“I only smoked it once,” Roland said. “Didn’t like it. Don’t smoke, generally. Never did.”
“Why are you showing me a pipe, sir?”
Clara said, “It was a gift from Lenny on Roland’s seventieth. On Frank’s sixteenth birthday I made his favourite cake, and I cried rivers. He ate his cake with his bags all packed, and he gave me a hug and walked out the door. My favourite baby boy. A slap in the face. We were a very close-knit family when the boys were growing up. One year we went to Nevada. They loved Nevada, especially Frank. We have pictures of them on packhorses. I’ll show you.”
She started to rise, but Dion stopped her. “Really, I just need to know, can either of you think of any friends or relatives Leonard might have gone to in the area?”
Roland answered. “My sister Mabel. Mabel Renfrew. Always very close to the boys.”
Dion raised his brows at him. “Whereabouts does she live, sir?”
“Vernon, B.C.”
Dion wrote it all down, asked for an address, and watched Roland Law’s long, dark face break into a chuckle. “Last known address,” the man said, “Pleasant Valley Cemetery, Vernon.”
Dion drew a line through Mabel, and Roland went on to contradict everything his wife had just explained about sin and corruption and hostile takeovers. “Don’t know why you’re looking for Lenny. Good boys, all three. Always were.”
Cap back on, notebook tucked away, Dion thanked them for their time and turned to leave, but Roland had one more nugget to offer. “Maybe they gone up the Dease,” he said. “Lenny and his wife, the injun. That’s where she’s from, far as I know. Dease.”
Dion looked back at the man. He didn’t want to pursue this. He wanted to run. The room was making him seasick, the grandfather clock banging at his brain. “Pardon, sir? What?”
“Oh, for god’s sake, that’s Robert,” Clara snapped. “It’s Robert married the Indian lady, not Lenny. Honestly, Rolly, your mind is going in leaps and bounds.”
Roland swooped both hands downward in go-to-hell anger and left the room. A door down the hall slammed shut. Clara hurried after her husband, and Dion stood alone in the sour, trapped air, listening to the ticking of the clock that he could swear was not keeping time with the rest of the world. And then a distant, muffled argument.
He saw himself out. The gloomy morning now seemed over-lit, hard on the eyes. He got into his car and began to write out a summary of the disjointed interview in his notebook, but stalled after the bare basics because the rest, it seemed to him, was garbage.
He’d woken this morning with renewed ambition. Showered and shaved and buffed his boots and went in early, but everything dragged him down, the new computer with the power button he couldn’t locate, the complicated short-term transfer paperwork, and meeting the local constables who met his short greeting with their own. Whatever was left of his waking spirit had been trampled flat by Clara and Roland Law.
He studied the paragraph he’d written, knowing there was something he was missing. Something he’d heard that he’d meant to follow up on. But his handwriting had gone to ratshit along with all his other skills, and whatever it was had been washed away in the stream of Clara’s words.
Did it matter, though? The Laws didn’t know where Lenny was, hadn’t seen any of their sons in a while, and even if they had, they wouldn’t know it. He checked his watch and wrote down time of departure, precise to the minute. The time seemed wrong, so he checked it against the dashboard clock and found it was off by several minutes. Just like himself, just like the grandfather clock in the Laws’ living room, his watch was having trouble keeping up.
* * *
Two o’clock and the snow was coming down again, big flakes hitting the earth like slow-motion bombs, adding to the mess on the mountainside. Leith was behind the wheel of the SUV, with Sergeant Mike Bosko beside him. They were headed once more up the Bell 3 logging road, first to see the Matax trailhead in the light of day, and second to pay a visit to Rob Law, who wasn’t making it easy for them, keeping to his cut block and returning no calls.
The drive was as slow and gruelling as it had been the first time up. The light of day made it easier than last night, but the occasional logging truck coming down made it much, much worse, forcing Leith to pull over on the narrow track, as close to the drop-off as he dared, and hold his breath as the truck lurched past. Worse, he had no choice on one occasion but to reverse downhill till he could find a pullout.
