The Third Riel Conspiracy (25 page)

They made their way out of the station and onto Broad Street, where a buggy was waiting for them. Mr. Jimmy stowed their bags and took up the reins.

“You steal this?” asked Durrant, looking at Garnet.

“Goodness no. I bought it. I decided if we were to make Regina our home for some time, we had best have a means of transportation.”

THE ONLY PROPER
hotel in Regina was the Grand Saskatchewan. From what Durrant could see as the buggy angled up to its front door, it wasn't very grand. Two storeys tall and built from squared timber shipped from Winnipeg, it had the same appearance as nearly everything that sprang up along the main line of the
CPR
: temporary.

“It may not look like much”—Garnet read Durrant's mind—“but it's full. It would seem that the impending trial of Riel is causing quite the stir. I bought up a block of rooms for us for the month.” Garnet took Charlene's bag while Mr. Jimmy hoisted Durrant's, complete with Winchester rifle, out of the back of the carriage. “I figured better safe than sorry.”

“Someday, Garnet, you will have to tell us the story behind your good fortune,” said Durrant.

“Someday . . .” Garnet winked and bid them to follow him into the hotel.

Saul Armatage was waiting for them in the common room that served as lounge and dining area. He jumped to his feet when he saw them. He quickly shook hands with Durrant and then turned to Charlene. She graced him with a smile. “How are you?”

“I'm fine.”

“Are you certain?”

“A little shaken, but well.”

“All right then. Should you wish to talk, you'll let me know?”

“Is Evelyn here?”

“She is. She's putting the children to bed. She may make an appearance at some point.”

“I should very much like to see her again.”

“Then you shall.”

“Very well, then,” said Garnet. “Let's show the two of you to your rooms and arrange for some supper. Durrant, no doubt you have a great deal to tell, and Saul and I have stories of our own to inform you of. Let's meet back here in an hour?”

They agreed, and Mr. Jimmy took their bags to their rooms. The hotel was dark and shadowed but clean. The floors and walls smelled like the prairie dust. Durrant stopped outside of Charlene's room. “Will you be all right?” he asked after Mr. Jimmy had taken his leave.

“I will be.”

“All right. I will see you at dinner.”

She smiled at him. Then she reached out and touched the side of his face with a gloved hand. Her fingers rested there a moment on his scarred cheek. “Thank you, Durrant.”

“No need to thank me.”

“He would have killed me. He tried before. I knew he would try again.”

“You are safe now.”

“I know. I simply can't believe . . .” She stopped the words and began to cry.

“It's all right.” He drew her to him and put his arms around her. She smelled of flowers.

OVER DINNER, THEY
all talked about the current state of excitement in the territorial capital, the buzz about the upcoming trial, and the general state of agitation over territorial relations with Ottawa. But as supper ended, the talk became more serious. As the dining room cleared of other guests, Durrant broached the subject. “Tell us about this shadow group that the two of you have uncovered.”

Garnet looked at Saul to offer him the chance to speak, but he merely shook his head. “I'm a doctor; you're the spy. It's your story to tell.”

“There's really very little to tell, Durrant,” said Garnet. “Our orders were to watch the members of the Regina Group. We've done that. I've got a list of more than half a dozen names for you.” He patted the breast pocket of his jacket. “Besides your friend Stanley Block, we've got two prominent lawyers, a banker, a cattle rancher, a town councillor, and two men who own businesses here in town. I'm sure there are more, but these seem to be the ringleaders. They have been meeting nearly every night. They move around, but the town is yet small enough that finding them hasn't been too difficult. I suppose that is how we discovered their shadows.”

“You keep referring to this group of men as shadows,” said Durrant.

“They are! When I first spotted a fellow watching the Regina men, he was literally standing in the shadow of a mercantile, observing one of their meetings. For more than two weeks we've kept a nightly watch. Doctor Armatage, upon his return from Batoche, has joined Mr. Jimmy and myself in our nightly undertaking. We've located a series of what I'm certain the Regina Group must call shelters, where they hold near-nightly confabs. They seem very at ease. They post a guard most nights, but he is so obvious that it makes fooling him a simple matter of distraction or disguise. Several times I've been within listening distance, camouflaged as a lamplighter or some other creature of the night.

