Fire Lake

by J C Paulson

  “Shit happens when we’re not paying attention. Well, when we’re paying attention to each other.” Adam paused. “Do we know if Tom saw us in the lake?”

  “No. I didn’t exactly chat with him that night.”

  Adam’s brow creased.

  “What are you thinking?” Grace asked.

  “Never mind. Nothing. Let’s get this night over with. We can talk later, love.”

  “Okay,” Grace said, dragging out the word. She wondered what thought had occurred to Adam, but also had to get people watered and fed.

  “Oh,” she added. “How’s your poor hand?”

  Adam looked down at the ruined bandage ruefully.

  “I’d forgotten about it. Adrenaline surge, I guess, when I saw the fire.”

  “Let me see.” Grace peeked at the wound. “Looks a bit ravaged. Tillie’s in the kitchen, Adam. Please get her to check it out.”

  Adam followed her in, and Grace continued through the front door to start the barbecue as Tillie clucked over the raw-looking palm.

  “Needs a little cleaning up, Adam,” she said.

  “After we eat, maybe, Tillie. I better call the RCMP first.”

  Hot dogs were cooked and eaten, and the beer flowed, but it was far from a party atmosphere in the Rampling cabin. The mood didn’t improve when Constable Nathan Ellard appeared, looking as ashen as the demolished shed.

  “What happened?” he asked Adam, after turning down a beer and accepting a hot dog.

  “Someone set fire to the shed,” Adam said briefly. “James returned just in time, and with the help of all these people, we put it out.”

  “Why the shed?” Ellard asked.

  “Probably because it contained fuel. It would have made a nice little explosion and set fire to the cabin as well, if it didn’t blow out the back wall entirely. It’s possible James scared away the fire-starter. He must have arrived just after it was set; it went up like dry leaves. And the shed was much easier to ignite than the cabin. But maybe the guy intended to set fire to the cabin, too, but was scared off by James.”

  “I’ll talk to James, see if he remembers seeing anything now that the excitement is over. But holy crap, Sarge. That could have been really bad.”

  “I know.”

  “I’ve got a few people roaming around the crescent. Again. We’ll see if we can find anyone hiding in the bushes, like we found Tom Allbright.”

  Ellard went to speak with James, and another constable canvassed the small crowd of cottagers still lingering in the cabin, perhaps afraid to return to their own places. No one had seen anything, until the flames became visible. Still, it was dark, and with any luck evidence lurked outside in the form of footprints or detritus.

  Finally, the crowd dispersed. Tillie cleaned up and re-bandaged Adam’s hand, as Adam asked James to remain at the cabin; they would take turns sleeping and keeping watch. Ellard assured Adam and Grace that he and the other constables would prowl the perimeter until morning.

  Tillie and Gord approached Grace as they prepared to leave, the last of the firefighting cottagers to go.

  “Did you see George?” Gord asked. “I thought he was still up. Maybe not, though.”

  “No, I didn’t. I thought they were going back last weekend.”

  “They ended up staying, but maybe they’ve left in the last couple of days. I thought maybe I’d get one last fish in with the boys.”

  “Well, Skip is still here,” Tillie said, comfortingly. “I’m sure you’ll get out tomorrow. Unless this bastard burns us all in our beds.”

  “Now, Tillie,” Gord said. “Let’s go home. I’m sure the RCMP will look out for us.”

  “I’ll walk you back,” Adam said.

  “No, no, we’ll be fine . . .” Gord started, but Adam cut him off.

  “No, Gord. We have to be careful, okay?”

  The older man just nodded.

  “Be back in a minute, Grace,” Adam said.

  She sat down abruptly on the sectional couch, straight-backed as if it were a pew, and white as a sheet.

  “Something up?” Adam asked.

  “N-no. Just hurry back.”

  James also noticed Grace’s sudden change of body language. After the door closed behind Adam, he came to sit beside her.

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  “I’ll wait for Adam, if that’s okay, James. Might as well just say it once, to both of you.”

