCarver boys, and the Rainbow River Lodge.  They found Roy in the main room, just inside the door.  His body was badly charred but they were able to tell he’d been killed with a shotgun before he burned.  You’ll find the description of the wounds mighty interesting.  They found his brother Larry in one of the sleeping rooms.  He was a giant.  He was also queer as a three-dollar bill.  He’d done time in Missouri for the homosexual rape of one of his own cousins.  While he was in prison he beat and sodomized every cellmate they put in with him.  They finally had to put him in solitary confinement.  I don’t know how he got back on the street, but our justice system was as flaky then as it is now.

Anyway, like I said, they found him in a back room.  He hadn’t died as pleasantly as his brother; he’d had his cock and balls hacked off with a dull knife and he’d been stabbed in the chest, head, shoulders and back some thirty five times.”

Case took a puff on his cigarette and had a sip of beer.  Haywood and I sat quietly and waited for him to go on. 

“Pokey wrote up his assessment of what had transpired.  His report stated that it appeared the two victims had been overpowered or incapacitated by a third party-or-parties, long enough for the third party to strip them both and crimp-wire their nuts together through a heavy iron eye-bolt that was anchored deep in the log wall of one of the sleeping rooms.  It further appeared that each had been given a dull hunting knife, and the third party had rigged a timed incendiary device to go off in the room with the brothers.  The third party may or may not have explained the situation to them but, regardless, it was clear they understood.  They had to extricate themselves from the snare wire or they would burn to death.  It appeared to Pokey, that Larry tried to use his knife to cut the wire and dig at the eyebolt in the log wall.  His brother didn’t waste time on that approach.  The evidence suggested that Roy stabbed Larry to death and then cut off his scrotal appendages, dragged them through the eyebolt, and escaped outside.  He must have thought he was home free.”  

Case paused here long enough to have another swallow of beer.

“Here’s where it really gets weird, Gus.  The evidence also suggested he was met just outside the door by the third party, who shot him twice; once in the face and once in the balls.  Then our mysterious third party dragged Roy’s body back inside and let his little fire bomb do the rest.  It was quite effective; the lodge burned to the ground.  Nothing left standing but the stone chimney.”

Haywood had gone absolutely white.  I couldn’t see my own face but I’m sure it was grim.  Hard Case just sat, drumming his fingers on the tabletop.  He looked over at me.  “Like I said, Gus.  It’s all very strange.” 

I started to speak but Hard Case held up a hand.  “There’s more; let me finish.  The Athabascan guy, the father, was the prime suspect.  Pokey thought the whole thing looked like a vengeance killing, and the file on Roy and Larry indicated they were more than likely to incite a husband or father to commit such a crime.  Fact is, there’d been rumors that Larry may have had a go at the youngest son.  The authorities caught up with the father about a month later, over in the town of Circle.  He and his family had been living around there for more than three months at the time, and he had a solid alibi for the entire week of the Rainbow River Lodge murders.  They released him and continued the investigation.  No other suspect was ever questioned.”

I interrupted him.  “Case, before you go on, why did you ask me about the loads and the wads.”

“I’m coming to that,” he said.  “Pokey and the pilot sacked up the bodies in body bags and brought them back to Fairbanks.  The medical examiner removed fourteen metal balls from Roy’s head as well as a plastic wad from his throat.  The wad matched one Pokey had found under the porch.  He also removed eleven metal balls from Roy’s lower abdomen, upper thighs and what was left of his nuts.

The odd thing about the metal balls was that they weren’t lead.  Some folks had been experimenting with steel shot even back in the fifties, so they ran tests on the metal.  They weren’t steel either.  In fact, they ran every metallurgical test available at the time and they were finally able to determine the mystery metal to be an alloy of 97% bismuth and 3% tin.”

At this point, Hard Case took his little note pad out of his shirt pocket and consulted it.  “Bear with me,” he said, as he flipped through the pages.  “The report was pretty detailed, so I jotted down a few notes.”

Haywood and I exchanged a glance while Hard Case looked for the data.

“Here you go,” he said, tapping his note pad.  “Bismuth is the element next to lead on the periodic table.  Its atomic number is 83 and its atomic weight is 209.  Nice to know, but the puzzling thing is that no manufacturer, at that time, was making shot out of bismuth.  I checked that out on the Internet today.”