At last they reached the flat spot that was the parking area for the Matax trail, where Kiera’s truck had been found. They left the vehicle and stood looking about. Leith was ready for the cold, as always, in long johns under his jeans, hiking boots, fleece, and storm jacket, hood pulled up against the snow. Bosko was still dressed for a stroll down city streets, in overcoat, baggy black trousers, and Oxfords.
There was nothing to see here, in Leith’s eyes. The forest had been searched last night, searched again today, and if there were anything to be found, it would have been. Before him stood just another hectare of woods in a hundred thousand hectares that stretched out in every direction, and a gravel road with banks of dirty snow spewed by truck tires. Beyond this clearing for parking there was a dip down, and then a rise toward the Matax trail. Not an inviting hike, by the looks of it, but Renee Giroux had said it got really nice after about an hour’s trek. She’d told him he should try it sometime. In late summer, when the wildflowers were at their best. “No thanks,” he’d answered. He didn’t like hiking — it amounted to nothing but sore feet, sweat, bears, and mosquitos — and even if he did, this place would be forever haunted to him. Even if this case ended well.
Standing now on the road with no sound but the wind singing in his ears, he was reminded of the absurdity of one of their scenarios. He said, “What are the odds she gets stuck here just as a serial killer is cruising by? This is not the kind of place you’d trawl for victims.”
“Or, as we discussed last night, it could be he works in a logging outfit up here somewhere, or drives truck,” Bosko said. “A case of the wrong time, wrong place.”
Or, Leith supposed, the Pickup Killer could have broken his pattern of targeting the unknown and unwanted and become fixated on the exact opposite, this beautiful young singer, loved by everyone. Started following her around. Followed her up the mountain, and then … then what? Gambled that her car would break down and leave her vulnerable?
Last night the ident section had found the reason for the Isuzu’s engine stall: a dislodged electronic fuel-supply sensor. What they couldn’t say was if it was entropy or sabotage that did it. Taking the sabotage theory to its conclusion, did the killer mess with her Rodeo while it was parked at the Law residence, when the band was inside rehearsing, again gambling that it would die in some remote spot instead of in the local IGA parking lot? Or did he force her to a stop, get her immobilized, and then sabotage her truck to divert suspicion?
He mentally balled up the theory and trashed it, and it was back to scenario one, an age-old story: the boyfriend did it. Or in this case, maybe the boyfriend’s brother.
They returned to the vehicle and continued up the road. After twenty minutes, it forked without signage, and Leith had to consult his forestry map to learn he’d want to go left. They didn’t reach the logging site run by Rob Law, called RL Logging Ltd., for another ten minutes of bone-jarring ascent, and here suddenly was life and noise, the churning of an active logging show amidst a clearing.
Again they stepped from the truck, and they found it was colder here, windier. Just the altitude, Leith supposed, or the lack of shelter, brought the temperature down. A crew of five or six pushed large machines through the snow, and a worker in yellow rain gear swung off a Caterpillar to ask their business. Leith asked to speak with Rob Law, and the worker indicated the loader toiling away a hundred yards uphill, swinging logs from the great pile of timber on the landing onto the long s
pine of a waiting rig. “That’s him there. Why? Got some news? Kiera …”
“’Fraid not,” Leith said. “Could you call him over for us? Just a few questions.”
The worker got on his radio and forged off through the dirty snow. Bosko said, “I understand Rob and Frank inherited the company from their father Roland eight years ago or so, and that Roland’s no longer involved. Is that right?”
Leith hadn’t a clue. “That’s what I understand,” he agreed. He watched a man he assumed to be Rob Law approaching. He wore a plaid mack jacket and jeans, hard helmet on, pulled low. He’s going to be difficult, he thought. He said, “D’you want to take the lead on this one? I’d rather do the observing.”
“Sure.”
The logger took his time making his way over, pausing to talk to his crew, kicking at a piece of machinery, but finally stood before them, face tipped back with what looked like challenge. He wasn’t so tall, about five-ten, but solid. Renee Giroux called him antisocial and/or misogynistic. Any time she encountered him in town he’d be ducking his face, she said, and she believed it was more to do with her sex than her rank.
