The Bone Seeker (12 page)

Seeing she wasn't going to get anything more out of him right then, Edie made her way back to the detachment, making a mental note to go back later, stand old Silliq a drink or two.

Derek was already by the door, pulling on his outerwear. He reached for his hat and pointing to her boots he said, ‘No need to take those off. We're going back to Camp Nanook. Klinsman's got Saxby. They've searched his locker. Man's knife is missing.'

Sonia Gutierrez had been sitting in the communal area of the hotel, leafing through copies of the documents in the decontamination agreement between the settlement of Kuujuaq and the Defence Department until they'd given her a headache. Remembering the Tylenol in the hotel kitchen, she now made herself some coffee, got the pills and went up to her room.

She tried to work out why it was that the agreement seemed to mean so much to her. A young woman – her client's beloved daughter – had been horribly killed. You'd think that might be her primary concern, but something in her just wouldn't let the clean-up go. All her life she'd been fighting power, first in Guatemala, then in Ottawa and now here in the High Arctic, and she was intimately acquainted with the way power covered up after itself, the tiny gaps and small inconsistencies it left behind. The timing of the girl's death, just before the start of the clean-up, and Klinsman's eagerness to cooperate with the police investigation had set alarm bells ringing in her mind. The anomaly in the environmental impact report increased their pitch. There was nothing she could put her finger on right now, but long years of experience had taught her to trust her instincts. And her instincts told her that something wasn't right.

What she really needed was someone to talk all this through with, a fellow lawyer or maybe just a good and trusted pal, but after the embezzlement scandal, lawyers she had once counted as her friends no longer wanted anything to do with her in case her near-disgrace rubbed
off on them. There were one or two people in Ottawa who remained on her side but she couldn't in all honesty call them confidants. The obvious candidate was her sister in Guatemala but she'd tried calling her a couple of times and not got through.

And there was Chris Tetlow. Calling Chris would mean swallowing a little pride, but the way she was feeling now she figured it was probably worth it. Picking up her phone card, she went downstairs and tapped in the various codes until she reached Tetlow's cell. The journalist picked up. From the slur in his speech and the time it took him to register her name, she guessed he was in a bar and that he'd been there some time.

‘Hey, Son, wassup?' There had been a moment, a few years back, when Tetlow had been one of her loudest cheerleaders. He was a freelancer then, one of the few in the north, with a particular interest in native affairs. They'd scratched each other's backs and more. Tetlow hadn't behaved well, dumping her by text, and she'd subsequently discovered he'd been seeing someone else almost the whole time they'd been together. For a while relations between them had soured but, mostly through her efforts, they'd now managed to build a cordial if slightly awkward professional relationship. These days Tetlow worked for the
Arctic Circular
based out of Yellowknife and Iqaluit. Since so much of Gutierrez's work involved native land claims it was useful to her to have Tetlow onside.

‘You hear about the murder of that girl in Kuujuaq, near the SOVPAT camp earlier in the week? Martha Salliaq?'

She could almost hear the cogs in his mind turning over. ‘Rings a bell.' He sounded remote, as if he was too drunk to take this in or maybe just didn't care, but she felt so in need of an ally right now that it almost didn't matter.

‘You up there now, Son, or what?' He'd gone somewhere quieter so that she no longer had to strain to hear him.

‘Yeah. I've been negotiating a clean-up of the old DEW station at Glacier Ridge. You remember?' They'd talked about it a few times over
the years. ‘Thing is, Chris, I can't put my finger on it but I think there's something going on. Apart from the murder, I mean, but maybe connected to it.'

‘Go on.' Tetlow's journalistic instincts had kicked in and he sounded almost sober now.

Sonia outlined the events of the past few days, including the anomaly she'd found in the documents.

‘Isn't Derek Palliser in charge up there? The lemming fella? There's more to that man than meets the eye. He comes over as some small town loser, obsessed with rodents, then last year he pulls off this amazing investigation into a big-time Russian oil developer. Made international waves.'

Sonia hadn't been up on Ellesmere last year but she remembered reading about the case in the papers.

‘Well, I'm beginning to think he's either amazingly naive or he's working with the Defence Department.'

There was noise in the background at Tetlow's end.

‘Maybe he just wants to get the investigation out of the way as quickly as possible so they can get on with the clean-up? You think of that?' Tetlow's voice flared in and out, as though he was focused on something else in the room.

