The Third Riel Conspiracy Read online

  Garnet went and got the cart. With the captain, they loaded the cadaver into it. At Batoche, the doctor led them to the rear of Xavier’s Store. “You’ve been here before, Doctor?” asked Durrant, pushing the door open and peering into the dark space. He stepped in cautiously, his hand on the hilt of his Enfield. There was nobody in the room.

  “On the last day of fighting, I followed the field force down the Mission Ridge and into the town. There were many wounded. It appears as though the mercantile hadn’t opened before the fighting broke out. I had a makeshift triage set up here in the back room. It will do.”

  Saul came inside and found a lantern hanging in the darkness. He trimmed the wick, found his matches, and lit the lamp. “Let’s put him here.” He motioned to a long table used for butchering meat. It was solidly constructed and had gutters to drain blood. The men were in a multi-purpose storeroom. It had a door that opened to the front of the shop, and a set of stairs that seemed to be an entrance to the living quarters above.

  “Are you sure nobody is home, Saul?”

  “Can’t be certain, but most of the townsfolk fled before the fighting even started. I know some of the men have returned, but I don’t know if Xavier has come back from St. Laurent.”

  “Okay, then, let’s get on with this,” said Durrant. Saul and Garnet hoisted the body onto the table. Durrant tried not to get in their way.

  Saul removed the shroud. “As I knew I would be operating during this expedition, I brought along some of my more advanced tools.” The doctor was digging in his bag. “I should think they will be some help to us.”

  Saul pulled out a scalpel and made an incision around the man’s temple where the large, dark bullet hole could be observed. “I should be able to estimate both the calibre of the cartridge and the distance from which it was fired. See, look here. Already, despite the bloating, I can tell you that Mr. Wake was shot at very close range. Two feet at most, but not point blank. The flesh around the bullet hole has been burned, but there is no star-shaped tearing, indicating that the weapon was not pressed against the man’s head. Now as for the calibre”—the doctor took a caliper from his bag—“we shall have to see.” He leaned in close to the corpse and measured the bullet hole. He turned his head toward the ceiling and closed his eyes while he considered what the measurement meant. “I make this to be a .44 or .45 calibre.”

  “That’s consistent with the Colt that was found in Mr. La Biche’s jacket—the same that belonged to Mr. Wake,” said Durrant.

  “Now what I find strange, gentlemen, is that there is no exit wound. If Mr. Wake had been shot in the head from this angle”—Saul made his hand into a gun and held it two feet from the cadaver’s head at a right angle—“then frankly, the exit would be the size of my fist, and we would have very little left of Mr. Wake’s grey matter.”

  “If any existed in the first place,” cracked Garnet.

  Saul rolled Wake on his side, and water drained from the man’s mouth and ran into a bucket on the floor. “You can see by looking here”—he pointed into the wound—“that there are plenty of brains left in his head. The only conclusion I can draw is that the cartridge is still lodged there.”

  “Can you retrieve it?”

  “Yes, but let’s look over the rest of his face first . . . Ha! Look here.” The doctor pointed to the man’s heavy brow. “I suspected as much.” Saul pulled a pair of forceps from his bag and began pulling at something lodged in the man’s face. “It’s part of a cartridge casing. And look at the angle it’s lodged in his brow: straight on.”

  “He was shot at twice,” said Garnet.

  “Yes, but the first time, the cartridge detonated in the pistol,” said Durrant.

  “Leaving Mr. Wake here a moment to turn and try to flee,” added Saul.

  “But not enough time to outrun his meeting with destiny,” concluded Garnet.

  UPON FINISHING HIS examination, Saul fitted Wake’s skullcap back in place, folding the neatly cut skin back over the bone. He withdrew needle and thread from his bag and made several crude sutures to hold the skullcap firm. Then he pulled the shroud back over the body. Durrant looked toward the door. “Let’s get some air and I’ll tell you what I think.” They stepped into the cool, bright day and each man drew a deep breath. Durrant looked around. He could hear men on the main road on the other side of the building.