  “Something is up. I mean, more than just the fire.”

  “I think so, yes.”

  “Can I get you a glass of wine, or something? You look pretty spooked, Grace.”

  “Whisky. I can get it, though.”

  “No. Let me.”

  James was already on his feet. He chose a glass from the cupboard, poured two fat fingers of scotch into it, and handed it to Grace.

  “Am I going to need one, too?”

  “Maybe. You should have one anyway.”

  Grace swallowed half her drink in one go, tipping her head back to let the burning liquid slide down her throat, just as Adam returned.

  “Whisky, Grace?” he said, seeing the amber liquid in her glass. “Not wine? Wait, let me get one and join the party.”

  Adam poured his own and sat down heavily beside Grace. She sensed his exhaustion.

  “Okay. What are you thinking?”

  “It’s what Gord said. He didn’t see George around while everyone was fighting the fire. I didn’t see him, either; he wasn’t here. He may have left to go home, but either way . . . that’s not my main point.”

  She shuddered.

  “I could be wrong,” she added, slowly. “It could be a coincidence.”

  Adam and James waited patiently as Grace mulled for a moment, turning her glass around in her hands.

  “But how could it be?” she asked aloud, more of herself than anyone. She shook her curls.

  “George. His last name is Best.” She let that sink in for a moment, eyes trained on Adam’s face. “As in Martin Best and Charles Best.”

  “The Saskatoon victim and his abductor,” said Adam, exhaling. “What the hell does that mean? Is one of them his kid?”

  “I don’t know his kids. He hasn’t been here at Ferguson as long as we have, or the Allbrights. I didn’t grow up with them, like I did with Tom.”

  “You’re right, though. That would be a hell of a coincidence if they weren’t related. If, in fact, Charles Best is Charles Best. But Martin is definitely a Best.” Adam paused for a moment. “So, what’s going on here? Any ideas?”

  “Not really. But we should go and see if George and Delores are here.”

  “We have to talk to Charlotte. I don’t know if she’s found any of Martin’s family members yet. But it’s too late to call her.” He looked at his watch. “It’s nearly eleven. But yes, let’s go see if they’re here.”

  They put their drinks down and set off. George Best’s cabin was well down the loop to the east, tucked in off the crescent and into the trees. No lights shone in the windows, but a lone truck sat in the driveway.

  “Can we barge along and awaken them, if they’re in there?” Adam wondered aloud. “We don’t know anything about how he, or they, might be involved. Maybe he’s just a grieving father, if he knows what’s happened. And if, of course, you’re right. James, what do you think?”

  “What are we going to say, if they answer the door? If we knew Martin was his kid, or his brother or whatever, it would help.”

  “Good point about Martin possibly being a brother or cousin, and not a son. How old is George, Grace?”

  “I’m not really sure, but I’d say late fifties?”

  “Martin could be his son, then, but also a nephew or a much-younger brother.”

  Adam dragged a hand through his hair; Grace could see he wanted to knock on the door and ask questions.

  “I think we have to try. I’ll fake it; I’ll mention the fire, ask if they’re all right, and go from there.”

  He marched up to the door and knocked.
No answer. He tried again, knocking louder, and calling, “Mr. Best. It’s the police.”

  After the third, even more insistent knock brought no response, Adam turned reluctantly away.

  “So much for that. They’re either not there, fast asleep, or not answering. Let’s head back and try to get some sleep. We’ll check again in the morning. I’ll call Nathan and get him to patrol by here tonight.”

  They wandered back to the cabin, and Adam told James and Grace to hit the hay. He would take the first shift on watch, call the RCMP constable and send an email to Charlotte.

  But sleep was elusive for Grace; she tossed restlessly without Adam beside her, thoughts churning. Was George Best behind all of this, some of this, or none of this? What was his relationship to Martin, and would Tillie maybe know?

  She finally drifted off into a doze, dreaming of bright fires and dead Elias, until Adam crawled in beside her some hours later.

  “Adam?” she said, groggily.

