Mountain Fire (12 page)

Alex spent the entire drive gazing blank-faced out the windshield. Forty minutes later, she pulled up to the hangar the Ministry rented at the Prince George Airport. Alex unlocked the chain-link gate and they stepped onto the tarmac. The enormous white painted circle with a letter H in its centre waited, deserted. A small group of people stood to the left, close to the gigantic double doors leading into the hangar itself.

An older man, dressed in a conservation officer’s uniform, detached himself from the group and came forward to greet Alex. He was strongly built, with a barrel shaped chest and wide shoulders. His hair was silvery grey, and he wore a luxuriant moustache.

“I’m glad you’re here.” His voice was gruff bass that matched his weathered face. “It’s good that you’re here.”

“What do you know, Nelson?” Alex asked sharply. “Linda told me a bit when she called, but you must know more.” Nelson’s voice shook as he gave them the meagre details. Iain had been on call, so when someone had phoned early that morning to say there was a dead grizzly on Red Mountain—not far from the very first kill site Alex and June had gone to—the dispatcher sent Iain out. The caller had given very detailed directions, and Iain appeared to find the site easily enough. He had radioed in to confirm his location. And that was the last anyone had spoken to him.

When the silence went on long enough to be worrisome, Linda in the radio room called Nelson and asked to send a helicopter out. Using the GPS coordinates Iain had given, the pilot and another conservation officer, Samantha Cross, had flown to the site and discovered Iain’s body along with the bear’s ransacked hulk. The RCMP were immediately alerted. Investigators flew out in yet another helicopter. Once the RCMP finished their initial procedures, Iain’s body would be brought back.

Nelson, Alex and June drifted over to join the others. These included two uniformed RCMP officers and two more conservation officers who had learned of the tragedy. Alex acknowledged his co-workers with a nod. The female police officer introduced herself and her partner as Constables Weston and Lacavalier, asked for June and Alex’s names and contact information and jotted it down in a small notebook.

“I will be alerted when the body has departed from the scene,” she announced, indicating a cell phone on her belt. The shiny brown leather bulged with a variety of objects, including a snapped down holster. “It could be some time yet.”

“There’s a room inside we can use,” Nelson said.

Everyone trudged in through a metal door, down a battered, blue corridor into a small room smelling of burnt coffee and airplane fuel. They perched on a variety of metal chairs and torn, stained upholstered furniture squeezed haphazardly into the space.

Then they waited.

Conversation was sporadic throughout the next long, tense hours. June learned the older man was Nelson Manning, the regional manager for the Northern Centre of the Conservation Service, based in Prince George. He made pots of coffee and offered it to others, drinking cup after cup himself.

June flipped through a magazine, published two years earlier, filled with technical aviation articles that might as well have been written in Swahili for all she understood them.

She was wondering if the flight would be delayed because of darkness when Constable Weston’s phone rang. Weston answered briskly, her conversation studded mostly with grunts. She disconnected and turned to the watchful group. “They should be arriving in about twenty minutes.”

What a relief to stand on the tarmac, out of the stifling mechanical atmosphere. An ambulance was parked outside the fence, and the RCMP officers went over to speak with the paramedics standing next to it. Everyone waited quietly.

Twenty minutes stretched to thirty, to forty. Tension itched along June’s nerves. At last, Alex lifted his head from his distracted contemplation of the ground at his feet and turned to the northeast.

Moments later June also heard the distinctive sound of a helicopter in flight. The small aircraft approached, a red stretcher strapped to one of the support struts, and made its landing.

Bending below the still whirling blades, Alex approached the craft. The pilot descended and started working on the straps holding the stretcher in place. Alex assisted him, and then the two of them, escorted by Conservation Officer Samantha Cross, carried their burden across the tarmac. Inside the thick wire mesh of the stretcher rested a still bundle, zipped into a stout black plastic shroud.

