The Glacier Gallows

by Stephen Legault

  “I’m fine. It’s just that, you know, Brian … he was my friend.”

  “Mine too.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ve known him a lot longer than you have. And we’ve been friends—”

  “Where’ve you been?”

  “I had to make a call. To Ottawa. The minister. I had to find a place with cell reception. That wasn’t easy.”

  “You were gone a long time.”

  “I had to walk about two miles to find a place where I could hit a repeater. The minister wasn’t very happy. This is going to be awkward.”

  “More so for Brian, I would say.”

  “Don’t lecture me, Cole. Brian and I have known each other for twenty years.”

  “Are you in the animal soup with Minister Canning?”

  Rick blew his breath out between pursed lips. “You might say that. He didn’t want me to go on this hike. He really doesn’t like Brian. But I told him it would be good for our climate-change program.”

  Cole wanted to ask him what program that was but decided now wasn’t the time.

  “Looks like it was a bad idea after all,” said Rick.

  IT WAS ALMOST one o’clock before the investigation team was ready to conduct interviews. The afternoon sun was hot and the hikers had sought out what little shade the kitchen tent provided from the high-altitude rays. Finally, the party was split up and the conversations began. Cole, to his dismay, watched Inspector Reimer walk toward him. “Mr. Blackwater, unfortunate circumstances once again.”

  “They are.”

  “May we talk, please?” Reimer indicated that they were to step apart from the rest of the group. Cole lifted himself from the rock on which he sat and followed the inspector.

  “Homicide suit you, Inspector?” Cole asked as they moved a few hundred feet apart from the group. They were near the cluster of tents.

  “We call it Major Crimes, and it does. So, what was your role in this little adventure, Mr. Blackwater?”

  “Haven’t we got to a first-name basis yet?” The RCMP inspector didn’t say a word. “I was hired by a client out of Vancouver called Nexus Energy to represent them on the steering committee of the Alternative Energy Group. Brian Marriott was the executive director. I have a lot of backcountry experience, so when we decided to put this fam tour together, it was logical for me to come along and help out.”

  “Fam?”

  “Familiarization tour. The intent was to highlight the impacts of climate change on Waterton-Glacier International Peace Park. We wanted to use it as an example of the real-world impacts of climate change. No glaciers, less water, and so on.”

  “And your guests?”

  “Policy makers, a reporter, experts on climate change, a token environmentalist to keep us all honest.”

  “Tell me about Brian Marriott.”

  “He was hired about eight months ago to lead the AEG. He used to work for the oil and gas lobby. He was an Ottawa insider, tight with ministers and Members of Parliament. I guess he had some kind of conversion awhile back, read a few books, got excited about climate change and the role that alternative energy could play to reduce greenhouse gas emissions.”

  “You don’t sound convinced.”

  “Don’t I? I don’t know; I think he meant well. I’m just never sure when people have these so-called conversions if they really leave their pasts behind.”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “What? Have a conversion? I don’t think so. I’ve always been who I am today.”

  Reimer flipped through a notebook. “What was your relationship like with Mr. Marriott?”

  “It was getting better. It wouldn’t take much to dig up evidence that for a long time Brian and I were on opposite sides of the fence: on climate change, oil and gas exploration, just about every other environmental issue you could think of. I’m sure there’s lots of tape of he and I arguing on Question Period or The House about endangered species or drilling in protected areas. But that was a long time ago.”

  “How long?”

  “At least five years now. More like six. I’ve been out of the Ottawa scene for that long. I left all that behind when I moved to the coast.”

  “How did you feel when you learned that your old arch enemy was going to run the show?”

  “It wasn’t like Superman and Lex Luther, Inspector.”

  “What was it like?”

  “I wasn’t very happy. But I got over it.”

  “How did things turn out?”

  Cole looked out across the cluster of tents, then at the peaks that rose all around the plateau. He was sweating under the blazing sun. “It was still too early to tell.”