Leith introduced himself and Bosko. “You’re a difficult man to get a hold of,” he added. “You didn’t get our message to come down and talk, sir?”
“Busy,” Rob Law said. He swung the Thermos he was carrying toward a portable workstation set up on a nearby slope, what Jayne Spacey had called the Atco. “We can talk in there. You’re supposed to wear lids, eh.” He rapped his own hard hat.
“We won’t tell,” Bosko said.
Rob led the way around pulverized wood debris and coffee-coloured ice puddles, climbed the set of fold-out stairs leading up to the Atco trailer’s door, stomped the soil off his boots at the threshold, shoved open the three-quarter size aluminum door, and stood aside to let them pass. The trailer they found themselves in was a long, near-empty room that apparently served as his on-site headquarters. Heat and light were provided by a grumbling generator. A kitchen table with mismatched lawn chairs was set at one end, a ratty sofa at the other, everything else in between. Deck of cards on the table, coffee maker on the counter, small fridge, mini-sink. Supernatural BC wall calendar. Without asking, Rob cleared the table of paperwork and set three cups of coffee on the Arborite tabletop, one cup in front of each folding chair. Bosko took the cue first and sat. Leith took his own chair and watched Rob step away, shove open the door, and leave the trailer without so much as an “excuse me.”
Leith left his chair to watch through a window, making sure their subject wasn’t fleeing, and saw Rob walk back toward the trees and step into a bright blue Johnny-on-the-spot. If this was an arms or drugs charge Leith would be worried, but it wasn’t. Under his breath he said, “Real king of the castle here, aren’t you.”
The king of the castle returned, washed his hands more meticulously than Leith would have expected, took his chair at the head of the table, dried his palms on his jeans, folded his arms, and waited.
As Leith had suggested, Bosko did the questioning. Leith wondered now why he had suggested it, really. True, he wanted the opportunity to sit quietly and observe Rob answering questions, but more so he wanted to see how Bosko operated. There was anxiety too, in that he feared he’d make an ass of himself in front of Bosko. He could be abrasive, he knew, and his interviewees could be too, and now and then his questioning sessions became shit-slinging contests. He didn’t want that to happen here.
He wondered further why he cared what Bosko thought of him, and it took another moment of self-analysis to get it. Simple, really: Bosko was looking for talent for his new Serious Crimes Unit down on the Lower Mainland, and Leith wished to impress him. Ergo, Leith wished to leave the north, which in turn came as a big surprise to himself, something he’d have to consider later.
He sat and observed the men, Mike Bosko and Rob Law, as they talked. Rob was not bad looking, in a rough-hewn kind of way. His hair was longish and unkempt, face moody and unwelcoming, a bit of a worker troll. Bosko explained to the troll in a level, respectful way that there were no leads on what had happened to Kiera. He described where the investigation was at. Finally he asked for some background information: How long had Rob known the girl?
The logger’s face slewed into an exaggerated sniff. “I don’t know. A while.”
“What’s a while?”
“Years. Who knows? Why? It matters?”
“Well, I can tell you,” Bosko said, “it might seem pointless to you, and maybe it is. But we have a lot of blanks to fill in right now. I can also tell you that I’ve only got about ten short questions, but if you answer each one like this, we’re going to be here for a lot longer than you probably want.”
He said it nicely enough, but Leith expected a backlash. None came. The veiled anger in Rob’s eyes neither darkened nor lightened, but he seemed to get the message. “I’ve known her as long as she and Frank got together, which is when they were teens, so whatever that is.”
“Good,” Bosko said. Good was a reward word, a tool Leith rarely used. He watched another degree of tension leave Rob’s face. “Tell us about Saturday,” Bosko said. “The day she went missing. Give a timeline of what you did that day, starting from when you woke up in the morning.”
