“And what exactly do you think the story is, Nancy?”
“Pretty clear, isn’t it, Cole?”
“Illuminate me.”
“Angry environmentalist bludgeons mine manager,” she said.
“Can’t argue with you about that.”
Nancy turned to leave.
“You could always tell the back story. Dig a little deeper. You were good at that once upon a time.”
“If it bleeds it leads, Cole. Don’t talk to me about the good old days.”
“Fine, whatever.” Cole waved her away and watched her go. But he knew he hadn’t seen the last of Nancy Webber.
The evening air was refreshingly cool when he left the Big Sky Restaurant. In the indigo sky Cole saw Arcturus and followed its arc to Spica, barely visible on the horizon. The air revived him, but nothing could fix the ache in his bones. And miles to go before I sleep, he thought. The driver’s door of his truck protested when he opened it. Don’t you start acting up on me, he thought. I need something in my life to be dependable. And then he thought of Sarah.
He pulled his cellphone from his pocket and dialled Jennifer’s number. On the fourth ring, Polson answered, saying, “It’s about bloody time, Cole.”
“Hi Jennifer.” He had no energy to argue.
“Sarah is worried sick about you.”
“How are you, Jennifer? I’m fine.”
“Cole, you are an asshole.”
“Well, Jennifer, things are a little nutty in Oracle.”
“Cole, do you even care about Sarah?”
Cole closed his eyes and felt the familiar heat of adrenaline flood his neural pathways. In a moment, if he wasn’t careful, his vision would narrow and obliterate the peripheral until all that remained was a narrow band right in front of him. And when that happened, as it had so many times in his life, trouble usually followed.
“Has something happened to Sarah?” he finally asked.
“No, nothing, Cole.”
“What about you, have you been in an accident?”
“No, Cole.”
“Have either of you contracted a mysterious disease that impairs your ability to dial a telephone?”
“Jesus Christ, Cole, you are a prick.”
“Can I talk with Sarah, please?”
Finally there was silence on the other end. He heard a muffled conversation in the background. Finally his daughter’s voice.
“Hi Daddy!”
“Hi sweetheart. How’s my girl?”
“I’m good. How are you?”
“Just fine.”
“You don’t sound fine.”
“Don’t I?”
“What’s wrong? Are you OK?”
“I’m OK,” he said, and felt the unwelcome constriction in his throat that could lead to tears. The adrenaline drained from his system at the sound of Sarah’s sympathy, and despair was beneath it.
“Don’t be sad, Daddy. I love you.”
She made the heart glad. “I love you too, sweetheart.”
“So, are you saving the world from evil corporations?”
“I’m just getting started. Listen carefully,” he said, “something has happened here that you might see on the news tomorrow.”
“Are you OK?” she asked anxiously. He loved her so much.
“I’m fine. But a man has been killed. He was the manager of the mine that we are trying to stop, and someone I know is accused of killing him.”
The line was quiet as Sarah absorbed the information. “Did he do it, Daddy?”
It occurred to Cole that he hadn’t actually asked that question. “I don’t know.”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know what to think, Sarah.”
“Are you going to stay in Alberta for much longer?”
“I don’t want to. This is a lost cause and I want to head home.”
“Are you going to see Grandma?”
He was silent.
“You should.”
“Now don’t you go should-ing all over me,” he said with a smile, which he hoped she felt through the phone.
“You should,” she said again.
“I know.”
“When will you be home?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Will you call me and let me know?”
“Of course, or you can call me.”
She was silent. Cole could feel something there, something that he should ask about but dared not, so far away.
“I’m going now, honey. I have to go to the police station.”
“Be careful.”
“I will. There’s nothing to worry about.” He had said that a few days ago before he left Vancouver. He had meant it then, but now he wasn’t so sure.
“I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you too, Sarah. Be good for your mom.” “I will. Bye.”
