High Citadel / Landslide

by Desmond Bagley

  I took a deep breath. ‘You lay it on the line, don’t you?’

  ‘That’s always been my policy—and I warn a man only once,’ he said uncompromisingly.

  ‘So you’ve bought Sergeant Gibbons.’

  ‘Don’t be a fool,’ said Matterson. ‘I don’t have to buy policemen—they’re on my side anyway. Gibbons will go by the book and you are recorded on the wrong page.’

  I wondered how he knew I had been Grant, and then suddenly I knew who had employed a private investigator to check on me. But he wouldn’t have done that unless he had been worried about something; he was still hiding something and that gave me the confidence to say, ‘To hell with you, Matterson. I’ll go my own way.’

  ‘Then I feel sorry for you,’ he said grimly. ‘Look, boy: stay out of this. Don’t trouble yourself with things that don’t concern you.’ There was a strange tone in his voice; with any other man one might have thought he was pleading.

  I said, ‘How do I get back to Fort Farrell? Your daughter brought me up here, but I doubt if she’ll be willing to take me back.’

  Matterson chuckled coldly. ‘The exercise will do you good. It’s only five miles.’

  I shrugged and walked out on him. I went down the stairs instead of taking the elevator and found the great hall deserted. Going outside the house was like being released from prison and I stood on the front step savouring the fresh air. There were too many tensions in the Matterson household for a man to be comfortable.

  Lucy Atherton’s Continental was still standing where she had left it, and I saw that the key was still in the ignition lock. I climbed in and drove back to Fort Farrell. The exercise would be even better for her.

  V

  I parked the Continental outside the Matterson Building, cashed the cheque in the Matterson Bank and walked across to pick up the Land-Rover. Clarry Summerskill said, ‘I’ve fixed the pump, Mr Boyd, but that’ll be another fifteen dollars. Look, it’ll pay you better to get a new heap—this one is about shot. I’ve got a jeep just come in which should suit you. I’ll take the Land-Rover as a trade-in.’

  I grinned. ‘How much will you give me on it?’

  ‘Mr Boyd, you’ve ruined it,’ he said earnestly. ‘All I want it for now are the spare parts, but I’ll still give you a good price.’

  So we dickered and I ended up by driving back to Mac’s cabin in a jeep. Clare and Mac had just about finished cleaning up, although the stink of kerosene still lay heavily on the air inside. I gave Mac a thousand dollars in folding money and he looked at it in surprise. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Conscience money,’ I said, and told him what had happened.

  He nodded. ‘Old Bull is a ruthless bastard,’ he said. ‘But he’s never been caught in anything illegal. To tell you the truth, I was a mite surprised at what happened last night.’

  Clare said thoughtfully, ‘I wonder how he knew you were Grant.’

  ‘He hired a detective to find out—but that’s not the point. What I want to know is why he thought it necessary to check up on me so many years ago. Another thing that puzzles me is the old man’s character.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  I said, ‘Look at it this way. He strikes me as being an honest man. He may be as ruthless as Genghis Khan and as tough as hickory, but I think he’s straight. Everything he said gave that impression. Now, what could a man like that be hiding?’

  ‘He did bring up the question of blackmail,’ said Clare tentatively. ‘So you want to know what he could be blackmailed for.’

  I said, ‘What’s your impression of him, Mac?’

  ‘Pretty much the same. I said he’d never been caught in anything illegal and he never has. You get talk around town that a man couldn’t make the dough that he has by legal means, but that’s only the talk of a lot of envious failures. Could be that he is straight.’

  ‘So what could he have done that makes him talk of blackmail?’

  ‘I’ve been giving thought to that,’ said Mac. ‘You’d better sit down, son, because what I’ve got to tell you might knock you on your back. Clare, put the kettle on; it’s about time we had tea, anyway.’

  Clare smiled and filled the kettle. Mac waited until she came back. ‘This has something to do with you, too,’ he said. ‘Now I want you both to listen carefully, because this is complicated.’

  He seemed to hunt a little, searching for a place to begin, then he said, ‘Folks are more different now than they used to be, especially young folks. Time was when you could tell a rich man from a poor man by the way he dressed, but not any more. And that goes in spades for teenagers and college students.

