Walleye: An Eco Thriller in Temagami

by P W Ross

  “Yes, I said I would but don't expect any written report.”

  “Tomorrow... sure.” Resistance was futile. “What time?”

  “Alright, I'll see you then.” How the hell did I get myself into this one?

  By the time he got to the boathouse he could just see Anna waving as she rounded the point and sped toward Bear.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Jack sped south for twenty minutes, slowed and then idled the Lund. A strand of yellow tape fluttering from a wispy birch marked the spot where they must have found Henry Wainright. Yellow ribbon was becoming an all too familiar sight. Directly east his gaze met a small bluff rising fifteen feet from the island's shore. If Henry was shot from that ridge, the killer wouldn't have moored his boat at the base of it, open to the channel, but on the other side. An American couple had owned this four-acre retreat and although the husband died young of a heart attack, the widow had continued to come up on her own for years. Now the log cabin was long abandoned.

  The dock had seen better days but was serviceable. The cabin had the musty smell of rotting wood and damp paper but the padlock was secure. The glass in the windows was cobwebbed and dusty. Making a peak with his hands over his forehead, Jack squinted into a dark, gloomy time capsule with everything in its place, untouched, waiting. He headed through the undergrowth due west on an overgrown path leading directly to the bluff where he assumed the cottagers had come in the evenings to cast minnows for walleye. Jack squatted down for several minutes, not knowing what the hell he was looking for. There was a clear view to the marker and beyond it the yellow tape on the far shore. It was well over a hundred yards to that marker and he wondered about making that shot. Difficult but not impossible. You'd want to rest the rifle on something to steady it.

  He stepped through the brush onto the bluff, into the sunlight, and as his eyes adjusted, he scanned the shore north and south, looking for other high ground. He turned from the lake and looked back to where he had been squatting, trying to find something that shouldn't be there. Starting ten yards north of the bluff he panned ever so slowly south, studying every tree, sapling and bush. At almost ninety degrees he stopped and fixed his gaze on a thin log, not a live branch that was parallel to the bluff's flat surface, about a foot inside the tree line and four feet from the earth. Nothing in the bush grows parallel to the ground. Everything living strains toward the sun and everything dead falls at awkward angles, often hung up on the other trees. A closer look revealed a thick branch carefully wedged between two small maples and behind that a thick two foot stump. The dense, damp moss of the stump had been compressed and he put his hand out to stroke it. Sitting on the stump provided an unobstructed view of the channel and the cross-log was the perfect height for a rifle rest. He had sat like this many times himself, waiting for an unsuspecting moose to make its way into a clearing. At his feet the ground had been compacted by other waiting feet. To his left was a two-inch long tatter of thin white tissue, ground up as if between the thumb and the first two fingers. Beside it lay strands of amber tobacco. A crushed butt from a rolled cigarette. He took a crisp ten from his wallet, carefully folded up the paper shred, the minute bits of tobacco and placed the folded bill in his pocket. He had a strange sense of excitement at the find but a chill started through him. The killer had waited where he sat. Involuntary, he jumped to his feet and hastily brushed the back of his pants, staring at the stump. He felt an unnerving closeness to the killer.

  Fifty yards along the shore either way from the dock he found nothing, and returning painstakingly down the path, no trace of a boot print. Jack returned to Tall Pines and spent the rest of the day mindlessly working on the back dock.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The gathering sat at the north side of the cabin in rough-hewn pine furniture. Bob, Jill and Virgil Rowan arrived first, followed by Bill Phipps and Luke Robinson. There were two marinas on the lake. One was in the hub where the old mine access road came west from the highway. Bill Phipps and his wife owned the other, close to town. They had lived on the lake all their lives and through an inheritance had taken over a ramshackle collection of old buildings and weathered docks, transforming them into a modern profitable business. Bill was also President of the local Lions Club and sat on the town council. Short and stocky, he was tough, built like a bull and had a quick wit with an equally sharp temper. You either liked him or you didn't. If you didn't like him, you respected him for his contribution to the community. He had a knack for local politics and a skill for leveraging the best result on local issues. Luke Robinson was the second-generation owner of the town's hardware and building supply store. Although a tall man, with his stooped-over gait, sharp thin nose and close-set eyes, he reminded Jack of a Great Blue Heron.

