As expected, the homey room was vacant, though obviously only temporarily. A novel lay spread open, face up on top of a litter of newspapers and magazines piled on the square pine coffee table in the centre of the room. Off to one side, a card table with two worn decks and a dog-eared score-pad waited for the next game. A TV controller rested on the arm of a deep-seated easy chair angled to face the big-screen in the corner. The place could have been cloned from any college dorm in the country.
"That way," I said in an unnecessarily hushed voice, pointing past Matt to the hallway on the right. We followed it to the door at the end where I stepped forward with the key. For the second time that day, my fingers trembled as I tried to negotiate an unfamiliar lock in unusual circumstances. It gave way without a struggle, admitting us to a plain but agreeable room.
A chocolate brown cover topped the single bed, neatly made. Matching curtains, pulled back from a decent-sized window, revealed a nice forest view. Filtered sunshine lit the room.
"Let's start here," I suggested, moving toward a three-drawer desk under the window. Although it doubled as a bedside table, the surface was nearly empty. Apart from the reading lamp, it held nothing but a small clock radio and a brass-framed picture. I picked up the photo and held it out for Matt to see.
"Amateur family shot," he said, unconsciously making a professional assessment. I suppressed a giggle, probably more nervous than amused, and focused my attention on the photo.
A multi-generation group clustered around a diminutive, elderly lady seated at a large, circular table, still bearing the remains of what must have been an impressive feast. The old woman stared lovingly at an infant, cradled in her arms. Everybody else mugged for the camera. I recognised Adam Tang. The others must have been parents, brothers and sisters, in-laws, nieces and nephews. It was a happy picture. I had lots just like it in my album at home, taken at family gatherings over the years.
"Probably a christening party," I suggested, laying the framed picture aside and opening the top drawer.
"Quite the family man," Matt replied with just a hint of sarcasm. "Kind of makes you wonder what he's doing here."
"According to him, he wanted to get away from the family restaurant for a while."
"How convenient."
"Isn't it?"
We'd progressed to the deep bottom drawer without uncovering anything more unusual than the local telephone directory. Then we hit pay dirt. "What's this?" I asked, excitement rising in my voice as I withdrew a heavy blue-bound volume inscribed in Chinese characters. My husband took it from my hands and examined the cover.
"Compendium of Roots and Herbs," he translated and began leafing through the well-worn pages.
"It's really handy having a husband with Asian language skills," I beamed, thinking for a second about how those skills had contributed to our first meeting just a few months ago in Taiwan. Snapping back to the present, I peered over his shoulder at the rows of intricate hieroglyphs. "Does it mean what I think?"
"I'd say so," Matt confirmed. "This is a copy of a very old work. It's a book of traditional herbal medicine."
"Which would include the use of such ingredients as bear galls?" He nodded, flipping the pages in search of a particular entry and pointing when he found it. "Xiong dan, in Mandarin."
"Suggesting our self-proclaimed conservationist has an interest in traditional Chinese medicine," I said, turning to the bureau. "Kind of makes you wonder if he's into securing his own ingredients."
"That it does," Matt agreed, heading for the closet. "And his family owns a restaurant, which would be consistent with the profile of suppliers you talked about."
"Uh-huh."
"But how does all this tie in with the lodge? If Adam is really in the bear parts trade, why would he need to freelance for Max Edelman?"
"I don't know," I admitted, coming up empty in my search of the bureau.
"Me either." Matt's voice issued from the back of the closet in a muffled grunt. He squatted at the door, head poked deep in the dark recesses. A moment later he backed out, a plastic freezer bag held up for me to see.
"Oh, lord," I moaned, a chill ran from my neck into my heaving chest. I'd never seen dried galls before, but there wasn't a doubt in my mind that I was looking at them now. And although the last thing I wanted was to actually touch them, my hand reached forward for the bag. It was obviously operating at the command of some morbid inner drive I didn't know and couldn't control.
We were both so focused on the foul little packet that neither of us noticed the door swing silently open.
