by Dave Butler
Eastman jumped when he heard the voice beside him.
“Is everything okay, Uncle Bernie?” asked his nephew, who’d come back across the yard without making a sound.
“No, Stevie,” said Eastman. “I don’t think it is. I may need your help.”
Chapter 19
June 3
Jenny Willson placed copies of her investigation report on the massive table that dominated the main boardroom of the Parks Canada administration building in Banff. The late-morning sun streamed in the window to her left, illuminating one of her reports in a perfect square of light.
Black-and-white portraits of past park superintendents stared at her from the wood-panel walls. Willson felt them judging her, so she stared back, fascinated to see how many wore handlebar moustaches. She wondered what the expectation would have been if a woman superintendent had been hired during the park’s early days. It was a time when there’d been few women around the park, so it was unlikely. But it was also a time when the park struggled with the same questions it now faced, like how to find a balance between allowing people to use and appreciate the park while protecting its unique resources. She struggled with that dilemma every day.
In preparation for the meeting, she’d spent a half-hour down the hall with her supervisor, Chief Park Warden Frank Speer. Stocky with a buzz-cut of pure white hair, Speer was a wise, thirty-two-year Parks Canada veteran who had the unenviable task of sitting, day after challenging day, on the pointy fence between the big bosses in Calgary and wardens like Willson.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen today, Jenny,” he’d said. “They asked for a briefing and that’s all I was told. I know you’ll do a great job of filling them in on your investigation. We’ll see what happens from there.”
“Well,” she said, “I gotta tell you that my expectations aren’t high. These pencil-necked paper-pushers always find a way to avoid doing anything useful.”
The chief park warden smiled. “Try not to let that opinion show, won’t you?” He gave Willson one last piece of advice that made her laugh, just what she needed to calm her nerves. “The higher I get up the ladder in this place,” he said, “the view is not great. I look up to see fewer assholes on the ladder rungs above me, but they are much, much bigger. So remember that. Do your job, and keep your cool.”
Now she stood in the corner of the empty boardroom, waiting, her thoughts shifting to her father. An engineer for the national railway when he died, he’d been a zealous union member, never trusting the company bosses or shareholders to care about his interests. She remembered him telling her to look after herself, to assume that “the man” would never give her a moment’s thought in the quest for bigger profits. Over her short career, Willson had come to understand what he meant, although in government, people on the ladder above her weren’t driven by profit but by power — holding on to what they had, or grabbing more. Politicians wanted re-election, their horizon of time often only four years into the future. Senior bureaucrats, the ones who really ran the show — and who allowed the politicians the delusion that they were in control — appeared to Willson to be all about maintaining the status quo or preserving and growing their empires, empires filled with armies of assistant deputies, executive directors, directors, and managers. And maintaining their big salaries that were much bigger than hers. Willson often wondered how the government ever accomplished anything, with so many people serving upward and so few actually serving taxpayers. And those who did, did so despite the system, not because of it.
As if to punctuate her thought, the heavy door opened and three men entered the boardroom, twenty minutes late. The first was the chief park warden. Behind him was his boss, the park superintendent. And following in their wake, like a remora on a shark, was the Calgary-based deputy assistant regional director for Western Canada. After shaking Willson’s hand, the two senior men sat across from her. She saw the chief park warden choose his seat last; he came around the table to sit beside her. It was a much-needed show of support, that everyone in the room understood, a message that could only come from someone close to retirement.
“Go ahead, Jenny,” Speer said with a smile.
She smiled back at him to show that she understood what he’d done.
“I appreciate this opportunity,” Willson said. “I understand that you want a briefing on my investigation into wildlife poaching in our mountain parks. You’ll see that I’ve given each of you a written report.” She pointed to the documents in front of the three men. As anticipated, the two across from her began to read. “Rather than reading it now,” she continued, waiting until their heads came back up again, “let me take you through the key facts. I have some questions for you at the end of my presentation.”
Because she knew that these kinds of men were impatient, with short attention spans, Willson ensured that she was concise, well-organized, and compelling.
“My investigation began with the shooting and mutilation of a bull elk in Banff,” she said. “Since then, I know we have had a total of three animals taken from our parks: the Banff elk, a bighorn sheep from Jasper, and a mountain goat from Kootenay. The bull’s rack was taken, while the heads and hides of the sheep and goat were taken. So I believe I’m dealing with people interested in trophies. The last one, the goat, was just confirmed in the last few days.” She knew that the news of the goat was a surprise to the men across from her, so she paused while it sank in.
“Based on evidence that’s laid out in the report, I’m fairly certain that the same three men were involved, to one degree or another, in all three shootings. I know who two of them are; the third remains unknown. I know they were here in Banff the night the elk was taken, two of the men were seen in Wilcox Pass the day before I believe the ram was shot, and I have an eyewitness to the shooting of the goat. The same witness was also present at the killing of the elk.”
