by Cathy Pegau
“I figured you and Michael might want to have it as close to unsullied as possible. Though I didn’t think about any of the men watching being the perpetrator.”
“What makes you think there was foul play?” Michael asked.
“I heard loud voices and some sort of ruckus last night,” she said. “Late, after everyone else seemed to have gone to sleep. And the dogs became restless soon after.”
“Could have been anything or anyone.” James was always good at offering alternative explanations. Not to deny there was something suspicious, but to make sure he had as many avenues covered as possible. “We’ll talk to these folks for a minute; then you can show us the path you believe Welsh took.”
They had reached the mess tent. When they stepped through the heavy flap, the conversation that was already buzzing became almost overwhelming.
“What’s going to happen now, Deputy?”
“When can we leave?”
“I’m not staying here a minute longer. This film is cursed.”
The comments grew louder, and the people closest to the door moved a step forward.
Unaffected by the pressing crowd, James set his bags down and pulled off his gloves. He touched his thumb and middle finger of his right hand together, put them in his mouth, and let off a piercing whistle.
Everyone froze and fell silent.
Brows furrowed in his “I’ll take no guff from the likes of you” expression, James lowered his hand. “Listen up. I know you folks have been here longer than you wish under unpleasant circumstances, but until we get some answers about what happened, you’ll stay where I tell you. I’ll be asking some general questions and then talk to individuals. Dr. Brody and I will go to the scene to gather information. Now, get some coffee, find a place to sit down, and shut up.” When no one moved, James’s expression darkened. “Go.”
Muttering and grumbling, they went to find refreshments and seats.
“I was almost compelled to go with them,” Charlotte said quietly.
James snorted. “I know better than to expect such discipline from you.”
They set Michael’s bags off to the side, and Charlotte found an out-of-the-way seat nearby. Despite having her notebook in her pocket, she didn’t retrieve it. People tended to talk more freely if they didn’t think they were being recorded.
After everyone settled down and looked to James, he spread his feet and clasped his hands behind his back. “Good. Thank you. I know this is a difficult time,” he said, his voice softer now, more sympathetic. “The doctor and I have been called out to determine the circumstances of Mr. Welsh’s death, but we need your help. First, let’s get a timeline of his activities. Who was the last to see him?”
Several people started talking at once. James held up his hands again.
“He had dinner here in the tent with the rest of us at seven,” Peter York offered.
Roger Markham added, “Then we had a meeting about today’s shoot and what we needed to change or keep, angles, time, that sort of thing, schedule for the scenes we wanted next. That lasted until nearly nine.”
Caleb Burrows spoke from the back of the mess. “I met with Mr. Welsh about then to discuss the AEC concerns.”
That was before Charlotte had seen the men by the bins near ten o’clock. Why meet again, outside and not in one of their tents? Were they afraid Miles Smith or Mrs. Welsh would interrupt?
“And it got right loud,” someone said. “I could hear you going on from the film shed with the door shut.”
Burrows’s face darkened. “Mr. Welsh was having a difficult time understanding our concerns. Some of you just don’t see what the problem is, portraying our people as primitive villains so you’ll look good.”
Several people began denying that North to Fortune was trying to do any such thing, their arguments getting louder, faces growing redder. Standing beside Burrows, Miles Smith clenched his hands into fists, his eyes darting among the crowd as if waiting for someone to come at him and the lawyer.
James’s voice boomed out over them all. “Enough!” When they fell mostly silent again, he addressed Burrows. “When did you and Mr. Welsh part company?”
Burrows crossed his arms, chin lifted. For a moment, Charlotte wasn’t sure if he was going to answer the deputy, but he did. “Nine-fifteen or so. We never really reached an agreement, but he was feeling ill, said he needed to go take some medicine. He left, I assume to go to his tent.”
No mention of his later meeting with Welsh. That was odd.
James found Carmen Welsh where she sat with Cicely and Roslyn. The older woman was pale, her face drawn.
