Masculine influences were everywhere. A large flat panel TV hugged the wall opposite the brown corduroy couch. Three darkly stained wooden tables sat on either side and in front of the sofa, and a vast collection of CDs and DVDs was stored neatly in a tall slotted cabinet. She browsed through them, finding contemporary and classic rock as well as a number of jazz and orchestral albums. Most of the DVDs were nature documentaries produced by the likes of the BBC and Discovery. She wondered if they were gifts someone had decided were appropriate for a man with Alex’s job, or if they were his own purchases.
She hesitated before going up the stairs, but couldn’t resist. One of the two rooms on the top floor was obviously an efficient home office, with a desk, computer and shelving. The other was his bedroom.
The bed was large and cozy, neatly made with a fluffy dark blue duvet and crisp white pillowcases. A few discarded clothes were heaped on a chair in the corner of the room, but there were no socks on the floor or piles of dirty laundry. Even in his private space, Alex was obviously a neat soul.
She stood awhile longer, breathing in his scent. Then with a long sigh, decided it was time to face the day.
Chapter Eleven
The day before yesterday, after the police had finished their examination of her truck, it had been towed to a shop for a new tire and to have the windows replaced. A short call confirmed it was ready, so she took a taxi from Alex’s condo to retrieve it, and headed home.
It seemed disrespectful on this day to wear her usual jeans and T-shirt. After a much needed shower, June put on crisply pressed linen pants and a satiny forest green blouse and set out to the RiverForce office.
Letting herself in with the key she’d been given earlier in the week, she switched on the light and powered up the computer. As she was waiting for it to come to life, the phone rang.
“Ah, June, you’re in today.” Richard’s voice was vibrant and hearty.
“Yes, Richard. You did get my email telling you I wouldn’t be around yesterday, right?”
“Of course, of course. Not a problem. Did you have course work to do?”
“No, I spent the day with a friend.”
“That reminds me. I heard on the news this morning a conservation officer was killed yesterday. I certainly hope it wasn’t that fellow you introduced me to. Allan, wasn’t it?”
She closed her eyes and breathed soundlessly through her nose. Richard had put into words the very thought she had been avoiding for almost twenty-four hours. “His name is Alex, and no, it wasn’t him. We were together when he got the news. The man killed was one of his colleagues.”
Richard cleared his throat. “He was with you yesterday? Isn’t that lucky.”
She pushed the words past the ball of ice in her throat. “Alex is quite upset, of course, but otherwise he’s fine.”
“It’s terrible, just terrible, what happens in this world sometimes.” June waited through a short silence. Then his voice resumed its normal briskness. “I’m calling because I’ve got an assignment for you. Do you mind stepping over to my office?”
The University of Northern British Columbia had been designed with Canadian winters in mind, and most areas of the institution could be reached without going outside. She walked along the polished concrete corridors and into the Administration Wing, where four stories of offices opened into a vaulted central hall pillared with beautifully constructed wooden beams. Richard’s office was on the second level. June introduced herself to his administrative assistant, an older woman in twinset and pearls, who nodded and waved her through.
This space was a far cry from the poky hole assigned to RiverForce. A wall of plate glass provided a stunning view over the city and as far as the eastern horizon, where the snowy crests of the McGregor Mountain Range loomed cold and remote, even on this sunny spring day. Somewhere in that wild landscape Iain had died a lonely, violent death.
She shook the melancholy from her mind and surveyed the rest of the room. A large executive desk dominated the left side, a medley of papers, folders, books and a laptop scattered over it. Richard was seated at a small round conference table near the window, with yet more papers strewn across its surface.
“Do you see this mess?” He gestured with both hands. “Do you wonder how I ever get any work done?” He offered her a chair next to him and continued without waiting for an answer. “I have got to get these into some semblance of order, and then I’ll need your help.”
“What are they?” She pulled a few of the sheets closer and leafed through them.