  “Go back to sleep, Babe,” he said, cuddling her into his body. “James is on it. Don’t worry, just sleep.”

  Adam’s breathing became regular within minutes, soothing her, and she finally felt safe enough to turn off her brain.

  It felt like seconds later when a quiet knock came at their bedroom door. Adam was instantly awake.

  “James?”

  “Yeah, Sarge. You’d better get up. The Bests’ truck. It’s gone.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Somalia, 1993

  “Where’s the body?”

  “Don’t worry, Major. I’ve taken care of it.”

  “I am worried, soldier. I want to know where the body is.”

  “Buried.”

  “Deeply? This is the desert, you know. Sand goes away in the wind.”

  “Yes, sir. Deeply, sir.”

  “No one must know about this. It’s bad enough that Crow saw the beating. That was sloppy of you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The OC would be very unhappy if this came to light, Lieutenant.”

  “I know, sir.”

  The major glared at his junior officer. This goddamn mess was going to land him in a whole lot of shit if anyone found out about the destruction of the village, not to mention the kid’s death. Fuck.

  There was also the drug problem. The Colonel had assured him that it would be perfectly fine; the Americans had been using mefloquine for a few years already. It made them a little more aggressive, but how bad could that be in theatre? They’d talked him into giving it a trial, on men trained for war, not peacekeeping, for God’s sake. And there was the codeine, on top of it.

  Well, he was in the commanding officer’s pocket now, and if all of this became public knowledge, he’d be taking the fall. Maybe not alone, but he would definitely be court-martialed. These men were under his command. He’d be screwed. How many years would he get? It didn’t bear thinking about.

  They were just supposed to scare the villagers, maybe teach a few of them sharp lessons. He hadn’t counted on another dead kid.

  “Okay, Lieutenant. Get out of my sight. That kid better be deep in the ground.”

  Al Simpson saluted his major and slipped away.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “If fire man is still up here,” Grace said, “is Elijah in danger? And if so, what are we going to do about it?”

  The question had been rolling through her thoughts all morning, as they closed the cabin for the second time and packed the truck.

  “Would he be willing to leave his home, do you think?” Adam asked.

  “I have no idea, but I doubt it. He’s very attached to his community, and I don’t think he’s afraid.”

  “We could call him, lay it out for him, see what he says?” James suggested.

  “Should I call him?” Grace asked. “Or does it have to be official?”

  “You’ve met him,” Adam said. “He seems to trust you. Why not? I’ll call Charlotte while you’re doing that.”

  Grace nodded and went out to the deck to make her call, leaving Adam in relative quiet indoors. Elijah answered on the third ring, and Grace offered a small mental prayer in thanks.

  “Elder Starblanket, it’s Grace Rampling. How are you?”

  “I’m fine, Grace. And you?”

  “I’m all right, sir, but I have to tell you something. Our shed, behind the cabin, was set on fire last night. Accelerant was used, and it could have blown up. I’m worried that whoever started it may try to hurt you, too.”

  He didn’t ask why. Whoever had killed Elias would probably realize that Elijah knew what his nephew knew.

  “Thank you for letting me know, Grace. I’ll be sure to keep an eye out.”

  “We were wondering if you’d consider coming to Saskatoon, or at least go into Meadow Lake. It may not be safe for you at home. You can’t even go to your cabin in the woods, here at Ferguson. They know that place, too, now.”

  Elijah emitted a sharp laugh.

  “I’m a sitting duck, then,” he said. “Don’t worry, Grace. What will happen will happen. Who’s to say I’d be safer somewhere else? Didn’t this second man meet his end in Saskatoon?”

  It was a good point, but Grace was thinking something more like a safe house or hotel room than visiting relatives or friends. She put the idea to Elijah.

  “No, thank you. It’s very kind of you, but I am not in the habit of running away. I can be bait for the angler. Or fuel for the fire. If the bastard shows up, we’ll know who he is. And the people of the Nation will be on alert.”

  “Promise me you’ll take precautions and let everyone know you might be in danger.”