  “You have a theory?” asked Garnet. He had found his pipe in his pocket and was packing it with tobacco. Durrant was grateful, as the strong weed might erase the stench of death in his nostrils.

  “I do. It’s simple, really. Mr. Wake knew his attacker. It seems to be the only way that a man could approach him from the front and not arouse suspicion. When the killer drew his weapon and misfired, Wake tried to flee, but the gunman was too quick. He was able to fire a second round rapidly, and it took Wake’s life. I think our best suspects are those who Mr. Wake either was familiar with or had no reason to fear or distrust.”

  “That all but rules out La Biche, Lambert, and Iron Crow. Any of these men would have aroused suspicion in Wake. He would have been on his guard,” said Garnet.

  “We also know that the killer would have had to be handy with a pistol,” said Durrant. “The Colt is a fairly dependable weapon. A misfire is rare. That a second round could be chambered and fired under the circumstances is a comment on both Mr. Colt’s hardware and the killer’s familiarity with firearms. Finally, I would think that our killer would be nursing a wound. Don’t you, Doctor?”

  “Of course he would!” said Saul. “If the exploding cartridge left shell fragments in Mr. Wake’s flesh, then surely the shooter would have received burns as well!”

  “Now all we need to do is ask to see each man’s hands?” asked Garnet.

  “It may not be so simple,” said Durrant. “With the exception, maybe, of Iron Crow, any of these men may have been wearing gauntlets when they pulled that trigger. We may never be able to tell with any certainty if a mark on leather is recent or has been there for some time.”

  Durrant had just finished his sentence when there was a commotion on the road in front of the building. The sound of horses being drawn up short and angry shouts caused all three men to take defensive postures. Two horsemen rounded the corner of the building and bore down on the three men. At the same time, the back door of the mercantile was kicked out from inside and several men burst from the room. Durrant’s hand reached for his Enfield; Garnet already had his Webley pistols in his hands. The mounted men held Winchesters aimed at the trio. Sub-Inspector Dickenson emerged from the foul-smelling room, his face twisted and grey. “Sergeant Wallace, what in the name of God have you done to Reuben Wake?” He too held an Enfield pistol at his side.

  “I was coming to find you, Sub-Inspector, to ask the same. The body that was to be in your care was found by the Northcote along the river twenty miles from here. It seems that the premature burial was in fact an effort to hide important evidence.”

  “You had no right to desecrate that man!” said Dickenson.

  “Seeing that you couldn’t keep track of it the first time, I decided that Mr. Wake’s remains would be in better hands if I took them. I also believe, having examined the body, that the investigation into his murder would be better served if I conducted it from this point on.”

  “You’ll lose your stripes for this, Wallace. I am giving you a direct order, Sergeant. You are to turn over that body and leave Batoche immediately. You may still walk away a free man, though your days as a non-commissioned officer are almost certainly over. Your partners in this crime may only have to serve a few days in irons.” Dickenson turned to look at Garnet and Saul.

  At that moment, the sound of another horse was heard, and everyone turned to see who it was. The horse was reined in just a few feet from the cluster of armed Mounted Police and militia.

  “Assistant Commissioner Crozier.” Durrant saluted.

  “Sergeant Wallace. Sub-Inspector Dickenson. What the Blue Jesus is going on her
e?”

  SIXTEEN

  THE SECOND CONSPIRACY REVEALED

  DURRANT AND SUB-INSPECTOR DICKENSON STOOD side by side in Assistant Commissioner Leif Crozier’s tent. It was late in the day, and the enclosure was lit by two oil lamps that smoked and made Durrant want to trim their wicks. Before the men was a rough and ready desk fashioned from several planks of wood, which looked to have been fetched from a local barn, supported by empty crates at both ends. Crozier sat upright in his wooden camp chair, smoking a pipe while reading cables and briefing notes scrawled on letter paper. It had been half an hour, and Durrant could feel his prosthetic biting into his leg. He dared not move.