He hung up and his hand fell to his side. He needed to sleep for a week. Was it only four days since he had seen Sarah?
The Toyota started with a reassuring roar and he drove to the RCMP detachment. The previously empty parking lot was overflowing with rental cars and TV vans whose satellite dishes pointed skyward, ready to beam the news to the nation.
Cole parked a block away, and walked along the sidewalk. People, likely reporters waiting for the RCMP to make a statement, stood outside the police station. He approached slowly, as if headed toward a cage of dangerous animals. He feared being recognized almost as much as he feared not being recognized.
In the shadow of a cedar shrub he watched for Peggy. He counted a dozen reporters, including TV crews from two of the four national networks. Their lights flooded the front door of the RCMP detachment. Huddled together, reporters chatted in conspiratorial tones. How juicy, thought Cole. A wet dream for the Calgary Herald, the Alberta Standard, and all the other right-wing mouthpieces. For so long the story had been Developer Kills Grizzly, Conservationist Loses Battle. Now the table was turned.
Cole scanned the crowd of journalists and saw Nancy Webber talking to a reporter he didn’t recognize. He inhaled deeply and slowly released his breath. Things had gone about as badly as he expected they would at the Big Sky Restaurant. He expected that they would get worse before they got any better. But he really didn’t see how he could avoid her.
“Someone’s coming out,” a reporter called and all eyes turned to the front door. Cole realized he was holding his breath and he made himself exhale.
Peggy McSorlie walked through the door. She stopped and blinked as her eyes adjusted to the glare.
Keep walking, thought Cole, his body tense and sore.
“Did Dale van Stempvort kill Mike Barnes?” shouted a reporter.
Peggy stood, uncertain if she should stay and answer or push through the throng. “No,” she said. “He’s innocent.”
You’re in the animal soup now, Cole thought to himself.
“Have you been charged too?”
“No! I’m here to arrange for a lawyer for Dale.”
“Does your group advocate violence to stop the mine?”
Cole pushed his way from the back of the group to rescue Peggy.
“The murder of Mike Barnes is a tragedy,” said Peggy, regaining her composure. “Our prayers are with his family tonight.”
Cole caught Peggy by the arm and pulled her through the crowd. More questions were hurled at them. Someone asked, “Who the hell is he?”
Nancy’s face appeared in the crowd. “More lies, Cole?” she asked, and he grimaced.
He spoke into Peggy’s ear. “Where’s your car?”
“Up the street.”
“We’ll take mine,” he growled.
A few reporters followed them to his truck, where Cole tried to brush them off. “No story here, ladies and gents,” he said as amicably as he could. They were saved by shouts that the RCMP was about to make a statement.
“Shouldn’t we wait to hear what they have to say?” Peggy turned toward the station.
“Not unless
you want to answer more questions on Dale van Stempvort’s behalf.”
Peggy was ready to cry.
Cole put the truck in gear and drove past the RCMP station, where Sergeant Reimer was now in the spotlight.
“Where can we talk?” asked Cole.
“My farm?”
“Too far,” he said. “I’d never make it back.”
“There’s a guest room.”
“No thanks. Any place here in town that’s quiet?”
“Andy’s.”
“A friend?”
“No, it’s a bar.”
There is a God, thought Cole. “Sounds good. Where?”
Peggy directed him to a small storefront off Main Street.
“I didn’t know this place existed,” said Cole as he parked.
“You’ve only been here for four days,” said Peggy.
“Feels like four years,” Cole said without a smile.
Andy’s was empty except for a couple at the bar. Half a dozen tables sat in the centre of the small room, which might once have been a diner but was now a jazz bar. Another half dozen booths lined the walls. John Coltrane infused the room with a blue sound.
“This is the cultural centre of Oracle,” said Peggy. “As long as they serve whiskey, it can be anything it likes,” said Cole.
Peggy and Cole slid into a booth. Cole was tired. He didn’t know how he would stay awake. He slumped and Peggy sat upright across from him.