“Ma’am?” James said with a gentleness Charlotte knew he reserved for such moments.
Carmen gazed up at him, shaking her head. “I didn’t hear him come in. I’d taken a sleeping draught earlier. I don’t sleep well away from home.”
“He stopped by to see me about the scenario,” Cicely said. “We spoke for a few minutes.” She glanced at Roslyn, who met her eye, then looked away. “Then he headed toward his and Mother’s tent, I think. That was at nine forty-five, or thereabout.”
The group fell silent after that, with everyone looking around to see if anyone else had anything to add. When no one spoke up, James shifted his gaze to Charlotte.
“You heard something.”
Charlotte sat up straighter, surprised he called on her. “Yes. I don’t know what time it was, but the lights were out. I heard some loud voices and what sounded like something falling.”
She’d mention the conversation between Welsh and Burrows that Burrows hadn’t revealed later, when she and James had a chance to speak alone.
“Anyone else hear that?” he asked.
Heads shook, no’s were murmured. A couple of people corroborated, but they hadn’t worried about what they’d heard or when.
“The dogs were bothered by something,” Charlotte said. “One barked, and Dave told him to hush. He said he barely recalled that much.”
“All right,” James said. “Dr. Brody, Miss Brody, and I are going out to examine the site. I want you all to stay here or go back to your tents. We’ll need some help, I reckon, getting Mr. Welsh, so if someone has any ideas, I’d be obliged.”
“We can use the rigging we had in mind for lowering Roslyn into the crevasse,” a crewman offered. “Won’t take long to set it up.”
James gave the man a nod. “Come out when you get it ready.” He turned to Charlotte and Michael. “Let’s go.”
“Why does she get to go?” Wallace Meade rose from his chair near the front of the tent. “Miss Brody has no more business in this investigation than any of us.”
“Because,” James said over his shoulder as he held the tent flap open, “I trust her.”
Warmth from his support filled Charlotte as they made their way across the campsite. The sun was headed toward the horizon. It wouldn’t be long before it was too dim to see much of anything.
“I think Stanley came this way,” Charlotte said, leading them toward the dog pen. “Maybe from his own tent, maybe not.” She pointed out which tent was occupied by whom. “That first one is Cicely and Roslyn’s. Past theirs is the Welshes’ tent. On the other side of that is Meade’s. Becca and I are beside Cicely and Roslyn, then Paige and Elaine the costumer, and lastly Peter and Roger.”
Other crew members, as well as Caleb Burrows and Miles Smith, occupied the remaining six tents.
“What about Burrows and Smith? Where are they staying?” James asked.
Charlotte pointed to a far corner of the four-by-three setup of tents. “There somewhere.”
Charlotte led him and Michael between the first line of sleep tents and the mess tent, around the back of the mess tent, and past the row of sheds to Dave the dog handler’s. Several of the dogs yipped and howled, excited to see people. Others stared silently, the ones with light eyes sending a shiver down Charlotte’s spine. They were beautiful animals, but those ice-blue eyes seemed to look into your soul. One dog ba
rked.
“I think that’s Byron, the dog Dave hushed,” she said, nodding toward the brawny mutt.
At the sound of his name, Byron wagged his tail.
“When we came by earlier,” Charlotte said, “I noticed that some straw outside the fence line had been strewn farther up on the ice.”
“Could have been the wind,” Michael suggested.
“The wind has been coming down from the glacier,” she pointed out. “Dave found this caught on the pen post that had been half pushed over.” Charlotte took the bit of wool from her jacket pocket and handed it to James. “Mr. Welsh’s slipper was being used as a chew toy. It’s in my bag in my tent.”
“From trousers or a blanket, maybe,” he said, rubbing the rough fabric between his fingers. He looked up, squinting across the ice as he passed the fibers to Michael, who put them into an envelope then in his pocket. “I see the men standing guard.”
