by P W Ross
“They don't admit it, but they're panicky. They don't fear for themselves, like it can't happen to them. They're more interested in what it's doing to the town, their livelihoods. Most of the people here are mortgaged to the hilt. One bad season can sink them. They're wondering if they should cancel civic events. Should they hold a town meeting? Is everyone going to clear off the lake?”
“Don't they understand the most important thing is to catch the killer?”
“You're right, but no, not yet. There's a town council meeting tomorrow and you can bet that once the gnashing of teeth is over that's the conclusion they'll come to and they will be all over Eugene.”
“Jack, you know it won't be good enough if the killings just stop.”
“How do you mean?”
“The killer has to be caught. There has to be closure. If not, the fear will always linger. Always be there, the boogieman a la Stephen King. Is he out there somewhere? Will it start again?”
“Is that the legal expert talking?”
“You don't have to be much of an expert on this one Jack. That's simply the truth of it.”
They walked quietly on, Jack mulling it over. Once again, she was right, but he didn't see how Eugene had a hope in hell of catching this guy with what he had to go on. Even if they had an idea of how killings were done, they still had no motive, no suspects and no evidence that Brautigan thought would take them any closer to the killer.
“Will MacKenzie wants me to help him.”
“With what?”
“He was steamed not to be first at the Wainright scene and that Eugene asked me to poke around Widow’s Island without consulting him.”
“He's right on that score. What else?”
“I said there were no boot prints ‘cause the killer might have worn moccasins. That really pissed him off. Meant it innocently enough but I know where he's coming from.”
“Will may be a cop but like all of us he's resentful and mistrustful. With good reason. Aboriginals in North America, Africa, Australia, wherever, have been on the short end of the stick since Europeans ‘discovered’ us, our lands, and then stole them. I took a course once in medieval history and law from a pre-eminent scholar who was also a Jesuit. Thought it would be boring as hell but I'll never forget the first lecture. Came in dramatically, full mane of white hair, black robes flowing and totally riveting. If we were going to understand anything about the period, we had to fathom the fact that in Europe at the time, everyone believed absolutely in God and Church. In their day to day lives that flavoured everything.”
She inhaled, exhaled and continued.
“If we couldn't get our heads around that, we would never understand the mind of the medieval man or the history. Jack, it's the same with us. We don't think the way you do. You have a completely different history and it's brief. You came to the land to dominate it, to ‘tame’ it, to exploit it, to develop it, or more politely now, to ‘manage’ it. This land,... our land, we have travelled for centuries. It's a homeland and we, at best, are guardians. We've been here five thousand years. The Europeans less than four hundred. What kind of overseers have they been?”
“Look over there.” He nodded toward the old growth.
“Last old growth stand of white pine anywhere on the planet, the rest has been cut over, most of it more than once. Except for the fur they could provide, Temagamis have been ignored or at best tolerated while we trampled their homeland and hemmed them into reservations. Bear Island here is only one square mile for Christ’s sake.”
Anna pondered Jack studiously. Maybe he did get it.
“So, you going to give up your island on an unfavourable land claim?”
“No, and neither is anyone else.”
“It started in the seventies. Natives, not just here but everywhere started to reclaim their culture and fight back. Protests and logging roads blockaded. Pine Ridge, Oka, Caledonia, armed standoffs, tree spiking and development projects stopped. But most of all they found the power of the courts. We've filed a land caution on almost four thousand square miles that puts a freeze on everything around. And the band has always had a big ace up their sleeve.”
“Like what? What's new after four hundred years?”
“The band never signed the treaty. The government always claimed that the Temagamis were included in the Robertson-Huron Treaty in the 1850s but there is no evidence to prove they were ever represented or gave up their ancestral lands.”
“What does that matter if they've already lost it?”
“Who says they lost it? They say they simply never gave it up and there's nothing to prove they did. How do you argue with that? Most of their ancestral land is still bush, most ‘Crown’ land. Sure, there's privately held property but other than the town itself, most of it's a drop in the bucket. And, some of that supposedly private land is without title, some cottages, camps and small mills. They're actually squatters and the land claim puts them at risk. Push comes to shove, and you could have folks standing on their docks with shotguns.”
“So, how does this play out in the long haul?”
“It could get ugly. Originally the band stood to get one hundred and twenty-seven square miles, shoreline, a new town site and about twenty-five million in compensation.”
“How many natives are there in the band?”
“Seven hundred, give or take. To some people living on the edge, it seems like a lot of turf and money going to a bunch they don't think ever did anything with it. They work their fingers to the bone and just see this as another government handout to the wrong people. No matter what they say, governments generally consider aboriginal rights a pain in the ass, just want them to disappear. They stall as long as they can, negotiate, litigate and then pay off. Do the math, Jack. As far as the government's concerned they're giving up some land rights where nothing much was happening anyway and the cash price per head isn't even forty thousand bucks. Not much different than buying us off with beads.”
“I'm just starting to get into the details now but I understand the band is split on what they want and what they will accept.”
