The Glacier Gallows Read online

  “I just spent an hour talking with Inspector Reimer.”

  “The FBI and the RCMP will be sharing jurisdiction for this very unusual situation.”

  “How is it unusual?”

  McCallum looked over to where the cliff fell away toward Waterton Lakes. “The deceased was camped in the United States and his body was found in Canada. That doesn’t happen very often. Final decisions on jurisdiction will have to be a conversation for some people above our collective pay grade. In the meantime, I’d like your help getting to the bottom of this. Do you mind?”

  The officer’s politeness was disarming. “Pull up a rock.” Cole pointed to a flat stone.

  McCallum sat down. He was joined by a second FBI agent who stood nearby. Cole looked as the Black Hawk powered up. “It’s going to join the search for Mr. Foreman.” McCallum pulled a notebook from his jacket. “When was the last time you saw Mr. Marriott alive?”

  “About ten last night. I was heading to my tent, and he was up talking with a few other hikers.”

  “Who was still up?”

  “Um, Derek McGrath, our lead guide, and Blake Foreman. I think Rick Turcotte. There might have been others. I didn’t really pay attention.”

  “Which tent is his?” Cole pointed to one. It was red and orange, a sleek European-style dome outfit. “Did you happen to see him reach his tent later in the evening?”

  “I didn’t. I pretty much went straight to bed.”

  “Didn’t hear him?”

  “No. There was a little wind last night. Once I was inside, that’s all I heard. I was asleep by ten thirty.”

  “What time did you wake up this morning, Mr. Blackwater?”

  “Around five. I usually get up before the sun when I’m in the backcountry.”

  “It must have been a nice sunrise.”

  “Hard to go wrong up here. Unless it’s snowing.”

  “Well, no snow today. You didn’t see Mr. Marriott when you got up? He didn’t join you for the sunrise?”

  “No. Brian usually slept until around seven.”

  “Where did you walk to?”

  Cole pointed to the eastern edge of the ridge.

  “From the top of that rise, could you see the camp?”

  “I could see the kitchen, but not the tents. I was sitting on the other side of a big boulder, out of the breeze. And I spent most of my time looking east.”

  “But you would have noticed if Mr. Marriott had been up wandering around, getting coffee and what have you?”

  “I might have. But I was absorbed.”

  “When you came back to camp, how long did it take for you to realize that Mr. Marriott was missing?”

  “I don’t know. Not long. Ten, fifteen minutes. I just assumed that he was sleeping in.”

  “It didn’t occur to you that maybe he had gone off to do the same thing you were doing?”

  “We did have a quick look around before organizing a more thorough search.”

  “Tell me about Mr. Marriott.”

  Cole hesitated. “He was a city guy. He liked this. Doing this hike was his idea. But he was uncomfortable out here too. He told me a couple of mornings ago that sleeping on the ground wasn’t very conducive to a good night’s rest. I think he was looking forward to getting to Waterton tonight and being in a bed.”

  “Who do you think killed Mr. Marriott?” McCallum continued.

  “I have no ungodly idea.”

  “None? Surely you must have your suspicions.”

  “I don’t, really. Most of these people had no real relationship with Brian before this trip. I can’t imagine what anybody’s motive might have been.” Cole recapped what he had told Reimer about Brian’s relationship with Rick Turcotte.

  “Did anything happen on the hike that would have led to hard feelings?”

  “Not really. I mean, we’re not all of the same stripe. Rick and Brian got into a few good-natured arguments over the last few days, but nothing that would make a man want to kill another. Maybe there was some bad blood between them before and Turcotte was just biding his time, but I don’t think so. Are you sure he was murdered? It just seems too improbable.”

  “We’re reasonably sure. The medical examiner is with the body now. She’s flown in from Calgary, and we gave her a lift up. She will make the final determination and provide us with a time of death and other pertinent information. What about the guides? Did Brian have words with any of them?”