  “You had your doubts about something?”

  “Nothing I could put my finger on. Just a suspicion.”

  “Did you ever talk with him about it?”

  “Not in so many words.”

  “Mr. Blackwater, you understand that this is a murder investigation. There isn’t much doubt that Mr. Marriott didn’t die in the fall. We’ll have to confirm this once we recover his body and the ME has an opportunity to do an examination.”

  “How did he die?”

  “I’m not at liberty—”

  “He was shot, wasn’t he?”

  “Again, I can’t say. My point is this, Mr. Blackwater. We’re in the middle of nowhere. There are nine of you up here, along with three guides, assuming we find Mr. Foreman. That’s a lot of people for us to weed through. I wonder if you could tell me if any member of this party might have wanted Mr. Marriott dead?”

  “What?”

  “You heard the question.”

  “Did anybody in the party want him dead? That’s crazy!”

  “I don’t think it’s that crazy. Unless someone walked all the way up here specifically to kill Mr. Marriott, then someone in your party has to be responsible for his death. It would be a big help to us if you could shed some light on the relationship he had with each of these people.”

  Cole shook his head. A trickle of sweat dripped from his eyebrow and fell onto his nose. He wiped it off with the back of his hand. “Brian didn’t know a lot of these people well, really. We came up with the list together.” Cole listed off the members of the group.

  “Who else?”

  “The three guides.”

  “Whom did he know the best?”

  “That’s easy. Richard Turcotte. He’s the parliamentary secretary to the Minister of Natural Resources and the MP for Fort McMurray-Athabasca. They’ve known each other for twenty years. I think Brian raised money for one of his campaigns. They are both pretty close to the Minister of Natural Resources. I mean, Brian was close …”

  “Did Mr. Turcotte have any reason not to like Brian?”

  “Are you asking me if the parliamentary secretary had any reason to kill Brian?”

  “Mr. Blackwater, I don’t expect you to like me much. You and I have history—”

  “You could call it that, Inspector. When I was trying to get to the bottom of the Mike Barnes affair and save the Cardinal Divide a few years ago, you were trying to run me out of town and lock up an innocent man.”

  “I think things worked out pretty well for you in the end. Can you tell me about Mr. Turcotte and Mr. Marriott?”

  “I don’t really know, Inspector. I suspect that Mr. Turcotte wasn’t very happy when Brian left the oil and gas lobby. He likely saw that as a betrayal.”

  “But here he is on a fam trip, as you call it.”

  “Here he is. You’ll have to ask him why he came along.”

  “Anybody else?”

  “I honestly can’t think of who else in this party would have held a grudge against Brian.”

  “Except you. You’ve already told me that there was no love lost between you.”

  “My beef with Brian Marriott was over the day I left Ottawa.”

  “Was it? I think your history of aggressive behavior would suggest that you have an anger-management problem, Mr. Blackwater. I wonder if you didn’t hold a
grudge and wait for an opportunity just like this.”

  “You’re out of your mind.” Cole got to his feet.

  “We’re not done here.”

  “Oh yes we are. You want to accuse me of murder, you’re going to have to get me off this goddamned mountain and put me in a room with a lawyer.”

  “Nobody is charging you with anything.” Inspector Reimer stood up too.

  “Doesn’t make a damn bit of difference to me. You’re fishing, and I’m not going to go along with it. This conversation is over.” He turned to walk away.

  “Mr. Blackwater, I have one more question.”

  “What?”

  “Which of these tents is yours?”

  “That one.” He pointed.

  “From this point on, you may not remove anything from it without me or another officer being present. Are we clear?”

  “Whatever you say, Inspector.” As he said it, the sound of a helicopter engulfed his words. Both looked to the east as a Black Hawk came in low over the ridge and circled the camp once.

  “This just got a whole lot more interesting,” yelled Reimer over the din.

  “Why is that?”

  “That’s the FBI.”

  SEVEN

  OTTAWA, ONTARIO. FEBRUARY 12.