  Crozier cleared his throat. The air in the room seemed to crack. “Thank you both for so hastily preparing these briefing notes for me. Middleton brought this business with Wake to my ears and asked that I determine the best way to proceed. With our Mounted Police serving under various units of the reserves and militia, he felt it best for me to decide how to investigate. I wanted to get each of your perspectives. This is most helpful.”

  “Sir, I wonder—” Dickenson leaned forward to press his case but Crozier silenced him with a hand.

  “I have what I need, Sub-Inspector. I wonder if you would be so good as to wait outside. Why don’t you find yourself some supper? I will send for you when I am ready.”

  Dickenson looked at Wallace, then back at Crozier, bewildered. He straightened and saluted. “Yes, sir, as you wish.” He skulked from the tent.

  “Would you care to sit, Durrant?”

  “If you don’t mind, sir.”

  “Please.” Crozier pointed to a crate. Durrant sat. “How is the leg?”

  “It’s fine, sir.”

  “It’s good to have you back in the saddle, son. Not much of a Mounted Police officer if you can’t sit a horse, I suppose. Now, let’s discuss the matter at hand.” Crozier drew on his pipe, and the smoke circled him a moment before dissipating into the darkness of the tent’s ceiling. “Sergeant, I am placing you in charge of the investigation into Mr. Wake’s murder.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Don’t thank me, son, until I’ve told you what I’m about to say. What I’m going to tell you is for your ears alone. I don’t want this written down, and I don’t want it turning up in any of the goddamned eastern press. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, sir. Assistant Commissioner, I should tell you that I have something of an investigative team here in Batoche—”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Blue Jesus, man, that’s one thing Dickenson got right—might be the only thing: you are a pain in the ass.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “All right, who is it?”

  TEN MINUTES LATER Garnet Moberly and Saul Armatage had been introduced to Crozier.

  “Lieutenant, your reputation precedes you.” Crozier shook Garnet’s hand. “And Doctor Armatage, I suppose you expect me to thank you for saving this man’s life after that trouble in the Cypress Hills.”

  “I can accept no blame for what has come after, sir.”

  “Very well, then. Please, gentlemen, take a seat. I have information that has come to my ears through the privilege of my position in the North West Mounted Police and as a member in good standing in some circles in Regina and elsewhere across the Dominion. I am asking you to investigate the murder of Reuben Wake and bring to justice his killer or killers, whoever they may be. But there is more.

  “There is a conspiracy afoot. Several, in fact. There are Liberal Catholics here in the territories who judge Louis Riel a hero and the rebellion as really a resistance of eastern infringement. These men believe that Riel should go free. They elected him to Parliament three consecutive times, despite the fact that he was wanted for murder! No doubt it has already come to your ears that there is a movement afoot to free Riel—a sort of jailbreak, if you will. This has been whispered in secretive circles since the outbreak of hostilities; if Riel should be captured, there are those who would work to set him free, at any cost.”

  “We have spoken to some who hold with that conviction,” said Durrant.

  “I am sure that you have. There is a second Riel conspiracy. One that is far more dangerous, and deadly. There is a plan among some in Regina—that is what they call themselves, the Regina Group—not to free Riel but instead to kill him before he can ever stand trial. Reuben Wake was one of the leaders of these men.”

  SEVENTEEN

  CHOICE OF WEAPONS

  IT WAS DARK WHEN THE three friends left Assistant Commissioner Crozier’s tent. They didn’t speak as they walked but instead watched about them in the camp. The news of the dual conspiracies—one to free and one to kill Riel—had set them all on edge. Crozier’s last words to the men before they left had been, “You have very little time.”

  Durrant knew that in the coming days much of the field force would decamp for Fort Pitt, two hundred miles west on the Saskatchewan River. There they would muster for the fight with Big Bear’s Cree. Riel and the rest of the prisoners would be sent to Regina, there to await trial and what other mishaps of fate awaited them. Terrance La Biche would go, too. There was more to Crozier’s warning than simple logistics.