  ‘Now, in that Cadillac which crashed there were four people—John Trinavant, his wife and two young fellows—Frank Trinavant and Robert Boyd Grant, both college students. Frank was the son of a rich man and Robert was a bum—to say the best of him. But you couldn’t tell the difference by the way they dressed. You know college kids: they dress in a kind of uniform. Both these boys were dressed in jeans and open-necked shirts and they’d taken off their jackets.’

  I said slowly, ‘What the hell are you getting at, Mac?’

  ‘Okay, I’ll come right out with it,’ he said. ‘How do you know you are Robert Boyd Grant?’

  I opened my mouth to tell him—then shut it again.

  He smiled sardonically. ‘Just because somebody told you, but not out of your own knowledge.’

  Clare said incredulously, ‘You think he might be Frank Trinavant?’

  ‘He might,’ said Mac. ‘Look, I’ve never gone for all this psychiatric crap. Frank was a good boy—and so are you, Bob. I checked on Grant and decided I’d never come across a bigger sonofabitch in my life. It’s never made sense to me that you should be Grant. Your psychiatrist, Susskind, explained it all away cleverly by this multiple personality stuff, but I don’t give a good goddam for that. I think you’re plain Frank Trinavant—still the same guy but you happen to have lost your memory.’

  I sat there stunned. After a while my brain got working again in a cranky sort of fashion, and I said, ‘Steady on, Mac. Susskind couldn’t have made that kind of error.’

  ‘Why couldn’t he?’ Mac demanded. ‘Remember, he was told you were Grant. You’ve got to realize the way it was. Matterson made the identification of the bodies, he tagged the three dead people as Trinavants. Naturally there was no room for error in the case of John Trinavant and his wife, but the dead boy he named as Frank Trinavant.’ He snorted. ‘I’ve seen Highway Patrol photographs of that body and how in hell he was sure I’ll never know.’

  ‘Surely there must have been some means of identification,’ said Clare.

  Mac looked at her soberly. ‘I don’t know if you’ve seen a really bad auto smash—one followed by a gasoline fire. Bob, here, was burnt beyond recognition—and he lived. The other boy was burnt and killed. The shoes were ripped from their feet and neither of them was wearing a wrist-watch when they were found. The shirts had been pretty near burnt off their backs and they wore identical jeans. They were both husky guys, much about the same size.’

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ I said. ‘How come I knew so much about geology unless I’d been taking a course like Grant?’

  Mac nodded. ‘True.’ He leaned forward and tapped me on the knee. ‘But so was Frank Trinavant. He was majoring in geology too.’

  ‘For God’s sake!’ I said explosively. ‘You’ll have me believing in this crazy story. So they were both majoring in geology. Did they know each other?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so,’ said Mac. ‘Grant went to the University of British Columbia; Trinavant to the University of Alberta. Tell me, Bob, before I go any further: is there anything in all that you know of that would blow this idea to hell? Can you find any sound proof to show that you are Grant and not Frank Trinavant?’

  I thought about it until it hurt. Ever since Susskind took me in hand I knew I was Grant—but only because I was told so. To make a mean pun, I had taken it for granted. Now it cam
e as a shock to find the matter in question. Yet try as I would, I couldn’t think of any real proof to settle it one way or the other.

  I shook my head. ‘No proof from where I’m standing.’

  Mac said gently, ‘This leads to an odd situation. If you are Frank Trinavant, then you inherit old John’s estate which puts Bull Matterson in a hell of a jam. The whole question of the estate goes into the melting-pot again. Maybe he’d still be able to enforce that option agreement in the courts, but the trust fund would revert to you and the financial flapdoodle he’s been pulling would come into the open.’

  My jaw dropped. ‘Wait a minute, Mac. Let’s not take this thing too far.’

  ‘I’m just pointing out the logical consequences,’ he said. ‘If you are Frank Trinavant—and can prove it—you’re a pretty rich guy. But you’ll be taking the dough from Matterson, and he won’t like it. And that’s apart from the fact that he’ll be branded as a crook and will be lucky to escape jail.’