Constables Weston and Lacavalier and the paramedics immediately assumed responsibility for the body. They rolled over a wheeled cot and competently transferred the body from its temporary transport. Alex and Nelson followed them to the ambulance. Before the paramedics collapsed the legs of the stretcher and lifted it out of sight, Alex spoke to Constable Weston. She hesitated, then shrugged. Alex reached forward and pulled down the zipper of the body bag. He stood, head bent, hand resting gently on the covered body. Then he closed the zipper, and stepped away.

The ambulance and police cruiser headed back into town. Alex watched them go. June walked to him and stood at his left shoulder. He looked down at her, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small gesture of acknowledgement. The sun, setting on the far side of the airfield, cast a golden glow.

“Let’s go,” he said. “There’s nothing more to do here.”

****

It was dark by the time June pulled into the parking lot of Alex’s condominium. When she turned off the ignition, the ticking of the engine seemed unnaturally loud.

“Do you want me to come in?” she asked hesitantly. She hadn’t even known where he lived until now, and felt intrusive even making the suggestion. But she couldn’t bear to think of him going into his empty house on his own.

“I won’t be very good company.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Imagining him dealing with his grief without anyone there made her gut constrict and her arms long to hold him. “I don’t think you should be alone.”

Inside, Alex folded onto the couch as if his legs no longer had the strength to support him.

“We need a drink,” she said. “Where do you keep it?”

“In the kitchen.” He leaned back, eyes closed.

She found a bottle of Canadian Club stashed in the awkward-to-reach cupboard above the refrigerator. Cracking a few ice cubes from their plastic tray, she dropped them into two squat glasses and topped them with a good measure, then carried them to the living room. Tucking one leg underneath her, she sank onto the cushion next to Alex. He lay slouched down, long legs stretched out in front of him.

“Here.” She nudged his arm with the glass. “My dad swears by this after a long day.”

He opened his eyes and reached to take the drink. She let the alcohol linger on her tongue. Its heat seeped through her system, dulling the chill she hadn’t been able to shake since hearing of Iain’s death. Alex swirled the liquid around, ice clinking, then tossed it back in one gulp and placed the glass on the low table in front of him. He took her free hand in his and gripped it tightly.

“He was a good man. He didn’t deserve to die that way.”

“How long had you known him?” She swept a lock of hair off his forehead, let her fingers linger behind his ear.

“Ever since I came to Prince George. He was my mentor, the one who showed me the ropes, taught me things you can’t learn in school. For God’s sake, June, what’s going on?” he said softly but fiercely. “How could this happen?”

“Do you think it’s possible the poachers came back? That Iain saw them?”

“It doesn’t make sense. Why kill him? That simply doesn’t happen.”

“If this poaching ring is organized enough, bringing in tens, possibly hundreds of thousands of dollars, then it might be worth killing to protect it.” She sipped her drink. “No one said anything today about Iain’s family. Do they know what’s happened?”

“Iain and his wife have been divorced for years. They never had any children. I think she went back East after they split up. They were from the Maritimes. Other than her, I imagine Nelson has next of kin listed on paperwork at the office.” His hand tightened on hers. “Thank God that’s not my job.” He closed his eyes. “I’m exhausted.”

Deep lines she had never noticed before creased down the side of his nose, and bruises darkened the skin beneath his eyes. It wasn’t only physical exertion that took a toll on a person’s body. “This morning seems eons ago,” she agreed.

His eyes popped open and he sat up straight. “All our gear. It’s still in the Jeep. It needs to be cleaned out.”

“I’ll get it.” She stood and motioned him back. “You stay.”

He gave in. “Thanks.”

She headed into the night and rooted around in the cab. Hefting one pack over her shoulder, she dragged the other out, slammed the door shut and locked it. She glanced up and down the silent residential street. Alex’s condo was a narrow three-story structure in a block of six similar homes. Surrounding the parking lot were three more complexes of the same design. Porch lights were on, but most of the windows were dark. Entering the house, she slipped past Alex, still sprawled on the couch, and took the gear into the kitchen. She discarded the takeout food containers and rinsed out the empty water bottles and left them to dry on the drain board. The damp towel in her pack stank of must and mildew, but there wasn’t much she could do about that until she got home.