“Timeline.” Rob said it with distaste, maybe just not keen on fancy words applied to his unfancy life. “Got up with the light, got to work. Worked all day. The crew knocked off at six and took off home. I did my paperwork and went down the hill about seven. On the way I found her wheels parked off to the side. Checked it out a bit and then went down and told Frank about it. That’s about all I know. Frank went off looking for her. I’d have gone and helped, but I was dead on my feet. Went straight to bed.”
“You didn’t take part in the search?”
“Other than looking at her truck there when I found it and hollering out her name, I never joined the party, no. If a dozen guys with dogs and whistles can’t find her, I sure couldn’t either.”
Bosko paused, maybe thinking what Leith was thinking, that Rob by his own admission was alone at the Matax at 7:00 p.m., and it was only his word that he hadn’t found Kiera there at that time and done something with her. It was unlikely but worth a follow-up.
“Did you notice anything else in the area that night, besides her vehicle?” Bosko asked. “Tire tracks, footprints, items on the ground, anything out of the ordinary?”
“No. Wasn’t looking, didn’t notice. Never crossed my mind anything worse had happened than she’d broke down and gotten a ride back to town with somebody. Probably one of my crew, heading home.”
“The big question on everyone’s mind,” Bosko said, “is why she was heading up the Bell 3. The only possible destination is this worksite, don’t you think? Did she communicate with you in any way, that day or before, that she was coming to see you? Were you expecting her?”
Rob sat stone-still and drilled his eyes at Bosko for a long moment before giving the shortest possible answer. “No.”
“You can’t think of any reason, then, for her visit?”
“No.”
“Was she friendly with any of your crew?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Did any of your crew leave the site between noon, say, and shut-down?”
“Not that I know.”
“If they had, would you know it?”
“Definitely.”
“Any logging trucks leave or arrive without the usual paperwork?”
“’Course not.”
Bosko had one more question, the one that had been put to Frank earlier this morning. “Your brother Lenny, do you know where he is? We can’t seem to find him.”
“Hey?”
For the first time, something other than obstinance crossed Rob’s face, a flush of anxiety maybe. Leith took over then. “Frank tells us Lenny’s gone to Prince George with a friend, T
ex. But we haven’t been able to track down either of them. Does Lenny generally let you know of his whereabouts?”
“We don’t always know where he is, no. He’s kind of useless that way.”
“You seemed startled.”
“Yeah, I’m startled,” Rob said with anger. “We’re talking about Kiera being seriously missing, maybe dead, and you mention Lenny in the same breath. ’Course I was startled. But no, if Frank says he’s in George then I believe it. Goes there with Tex whenever he can. Tex has half his family down there, so there’s places to stay.”
“Doesn’t he leave some kind of contact number when he takes off like that, normally?”
Rob grinned suddenly, and his teeth weren’t great, jumbled and stained. “That’s right, now you mention it. It’s Lenny’s way of giving me the finger. He had a smartphone, loved it more than life itself, but I took it away from him last month. Cost too much. Told him he can have it back when he gets a job. So he decides he’ll take off and not stay in touch. Payback time. Let us worry ourselves to death, see if he cares.”
Leith watched the alarm fade and knew that Lenny’s payback wasn’t paying back well at all. “So now you’re not worried, then.”
“He’s seventeen. An adult.”
“If he needs a job, couldn’t you give him work up here, help bring in the timber? Frank says you need all the help you can get right now.”
“Over my dead body,” Rob said. “Too dangerous.”
The two bigger bears watch over baby bear, Leith decided. The brothers were close, cautious, and defensive. Could it be that whatever had happened to Kiera somehow tied in? He said, “In any case, it’s important we talk to Lenny, soon as possible. He was at the house around the time Kiera went missing. You can’t help us out?”
Rob shook his head. “Can’t. And when you find the prick, tell him to call me, on the double.”
The men thanked him and left the trailer. “I’m keeping that one on my list for now,” Leith said as they made their way back to the SUV, shortcutting across the clearing. Progress was awkward, the ground chopped by truck tires, frozen into lumps, hollows filled with snow, puddles turned into mini ice rinks.
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