“It’s almost a direct path to the crevasse from here. If he was alone, Stanley was making a beeline in that direction for some reason.” They started off again. Both James and Michael were searching the ground before them. “I didn’t see much else.”
“No, me neither. Doc?”
Michael shook his head. “How did you find him, Charlotte?”
“There were a number of us out here looking for Stanley this morning. We spread out a little, knowing the ice had some dangerous patches. As we got closer to the crevasse that Stanley was going to use to trap a character in the film, I just got a feeling.” The queasy, stomach-flipped sensation made itself known again the closer they got to the men standing near the crevasse. “I was hoping it was just my active imagination at work.”
“I’m Deputy Eddington,” James said to the men. “Either of you have anything to tell me about this?”
They exchanged looks and shrugs; then one spoke up. “Not really. Been taking turns just standing around, making sure no one messes with things.” He gestured toward Charlotte. “Like the lady asked. What do you think happened?”
“We’re gonna try to find out,” James said. He and Michael stepped closer and looked over the edge. Charlotte joined them. James took a flashlight out of his coat pocket, turned it on, and pointed the light downward. “Not sure if there’s something under him or if it’s just a shadow. Not much room, but maybe the two of us can go down and examine the body, then rig him to be brought up.”
Michael set his bags down. “Let me go down alone first.”
Charlotte didn’t bother to hide her shock. “Michael, it’s awfully dangerous.”
Her brother wasn’t exactly athletic.
“I’ll be on a rope all the while with someone up here holding the other end, right?” When everyone agreed that would be the standard procedure, Michael shrugged. “Can’t think of anything that could go wrong then. And it’ll allow me to perform a better in situ examination.”
James directed the flashlight down into the crevasse again. “Fine by me, Doc. After you’re done, I’ll come down and we’ll get him hoisted up to the surface.” He addressed the men. “Go on back and get yourselves warmed up. We’ll take it from here. And thanks.”
The two guards shuffled back toward camp, passing the crewman who was in charge of the rope rigging and his assistant. They set up a series of anchors hammered into the ice, pulleys, and rope. Charlotte was impressed with the preparedness of the crew. Maybe Welsh had more forethought about the dangerous scene than the others had suspected.
The men had Michael step into a harness, secured a line to the metal ring near his waist, and then gave him some instruction on how to descend without swinging around. One of Michael’s exam bags was tied to another rope so he would be able to use both hands.
When he was ready, Michael put his back to the crevasse and got onto his hands and knees. After running the line through the anchors and pulleys, the two crewmen stood one behind the other, feet planted and ice crampons on their boots digging in.
“Slow and easy, Doc,” the lead man said.
With a reassuring smile at Charlotte, Michael lowered himself over the side. James helped him get into position. Charlotte’s heart edged toward her throat, but she stepped closer to watch. He’ll be fine. He’s on a strong rope. He’ll be fine.
The men made sure Michael’s descent was as safe and steady as possible. Michael used his feet and hands to keep from banging against the ice walls. Some sharp protrusions stuck out, but he deftly skirted them. Finally, after what had to be no more than several minutes but felt like hours, his feet touched the surface ten feet down, beside Welsh.
“All right,” he called up. “Send my bag, would you?” While he waited, Michael took a flashlight from his pocket and shined it down on the body. “Not a shadow under him, Eddington, a blanket caught beneath his head and shoulders.”
“Where’s the rest of it?” James lowered Michael’s bag into the crevasse.
Michael squatted, trying to see beneath Welsh without touching him. “There’s another crevasse under him. Not as wide, of course, but wide enough. Might have gotten wedged in there, if he’d fallen the right way.”
Thank goodness for small favors.
“What else can you see?” James asked. “Any wounds? Blood?”
Michael pulled off his gloves and ran his bare hands over Welsh’s body, gently probing his head, neck, shoulders, arms, ribs, hips, and legs. “Possibly a broken neck, but whether that was the cause of death is hard to say. No significant blood or wounds. A few minor abrasions on his head. Probably from the fall.”