  “I’ve been in danger for years, Grace.”

  “But something has changed. Something new has come to light. Otherwise, why would this be happening more than a decade later?”

  That brought a rare sigh from the older man.

  “Yes. I know. I will see what I can find out. I still have a few contacts, here and there.”

  “Will you call me? Please? I want to know if you’re okay.”

  “I will. I will call when I know something. Take care, Grace.”

  “You too, sir. Please, take good care.”

  Grace walked back into the cabin as Adam hung up with Charlotte.

  “What did he say?” he asked.

  “He won’t leave. Says he’d be good as bait, and if fire man appears, he’ll see him and case closed. What can we do, Adam?”

  “Not much. We can’t force him to come to Saskatoon.”

  “What did Charlotte say?”

  “She’s filed papers to the court asking for the release of Martin Best’s health information, but they haven’t been signed by a judge yet. And she’s still looking for his family.”

  “Damn it.” Grace scowled and ran both hands through her hair until it stood up in a wild red halo around her face. “What on Earth could have happened, you two brilliant police officers, that has brought this carnage on now?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” Adam said. “And what I think is, I don’t know.”

  James nodded in agreement.

  “Fine,” she groused. “Have they found the Bests yet?

  “Not yet.”

  The Bests lived most of the year in the Saskatoon area, as far as Grace knew. At least, that was what Tillie thought. Grace had run over to say goodbye to the Allbrights earlier in the morning, and asked about the Bests’ home, family and vehicles. Gordon fished with George, for God’s sake; he should know all about him. But he actually knew very little. The Bests had three children, two sons and a daughter, well into adulthood; they lived somewhere near Saskatoon; they owned a truck and a sedan; they were business owners. And that was about it.

  Grace begged them to take care of themselves, suggested they leave Ferguson Lake and go home to the farm, and returned to the cottage.

  An hour later, the cabin had been re-winterized. She hopped into the truck, Adam drove the police SUV, and James led the way to Meado
w Lake in his rented Ford. The vehicle returned to the dealership, they headed back to Saskatoon.

  “Adam,” Grace asked again, after a long quiet stretch. “Why is this happening now? Do you have any ideas?”

  “A few. None of them seem quite right to me. One thought, which we won’t be able to prove unless we can see those summary trial proceedings — or courts martial — is that someone was sentenced for the attack on the village and has recently been released. But the timing doesn’t work very well, does it? It was fourteen years ago, and if the matter was dealt with at a summary, there’s no way the soldier has been in jail that long. No way.”

  “That’s true. In the Shidane Arone case, one person went away for five years. That hardly seemed enough. I thought it seemed a terribly short time for such a horrific act. But then again, the men responsible were not entirely at fault. They were on mefloquine, too.”

  “Maybe it took him, or them, that long to find Elias. But it seems a very long hunt, and extreme violence, to find someone with such bad PTSD — who also didn’t know very much about that night. Or at least didn’t know the whole story.”

  “I’d thought of that one. It doesn’t make sense, I agree.” She paused, squinting her eyes in the effort to solve the puzzle. “Is it possible the killer has PTSD as well, or is otherwise messed up on mefloquine, and he just exploded into a rage, or out of fear, after all these years?”

  “I really don’t know, but I’d say it’s unlikely. Just based on my own experience, though.”

  By the time they reached Saskatoon, it was late enough that Grace decided to go home instead of into the office; but Adam wanted to check in with his chief and catch up with Charlotte.

  “I won’t be long, Babe,” he said, climbing out of the truck in front of the station.

  “Good. We need some sleep tonight, Adam. How will you get home? Should I pick you up?”

  “No, no. You just relax. I’ll get the unmarked or get James to drop me off.”

  “See you soon.”

  “See you soon, love.”

  Grace was relieved to be going home. Exhausted from the events at the lake and lack of sleep, she craved a shower and a nap like she rarely had before. The trip from the police station to her bungalow took only a few minutes, and she pulled the truck into its parking spot off the alley with a deep sigh of gratitude.