Once again he referred to his notes.  “Bismuth shot wasn’t made commercially until 1994.  It was also stated in the file that they had ruled out the possibility of an individual reloader having made the loads, because reloaders simply assemble shot shell components that are manufactured by companies in the munitions industry.  This includes the shot.  The point being, no manufacturers were making shot out of anything but lead in 1959.”

He flipped his note pad closed, and returned it to his shirt pocket as he went on.

“While I was researching the bismuth on the Internet, I also ran a check on steel shot.  I discovered they didn’t even start making that commercially until Winchester came out with it in 1976.  The U.S Department of Fish and Game didn’t accept bismuth shot as legal for hunting waterfowl until 1997.”

He finished his beer and clunked the bottle down on the tabletop.

“So, you see, they were able to identify the metal, it just didn’t lead them anywhere.  The plastic wads gave them a bit of a turn also.  Plastic wads were being introduced around then, but nobody had ever seen one quite like the ones found at the scene.  They ran comparison tests with every manufacturer’s wads, and guess what?  No matches.”

Hard Case paused to light another Camel.  I went to the cupboard and took out the Tullamore Dew.  Beer just wasn’t doing it.  I held the bottle up toward the table.  They both nodded, so I stacked three glasses and took them to the table with the bottle.

While I poured us each a generous dollop, Hard Case went on.

“Long about the same time, we had another unsolved case.
  Two missing persons.  Funny thing was, they went missing while on a fishing trip on the Moose Jaw.  Man and woman from Seattle.  Disappeared in the bush, and were never seen or heard from again.  Their names were Jason Thomas and Katherine Morgan.”

A chill ran up my spine.  Haywood downed his whiskey in one gulp and gestured for another.  I poured, and Hard Case continued.

“Mr. Thomas was thirty-three years old, a rising star at Albright, Baker, Morrison & Kemp, Attorneys at Law.  Miss Morgan was also thirty-three years of age, a tall redhead, and was employed as a legal secretary at the same firm.  They were both reputed to be avid fly-fishermen.  They were also reputed to be lovers.  They had come to Alaska for a two week vacation, specifically to fish for salmon on the Moose Jaw, and trout on Rainbow Creek.”

He paused for effect.  “Oh, and by the way, in case you haven’t already guessed, Rainbow Creek is no longer called Rainbow Creek.  When the trout mysteriously vanished from its waters in 1960, somebody changed the name.  Since then it’s been called Deadman Creek in honor of the McCarver boys.  That’s the name on all the maps now.”

We were all quiet for a long time after Hard Case had finished his dissertation.  I opened the bottle and poured everyone another round.  I left the cap off the bottle.  The drugs and alcohol in my system were having their effect but Case’s tale had come through loud and clear.  I didn’t know what to make of it, but I certainly saw the implications.  They were just too far out to be considered seriously.

I studied the amber liquid in my glass.  “Case, do you still have those metal balls in your evidence room?”

He shook his head sadly.  “Nope.  I looked around.  Couldn’t find the plastic wads either.  Only thing we have is the sketch Pokey made of them.  It’s in the file.  You can have a look.”

I said that was good, if Pokey was a good enough artist, I could tell if his wad resembled a Remington Power Piston.  I had no doubt that it would.

Once again, Haywood downed his drink in one gulp.  He hadn’t said anything for a long time.  Now he stood up and leaned both palms on the tabletop.  We both looked at his face.  It was taut and ashen.

“Let’s get something straight here,” he said.  “My father was a backwoods preacher, and I was raised in the good Christian tradition.  I may not be much of a Christian anymore but I still hold some of my beliefs near and dear to my heart.  What we’re talking about here is pretty damned close to a ghost story.  I don’t believe in ghosts!  I’m a man of medicine – a man of science.”

The whiskey was getting to him and he momentarily lost his train of thought.

Hard Case prompted him.  “A man of science…”

Haywood picked up the thread.  “That’s right.  I’m a man of science and I don’t believe a word of this shit.  There has to be a logical explanation for all of it.”

“I agree,” said Hard Case.  “I just wish I knew what it was.”

“Here, here,” I added, and downed my whiskey in a single swallow.