“Everybody will tell you they're happy this chapter's coming to a close, but deep down there are still many with that stereotypical racist notion, don't believe the natives deserve anything and that what they do get they'll screw up. Miners worry about their claims and access to them. Outfitters think they'll lose control of their canoe routes and that their clientele will get hassled. Hunters figure they've lost prime territory. Loggers think they've been screwed when in fact they screwed themselves years ago. The town is concerned that a new native town site will suck business from them. The cottagers and fishermen didn't like the natives getting a few more islands and they see a new town site as a blight on the shoreline. Some are outright hostile but they're going to have to live with it. You know, the agreement was supposed to be signed on Bear Island a few years back but was not.”
“Where are you on all this?”
“Anna, there're are as many natives here as there are whites in town and they better start to get along and work together. The future of this lake is in recreation, eco-tourism, hiking, canoeing, camping, fishing and hunting. Sooner everyone gets on that page the better off they'll be.”
“Meanwhile back at the ranch we've got a killer on the loose and from what you say no one seems to have a clue. What did Will want you to help with?”
“He thinks Eugene and his crew don't know their ass from their elbow but I'm not sure what he really expects from me. I told him I'd think about it. Maybe he wants to be the big hero and catch this guy himself but he'd be better off working with Eugene.”
“Maybe that's how you can help.”
“How?”
“By getting them to work together,” she said as if it were the most logical thing in the world. Why was it he didn't see it that clearly? He gave her a grudging nod. She was right again.
Chapter Thirty-One
The original fire tower on the site had been erected in 1910 and w
as one of nine erected in the area to watch over the pine. It stood atop Caribou Mountain. It was true that there was once woodland caribou here but the ‘mountain’ designation was a stretch. It's really a huge granite mound and rock face rising four hundred feet above the town. The new tower was a reasonable replica. The ladder was replaced with winding stairs to the top, a hundred feet up. A small museum at its base was crowded with Fire Ranger memorabilia. As a boy Jack had been terrified to climb the tower and his fear had peaked making his way through the trap door. It was a right of passage to ‘go up’.
“Jack, sure you want to go up?”
“Yes, though I was just remembering how frightened I was. The old ladder petrified me. The whole tower seemed to sway in the wind. It had been long abandoned when we started to climb. It was sort of an unofficial tourist site. Come on, let's go.”
They paid two dollars to a young native girl in the museum and ascended.
The cupola provided a magnificent vista southwest from where the lake reached out to touch the town. The air was crisp and clear, the sun starting to sink into the treeline.
“Look northwest. The high prominence.”
“Where? I don't see anything.”
He was leaning forward on the sill of the cupola and she moved in behind, her head next to his as she stretched out her right arm over his shoulder, finger pointing.
“Yes, I see it now. Maple Mountain. It must be close to forty miles.”
Anna turned to face him, reached her arms up around his shoulders to the nape of his neck and cupped his head in her hands.
“Kiss me Jack,” she whispered as she pulled his lips toward hers.
Jack responded gently, kissing her once, twice, three times lightly and then warmly and fully, without hesitation or apprehension. They held each other close, rocking gently back and forth. Silent.
Jack finally broke the spell.
“We better get back down and let that girl go home before her parents start to worry.”
“She should walk back with us before dusk. Best go.”
As they came to the first landing a dozen steps down, Anna said, “That was a short trip Jack. What did I miss?”
“Nothing really, it's spectacular at sunset but we'll do it another day. Next time remind me to point out the other tower. It's not so far away, perhaps fourteen miles as the crow flies in the North Arm on top of Devil Mountain, right across from Granny... ”
“Goddammit Jack, you dumb sonofabitch!” he yelled.
He looked at a dumbfounded Anna.
“I should have seen sooner!” He ran back up the stairs two at time.
“Jack, what?”
She shouted and when she caught up, he was scanning the lake with a knowing look.
“What's gotten into you?”
“Look out there, about thirty degrees north east. See the tower?”
“Yes?”
“It's directly east of Granny Bay on top of Devil Mountain, where they found the abandoned fishing rig and canoe from the houseboat. That couple must have been moored in the bay and he scouted them from the old tower.”
“Who?”
“The killer... come on, I've got to get to Will.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
“And what's your name?” Jack asked the girl as she was closing up the museum.
“Rachael sir, Rachael Proudfoot.”
“Well Rachael, I know your dad. You call and tell him you're walking back to town with Jack Alexander and to meet us in front of the Miniwassa.”
“Yes sir,” she said and went off to use the phone.
“You'd make someone a good father Jack.”
“I'd have to make someone a good husband first.”
Walking back, Jack acknowledged that he was more than a little edgy. Keeping a crisp pace until they crossed the railway tracks they found Proudfoot waiting at the picnic table in front of the hotel.
“Thanks Jack, appreciate it.”
“No problem Walter, seemed like a good idea.”
“Nice to meet you Anna,” Rachael said. “Bye Mister Alexander.”