“Scripts of the presentations I’ve done at conferences I’ve attended on behalf of RiverForce. I need to have them typed up as a Word doc.” He continued to sort and stack the pages into piles.
“Didn’t you use that program to write them originally?”
He met her gaze half shamefully. “Yes, I did. But I transferred all my files from my old laptop to a new one. Then I went and had the old hard drive erased so I could donate it to a program which provides low income students with computers.” He smoothed a hand over his well-groomed beard, and his eyes twinkled with his normal fervour. “And now I can’t seem to find these presentations anywhere. I’m afraid I’m terribly old school. I get along with technology, but we’ll never be kindred spirits.”
She motioned helplessly at the multitude of papers. “When do you need them by?”
“Do you think you might have it done by the end of next week? I know it’s a lot of typing, but it is simply copying.”
“Couldn’t you scan the pages?”
“I need to be able to make revisions to the scripts. You see, I have four main presentations, depending on the conference. But I mix and match from all of them. And, of course, I need to update them with current information.”
He staggered the four stacks of pages, placing them in a low, narrow cardboard box, and handed it to June, who accepted it with an internal groan.
“I guess I’d better get started.”
Richard escorted her to the outer office. “Thanks again. I’d ask Sarah here to help,” he winked roguishly at his assistant, whose pale cheeks flushed slightly, “but it is, after all, RiverForce business.”
“No problem. I’ll get right on it.”
Back in her dim little room, where the nicest view was a poster of Jasper’s Maligne Lake tacked crookedly to the wall, she dumped the box on her desk. She’d left her cell phone there, and when she checked for messages, found a text from Alex.
No news re Iain. Are you at work?
She typed back.
Yes. Was in a meeting. Call me.
While she waited, she retrieved the first pile of pages from the box. Richard was right. It wouldn’t be too hard, but it certainly seemed like an excruciating waste of time. With a resigned shrug, she put fingers to the keyboard.
Five minutes later her cell rang.
Alex’s voice was low and tired. “It’s crazy here. People are walking around like they’ve been tazered, and the police are all over the place.”
She swivelled away from the monitor, opened the bottom drawer of the desk, and rested her feet on it. “Shouldn’t they be out where Iain was killed?”
“I guess there’s another team out there. The ones here are asking for everybody’s whereabouts yesterday. You might get a call.”
“What about the two officers at the airport? Didn’t they report we came in together?”
“It doesn’t seem to matter. They keep asking the same questions again and again. Then they asked for a list of poachers known to be in the area.”
“Do you have such a thing?”
“We have a list of past offenders, of course. But whether they’ve been out in that area recently, we don’t have a clue. Wait a sec.” Rustling sounds filled the speaker, as if Alex was holding the phone against his shirt, and she heard muffled conversation. He came back on the line. “I’ve got to go. Will I see you tonight?”
“Are you sure? You sound exhausted. Maybe I should stay home.”
“Please, June.” She sensed tightly held emotions bleeding from the simple words. “I need to be with you, even if for only a little while.”
A thrill rippled through her, tinged with guilt. Was she taking advantage of Alex’s distress? She searched her mind for anything she could do to help. “How about I bring dinner to your place? Around six?”
“I would really, really like that.”
She disconnected and turned back to the computer. With a soft oath, she bent to her task.
****
It was early afternoon when June left the office and walked through the sunshine to where she’d parked. As she neared her truck she noticed a piece of paper fluttering against the windshield. She hurried forward, righteous indignation building, ready to wave her receipt under someone’s nose and demand they retract the ticket. Ripping the slip from under the wiper blade, she realized it was an unremarkable sheet of office paper. She unfolded it. Her confusion curdled into horror.
Tell your boyfriend to stay out of the mountains unless he wants to end up like his buddy.
Ice trickled down her spine. She read the chilling words again. A couple of students walked past, complaining about an assignment, and the spell was broken. She threw herself into the truck, fumbling the key into the ignition. Tires spun as she raced out of the lot.