She returned to the living room. Sometime in the last few minutes Alex had fallen asleep. His breathing was deep and even, the new lines carved into his face less noticeable. His hands lay palm up on his thighs.

Her breath caught in her throat, her heart grew tight. At least in sleep he had an escape from grief and anxiety. She stood behind him, smoothing her hands over his shoulders and laying her cheek on top of his head.

He stirred sleepily and his hands came up to hers as they rested on his chest. “Dozed off there,” he mumbled.

“I guess I should go.”

He tightened his hold. “Not yet,” he said. “Come sit with me for a bit.”

She settled next to him on the long couch. “Here.” She patted her thigh. “Lay your head.” She pressed firmly on his shoulders until he gave in, swinging his legs up and curling onto his side.

“Just for a little while,” he muttered.

“For a little while,” she agreed. In seconds he was asleep again, his body limp, the weight of his head solid in her lap.

She soothed herself by rubbing her hand down the line of his body. And that’s when she knew. She had slipped into love, without even noticing. What had been simple attraction had deepened silently, insidiously. He moved restlessly, a frown growing. She murmured nothings, huddled protectively over him, and he relaxed once more, sliding deeper into sleep.

She stayed awake late into the night, studying her new revelation from every angle. As certain as she was of her own feelings, she was also certain Alex didn’t share them.

Yet.

****

June lifted slowly from the depths of slumber. A voice whispered her name. She opened her eyes. Alex knelt on the floor next to her.

“Morning.”

“What time is it?” She struggled up, stretched and yawned. She realized she’d been lying on her side, a blanket draped over her. Alex must have woken in the night and rearranged her, but she didn’t remember.

“Eight. Why didn’t you go home last night? You couldn’t have been comfortable.”

She circled her neck to work out a crick.

“It wasn’t that bad.” She didn’t want to admit she hadn’t been able to bring herself to disturb him as he’d slept with his head in her lap.

“It’s not the first time I’ve slept on this couch,” he admitted, “but it’s not the way I envisioned our first night together.” He brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes, letting his fingers trail over her cheek and down her neck. Her toes flexed in response. “I have to get to the office.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. You want me to go.” She made an effort to get up, but Alex held her there with a mock scowl.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said. “I wanted to say goodbye. And to let you know there’s fresh coffee in a thermos on the counter.”

“Coffee. Thank God,” she said.

Alex kissed her forehead. “Take your time. I’ll call you later.” His hair, damp from his morning shower, curled slightly at the nape of his neck and he smelled wonderfully of soap and shampoo.

She walked him to the door. “I don’t think I said this out loud yesterday, but I’m so sorry about Iain.”

He paused with his hand on the knob. “Thank you. I want to get in, see if there’s any news.”

“Go.” She gave him a gentle push.

He kissed her, lightly at first, then with growing passion. She fisted her hands in his shirt, sinking into the caress, reveling in the warmth of his body and mouth. He straightened away, searching her face with serious brown eyes. “I’ll call you later,” he repeated, and was gone.

****

It was an odd feeling, stepping into Alex’s bathroom. She used the same soap he had, the same hand towels. Nowhere near intimate enough to use his toothbrush, she made do with scrubbing paste on her teeth with her finger. She longed for a shower, but when she realized the state of her clothes, considerably disheveled from the romp in the water and then a night on the couch, she decided it wasn’t worth it. She had time to run home before heading into the office.

Feeling a bit more human, she made her way to the kitchen, found a mug inside one of the standard issue white melamine cabinets, and poured fragrant brew steaming hot from the stainless steel thermos. Cradling the cup in her hands, she began to explore.

A door next to the refrigerator led to an unfinished basement. The kitchen included a small dining area and an archway led to the living room and front entrance. Alex had done little to personalize his home. Cupboards, paint and flooring were basic whites and neutrals, probably original to the condo’s construction. No plants, no brightly coloured pillows, no family photos were in evidence.