  Will Mackenzie was the last to arrive. When Jack looked at him, he thought that if he looked on Wikipedia under Ojibwe native, there would be a picture of Will. The noble savage. If there was a European in the woodpile somewhere, it didn't show much. Taller than most Temagamis, his build was wiry and his step sure. His light bronze skin was smooth over a high forehead, stereotypical high cheekbones, knowing almond-shaped brown eyes and somewhat of a Roman nose. He wore his dark straight hair pulled back in a short pony-tail.

  “Greetings brothers. Sorry I'm late. I forgot the peace pipe but let the pow wow begin.”

  Jack smiled, but Virgil Rowan was not amused and tossed copies of the North Bay Nugget and the Toronto Star on the table in front of him.

  “TERROR IN TEMAGAMI” the headline shouted. “TOURIST AND CIVIC LEADER MURDERED.” Not exactly the New York Times.

  “What's Parker had to say?”

  Luke slipped a pair of readers on the tip of his nose. Jack thought of Ichabod Crane.

  “She had basically everything on the two tourists and the houseboat but not that much on Henry Wainright, other than the fact he had been shot apparently on his way to Sunday service. She's assuming the two killings are connected. The rest is pure speculation and not very short of fear mongering. Here's the finale. 'Whoever is lurking in the fabled forest of Temagami, they have struck fear into the heart of this lake community and the police are currently at a loss as to explain a motive.’ It's front page of the Nugget, third page of the Star and who knows how many other syndicated rags.”

  “What paper's not going to pick up a story about two dead naked tourists drowned in a cage?” Phipps piped in. Looking at his watch he added, “And you can bet it's on the TV news as we speak.”

  “God, poor Henry. It could have any of us. It'll be one hell of a sad wake.”

  “Jill, what did you find yesterday?” Will asked. He could see that the rookie was shaken. He felt for her... hell of a baptism into the force.

  “Mr. Wainright was... well... ah... Henry was thrown... or more like catapulted from the boat and up into the trees like a rag doll. We found him hanging upside down, feet ten feet off the ground, wedged between a couple of trees. Half his face was blown away and he was pretty well bled out, hardly a drop left in him. Brautigan couldn't say much other than he was shot in the back of the head with a high-powered rifle firing a lead mushroom projectile. We took him to the mine road. Brautigan and Rene drove the body to North Bay for an autopsy. Rene thinks there's a good chance he was shot from the island east of the scene and that's why Eugene asked Jack to go down this morning and take a look.”

  As soon as that statement left her mouth, she realised it was news to all of them except Jack.

  “Why wasn't I informed? Why would you ask a civilian to do anything in this case?” asked Will, annoyed.

  “Eugene didn't think it was a matter for the native police. Said you were unavailable.”

  “That fucking redneck. Unavailable my ass. You two better start to understand that I'm here to stay. Why didn't you go over there yourselves and check it out?”

  “We were losing the light and there was nothing for us to do except get that body the hell out of there.”

  “Jill, you better mak
e it clear to Inspector Rummell that it's now very much my concern. Those murders took place less than ten miles from my Reserve and the safety of the residents, including my family, is my business. Got that, Lady?”

  “Loud and clear,” Jill said quietly and turned away.

  “Jack, that island's been abandoned for years. You find anything?” Phipps asked.

  “Let’s not get all pumped up here and make it personal,” he said, eyeballing Will.

  “I'm not an investigator. I don't know anything about this shit. I went down there because Eugene bent my arm. Will, I didn't think about jurisdiction, but you're the guy who should have gone.”