  BRIAN MARRIOTT WALKED UP METCALFE Street to Wellington and faced the Parliament Buildings. He crossed the street and watched snow fall on the Centennial Flame. Beyond the expansive front lawn, lights shone on Parliament’s gothic Centre Block and Peace Tower. Three hundred feet above, a Canadian flag snapped in the cold wind. Brian pulled his scarf up around his neck. It was a beautiful building. He had always believed that every Canadian should see it. It stirred something and made him feel patriotic.

  The US Embassy was on the far side of the Rideau Canal. He considered the jet-setting former US senator who was now the head of High Country Energy. The US, Canada, and China in the same month. What was Thompson promoting? His energy play on the Blackfeet Reservation had nothing to do with Canada or China. He’d also visited Fort Mac; was HCE looking to buy into the tar sands?

  The snow was falling harder; the hooded lights that lined the broad walkway seemed to glow. Brian Marriott drove his hands into his pockets and walked toward the West Block.

  THE ROOM WAS crowded by the time he arrived. He checked his coat and straightened his tie and patted the rest of the snow off his hair and used his fingers to comb it into place. He found his way to the bar and amid the chatter ordered a beer. There was a massive table in the center of the room, piled with food. He didn’t have time to fill a plate before he heard his name called.

  “Call security—the enemy has infiltrated the party.” Three men in dark suits and flashy ties were watching him and grinning. He put his plate down and extended a hand.

  “Come all the way from Calgary for a free meal?” Brian asked.

  “Lobby day on the Hill. Everybody is here. Our people met with two hundred MPs today,” a man named Frank Sheridan said.

  “It’s good to see you, Frank. Who are your friends?”

  Frank introduced Terry and Roger. They all shook. “Young guns at Centrex Petroleum. Hungry; you remember how that used to feel?”

  “I still do. Now I’ve got an appetite for something other than bitumen.”

  “You’re the Brian Marriott?” asked Terry.

  “That’s right.”

  “I read about you when I was in university. You ran the campaign to shut down the Endangered Species Act. Keep the feds from sticking their noses into provincial jurisdiction. Man, that was a hell of a move.”

  “It was.” Brian ate a shrimp.

  Their conversation was interrupted when a microphone was turned on and feedback echoed in the room. “Friends,” said Rick Turcotte from a podium. The parliamentary secretary held up his hands, and the room fell quiet. “Friends, it’s my pleasure today to introduce to you someone who every single day of his life wakes up and fights for the vitality of this great country’s heart and soul. A man who, every Wednesday, when he sits down with his Cabinet colleagues—and let me tell you that despite what you might think, there are a few in Cabinet who are not our friends—fights for your interests and the interests of Canada. Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce the Minister of Natural Resources and the MP for Calgary North East, the Honourable David Canning.”

  The room filled with raucous applause. The minister stepped from the crowd, shook a few hands, and took the podium.

  “Thank you, Secretary Turcotte. Friends, let me tell you that I have great comfort with Rick Turcotte representing my ministry in the House of Commons when I’m away on the nation’s business. Heck, I might even take a few more fishing trips knowing that a fighter like Rick is speaking for me in the House.” There was laughter and a spatter of applause.

  “It’s a real pleasure for me to welcome you to Parliament Hill. I understand that you’ve had a chance to meet with many of my colleagues in Parliament today. I’m told that this was the most successful Hill Day for the Petroleum Resources Group since you started these visits. I don’t suppose that has anything to do with the fact that the people of Canada saw fit to elect a majority government last year? Maybe it’s just that in February the Ottawa weather is irresistible.” There was another round of applause and laughter, and the minister paused.

  “Let me get to the heart of my reason for joining you tonight. You have a real opportunity as an industry to sell our energy to new markets worldwide, and this government will make sure that the conditions are right for you to do that. With China, India, and other developing economies hungry for our clean, ethical oil, Canada is in a good position to become an energy superpower. That means jobs across this country and prosperity for future generations. But we can’t be an energy superpower without protecting the environment.”