“This Regina Group is a powerful lot, making up the business elite of Regina. I believe, based on what I've overheard, that they also have connections in Ottawa. I suspect that somewhere within the ranks of Macdonald's party someone is giving the orders, but so far we haven't intercepted any correspondence.”

“You've been looking into the wires?”

“I learned that trick from you, my good sergeant. So far, all we know is that Macdonald's people are truly concerned about what Mr. Riel will say on the stand about the state of the North West Territories, about the Indians and the Métis. This has been one cataclysmic foul-up, straight from the start, and it would seem that everybody in Macdonald's camp knows it.”

Saul cleared his throat. “There is simply no getting around that the Dominion hasn't held up its end of the bargain with the Indians. Despite years of pleading, no good has come of it.”

Durrant said, “That still doesn't justify taking up arms against the Crown.”

“It doesn't justify it,” said Saul, “but it does explain it.”

“Did you happen to observe Sub-Inspector Dickenson in any of your travels?” asked Durrant.

“I did not. I most certainly had a lookout for him. Mr. Jimmy has spent some time at the Mounted Police barracks here in Regina, under the pretense of communications between myself and your colleagues, and has not seen him once.”

“He seems to have gone underground,” said Durrant.

“Or simply run off. You still don't believe that he was the one who pulled the trigger on Wake?” asked Garnet.

“He is the one man with a plain alibi. Unless General Middleton is in on this himself, and I do not believe that to be the case, then Dickenson is in the clear, at least for the murder. It doesn't absolve him of collusion if we learn that it was in fact Regina men who turned on Wake. It doesn't make me any less curious about his whereabouts. I don't think I could find a magistrate who would press charges for taking the Dakota Sioux's food and leaving Iron Crow to die, but there is a higher law.”

“And just what might that be?” asked Garnet, smiling.

“I suppose it will have to be settled between us Red Coats.” Durrant let out a long breath. “And given that he is the only ginger-haired person associated with this business, he might have been the man who surfaced in Sun River around the time that Dumont went there last spring.” Durrant took a moment and told Saul and Garnet about his and Charlene's overland journey, about the discovery of Persimmon Wake's body, and about the mysterious rider who had shadowed them for much of their journey.

“I'll have to inquire with the commander at the Mounted Police barracks if our Sub-Inspector Dickenson was on leave during the time of Riel's return. We'll also need to look into Percy Wake's disappearance. If he was supposed to be in Minneapolis but was in Sun River instead, never to return, you would imagine someone might have taken notice. Tell me about these men you say are shadowing the Regina Group.”

“A much more careful lot. I've yet to get a good look at a face, but they are always there.”

“And what do you think this Shadow Conspiracy is after?”

“I simply can't say. They are very intent on watching the Regina men, and I can only surmise that their purpose is more than idle curiosity. We must be careful, as all of us are known to those who were in the zareba. If any of this shadow group was in Batoche, they will recognize us.”

There was a long moment of silence. It was broken when Charlene slapped her hand down on the table, causing the coffee cups to jump. “What is it?” asked Durrant, his voice sharp.

“Oh, for the love of Job. Must I state the obvious? They won't know
me
! I can ask.”

“I believe it might work,” agreed Garnet. “I think a beautiful young woman might do the trick. We'll need a clever plan.”

“We have a lot of police work to undertake first,” conceded Durrant. “It will entail some risk. We can learn the nature of this Shadow Conspiracy and gain the identity of its followers through careful observation. This may well lead us to understanding which of these three conspiracies is responsible for the demise of Mr. Wake, and possibly his brother. But we'll have to work quickly. The trial of Riel could start any time, and with the judge and jury assembled, they may call the trial of La Biche any day.”