“What’s the motive behind this, Jenny?” asked the chief park warden, despite knowing the answer.
“The motive is greed,” she replied. “One of my main suspects, a man named Bernie Eastman, is an East Kootenay guide-outfitter who offers a unique guarantee: if a client doesn’t get a trophy animal in the first five days of a ten-day hunt in his territory, he’ll bring him to one of the parks. Unfortunately for us, he’s found an American client who’s accepted his offer. It’s Eastman and the unnamed American, plus the outfitter’s assistant, who are my three primary suspects in this case.”
“What are the main outstanding issues with the case to date?” asked Speer, providing her an opening to move forward.
“There are three,” said Willson. “The first is that, while ballistics has confirmed that the same rifle was used for the elk and the goat and that a handgun was used for the sheep, I don’t have either of the weapons, despite executing search warrants at the residences of the outfitter and his assistant. Our agency seized two rifles of the same calibre, but they didn’t match. And we’ve not been able to find any of the missing trophies … yet.”
“The second is that my main suspect, likely the shooter in all three incidents, is American. Unfortunately, the potential charges against him do not allow extradition, even if I knew who he was.”
“And the third,” she continued, “is that I have possible drug connections with at least one of the suspects: the assistant guide. That means that the RCMP are involved, but it also means I have leverage on the assistant that I’m utilizing to the fullest. You’ll see in the report that he is my main eyewitness. Clearly, this has become about much more than poaching.”
Willson saw the chief park warden observing the two men across the table, watching their body language for clues. She’d only met the park superintendent once, days after he was appointed to the job, so she didn’t have a good read on the man. As she had laid out her case, he mostly had his head down while he wrote in a coil-bound notebook. His natty clothing and cool mannerisms, along with the
position to which he’d risen in the bureaucracy, were proof for Willson of a long life in government. For her, that was not a good thing.
She turned her gaze to the bureaucrat from Calgary. Speaking of assholes on higher rungs of the ladder, she thought. He was a small, pompous-looking man peering at his Blackberry. He had the body language of someone much higher up the food chain than he actually was. She was certain that he’d heard very little of what she’d said.
Willson finished her presentation and then waited. In the silence, the park superintendent looked up and seemed to realize that he was expected to speak.
“So, Jenny,” he said, looking back down at his notebook, “what I’m hearing you say is that you think three guys did this, but you don’t have the weapons, and you don’t have the trophies they allegedly took from the three parks? Did I get that right?”
Willson took a deep breath before answering. “What I’m saying, sir, is that I’m confident these three guys are the perpetrators in the murder and mutilation of three park animals. I’m also saying that I almost have enough evidence — according to Crown counsel — to lay charges against all three. I could probably arrest the outfitter and his assistant now. But I don’t want to do that until I have enough for a bomb-proof case … and until I have the name of the American hunter.”
“Huh,” said the superintendent.
Willson waited. The silence in the room was punctuated by a car alarm, abrupt and shrill, somewhere outside.
In the absence of further questions, she completed her summary by laying out her requests of the men. “So,” she said, “it’s obvious we have an individual who has used, and is continuing to use, our national parks as his private game reserve. We have an American hunter who is taking full advantage of the scheme. We have clear violations not only of the National Parks Act, but also a number of B.C. statutes. It’s likely we also have infractions of U.S. laws.”
Willson looked at both men across the table before continuing. “What I’m asking you to do is approve my request to focus solely on this investigation, as part of a team of agencies that will include Parks Canada, the Conservation Officer Service in B.C., the RCMP, and probably — quite soon — the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. I don’t know how long the investigation will last, but it could be anywhere from a week or two up to a few months. But we need to build that bomb-proof case I spoke of a moment ago. Such a commitment from you will, I assume, mean temporarily filling my position until I’m done. I will provide you with regular reports so you know how the case is proceeding.”
She had tried to anticipate all the questions she could be asked by the men. “I will need funds for travel,” she said, “which I’ve outlined in the report in front of you. I may also need funds for experts and witnesses to attend trials, if and when they occur.”
She waited while the men flipped through the pages of her written brief.
“Gentlemen, I hope you’ll agree that this is a precedential issue, not only for Banff Park, but for the national parks system as a whole,” said Willson, trying to use language they would understand. “In fact, I’m not aware of any previous incidents of poaching in the national parks in Canada on this scale, at least not in modern times. I firmly believe we need to bring significant resources to bear to show we’re serious about this and to assist our B.C. colleagues, who’ve already invested significant time and resources on this case. I ask that you give me the authority to proceed.”
Finished, Willson folded her hands on the table in front of her and waited for a response. For a moment, the little man from Calgary looked up, but only to glance quickly at the park superintendent. His gaze immediately dropped back to his phone. When Willson saw this, her internal radar went on high alert.