  “Sure we can!” yelled someone in the audience, and everybody except Brian laughed.

  “Believe me, friends, we’d like to, but in this day and age, it’s just not possible. If I had my way, we’d send all the environmentalists back to their trust funds where they belong. Lock ’em up and throw away the key. But we live in a democracy, and as much as I might not like it, we’ve got to pay some lip service to what the environmentalists have to say.” The room was quiet and Brian risked a glance at the visitors from Calgary. Even they recognized that the unscripted moment by the minister had put him on thin ice.

  “What I’m here to tell you, and what I will announce officially from the press gallery tomorrow”—the minister got back on track—“is a new set of guidelines that will make it easier for new technology to address greenhouse gas reductions. This will include the development of new guidelines for the production and supply of alternative forms of energy across Canada: wind, solar, geothermal. The purpose of this set of guidelines will be to make it easier for businesses like yours to diversify your energy-production technology to stay competitive in the twenty-first century.” The crowd applauded, and it felt to Brian Marriott that half the people in the room turned and looked at him.

  “So once again, welcome to the nation’s capital. I hope you enjoy your night and I look forward to your support for these new alternative-energy guidelines. And, of course, I look forward to ensuring that this government supports you.” The minister stepped down and shook a few more hands.

  “Did you see that coming?” Roger asked Brian.

  “I had no idea.”

  “Really, not even a little?”

  “We’ve asked for a review but didn’t think it was on their radar screen. I mean, I talked with Rick about it last month, but …”

  “Brian!” It was Rick Turcotte. He shook hands with Brian and introductions were made. “Well, what do you think?”

  “I don’t know what to think.”

  “It’s what you wanted, right?”

  “Sure. I mean, we’ll have to see what the actual announcement looks like.”

  Rick laughed. “Wow, now you really sound like an environmentalist:
always hedging your bets; never sure if you can actually congratulate big bad government. Be there at 11:00 AM tomorrow. I’ll put a guest pass aside at security.”

  “Sure. Rick—”

  “No buts. Just be there.”

  “Are you going to lump the regulatory review on greenhouse gas technology in with alternative power?”

  “Yes. Why?” replied Rick.

  “Well, it’s apples and oranges.”

  “It’s still all fruit. I think you should be happy. We’ll clean up the atmosphere and open new markets domestically and abroad. It’s a win-win.”

  “Win-win for your government and the oil and gas sector, maybe. What else will be in the regulatory review?”

  “Just come to the press conference. You might have an opportunity to chat with the minister afterward.”

  “I’ll try to clear my morning.”

  “Good. I hope you don’t have to disappoint one of your Greenpeace friends by not having a decalf soy latte with them.” The Calgary men laughed.

  Brian left the room and walked down the long corridor alone. He wondered what kind of trap he was walking into the following morning.

  EIGHT

  GLACIER NATIONAL PARK, MONTANA. JULY 10.

  WHEN THE STEADY WHOCK-WHOCK-WHOCK OF the Black Hawk helicopter had finally died, Cole looked into the cloud of dust to watch four men disembark. He expected them to be wearing suits, but all were dressed casually in jeans or chinos and dark windbreakers. One of the agents stopped to help a fifth person, a woman in her fifties, step from the helicopter. She carried a small backpack but didn’t appear to be a law-enforcement officer.

  Inspector Reimer walked to where the FBI officers huddled. Cole’s brother, along with the special investigator from Glacier National Park, had climbed the trail to join the exchange. Soon a conference of a dozen people was under way. Cole’s heart caught in his throat when Inspector Reimer turned and pointed to him. He straightened up as if he’d been caught with his elbows on the dinner table. A moment later, one of the FBI agents walked over and stood before him.

  “Mr. Blackwater?”

  “That’s me.”

  “I’m Special Agent Steven McCallum. Sir, we would like to talk with you.”