****
June arrived in a flurry at the Ministry of Environment building. The man staffing the front desk had a scrawny neck, a large blemish on his high forehead, and glazed eyes. Breathlessly, she asked him to call Alex. He stared at her blankly before answering.
“I’m sorry. All conservation officers are unavailable today. Would you like to leave a message?”
“No. No, I need to see him. It’s about Iain Prevost.”
That made him pick up the phone, and moments later Alex was striding down the corridor toward her.
“What’s going on?”
She clutched his outstretched hand in both of hers. “I have something to show you. Can we go to your office?”
Once inside, she shut the door and pulled the sheet of paper out of her bag. “Here.”
Alex leaned a hip against the desk and read the short sentence, a frown creased between his eyebrows.
“Where did you get this?”
“It was tucked under the wipers on my truck when I left work this afternoon.”
He was silent, studying the note.
“We have to show this to the police,” she said.
“Of course we do,” he replied absently. “Just give me a minute.”
“This is a threat.” Panic bubbled. She did her best to keep her voice calm and level, but Alex’s attention lifted from the paper. “Whoever wrote this is threatening to kill you.”
Whatever he saw in her face made him open his arms. “Come here.” She slipped into his embrace, nestling her nose into the hollow at the base of his throat. She took a deep breath, and then another. Her pulse settled for the first time since she’d read the message.
“Okay, I’m better now.” But she stayed where she was, breathing in his scent, spicy and male. His hands slid up and down her back. His lips caressed her temple.
He tipped her face up with a finger on her chin. “Let’s go find the investigators.” He pressed his mouth briefly but firmly to hers before guiding her to the door.
****
The RCMP investigation had commandeered one of the boardrooms on the second floor of the building. Inside were two senior officers, as evidenced by their plain clothes, and, to June’s surprise, a uniformed Constable Wendy Hoffarth as well.
The brusque blonde who had taken her statement the day after the motorcycle attack approached June as Alex strode toward the seated men.
“What are you doing here?” Hoffarth asked curtly.
“I found something.” June focused on Alex as he slid the paper across the dark surface of the table.
“What?”
“A death threat.”
Hoffarth started, then stepped to the table and peered surreptitiously over the shoulders of her superiors. June followed, taking a place next to Alex.
Both investigators wore business suits but no ties. One of them sported grey hair, cut severely short, grey eyes to match and a five o’clock shadow about three hours early. Using the end of a pen, he slipped the note into a clear evidence bag and sealed it shut. He read in silence, then passed it to his colleague.
This officer was younger, with coal black hair, dark skin and a prominent nose. “Who has handled this paper?” he asked.
“I did, of course,” June said, “and Alex, but no one else.”
“Tell me about it,” the older officer said.
She did so.
“You were with Mr. Weaver when he investigated two recent poaching sites, were you not?”
“Yes, I was.” No one introduced either of the men, but their authority was clear. “I was also with Alex all day yesterday, from about nine in the morning. When was Iain Prevost killed?”
An internal debate was conducted behind the careful grey eyes. Her question was answered grudgingly. “The coroner puts it between ten a.m. and noon.” He turned his attention to Alex. “Do you have any idea who might have reason to threaten you? Someone who knows both you and Ms. Brandt?”
Alex shook his head. “No one.”
June offered up the last slim hope she still clutched. “Are you sure it wasn’t an accident? Is there any chance Iain wasn’t killed...on purpose?”
“No weapon was found in the vicinity of Mr. Prevost’s body, which appears to rule out suicide.” Alex hissed air between his teeth. “An accident is still possible, but if so, the shooter has not approached police.”
“Iain didn’t kill himself.” Fury burned in Alex’s voice. “He was murdered.”
The ominous word punched June in the stomach.
“It’s always best to keep an open mind during any investigation,” the older officer said. “But the evidence tends to agree with you. Especially with this.” He gestured to the note.