  He looked into the bush, realising that Will had been his logical out and he shouldn't have gone at all. He wondered if Eugene had a hidden agenda and if he were being used. Why hadn't he thought about that?

  “Jack,” prompted Will.

  “What’”

  “So, what did you find?”

  He saw the expectant eyes around the circle but was reluctant to share his opinion. In business he seldom spoke unless he was sure of something. Now they want my opinion on a murder scene?

  “Jack, for Christ’s sake!”

  He plunged in. “I think Rene is right. He was shot from the bluff on Widows’ Island east of the marker. The shooter sat on a stump about three feet inside the treeline and used a rest between two maples to steady the weapon. I couldn't find any boot prints or a casing but I guess you might want to give it a try with a metal detector. I doubt you'll find it. He had a smoke while he was waiting.”

  He carefully opened the folded ten-dollar bill to reveal the shard of paper and the few strands of tobacco. “If it hadn't been right under my feet I would never have noticed it.”

  Jill folded the bill back together and slipped it into a plastic baggie she produced from her pocket.

  “It's what's left of a makem. Sonofabitch.”

  “No foot prints at all?”

  “Not that I could see, wouldn't be much if he wore moccasins.”

  “Whoa... hold it. Don't go there with the moccasin crap. Every time someone farts on this lake, they point their nose to Bear Island looking for the smell. This guy was killed with a bullet, not a fucking tomahawk.”

  “Easy Will, I'm not insinuating anything here and you know it. There are more tourists walking around here in moccasins than anybody else. Why don't you go over that ground tomorrow yourself? Maybe you'll come up with something I didn't.”

  Robinson wanted to know. “Jill, what's Eugene doing about this? He's been goddamn invisible. The town's starting to hunker down. I'm selling more ammunition than lumber.”

  “HQ is pulling two boats and crew off Lake Timiskaming and Nipissing. That will give us three patrols and Will, if you're in, that makes four. Rene's been assigned here full-time until something breaks. he'll be coming back up tomorrow with his kit and he'll billet upstairs in the station. On top of that we'll have support in the air with at least one spotter up at all times.

  “Eugene's setting up a command post at the station and we'll co-ordinate everything from there.”

  “Where'd you get the planes?” Jack asked, looking at Bob.

  “Obabika airlines to the rescue. They've commandeered our planes.”

  “What about the business?”

  “Jack, if this doesn't get stopped I won't have a business to worry about. we'll use the two Turbo Prop Cessna 206s and if I have to, I'll get the old De Havilland Beaver up as well. It's overkill for a spotter, but if we have to move anything heavy on or off the lake it's the best I've got. Jill, what else?”

  “The boats should arrive tomorrow morning and we'll be working out a plan to make sure everyone on the lake is informed; the tourist lodges, kids camps, year-rounders and cottagers. Those that have phones, land or cell, are already being notified. we'll patrol the old logging roads and hunting trails around the lake. We don't have much manpower, but we also don't want a bunch of vigilantes out there. They'd probably be more like targets. Virgil, what about the town meeting?”

  “Eugene's thinking about it and it's good idea, but we could just end up scaring the hell out of folks and the media could turn it into a zoo.”

  “Eugene has briefed the RCMP and if we can't make any progress they've offered to help. They've already got one of their own, a psychologist I think, looking at this.”

  “A psychologist!” Luke choked.

  Jill shook her head. “Luke, get a grip. How many times have you read about a murder that involved two nude bodies, caged and dropped in a lake? What and who do you think we're dealing with here? As for Wainright, Eugene thinks he was... was ... more like... assassinated.”

  “We're gonna have an exodus off this lake and I'll betcha it starts tomorrow,” Phipps added.

  “What are we going to do about the fishing tournament? We've got fifty Pros coming in and it was going to be televised. Shit, this town can't buy a break,” Rowan moaned.

  “You're going to get coverage all right, Virg, but not the kind you were looking for,” Phipps replied.

  “Will, got a minute?” Jack asked.

  They ambled down to the front dock and sat staring at the lake.