"What are you doing in here!" snarled an angry voice from directly behind my left shoulder.
My heart stopped dead with the first angry word. It missed several beats before restarting with the apparent intention of making up for lost time. And judging from the thunderstruck look frozen on Matt's face, his reaction was about the same. Neither of us had recovered enough to speak before the intruder strode furiously into view.
"What are you doing here?" Adam Tang raged, cranking up the volume as if we'd somehow failed to hear him the first time.
I still couldn't think of a single natty response. But it didn't matter. Our friendly bartender had just caught sight of the plastic bag dangling from Matt's hand. Adam's face flushed scarlet, and he snatched the bag away. He glared at us, eyes flashing from one to the other.
With a tremendous effort, I forced my brain and tongue to reconnect. "It strikes me," I observed in a tone ripe with sarcasm, "that the more important question is, what are you doing with a bag full of dried bear galls—and what have they got to do with this book?" I strode to the desk, snatched up the heavy blue volume and shoved it toward him, a physical accusation.
"What do you know of this book?" he demanded, grabbing it roughly from my hands, though his voice was noticeably less strident.
"We know it's about traditional Asian medicine," Matt answered calmly.
"Wrong," Adam said, slowly rounding on my husband. "It's the Bible of traditional medicine. This volume represents the life work of the sixteenth century Ming Dynasty scholar Li Shizhen."
"Very interesting," Matt responded in a reasonable tone. "It looks well worn. Maybe you're into prescribing a little xiong dan."
A slow smile spread across the bartender's round face, starting at the corners of his lips and gradually extending to the corners of his eyes. He shook his head, once, twice, from side to side. "This book is worn because it is old," he said at last. "It belonged to my grandmother who I loved and honoured. I keep it with me as a reminder of her."
"And the galls?" I asked, pointedly ignoring the heart-warming tale. "None of your business," Adam snapped, all hint of nostalgia instantly wiped from his face. "You have no right to be in here."
"We decided to make it our business," Matt countered. "You see, we think you're involved in this ugly trade. We think you planted some bear paws in the Craddock's freezer to put them under suspicion. And we think you're helping Max Edelman to push them out of the lodge."
"That's ridiculous!" Adam exclaimed. If he wasn't truly stunned, he did a great job of faking it.
Matt shrugged. He wasn't impressed. "Explain it to the police." Adam paused, as though wrestling with some internal dilemma.
When he spoke again, it was with the air of a man who has made an important decision. "That won't be necessary," he said, very quietly. "Please have a seat."
Surprised by this change in tack, my husband and I exchanged an enquiring glance. Matt shrugged as if to say, "I don't know, what do you think?" I gave my answer by pulling out the desk chair and sitting down. He followed suit and settled on the armchair in the corner.
Our reluctant host remained silent as he walked deliberately over to the bureau, opened the top drawer and carefully laid the Compendium of Herbs and Medicines inside. When the bag of galls was resting safely beside it, he slid the drawer closed and returned to the bed. There he sat down, legs spread comfortably apart, elbows on knees, hands clasped befor
e him. His clear black eyes focused on the floor as he started to speak.
"You two are reporters," he began.
Though not precisely accurate, I wasn't about quibble.
"And because I know you both by reputation, I'm going to trust you not to blow my cover."
If ever there were a statement guaranteed to rivet a newshound's attention—that was surely it. I didn't even bother to look at Matt. In fact, I think I'd forgotten his presence altogether. "What cover?" I demanded.
"I'm a conservation officer," Adam announced into the charged silence.
"Conservation officer!" I sure hadn't seen that one coming.
"Yes," Adam confirmed. "I'm attached to a special undercover unit and I was assigned to investigate the poaching that started here last fall."
"Does Roy Friesen know?" I asked, struggling to switch gears on the fly. I was still grappling with the concept of Adam Tang, law enforcement—versus—Adam Tang, suspect.
"Of course," he said.
"Roy never let on," I mused, mostly to myself.