  When they were back at their fire, Durrant spoke first. “I suppose it goes without saying that Sub-Inspector Dickenson will be no help to us. We’ll need to move quickly in the morning to secure the prisoner, retrieve the murder weapon, and locate the men who were charged with burying the body of Mr. Wake. There are a few men in the camp from my time at Fort Walsh, including Tommy Provost. I will recruit them to serve as guards for La Biche. I trust them and know I can count on them.”

  “I will take it upon myself to locate the murder weapon,” said Garnet.

  “I suppose that leaves with me the task of discussing the foul deed of the disposal of Mr. Wake,” Saul concluded.

  “I shall aid you in your discussions, Saul,” said Durrant. “I don’t expect that the ruffians who committed this undertaking will be forthcoming about it. Some persuasion may be needed. We had all best watch our backs. No doubt the conspirators who have it in for Riel will be aware of our investigation. They may move to put a stop to it.”

  The three men lay curled inside blankets on the bare ground, looking at the fire. Durrant watched as his comrades drifted off to sleep. It felt good to have these men at his side. There was no way to tell what the path ahead would hold for them, but at that moment Durrant Wallace felt that together they could bear any weight and weather any storm.

  ON THE MORNING of May 18, Durrant located Terrance La Biche and approached the young man who was guarding him. “These men will be taking over the security of Mr. La Biche.” Behind Durrant stood Tommy Provost and two colleagues dressed in uniform. “You’re relieved of your duty, son. Go find yourself some breakfast.”

  When the militiaman had left, Durrant climbed into the wagon. La Biche was shivering under his blanket. Durrant had one of the constables retrieve another blanket and gather wood for a fire. He sat down next to the prisoner and said, “I’ve been placed in charge of the investigation into the death of Reuben Wake, Mr. La Biche.” The Métis man just stared at him. “I would like to ask you some questions.”

  The constable returned with a heavy Hudson’s Bay blanket. “I’ll have a fire going in a moment, Sergeant.”

  Durrant continued. “When we spoke on the thirteenth of May, you were beginning to tell me more of the circumstances that led to your arrest. I want you to tell me about the conspiracy to free Louis Riel.”

  When the fire had been kindled, Durrant helped La Biche out of the wagon and they huddled together in the morning chill. One of the Mounted Police brought the man a breakfast of porridge and coffee. “I don’t know much of the details. It’s just guessing.” La Biche spoke between bites. “I believe this is about Sun River, where Riel taught school. In the Montana territory. It’s because of what happened there. Wake travelled there with Dumont. He signed on to care for the ho
rses. Remember, Dumont had selected a young man from St. Laurent to tend to the horses, but when the time came to depart, the lad could not be found, so Dumont was in a bit of a bad way. Reuben Wake had been coming to Batoche for several years at that point, ferrying supplies and stock. He had made like a friend. He happened to be in the town that very morning, and presented himself to Dumont. In the confusion to get on the trail, Dumont agreed.”

  “Wake went to Sun River to try and scuttle the effort, to undermine it,” confirmed Durrant.

  “I can’t believe that,” said Provost.

  “It’s true.” La Biche finished his breakfast and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

  “What happened in Sun River that turned the tide of events against Reuben Wake?”

  “The only thing I’m sure of is that when Dumont returned with Riel, Wake wasn’t with them. We hoped that he was dead, but then he turned up at Fish Creek. That’s when I saw him. I simply couldn’t believe my own eyes!”

  “Had Dumont or one of the other men made it clear what Wake’s intent had been?”

  “By the time Dumont returned with Riel, the story of Wake’s treason had become well known, but nobody spoke of what became of him. We took it to mean that what was done was done. But it wasn’t—not for Wake. And not for me. The man deceived us and betrayed Riel, and it was my aim to make the man pay. But he was shot. I didn’t have access to the man’s Colt. I was going to use the butcher’s hatchet I had pilfered.”

  “While I am inclined to believe you, I’m afraid I’m not the final arbitrator of this matter. The news of Mr. Wake’s death has reached the ears of my superiors in the North West Mounted Police, and they will not release you until such time as we have another man in irons. There is the matter of your disappearance from the scullery at the very time when Wake was killed. I would like to know where you were.”