‘No, Chris, that never occurred to me . . . Of
course
I thought of that.' She paused.
Dios mío
.

There was a pause.

‘I met that girl's mother one time by the way,' Tetlow said suddenly. ‘Alice. A story I was working on a while ago about a bunch of babies that died at birth in the seventies and eighties.' He hesitated. ‘Uh, I guess that would have been before your time. Any case, it didn't stand up.' She heard a woman's voice, then Chris say, ‘Two minutes,' and he was back on the line again.

‘But listen, you got anything more concrete?'

‘I told you all I got.'

He sounded disappointed.

‘Maybe you should come up here, help me get some more.'

The woman's voice again, louder this time.

‘Uh, look, Son, I gotta go. Call me if you get any closer to something . . .'

‘Concrete?' she offered, but he'd already put down the phone.

•   •   •

Back in her bedroom she flicked through the documents once more. It made sense to go back to the beginning and take a look at the site plans. There were two sets, as it turned out, the ones she'd worked from and a much earlier version from before she'd taken on the case. The early drawings dated from 1960, not long after the site had been built. She'd never had cause to look at this set before, partly because the clean-up negotiations had always worked from drawings dating from 1974, and partly because the earlier documents were hidden away in an obscure addendum which had been drawn up before she'd taken on the case. These days the site no longer much resembled either set of plans. The Defence Department had torn down some of the structures after they'd abandoned the place in the mid-1990s. A few of the remaining buildings had got frost damage and crumbled and a few more had succumbed to the 180-kilometre-per-hour winds that regularly swept down from the Arctic Ocean.

Nonetheless, the plans showed that during the fourteen years between 1960 and 1974 there had been considerable additions to the permanent structures on the site. In itself this was no big deal. Many of the radar stations on the Distant Early Warning line had been remodelled over their thirty-five-year lives, as monitoring technology became more sophisticated and strategic needs changed. What seemed peculiar about Glacier Ridge was the extent and type of enlargement. The 1960 plans showed the classic radar main station format, buildings arranged in an H and built into the prevailing northwesterlies. By 1974 the site had more than doubled in size. The basic H shape remained, but the area had been filled in by a more random-looking cluster of buildings, none of which were facing northwest. This kind of expansion could only have resulted from a change in function. In which case,
what had the station become – and why, in the decade she'd been involved in negotiations, had no one ever mentioned the change?

Sonia stared into the middle distance for a moment, trying to recalibrate her thoughts. Her head told her she was on to something.

But what?

For the third time in thirty-six hours Derek and Edie found themselves at the sentry gate at Camp Nanook. This time Klinsman kept them waiting for a few minutes, and apologized with his usual formality, but he seemed if anything more distracted and for the first time, Edie thought, wary.

‘Private Saxby was on exercise in Alert. We flew him down as soon as it was practical.' The joint military and weather station lay seven hundred kilometres to the north, not far from the Pole. It was a desolate spot, a death zone, and Edie had to wonder what soldiers would do up there. ‘You should know that we allow the men here to carry their own knives to use in training. Each soldier begins exercise with a kit inventory. Private Saxby flew out here with a SOG Seal Team brand hunting blade. That knife is currently missing from his locker. He's not yet aware that we know.'

‘We appreciate your cooperation,' Derek said, ‘though it seems that message didn't get through to your men who went down to the nursing station. I had to find out about them from the nurse.'

They had reached the iron-grey dome of the command office. Klinsman hesitated at the door. ‘I apologize. I asked them to call ahead.'

‘I'm assuming they were plain-clothes investigators? But perhaps you could tell us exactly why they were taking photographs of the victim's body?'

Klinsman's hand hovered over the door handle.

‘I'm afraid you'll have to take that up directly with the Defence Department.' There was a squeal of metal as the door swung open. He
directed them along the corridor. ‘As I understand it, the visit was routine protocol. The department can be protective of their sites, even the abandoned ones.'

‘The site belongs to the people of Kuujuaq,' Derek said firmly. ‘And as I've said before, I'd be glad in future if you'd leave procedural matters to me.'

Klinsman nodded. His body gave off a relaxed vibe but his voice was rattled. ‘Of course. An oversight. But unfortunately the men have already left. If they'd had any problems, I'm sure they would have let you know.'

They were standing outside door number 3 now.

‘Shall we focus our attentions on Private Saxby?' Klinsman said.