  Clare said, ‘No wonder he doesn’t want you around.’

  I rubbed my chin. ‘Mac, you say it all boils down to Matterson’s identification of the bodies. Do you think he did it deliberately or was it a mistake? Or was there a mistake at all? I could still be Grant, for all I know and can prove.’

  ‘I think he wanted the Trinavants dead,’ said Mac flatly. ‘I think he took a chance. Remember, the survivor was in a bad way—you weren’t expected to live another twelve hours. If Matterson’s chance didn’t come off—if you survived as Frank Trinavant—then it would have been a mistake on his part, understandable in the circumstances. Hell, maybe he didn’t know himself which was which, but he took the chance and it paid off in a way that even he couldn’t expect. You survived but without memory—and he’d tagged you as Grant.’

  ‘He talked about blackmail,’ I said. ‘And from what you’ve just handed me, he had every justification for believing I would blackmail him—if I am Grant. It’s just the sort of thing a guy like Grant would do. But would Frank Trinavant blackmail him?’

  ‘No,’ said Clare instantly. ‘He wasn’t the type. Besides, it’s not blackmail to demand your own rights.’

  ‘Hell, this thing is biting its own tail,’ said Mac disgustedly. ‘If you are Grant you can’t blackmail him—you have no standing. So why is he talking about blackmail?’ He stared at me speculatively. ‘I think, maybe, he committed one illegal act—a big one—to which you were a witness, and he’s scared of it coming to light because it would knock the footing right out from under him.’

  ‘And this illegal act?’

  ‘You know what I mean,’ snapped Mac. ‘Let’s not be mealy-mouthed about it. Let’s come right out and say murder.’

  We didn’t talk too much about it after that. Mac’s final statement was a bit too final, and we couldn’t speculate on it without any firm proofs—not out loud, that is. Mac took refuge in chores about the house and refused to say another word, but I noticed he kept a bright eye on me until I got tired of his silent questioning and went out to sit by the stream. Clare took the jeep and went into town on the pretext of buying new blankets and mattresses for Mac.

  Mac had handed me the biggest problem I had ever had in my life. I thought back to the days when I was reborn in the Edmonton hospital and searched for any mental clue to my identity—as though I had never done so before. Nothing I found led to any positive result and I found I now had two possible pasts. Of the two I much preferred Trinavant; I had heard enough of John to be proud to be his son. Of course, if I did turn out to be Frank Trinavant, then complications would set in between me and Clare.

  I tossed a stone in the stream and idly wondered how close the kinship was between Frank and Clare and could it possibly be a bar to marriage, but I assumed it wouldn’t be.

  That short and ugly word which had been Mac’s final pronouncement had given us pause. We had discussed the possibility in vague terms and it had come to nothing as far as Matterson was concerned. He had his alibi—Mac himself.

  I juggled the possibilities and probabilities around, thinking of Grant and Trinavant as two young men whom I might have known in the distant past but without any relationship to me. It was a technique Susskind had taught me to stop me getting too involved in Grant’s troubles. I got nowhere, of course, and gave up when Clare came back.

  I camped in the woodland glade again that night because Clare had still not gone up to the Kinoxi Valley and the cabin had only two rooms. Again I had the Dream and the hot snow ran in rivers of blood and there was a jangle of sound as though the earth itself was shattering, and I woke up breathless with the cold night air choking in my throat. After a while I built up the fire again and made coffee and drank it, looking towards the cabin where a gleam of light showed where someone was sitting up half the night.

  I wondered if it was Clare.

  SEVEN

  Nothing much happened just after that. I didn’t make any move against Bull Matterson and McDougall didn’t push me. I think he realized I had to have time to come to terms with the problem he had handed me.

  Clare went up to her cabin in the Kinoxi Valley, and before she went I said, ‘Maybe you shouldn’t have stopped me doing that survey on your land. I might have come across a big strike of manganese or something—enough to have stopped the flooding of the valley.’

  She said slowly, ‘Suppose you found something now—would it still make a difference?’

  ‘It might—if it were a big enough find. The Government might favour a mining settlement rather than a dam; it would employ more people.’