  “What do you make of this Will?”

  “Way out of my league, Jack. Never seen anything like it. We're dealing with a genuine, bonafide fucking nutbar here and I have no idea what's gonna happen next. Maybe the guy's a thrill seeker, came here, got his jollies and now he disappears. But I somehow doubt it. Maybe something else happens.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He looked directly at him. “I mean, maybe someone else gets dead.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “What do you think the chances are?” Jack asked.

  “I dunno, maybe fifty-fifty,” Will replied.

  “Same guy, both murders?”

  “Yeah, for sure. How many killers you think are on the loose up here at the same time?”

  “couldn't be a woman, could it?”

  “Not a chance, Jack. Maybe a woman's involved but there was some heavy lifting on that houseboat and from what I know, the stats and profile for this kind of thing don't favour a woman. Whoever it was stalked that couple.”

  Will was quiet for sometime before he glanced up to the group at the cabin and then back toward Jack.

  “I want you to work with me on this,” he said conspiratorially.

  “Oh Will, come on, you too? Look, I want to get off the hook here. Eugene's got a bunch of help coming in and I've done all I can. I've got nothing more to do with this.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  Jack looked at him, puzzled.

  “Like what?”

  “Jack, don't give me that crap. You've been thinking about this as much as I have and you've got a few ideas of your own. Yes?”

  “So?”

  “So ... I think this guy's local, or was at sometime. If not, he’s probably from a little farther north. He knows this lake and he knows this bush. Who the hell's gonna come up with a fish trap or even know what it is?”

  “So how and why do you think I fit into this?”

  “I don't know yet, but what I do know is that except for Eugene, none of the cavalry that's coming to the rescue knows anything about this place and unless they find a smoking gun, they won't solve jack-shit. So whaddya say? You gonna hang in or bail to México a little early this year?”

  Jack felt the net tightening. “Just let me think about this for a while. Christ, I need a break. I can still see those eyes coming up in the trap. Walleyes, Bob called them.”

  “Maybe that's what we should call this asshole.”

  “What?”

  “Walleye.”

  The meeting went around in circles for another hour. What to do about the tournament, the annual fish fry, the steak dinner, the towns’ anniversary fireworks celebration? What about extra patrols around the town?

  It was too much for Jack and he tuned out, and reflected on his conversation with Will.<
br />
  Bob finally got things wrapped. “Look, were going to have to call a town council meeting tomorrow and I think we'll wind up getting the whole town together.”

  As he was leaving, Bob wanted to know what Jack discussed with Will.

  “Long story Bob, fill you in tomorrow.”

  When they finally cleared out, Jack was relieved to regain his privacy. He fed the Duffster and let him know that his workout would be postponed until tomorrow. After pouring a glass of red he called Anna.

  “Hey, how'd the meeting go?”

  “They're just bringing me up to speed.”

  “How about your meeting?”

  “Not my meeting, just my place. Tense would be the right word. Just gets scarier every time I think about it.”

  “I'll be in to see Eugene mid-afternoon. When I'm done, thought we could take a walk and have some dinner.”

  “You mean like a real date?”

  “Exactly. Figure we've dined together and slept in the same bed. Even if it's out of order, we should have our first real 'go out on the town' date.”

  “Where do we meet?”

  “Miniwassa?”

  “Make it six-thirty.”

  “See you then.”

  With a self-satisfied grin and a cock of his head he looked at Duff.

  “I've got a date. Don't tell anyone it's my first in a year.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Trundling into the station, Jack saw Lavigne studying a computer screen. Eugene, looking haggard, was on the telephone, leaning back into his chair, feet up on the desk as usual. He nodded for Jack to take a seat.

  “Conrad, hold on a minute, I'm going to put you on speaker so I don't have to go over this again. I've got Rene and Jack Alexander with me.”

  Cupping his hand over the receiver he called out for Rene to listen up.

  “Conrad, you still there?”

  “Yes, loud and clear. What can I do for you lads?”