A man approached their table. “Evening, Peggy.”
“Hi Andy.”
“What’ll you have?”
“Big Rock.”
“And you?”
“Jameson, rocks.”
“Coming up,” said Andy.
Cole was silent.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Peggy said.
“I don’t think so, Peggy.”
“You’re thinking this was a really big mistake. You’re thinking, I told you so.”
“OK , so you do know what I’m thinking.” Cole almost smiled.
“You’re also thinking you’d better quit while you’re ahead.”
Their drinks arrived. The whiskey warmed him immediately and he relaxed. “Had occurred to me,” he said.
“Dale said he didn’t do it.”
“Well, then, we’re off the hook. When do they release him?” “Come on, Cole.”
He took another drink. “He didn’t do it? That’s great. Can he prove it?”
“Dale says that he was at home all last night.”
“Got a witness?”
“He lives alone.”
“He doesn’t have a leg to stand on.”
“The police say they’ve identified his truck at the mine. But there are dozens of beat-up old Chevy S10s and Ford Rangers in Oracle. That’s not evidence.”
“Peggy, he has said publicly that he would do anything to stop the mine. The cops have a clear motive. And they have his truck at the scene.”
“They don’t have anything, Cole.”
“Then why is Dale behind bars?”
“Guess.”
Cole sipped his Irish whiskey. “My money is still on guilty. But he’s behind bars right now because of pressure from the mine, the town, the Chamber of Commerce, and from the family.”
“Small town politics, Cole. And there’s something else. People have been calling Dale’s place with death threats. Someone drove by his farm and threw a brick at the house.”
Cole finished his drink.
“You can’t leave now, Cole.”
He raised his eyebrow. “Can’t?”
“Cole, we need you now more than ever.”
“It’s nice to be needed, Peggy, but a man is dead. One of your group members is in jail. I spent the morning in the hospital getting stitched back together and the afternoon in the cop shop getting interrogated by a surly sergeant. In twenty years of activism, I have never, ever had a bad day like this one. And I’ve had my share of bad days.”
“If you quit now, Cole, we’ll lose.”
“You’ve already lost!” Cole shouted. “You can’t save Cardinal Divide now. You’ll be lucky to avoid a charge of collusion or conspiracy, or whatever they call it. Dale van Stempvort kills the mine manager, and your whole group is fingered as a bunch of murderous thugs bent on any level of violence to protect bears and butterflies. I don’t see a way out of this for you, ESCoG, or Cardinal Divide.”
Peggy looked at her hands.
“We’re not going to quit,” she said finally.
“Well I am,” said Cole.
“Don’t run away from us, Cole. Don’t run from yourself.” Cole signalled Andy for another drink. “Don’t get all psychological on me, Peggy. You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know enough, Cole. Stay and help us save Cardinal Divide.”
“This is mission impossible,” scowled Cole. “And I am not Tom Cruise.”
“That’s for sure,” grinned Peggy.
“Nice,” he said. “Look, to save Cardinal Divide, you will first have to save Dale van Stempvort. I hope you’ve got a good lawyer.”
Andy brought Cole another whiskey. Cole took a sip.
“Someone from Legal Aid will come from Red Deer in the morning,” Peggy said when Andy left.
“Legal Aid? Good Lord, Peggy.”
“Dale has no money. I have no money for a lawyer. If this goes to court, he’ll likely have to sell the farm, literally.”
Cole shook his head and finished his whiskey.
“Help us clear Dale’s name.”
“He looks guilty to me. Why in the he – ” He caught himself. “Why should I help clear his name?” he said more quietly.
“Dale is a loudmouth and a bit of a firebrand, but he’s not violent.”
Cole remembered his conversation with Dale the day before when Dale had professed his innocence. Still, he wasn’t sure. “What about the wells?”
“What about them? Destroying technology is different than murder.”
This was the familiar argument that supported eco-sabotage. He shook his head.