“Thanks for that thorough update, Jenny,” said the superintendent. “We appreciate the work you’ve put into this and we thank you for your dedication to protecting the park and its resources.”
Willson had heard speeches like this before. The superintendent was going through the motions, preaching like he was in front of the media or a group of his own bosses. Get on with it, she thought. Give me what I need and let me the hell out of here.
The superintendent’s eyes flicked toward the man from Calgary and then he continued. “While we understand the importance of this from your perspective,” he said, “I cannot approve your requests. In fact, the main reason I asked for this meeting today is to direct you to stand down on this investigation, at least for the next while.”
Willson felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. The air in her lungs escaped in a rush. She had assumed the superintendent would tell her to continue the investigation, but not to spend any money on it, and at the same time, keep up with her regular duties. That was a normal government response to anything out of the ordinary. But this was not the outcome she’d anticipated. Willson turned questioningly to Frank Speer and could tell from his facial expression that this was a shock to him, as well.
“I … I don’t understand,” she said to the superintendent, her surprise reducing her ability to speak coherently. “What the …?” She stopped herself before adding a word that might be considered inappropriate in the situation.
“I expect this comes as a surprise to you,” said the superintendent. “It seems that the local media attention this matter has already received, both in the Banff Crag and Canyon and in the Cranbrook Daily Townsman, is of concern to the prime minister’s office. I assume they heard about it through local members of Parliament. Some major media outlets are sniffing around to see if there’s a story here. The PMO wants this matter shut down, now, so it doesn’t look like the federal government is improperly managing our national parks. Delicate negotiations are underway with foreign governments about climate change and pipelines, and they don’t want this to be a blemish on their environmental record.”
Willson could no longer contain her anger. “Perhaps,” she said, talking directly to the little man with his head down, “the folks in Ottawa should get their collective heads out of their fat, desk-bound asses and let us do something about this! That would show that the government is serious about the environment. If you let this situation continue, we’re no better than the tinpot dictators in Africa who stand by while poachers slaughter elephants and rhinos. Surely we’re better than that!”
For the first time since he’ d sat down in the boardroom, the little man across the table raised his head to look at Willson. “Warden Willson,” he said in a disdainful voice that brought a further flush of anger to Willson’s cheeks, “I don’t expect you, at your level, to understand the big picture here. You’ve been given clear instructions and we have no responsibility to explain this decision to you, no matter what you might think. You need to do what you are told. This isn’t open for discussion or debate.”
Willson was seconds away from jumping across the table to strangle the arrogant little man. Anger and adrenalin pumped through her veins like jet fuel. She imagined one of her hands wrapped tightly around his scrawny neck, the other pulling his perfect tie ever tighter until his eyes bulged.
Her fists clenched tight below the desk and her heart pounded in her ears. But a look from the chief park warden, who had dealt with more senior bureaucrats than she ever would, held her back from a making a career-limiting move.
“I can’t imagine what our colleagues in the RCMP and in B.C.’s Conservation Officer Service are going to do when they hear about this,” said Willson, her mind snapping back to reality.
“Jenny,” said the superintendent, “the message you’re going to give to people you’re working with is that you’ve been given higher-priority projects to work on, so you’ve decided not to pursue the investigation. And you are not to put that in writing to anyone, at any time. Is that clear?”
“Sorry, sir,” she replied, “but that’s not going to happen. There isn’t a single person who knows me who will believe for a second it w
as my choice to stop pursuing this. It’s not true and it’s certainly wrong, so someone other than me is going to have to take responsibility for that message. I don’t give up.”
“I’m very disappointed you’re being so difficult about this,” said the little man from Calgary.
“From what I’ve seen today, I’m betting you have many disappointments in your life,” said Willson, “and, quite frankly, none of them are my concern.”
This was punctuated by a snort from Frank Speer. Willson saw momentary anger in the tiny bureaucrat’s face. She stared at him, her eyes like laser beams, trying to burn a hole in his pointy head. His eyebrows rose slightly but he said no more.
“That’s enough, Jenny,” said the superintendent. “I’m telling you and your assistant, and any other wardens involved, to stand down on this investigation. As of right now, I’m instructing the chief park warden to ensure this happens. If you need a reason, you can tell the folks you’re working with that I gave you other priorities. Normally, I would put a letter on your file about your insubordination, but I won’t in these unusual circumstances. Do you understand me?”
“I don’t like it and I believe it’s a very bad decision … but I understand what you’ve said,” said Willson, biting her cheek until she could taste blood. “I’ll let my assistant know that he’s done at the end of July. He’s going to be as impressed as I am. And simply for my own interest, what’s happening with the investigation in Jasper about the poached bighorn ram?”
“My counterpart there has agreed that they don’t have evidence to proceed, so they have put their investigation on hold,” said the superintendent, smiling at Willson condescendingly. “Now that I know about the goat in Kootenay Park, I expect the same thing will happen there, as well.”