The Cardinal Divide (35 page)

stopped the truck. “I was right about here.”

Cole's heart quickened. The lights of the truck shone squarely on the double doors. “Were the doors opened or closed?”

“Closed.”

“What did you do then?”

JP
left the ignition running and opened the truck door. Cole did the same. He followed
JP
as he crossed the twenty yards from the truck to the pallets. The
RCMP
officer was gone, but the tape was still up. “I was about here when I saw the body. It was lying on the ground in a heap, with bits all around him. I couldn't see who it was at first, but it wasn't no mill worker.”

“How did you know?”

“No coveralls, no hat.”
JP
stepped to the tape. “I got to here and knew it was Barnes. The nice shirt. Man always dressed like he was going to a wedding.”

“Or a funeral.”

“Right. Anyway, I saw him crumpled on the ground and ran over. There was a small pool of blood, but not too much really. His eyes were wide open so I knew he had to be dead. I radioed the
RCMP
from the truck. Cells don't work out here.”

“You obviously didn't see anybody else around?”

JP
shook his head. “No other vehicles. I told the
RCMP
that there were no other vehicles parked in the main lot or around the mill.”

“Where did they get the idea that there was an
S
10 on the property that night?”

“Not from me.”

Cole made a note to follow up on that. “And you didn't hear anything?”

“Nothing.”

“
JP
, my friend, I think you are a lucky man.”

“Oh, and how's that?”

“Well, I'd bet my left arm that when you found Mike Barnes' body right there, the person who killed him was on the other side of those doors.”

“After you called the police, what did you do?” Cole leaned against his Toyota. He and
JP
were parked side by side outside the gate at the entrance to the mine.

“Once I was certain he was dead, I drove here to wait for the
RCMP
. It took them about forty minutes to get here.”

“You didn't see anybody come or go?”

“Not a soul.”

Cole was silent. Then he said, “Is there any other way in or out of the property?”

“Sure, plenty. But they're all locked.”

“Who has keys?”

“Well, lots of folks do. Too many to count, really.”

Cole sighed deeply. “I better get going.” He looked at his watch. It was after seven. “I appreciate your willingness to show me around.”

“Mike Barnes was hurting the working people around here,” said
JP
. “There used to be three of us on night duty just a year ago. We covered the property once every half hour, instead of once every two hours. But he cut two of the posts right away. Those fellas are on pogey now. I don't have any love lost for Mike Barnes, but the man didn't deserve to die like he did.”

Cole considered that. “If anything else comes to mind, give me a call,
OK
?” He handed
JP
his card with his cell number scribbled on the back.

“Will do. Take care. Watch out for Henderson.”

Cole nodded. He'd be watching Hank Henderson for sure.

It dawned on him as he drove back to town that Mike Barnes' decision to cut the night watchmen from three down to one may have cost him his life, or at least let the killer get off scot-free.

As he drove to Oracle he mulled over what he head learned and what to do next.

Mike Barnes was killed in the washroom on the fourth floor of the office building. That meant that someone transported
the body from the office to the mill. That someone almost certainly had to have keys to the building unless, of course, they had lifted Barnes' keys and used them to open the mill building. Were Barnes' keys accounted for? Another thing he would have to look into.

How did the assailant get off the mine property? That was less mysterious. Though he didn't know for certain, Cole guessed that whoever had the keys to the mill had keys to every other gate on the property. How they drove their car off the property without being noticed was another question all together.

Hank Henderson loomed large in his contemplation. He touched his tender chin. Quite the temper on the man. Hair trigger. Certainly capable of the sort of violence that ended Mike Barnes' life. Hank Henderson clearly wore his motivation on his sleeve. He had enough heavy mining paraphernalia lying around his office to beat a marching band to death. The only thing not clear to Cole was whether he had opportunity. Where had Hank Henderson been one week ago tonight?

Cole Blackwater had played his own hand. He told Henderson to his face that he suspected him of murder. If Henderson were the killer, then Cole Blackwater had
better
watch his back. Hadn't Henderson said as much?

He drove on as the day waned. He was weary. At this point in the campaign, energy started to drain and it took all his strength to persevere. But persevere he must, he thought, looking around him at the hills and rolling stands of forest. Behind their veil were wild things like the mother grizzly and her cubs he had seen from the crest of Cardinal Divide. As he always had, he would persevere not for his own salvation but for theirs.

He was lost in that thought when his cellphone rang.

“Blackwater.”

“It's Nancy.”

“What happened to ‘Webber'?” he chided.

“That was yesterday.”

“I have a hard time letting go,” he joked.

“I know. Listen, can we meet? I've got some news for you.”

“Me too.”

“Well, get in line.”

“Where?”

“My place. It's safest. Just make sure George Cody doesn't see you.”

“I'll be there in half an hour.”

“Good.” She hung up.

He went first to the liquor store and bought a decent bottle of red wine. Then he drove to the Rim Rock and sat in his truck on the street, checking the parking lot and hotel for any sign of George Cody. It didn't look like George was around the hotel. He grabbed the bottle of wine and made for Nancy's room.

“What took you?” she asked, and let him in.

“Had to return the favour,” he said, and handed her the wine.

“Don't think that because I drink this that I'm drinking it with you,” she said, with a half smile.

“I wouldn't dare.”

She opened the bottle, poured herself a full glass, and put the bottle down on the table between them.

“Don't think that because I'm helping myself that I'm drinking with
you
,” he said, pouring a glass for himself.