“We don’t know how to play the game at this level, Cole. You do. Please don’t leave now.”
“Peggy, I’m a strategist, not a private investigator. I don’t know the first thing about clearing a man’s name of murder.”
“The lawyer will know.”
“Then let him do it!”
“He can use your help. He can use your expertise on the issues.”
They sat across from each other. She finished her beer. His drink was done.
“Sleep on it,” she said finally. “Things won’t look so bad in the morning.”
“I seriously doubt that, Peggy.”
He drove Peggy to her car and took himself back to his hotel, aware that he’d consumed two beers and two whiskeys in the last few hours. He really didn’t need a DUI on top of everything else. Every part of him, including his ego, ached.
The hotel parking lot was nearly full. The reporters were staying here, he guessed. Cole sat in his truck for a moment.
In the morning he would put Oracle in the rearview mirror en route to Vancouver. He could cobble together a stopgap strategy for Peggy long distance to help her save her reputation, maybe her organization. But Cardinal Divide was lost. Dale van Stempvort was lost. And he, Cole Blackwater, had now lost his only paying client. He put his head between his hands on the steering wheel and dozed off.
He woke with a start to hear a familiar voice. On the second floor catwalk Nancy Webber, her black hair illuminated by the glow of the light above her room’s door, called goodnight to someone he could not see. So, things could get worse: she was staying in the same hotel as he was.
Now he knew he had to leave.
12
Cole’s eyes opened. He waited for the phone to ring or the other shoe to drop, expecting further news of murder or mayhem. When none came he looked out the window through the half-open curtains. The morning was lovely, a blue bird day as they c
alled it in Alberta, and over the parking lot and the tops of the houses that lined the road he could see the sculpted forms of foothills beyond. Each hill was carpeted in a thick pattern of dark and light green, the morning sun igniting the tip of each tree with a golden fire. It was so beautiful, thought Cole, that it would be hard to leave. Hard, but not impossible.
Sleep slowly trickled from his soggy mind. But one thing was for certain: he was outta here. He rolled onto his side and pushed himself up with his good hand. He stretched gingerly, felt his whole body tighten.
When he fought, he could wake in the morning too stiff to move. It often took twenty minutes for the kinks to work out of his body. The combination of ranch work, riding, and getting his ears boxed somehow disagreed with his body. His doctor said he had loose ligaments, that his tendons were subject to higher than average buildup of lactic acid. His trainer encouraged more stretching, even yoga. But Cole Blackwater would have nothing to do with that. If his friends at school found out he was doing a downward-facing dog, he would never hear the end of it.
So he stiffened up. The stiffness slowed him down and likely ended his career as an amateur boxer. Lack of flexibility was only one of the things that contributed to his final defeat inside the ring, and out. Lao Tzu said that “that which does not bend breaks.” Pretty clever for a guy who had been dead for a couple of millennia.
He sat on the edge of the bed, dropped his head, and bowed forward to loosen his spine. From that vantage point he got a bird’s eye view of his spare tire. At least he could still see his own dong when he looked down. This morning’s stiffness was come by pretty honestly, he had to admit, but his overall lack of fitness was his own fault. If his brother saw him today he’d shake his head, speechless.
He held his forehead in his hands and let his neck release slowly. Walter was as fit and trim at forty as he was at twenty. That’s what clean living did for you. Thoughts of Walter brought up the memory of the last time they’d been together. Three years ago. He saw himself and Walter standing together in the barn, looking at the boxing ring with its sagging hemp ropes, and the now red-stained canvas floor. The four overhead lights still hung over the ring.
Neither brother spoke a word or shed a tear.
Cole asked himself why he did not keep in touch with Walter. None of it was his brother’s fault. There was nothing Walter could have done. He was a boy then too, only a few years older than Cole. Quieter, steadier, more level-headed for certain, but just a boy.
The Cardinal Divide Page 17