“Well,” said Hard Case, “now you’ve heard it.  I’ll bring in the file and leave it with you overnight.  You can read it at your leisure, but I covered most of the high points.”

He left his coat hanging on the back of the chair and went out the front door.  I heard his Explorer’s door open and then close again and, seconds later, Hard Case came back in carrying two large manila envelopes bulging with papers.  He plopped them on the table.

“Here they are,” he said.  “The fat one is the double homicide.  The small one is the missing persons case.  I’d like them back when you’re done with them.”

With that, he looked at his watch and said, “I better be getting home.  Thanks for the whiskey.”

He shrugged into his coat, waved good night and said, as he went out the door, “Enjoy your reading.”

When Haywood and I were alone, he slid his glass across the table to me.

“Fill ‘er up, Gus.”

I could tell he was drunk, but so what?  I filled his glass and gently slid it to him.  I’d had enough whiskey so I opened another bottle of stout.   Haywood waved his glass in the direction of my bottle.

“Don’t drink too much of that stuff,” he said.  I knew he was about to deliver one of his infamous medical opinions.  He didn’t disappoint me.

“You’ll be dropin’ clankers in the morning.  I don’t want to be replacing my porcelain.”  He was, indeed, a caution.

We sat and quietly sipped our drinks for a good five minutes before Haywood looked at me and said, “What I said about this being a ghost story – it’s something more than that, isn’t it?”

I waited.  He went on, “Closer to science fiction – time travel, that sort of shit.  It’s like you went back to 1959 and shot that fucker, then came back to now.”

I sipped my stout.  “Time warp?”

Haywood shrugged his shoulders.  “Shit, I don’t know.  Nobody knows.  It’s all hocus pocus anyway; UFOs, shit like that.”  He tossed off his drink.

“Well,” I said, “I’m not going to think about it any more tonight.  I’m all in.”  I stood up, “See you in the morning Haywood.” 

He waved a hand over his head, “Night...” he said.

I went down to the guest room, rousted Bosworth from my bed, and turned in.

Sunday morning, Haywood surprised me.  He was frying bacon and eggs at the stove when I came up from the bedroom.  It was six thirty in the morning.  He looked refreshed and alert.  That was hard to believe, considering the condition in which I’d left him last night.  Even more amazing was the fact that the Dew bottle stood empty on the table.  He’d killed it after I’d retired.  No matter, I felt bad enough for both of us.

“Top of the Mornin’ to ya, O’Neill!”  He was in good voice.

“Umm,” I answered.

He poured a cup of coffee and handed it to me.  “Sorry.  Forgot your morning persona.  I’ll give you a few minutes to rise from the dead before attacking.”

He slid two eggs and a few slices of bacon out of the frying pan onto his plate.  The toast popped out of the toaster right on cue and he added them to the bacon and eggs, picked up his coffee cup and disappeared into the den.  I heard the computer’s high-pitched whine and knew he’d be occupied for another half hour, at least. Thank God.

I took my coffee over to the table and eased myself into a chair.  The table was a mess, cluttered with full ashtrays, empty bottles and glasses, and the two bulging file folders.  I wasn’t ready to tackle the file folders.  My shoulder still ached but not as much as my ribs.  My head hurt worse than either.  The room still stunk horribly of Haywood’s awful cigars and Case’s pungent Camels and, I suppose, my pipe.  The bacon smell couldn’t hope to mask it.

I went over and opened the window.  It was cold out but I had to have some fresh air.  I’d just resettled into my chair and was sipping my coffee when the phone rang.  Haywood had two lines; one for the computer and one for the phone and fax machine.

“Can you get that?”  His voice echoed down the hall.

I walked over to the island and lifted the phone off the hook.  “Hullo.”  I waited.

“Gus? That you?”

“Hello, Uncle Jack.  It’s me.”

“Heard a bear ate you.  You O.K.?”

“Yeah.  I’ll live.  How’d you hear about it?”  There was no doubt in my mind who had informed him.  ‘Haywood, you bastard.’

“Got an email from Haywood.  Said you were in the hospital, and you’d be back at his place today.  I forwarded it to Sylvia.  Thought she should know.  Seriously, are you O.K.?  How bad did you get hurt?”