  ‘Then why don’t you come and give the land a check?’ She smiled. ‘A last-ditch effort.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Give me a few days to get sorted out.’

  I went prospecting but nowhere near the dam. In spite of Matterson’s assurance of safety, something might have stirred up, say, between me and Jimmy Waystrand—or those truckers, if I came across them—and I wanted no trouble until I had got things clear in my mind. So I fossicked about on the Crown lands to the west, not really looking for anything in particular and with my mind only half on the job.

  After two weeks I went back to Fort Farrell, no more decided than I had been when I left. I was dreaming a lot of nights and that wasn’t doing me any good, either. The dreams were changing in character and becoming frighteningly real—burnt bodies strewn about an icy landscape, the crackle of flames reddening the snow and a jangling sound that was cruel in its intensity. When I got back to Mac’s cabin I was pretty washed-up.

  He was concerned about me. ‘Sorry to have put this on you, son,’ he said. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up.’

  ‘You did right,’ I said heavily. ‘It’s tough on me, Mac, but I can stand it. You know, it comes as quite a shock to discover you have a choice of pasts.’

  ‘I was a fool,’ Mac said bluntly. ‘Ten minutes’ thought and ten cents’ worth of understanding and I’d have known better. I’ve been kicking myself ever since I opened my big mouth.’

  ‘Forget it,’ I said.

  ‘But you won’t, though.’ He was silent for a while. ‘If you pulled out now and forgot the whole thing I wouldn’t think any the worse of you for it, boy. There’d be no recriminations from me—not like last time.’

  ‘I won’t do that,’ I said. ‘Too much has happened. Old Matterson has tried to scare me off, for one thing, and I don’t push easy. There are other reasons, too.’

  He looked at me with a shrewd eye. ‘You haven’t finished thinking about this yet. Why don’t you give Clare’s land the once-over, like you promised. You need more time.’

  He wasn’t fitted to the role of Cupid, but he meant well and it really wasn’t a bad idea, so a couple of days later I left for the North Kinoxi in the jeep. The road hadn’t got any better since my last trip, and I was more tired when the big cabin came in sight than if I’d walked all the way.

  Waystrand came to meet me with his stiff, slow walk, and I asked, ‘Is Miss Trinavant around, Mr
Waystrand?’

  ‘Walking in the woods,’ he said briefly. ‘You staying?’

  ‘For a while,’ I said. ‘Miss Trinavant wants me to do a survey.’ He nodded but said nothing. ‘I haven’t seen your son yet, so I haven’t been able to pass on your message.’

  He shrugged heavily. ‘Wouldn’t make any difference, I suppose. You eaten?’

  I shared some food with him and then did some more log-chopping while he looked on with approval at my improved handling of the axe. When I began to sweat I stripped off my shirt, and after a while he said, ‘Don’t want to be nosy, but was you chawed by a bear?’

  I looked down at the cicatrices and shiny skin on my chest. ‘More like a Stutz Bearcat,’ I said. ‘I was in an auto accident.’

  ‘Oh,’ was all he vouchsafed, but a puzzled frown came on to his face. Presently he went away and I continued chopping.

  Clare came back from the woods towards sunset and appeared glad to see me. She wanted to know if the Mattersons had made any moves, but merely nodded when I said that no move had been made by either side.

  We had dinner in the big cabin, during which she asked me about the survey, so after dinner I got out the Government map and indicated what I was going to do and how I was going to go about it. She said, ‘Is there much chance of finding anything?’

  ‘Not much, I’m afraid—not from what I saw of the Matterson land in the south. Still, there’s always a chance; strikes have been made in the most unlikely places.’ I talked about that for quite a while and then drifted into reminiscences of the North-West Territories.

  Suddenly Clare said, ‘Why don’t you go back, Bob? Why don’t you leave Fort Farrell? It’s not doing you any good.’

  ‘You’re the third person who has asked me to quit,’ I said. ‘Matterson, McDougall and now you.’

  ‘My reasons might be the same as Mac’s,’ she said. ‘But don’t couple me with Matterson.’

  ‘I know, Clare,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry. But I’m not going to quit.’