“Durrant,” asked Garnet, “what of the others? You feel very certain that this murder hinges on one of these conspiracies. Some of the conspirators are three hundred miles away.”

“Are they?”

“Well, I assume—”

“I think if you were to check around town, you would see that our suspects have been called as witnesses for one trial or another, Mr. Moberly.”

“What of Jasper Dire? We've looked in on him several times at his place of employ but have been told he is still away with the field force.”

“Yes, Mr. Dire,” said Durrant. “I should very much like to talk with him.”

THIRTY

JULY 6, 1885.

Durrant stepped through the broad double doors of the carriage-manufacturing shop at the west end of Broad Street. He could smell machine oil, glue, the hot scent of metal, and the rich aroma of leather. The room was well lit with overhead lamps that glowed even at midday. Large windows along the rear of the two-storey building allowed abundant natural light to fall across the shop floor. A dozen men were working at the construction of half a dozen carriages. None looked up as he entered the shop. Jasper Dire was not among them.

Durrant walked through the shop to double doors with the letters office stencilled on them. He knocked and opened one. The clerk looked up as Durrant entered. “May I help you, sir?”

“I'm Sergeant Durrant Wallace of the North West Mounted Police. I am inquiring after one of your employees.”

“No trouble, I hope?” The man stood and took off his glasses to give them a polish.

“It's to do with some business that took place in Batoche.”

The clerk put the glasses back on his face. He tilted his head to the side a little, his mouth pursing. “Who is it that you are inquiring after?”

“A man named Jasper Dire.” The clerk smiled. “What is it?” asked Durrant.

“Mr. Dire isn't an employee here—”

“He told me he was.”

“Mr. Dire
owns
Broad Street Carriage, Sergeant.”

“Is that so? Is the proprietor about today?” asked Durrant.

“Indeed he is,” said a voice behind Durrant. He turned and saw Dire standing by the doors to the shop.

“Mr. Dire!” said the clerk. “Welcome back!”

“Thank you, Sam. It's fine to be back.”

“You have just returned this very minute?” asked Durrant.

“Indeed, Sergeant, I have.”

“I was told that Middleton's volunteers had been discharged more than a week ago.”

“I was delayed. The business at Frenchman's Butte and across the narrows with Big Bear kept me longer than the others. Now, Sergeant, what can I do for you?”

“When we spoke, Mr. Dire, at Batoche, I was under the impression that you were an employee here. Now I learn that you are the proprietor.”

Dire motioned toward the back of the office, where a glass-windowed door opened into another room. “Would you like to have a seat, Sergeant?”

Dire pointed to a chair. Durrant sat, and Dire followed him and sat down at a small desk. It was hot in the room; Dire went to the window and pulled it open, then sat back down.

“I had my reasons, Sergeant. I was in a company of men who are labourers—foremen at best. I didn't see the need to advertise that I was of the merchant class in Regina. This business is merely a hobby for me. I am a rancher at heart. I've only taken up in Regina in the last few years to take advantage of what I see as a trend across these territories.”

“And what trend is that, Mr. Dire?”

“The expansion of commerce, of course, the growth of the city. Regina, Brandon, Winnipeg, your own newly minted City of Calgary.”

“Do you maintain your ranch?”

“My family does. We have more than forty sections east of Fort Walsh.”

“I know that country well,” said Durrant, tapping his cane and pausing a long moment. “Tell me, Mr. Dire. Have you ever been to Fort Benton?”

“Yes, of course. Many times.”

“When was the last time you were there?”

“I'd say two years ago, to buy horses and to secure goods for the manufacture of the carriages.”

“You've not been back since?”

“There is no need now, Sergeant. The steel rail brings supplies from the east. The days of the Macleod Trail have passed.”

“You weren't in Fort Benton last spring?”

“I just told you, Sergeant, it's been two years. I can have Samuel check the appointments calendar from then if you would like to know the exact dates.”

“That won't be necessary.”

“What is this all about?”