"He wouldn't," Adam said. "It's only in the last few days that the supplier's been known to us. Until we were sure, everybody was under suspicion. And it's the supplier we're after. We've had the poacher for a while."
"Who is it?" I demanded, hearing Matt's voice echo my own.
The newly unmasked CO couldn't suppress a grin. His gaze flicked from me to my husband and back. It occurred to me that Adam was enjoying this dramatic moment. "The Craddock's young handyman," he finally announced. "Shane Deeks."
Our reaction couldn't have been a disappointment. I felt my eyes pop wide, and a glance in Matt's direction confirmed his surprise.
Then the anger flooded in.
I flashed back to that night on the ledge. A kaleidoscope of
images invaded my mind. Duke, the majestic black bear clinging to the last precious moments of life—terror shining from his dark eyes— impaled on a merciless beam of blinding light. Blood-chilling howls and a nameless, faceless assassin in the night.
I'd relived the horror over and over. But until this very moment, I'd had no way to focus my wrath, nowhere to vent my rage. Suddenly Adam Tang had changed all that. Suddenly the face of a cowardly murderer filled the screen of my mind, and I longed to slap away its insolent sneer.
Yet this murdering scum wore another face as well. I'd seen it myself. Gentle and loving—the face of a brother and a son. I tried to shake the image free.
"We kept discounting him," Matt was saying, "because the Craddock's gave him a break. We thought he'd be loyal."
Dragging myself back to the here-and-now, I chimed in. "Until you popped up as a suspect," I said, flashing Adam an apologetic smile, "we were convinced Rachel van Brennen was the inside contact, acting on behalf of Max Edelman."
"You may have been right," the CO pointed out reasonably. "Deeks is definitely a poacher, but there's nothing to tie him to the problems at the lodge."
"Nothing but the galls in the freezer," Matt said.
"That was probably pure coincidence," Adam said. "Nothing but a case of bad timing."
"Do you know if he's stored galls in there before?" Matt pressed. "No," Adam admitted. "In fact, the times I'm aware of, he definitely hasn't. But that doesn't necessarily mean he never did."
"Then, it's possible Shane is the inside man," I concluded.
Adam nodded. "It's possible. All I know for certain is that Deeks is definitely a poacher."
"I should have picked up on that," I said, annoyed with myself for failing to weigh the obvious facts more heavily. "He fits the profile perfectly. Young, experienced hunter, previous trouble with the law." I shook my head in disgust.
"Don't be so hard on yourself," Matt chided. "That profile would only fit about a thousand guys around here."
"Matt's right," Adam said. "It took us a couple of months to flush him out—and we've got resources and experience."
A rueful smile bent my lips. "In other words, you're not a foolish amateur."
"Neither are you," the CO responded, promptly. "In your own profession."
Touché, I thought. But his words had struck a spark. There was still a story here—a good one. "Thanks for reminding me," I said.
Overcome with a sudden need for action, I stood up and walked the few steps to the other side of the room. It wasn't much, but it helped. "What about this supplier?" I asked, turning to face Adam. "Who? and How?"
"The how was easy enough," Adam began, once more indulging his flair for suspense. "As soon as we knew Deeks was a shooter, surveillance took care of the rest. He led us right to the man."
"Who is?" Matt beat me to the question.
"The manager of a motor hotel in town," Adam said. "A guy named Kenny Legge."
Another one I hadn't seen coming. Some investigator, I thought. Out loud, I said, "That greasy wimp?"
"You've met."
"Briefly," I said, feeling the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I walked back over to the desk chair and plopped down. "Did you know he once owned this lodge?"
Adam nodded. "Guess he got tired of the hospitality trade."
"But what a bizarre career shift," I said.
"Not as much as you might think," Adam said. "Hotel managers are in a position to make lots of contacts. And they work long hours for less than stellar pay. Looks like Legge just decided to jump on the gravy train."
"I guess," I said, leaning forward. "So, when does his train get derailed?"
The little snort from my husband, who caught an inside joke I hadn't actually intended, passed unnoticed by Adam who answered straight out.