“I'm not even paying attention,” she said.

“What have you got?” Cole asked, and sat back in the chair.

“It's been quite a day,” she said.

“Tell me about it.”

“You just sit there and shut up and drink the wine you're not drinking with me.”

“Right-ee-o,” he said, finishing the glass and pouring more.

“So it's been a big day,” Nancy started again. “I wrote a profile of the town for tomorrow's paper. Had a very interesting conversation with the president of the Chamber of Commerce. He struck me as an ambitious man. Seems to think that mining, as they say, is in everybody's future.”

“Yeah, we met. Quite the booster. Old school. He said the same thing to me.”

She smiled. “I know you met. He asked to see my press credentials. I haven't had that happen since, well,
ever
I guess. Smith stuck me as one of the people most likely to run for office.”

“I got the same impression. He told me that he was setting himself up for a run for the Conservative nomination when it comes open.”

“Should be soon. Old Chester Thomas is due for his next heart attack right about now,” said Nancy, looking at her watch. “Doubt that he'll be able to run after number five. Four
should
be the limit. Anyway, David Smith is a driven man. He had a lot to say about the future of Oracle.”

“No storm clouds on his horizon, are there?”

“I get the sense that he's the kind of guy who would change the weather. After that I did some follow up with the
RCMP
on logistics. Dale is being moved on Saturday morning, first thing. Seems like there was a mix-up with the forensics and they aren't getting the results from the suspected murder weapon back until Friday at noon, so they're holding him here a bit longer. I also talked to Reimer about a few odds and ends. I think she's getting suspicious. Most of the other press has left, and she wanted to know why I'm still hanging around. So did my editor for that matter, but I was able to tell him I was onto something juicy.”

“He believed you?”

“Sure, I just haven't told him that you're involved is all. Every-body believes what I say so long as I don't mention you.”

“Nice,” he said, and tilted his head back to finish the second tumbler of wine. His chin had stopped aching. “Well, that's all great.”

“I'm not done.”

“Carry on,” he said. He filled his glass and topped up hers.

“So I snooped around both Deborah and George's vehicles today.”

“Ohhh, do tell.”

“Well, Deborah's is as clean as a whistle. It was unlocked so I was even able to get a look inside. George's is another story.”

Cole felt his pulse quicken. He sat forward.

“He actually has two vehicles. A 2002 Ford
F
150 king cab, which is registered to the hotel.”

“How do you get that information?”

“Trick of the trade. He has the
F
150 and he has a 1983 Pontiac Pinto.”

“You're kidding me.”

“I am not kidding. I couldn't believe it either. The truck's clean. Looks like he uses it for hauling booze from the liquor store and bottles to the recycling depot.”

“How very environmentally conscious of him,” said Cole, his words slightly slurred.

“He must hose the thing down every other day, ‘cause you could eat off the bed of the truck. It has a cap on the back and it was unlocked. I got a good look around. The front of the truck is pretty clean too, but it was locked up tight and I couldn't look in. The Pinto is another story. It was locked too. But the back seat was down and from what I could see through the window, there was some kind of tarp over the hatchback.”

“Really?”

“Really. I couldn't tell if it was there to cover something up, or protect the seat from something. ”

“Or both.”

Nancy nodded. “There wasn't anything on the tarp itself, mind you, but the way it was tucked into the corners of the seat and the hatch, I'd guess that it was done pretty deliberately. Anyway, George Cody has had something in the back of that Pinto that leaks or spills or makes a real mess.”

“Like Mike Barnes' head?”

Nancy made a face. “Maybe.”

Cole was silent. He watched Nancy intently, holding the now empty glass loosely in one hand. He sat that way for almost a minute, regarding her, until she said, “Well, what have
you
got?”

“A lot.”

“Do tell.”

“You don't have any more wine around here, do you?”

“No,” she lied. “And if I did, you don't need it.”

“Need and want are two different things.”

“Tell me what you've got, you bastard!” she said loudly, but she smiled when she said it.

“
OK
,
OK
.” He told her about his calls that morning, and about the confrontation with Hank Henderson, and the tipping of that hand. He told her about his conversation and ride with
JP
, and about his revelation that when
JP
had found the body the murderer was likely still in the mill. And then he told her about the bathroom and the blood.

“Have you called the
RCMP
?”

“What for?”

“It's important. It might force them to reopen the case!”

“It's not enough yet. They'll just say that Dale clubbed Mike in the john and dragged him to the mill.”

“They might take it more seriously than that.”

“Come on, Nancy. You know they won't. They don't care about Dale, or even about Mike Barnes. They're just doing what they're told. They're protecting pricks like the corporate brass who run the mine, and wankers like David Smith. People who don't care about other people, only their own selfish interests. People whose only motive is to make sure that their own butts are covered.”

Nancy sighed. She finished her own wine. “That was good wine,” she said.

Cole stood up. He felt flushed and a little dizzy. “As I see it, we're down to two.”

“George Cody and Hank Henderson.”

“That's right. I haven't ruled out Deborah entirely, but somehow this seems more, I don't know,
manly
. I mean, you should have seen the blood in the bathroom.”

“Pretty awful?”

Cole nodded and steadied himself on the desk.

“Now what?” she asked.

“Now what?” he repeated. “Now what? Now I have to catch a mole. I have to flush a mole from a hole.” Cole slurred and told her about Peggy McSorlie's effort to narrow down the possible moles in the
ESC
o
G
from a score to just three or four names, and their plan to trick the mole into revealing himself.