•   •   •

The missing knife's owner was in the same chair that Jacob Namagoose had occupied only hours before, but there any similarity between the two men ended. Skeeter Saxby was a wan-faced man-boy, slim-built with freckled skin and dirty-blond hair. One long piss to look at, just as Tom Silliq had said. He was cracking his knuckles and seemed edgy and ill at ease.

Klinsman showed the two visitors to the same plastic seats, called in Marty Fielding, repeated the terms on which the interview would take place and asked Saxby if he understood. Without lifting his eyes, Saxby said he did, and returned to his knuckles.

Derek leaned forward and placed a hand on the table.

‘Nervous?'

Saxby stilled his hands. His right leg began to jiggle. He pushed it down and returned his arms to the table, and as he did so his sleeve travelled up his arm and a killer whale tattoo appeared. Edie glanced at Derek and saw that he had spotted it too.

‘Got no reason to be,' Saxby said.

Derek scrutinized his face for a moment. ‘That so?' He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. ‘Then why do you think you're here?'

Saxby reddened, a tic appeared under his right eye, but he said nothing.

‘I see you and Private Namagoose got matching ink,' Derek went on.

Saxby blinked and glanced at the spot on his arm. Edie saw him fight back a grin. Dumb ass had no idea how much trouble he was in. ‘What you do, nail a few Taliban?' Derek said.

Saxby was smirking now. ‘Something like that.'

‘That why killing Martha came so easy?'

Saxby's face fell. He turned to look at Klinsman but neither the colonel nor the counsel appeared to be willing to come to his rescue.

‘We didn't touch that girl.' Saxby's eyes glistened. His voice was trembly. Easy to break, Edie thought. Give up his friend too, most like.

Evidently, Derek had the same thought. He went on.

‘You owe Namagoose something? Is that why you're covering for him? You should know he's not returning the favour. Your buddy already told us that you had sex with Martha Salliaq at her house.' A stretch, but not an unreasonable one. Neither Derek nor Edie believed Namagoose's story that he and Martha were alone in her house. Edie figured he was trying to keep Saxby out of it to protect him, or more likely because he knew the kid was plenty stupid enough to blow it for both of them.

Saxby's eyes widened. His breath quickened. ‘I didn't touch that girl.'

‘You're lying. When the forensic team comes and checks Martha's room they're gonna find your DNA, aren't they, Private Saxby?'

Saxby sat up indignant, then he sighed and fell back. His forehead folded like dough. ‘I was sorry that girl died, sir; she was a nice girl and all. But me and the Goose didn't have nothing to do with killing her. We only went back with her on Friday night because she asked us to. I didn't even . . .' He fell silent.

Edie caught Derek's eye. They were seconds from the truth.

‘You didn't even what?' Edie said.

Saxby reddened. ‘I just looked on.' Clearly he thought that this excused him. Even dumber than she thought.

‘Is that why you went back on Saturday and killed her, because she wouldn't have sex with you?' Edie went on.

Marty Fielding took a deep breath but made no attempt to intervene.

‘You explain why your knife is missing, Private Saxby?' Derek's tone was mild.

Saxby's face drained of colour. He leaned his elbows on his legs and put his head in his hands. For the first time he realized what a mess he was in.

‘I can explain the knife.' His voice was quiet and there were beads of sweat on his forehead.

‘Saturday I met the Goose in that place.'

‘The Anchor Bar?' Derek cut in, to throw him.

Saxby hesitated then frowned. ‘No, the other one.'

‘We coming to the knife?'

Saxby took a sidelong glance at Klinsman. ‘The Goose said he'd set a snare near where he'd seen some jack rabbits, wanted us to go back up there, see if there was anything in it.'

‘We don't allow weapons off-base unless they've been authorized,' Klinsman interjected.

‘Seemed like a long way to go for jack rabbits to me. We took a couple half-sacks to pass the journey. There was this big old buck in the snare, so we killed it and I skinned it with my knife while the Goose made up a fire.' Saxby explained that the two men left when the rain began to come down and walked directly back to camp. ‘We was soaked so bad, you can ask anyone in barrack,' Saxby said. He didn't notice that his knife wasn't on him till Sunday, when he was due out on exercises.

A silence fell. Klinsman glanced first at Derek, then at Edie.

‘You'd be able to show us this place?' Derek said.

‘I reckon so.'