James gave Charlotte a pointed look, then asked Michael, “Do you think he fell in on his own or had some help?”
“No idea. He’s partially frozen down here. I’ll get a better sense after he warms up a bit.”
James cast a glance back at the men still holding Michael’s line. “We need to get Welsh harnessed. Any ideas?”
The lead man made sure his companion was prepared to take the line alone; then he joined James and Charlotte at the edge of the crevasse. After crossing himself, he scratched his chin, assessing the situation.
“Welsh isn’t a big man,” he said. “We can rig something. Need to go down there, but we’ll manage.”
Charlotte looked over the side. There was barely room for Michael, who was not a large man himself. Adding the slight-of-frame crewman would create difficulty in maneuvering, but there was no choice if they were to retrieve the body.
“Do what you have to,” James said. “We need to get him out of there.” He called down to Michael. “You okay, Doc?”
Michael scraped something off of Welsh’s coat, which the director had worn over his striped pajamas, and put it in a small jar. “Just fine. I’ll collect a few samples, then help get Welsh secured, since I’m already down here. But sooner would be better than later. It’s damn cold down here.”
“On my way, Doc,” the crewman said, and hurried to the canvas bag he’d brought.
Charlotte watched Michael work. “He seems almost relaxed down there.”
“Who,” James asked, “your brother?”
She nudged his shoulder. “No, Mr. Welsh. Wouldn’t you think that if he’d been walking along and fell over the edge he would have panicked and tried to catch himself? People flail about when they feel themselves falling.”
“He might have,” James said, but he didn’t sound completely convinced. “Unless he was inebriated.”
“The opening of the crevasse isn’t all that wide,” Charlotte pointed out. “Even inebriated, if he’d tried to catch the side, he would have hit the edges in his efforts, don’t you think? There should be wounds on his hands, or maybe more bruises.”
James frowned down at the body. “Damn it,” he said quietly so the two crewmen wouldn’t hear. “We might just have a murderer out here.”
Charlotte had thought the same thing when she first saw Welsh’s body, but had chalked it up to her journalist’s mind and overactive imagination. Who would want to kill the director?
&n
bsp; Plenty of folks, she realized. Welsh had a beef with half a dozen of the people sitting a few hundred yards away. And those were only the ones she knew of since the day before yesterday.
“Get him up here as soon as you can,” James said to the lead man. “We’ll get the dog sled over to transport him back to camp. Doc, you have something to cover him real good, right? No need to traumatize his wife and daughter.”
“I do,” Michael said, his voice echoing upward. “I’ll do a proper autopsy back in town.”
James took Charlotte’s arm in a light grasp and walked her a few steps away from the men working the rope rigging. “I’ll stay here to keep an eye on things. I need you to ask the handler to ready his dog team, under official request by the marshal’s office.”
Charlotte nodded. “I can do that. James, there’s something else.” He gave a questioning look that prompted her to continue. “Caleb Burrows is lying.”
His blue eyes narrowed. “About what?”
“About when he last saw Stanley.” Keeping her voice down so only James would hear, she told him what she’d seen and heard the previous night near the bins. “But Stanley walked away quite alive.”
“Did Burrows follow him?”
She shook her head. “Not that I could tell. He seemed to go around the back side of the sleep tents, toward his own, while Stanley went to his own.”
James stared off into the distance, absently scratching at his bearded chin. “Doesn’t mean he killed the man, doesn’t mean he didn’t.”
“Then why not say they’d spoken a second time?”
“That, Miss Brody, is a very good question.”
Chapter 7
There were a number of people in the mess tent when Charlotte returned. Some were playing cards or checkers, others were reading or chatting to pass the time while they waited on word from James. People often sought the comfort of others in trying times, and it was also the warmest place in camp, she wagered. Questioning faces turned to her after she closed the flap.
“Well, Miss Brody, have you and your deputy decided we can leave?” Wallace Meade asked. His tone made it perfectly clear how he felt about both of them.