She turned to walk away but looked back. “You gonna catch him, Mister Alexander?”
“Catch who, Rachael?”
“The bad guy.”
“Sure will honey, now run along and take good care of your father.” Jack winked at Walter.
Heading for the bar, they passed Abe Farrell and Ami Norval at a table drinking Cubas. Abe’s eye's lit up when he saw Jack with Anna.
“Jack, get that trout the other day?”
“Affirmative, must be that herring of yours.”
“You gonna introduce your friend?”
“Anna, ... Abe Farrell.”
“I know you,” she returned, “you've got the bait shop.”
“Sure ‘nough do.”
“And Ami Norval, best guide on the lake.”
Norval nodded sullenly. “You've been away a long time Anna.”
“What are you boys up tonight?”
“Having a few drinks and jawing ‘bout the murders. Ami's staying in town on the boat tonight. Got a charter first thing in the morning. Come on Jack, give us the scoop.”
“You boys know as much as I do. Maybe we'll learn something new at the town meeting.”
“He must be some sick son of a bitch, dontcha think Jack?” offered Norval along with a strange smile.
“You got that right Ami.”
“So how deep were those kids when you snagged them?”
“Ninety-five feet on the edge of a drop off.”
As they moved off toward the bar Jack leaned back to Norval. “The trout are running at seventy-five feet Ami.”
“Thanks Jack, tell me something new,” he said through a smirk.
In the Miniwassa Jack asked Bob for a table on the porch while he went to use the office phone.
The phone rang seven times and he started to get a message from an old-style tape answering machine.
“You have reached Officer Will MacKenzie on Bear Island and I can't... ”
“Will MacKenzie here,” he broke in.
“Will, Jack.” He could hear children in the background.
“Hey Jack, what can I do for you? You taking me up on my offer?”
“Maybe. Meet me tomorrow at the old fire tower on Devil Mountain.”
“What the hell for?”
“Just be there. Think about it a little bit and you'll figure it out for yourself or else you'll have to turn in your badge.”
Will looked at the receiver for a few moments and went over to the wall and perused the map. It didn't take him long.
“You're a smart Sonofabitch Alexander”, he said to no one in particular.
“What was that Will?” his wife asked.
“Nothing honey, just thinking aloud.”
Joining Anna on the screened porch, Jack gave a discreet wave to Parker sitting a few tables over with three other newsies. She waved back and they all raised their heads to peer his way, each with the same thing on their mind.
Anna poured him a glass of red.
“Never trusted Norval. Always had a bad rap on the Island.”
“Don't doubt it. He and Abe make a wonderful pair don’t they? With Norval it's just that scar, but I'll tell something, he's one hell of a bushman. What are we having?” he asked, scouring the menu.
“Too late, I've already ordered steaks, baked potatoes and corn. Bob says he knows how you like it.”
“Should by now.”
“Whose boat is that tied up behind yours?” she said, looking down over the town dock.
“Belongs to Camp Manitou. Norval guides for them. Guess he'll sleep in the cutty-cabin and take his party out at first light.”
“Jack, up in the tower, what made you think of Devil Mountain?”
“Something Rene said about the houseboat being watched and then I realised that the old tower looks right down over Granny Bay where the canoe and fishing boat were found drifting.”
Parker's constant gaze at their table distracted Anna.
“That woman's starting to get on my nerves.”
“Who we talking about?”
“Parker.”
“Well, get used to it. She'll be back for sure now that she's seen us together.”
“Right, looking for the native angle.”
Remembering the embrace in the cupola, he was tempted to ask Anna to stay at Tall Pines, but he knew he had to let her go back to Bear. He watched her move out of sight and as he pulled the Lund away from the dock, he saw Norval’s shadowy figure coming down to spend the night on the charter boat.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Scanning from the cupola of the spindly tower, Will spotted Jack coming north from a mile away, the dog in the bow, the figurehead. He watched him land at the small dock but lost sight of Jack when he disappeared into the trail leading up the three hundred feet to the base of the tower. Puffing, working up a sweat, he emerged at the top of the rock face. Will was nowhere to be seen.
“Will?... Will MacKenzie!”
“Jack! Up here.”
His eyes followed the iron ladder to the cupola window one hundred feet above. Will gawked down at him through mirrored aviators, the rays of the sun glinting off them.
“Holy Christ Will, what are you doing up there? This has been condemned for years.”
“Jack, show me something, come on up!”
There were no stairs on this one, just the rusted, shaky ladder encircled by spiral iron hoops to keep you from falling off backwards. He struggled to the top. Will hoisted him through the rectangular opening.
“Jesus Will. This scares the living daylights out of me. This is only the second time I've climbed one of these originals and it's gonna be the last. This tower’s ready to topple over and the floor is so rotten we might just fall through. Why'd you bother coming up? We could have figured this out from the rock face below.”
“Have a look,” he said and handed over the binoculars. “The view from this tower is breathtaking.”
“Look down over at Granny Bay. See the two logs chained together at the water's edge just inside the bay?”