"Tomorrow afternoon. That's why I've got those galls you found. Kenny Legge's going to buy them."
"Nice little sting," Matt commented, looking impressed.
"That's only the beginning," Adam said. "When Legge's snared, we'll use him to go after the trafficker. That's who we really want. The guy who gets this stuff to market."
"And where do your galls come from?" I asked, eager to start nailing down details.
"Road kill," he said. "When the conservation service is called to pick up a carcass, parts are saved for us to use in operations like this."
"Hmm. That's interesting," I said, jotting an entry in the ever-ready notebook I'd just pulled from my bag. "And how will you handle the take-down?"
"It's a team operation," Adam explained. "I'll be wired and backup will be stationed in a surveillance van. When the buy's complete, I'll signal and they'll show up with the search warrant."
"Sounds pretty straight forward," I said. "Can we come?"
I almost looked around to see who had asked the question. My companions looked surprised, too. But I pressed on. Despite the fact that the idea had popped into my head out of nowhere, it was a good one.
"Why not?" I pressed, in response to the "No way!" look I saw forming on Adam's face. "You said it yourself. I'm a reporter and this is a story. A great one. Matt can do the photos. What do you say?"
Adam's expression kept changing as I talked. It settled on sceptical. "I don't know..."
"Oh, come on," Matt pitched in. "Think of the mileage you'd get: increased public awareness with a bonus warning to the guys in the trade. How about it?"
"You'd have to sign a waiver," Adam cautioned, his resistance visibly weakened.
"Sure. We know. If one of us gets shot, the government's not liable. No problem." We'd both been through the drill.
"And you can't print the story right away," the CO continued. This was a new twist. "Why not?" I asked.
"Because Legge's not the final objective. Until we nail his trafficker, the lid has to stay on. Tight."
"Of course," I agreed. "I should have thought of that. You want it in writing?"
Adam Tang fixed me with a wry grin. "You bet I do."
Chapter Twenty-Five
At precisely 1:45 the following afternoon, Matt and I reported for duty. Our rendezvous with the surveillance vehicle was set in a busy shopping centre parki
ng lot. On a sunny spring afternoon in tourist town, the dark blue camper van we were looking for was practically invisible. But we found it, parked exactly where Adam had said it would be. As we walked up, the side door slid quietly open, guided by some unseen force. It felt like the beginning of a close encounter, being kidnapped by aliens and whisked to their waiting ship.
Inside, that weird impression actually magnified. Behind the tinted windows and dark curtains the vehicle bristled with electronics. Glowing monitors, keyboards, banks of switches and one unexpected life form, which I discovered by nearly stepping on an outstretched paw. Even though the creature lay in the most compact bundle possible, the pony-sized German Shepherd occupied about two-thirds of the available floor space. He was a handsome beast, body relaxed, head alert, tongue at half-pant, who acknowledged our arrival with a single, friendly tail thump. An athletic blonde, lounging in a swivel seat beside him, offered a welcoming smile. "Hi," she said. "You can sit back here."
As we squeezed past to the seats she indicated in the rear, I knew Matt would be enjoying the scenery. Neither the boxy lines of a blue uniform shirt nor the square cut of dark navy pants was capable of disguising the officer's distinctly feminine frame. I engineered a playful poke in his ribs as we settled ourselves. He gave me a sly wink.
"Buckle up and we'll get moving," the curvaceous CO commanded. "We want to be in position before Legge leaves the hotel. And this is Rocky," she said, introducing the canine floor mat. "I'm Stacey West. That's Mike Boychuk in the driver's seat."
A hand waved from one of the captain's chairs up front. "And I think you already know Denise." Her shapely lips quirked in a sly grin.
It was hard to make out details of the face that peered around the back of the other captain's chair. Sunlight blazing through the windshield rendered it in dark silhouette. But there was no mistaking the strident voice when Denise Pardue called out her greeting. Stacey took one look at our faces and burst out laughing. "Adam got you good," she declared, still chuckling broadly. "Denise, you better explain."
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