  “No, not at all. He mostly dealt with Derek, the lead guide. Tad wasn’t talkative but was completely congenial. And the third man, the one gone walkabout, was pretty quiet. He was nice enough, helped with the tents and was competent in the mountains, but I don’t know if he and Brian said ten words to each other the whole time.”

  “So with the exceptions of Mr. Firstlight and Mr. Turcotte, there was no one else on this trip who had a prior relationship with Mr. Marriott?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Did Brian say anything to you during this expedition? Anything that would lead you to believe he was in danger?”

  Cole thought a moment. McCallum and the other agent watched him. “Before we started the hike, he said that he was into something, something big, but he didn’t say what. He told me that we’d talk about it after the hike was done.”

  “Was this work related?”

  “Yes. It wasn’t like he was into a drug deal or anything, but he wouldn’t tell me anything more and I didn’t push him.”

  “We’ll get to Mr. Marriott’s work in a minute.” McCallum checked his notes. “With the exception of Mr. Turcotte, nobody had harsh words with Mr. Marriott while camping here in Glacier?” Cole shook his head. “That brings us to you, Mr. Blackwater. You obviously knew Mr. Marriott, didn’t you?”

  “I did.”

  “Isn’t it also correct that you and Mr. Marriott haven’t been getting along very well on this trip?”

  “As well as we usually get along,” Cole said and immediately regretted it.

  “Mr. Blackwater, it seems to me that you are the only person on this mountain who had an antagonistic relationship with the deceased, and who had quarrelled with him both in public and in private over the course of the last five days. You seem to me to be the man here with the strongest motive for wanting Mr. Marriott dead.”

  NINE

  OTTAWA, ONTARIO. FEBRUARY 12.

  BRIAN MARRIOTT ADJUSTED HIS SCARF and prepared to step from the West Block and into the falling snow. He had been sandbagged, and by a senior Cabinet minister at that. He had his friend and long-time political compatriot Rick Turcotte to thank.

  Some of David Canning’s announcement would be good news for the Alternative Energy Group. A review of the regulatory process to allow new energy solutions across Canada would help many of the companies that made up the AEG. To lump a review of the country’s failing approach to traditional oil and gas development into the same process muddied the waters.

  What worried Brian the most was not what the minister had said, but what he had not said. What else would be in the regulatory review? A minister like Canning could bury less-savory elements of a review in hundreds and hundreds of pages of material. Brian would have to start digging.

  Now he faced an awkward dilemma: what to do about the following day’s press conference in the Centre Block. In the past when he’d been invited, it was to applaud the government’s plans to expand the tar sands or approve a pipeline. He had been their lap dog. Now he was in an unfamiliar position. He didn’t know what was going to happen and that worried him.

  Before he left the building, he dug into his pocket. The one person he knew who might provide some advice was three time zones away. He looked at the time on his Blackberry—10:00 PM eastern, so only 7:00 on the coast—and then dialed the familiar number.

  “Blackwater.”

  “It’s Brian.”

  There was a pause; Brian imagined that Cole looked at his watch, wondering why he was calling after business hours. “What’s up,
boss?”

  Brian laughed. “The day I’m Cole Blackwater’s boss is the day the Earth stops spinning around the sun. Look, I hope it isn’t too late to call.”

  “It’s okay. I’m at Nancy’s. We were just about to eat dinner.”

  “I can call back.”

  “It’s alright. I’ve got a minute. It’s late where you are. What’s going on?”

  “I need some advice. I need to know how to handle something political.”

  “You’re asking me? You’re the Ottawa insider.”

  “I’m on the outs. I just got bagged, to use your vernacular. I need to know what Blackwater would do.”

  “Now you’re really in trouble. Tell me what happened.”

  Brian Marriott took five minutes to explain his meeting with Rick Turcotte and then the announcement at the reception by the minister. Cole listened and then said, “And you think this presser tomorrow will be a lot of smoke and mirrors to cover up something nefarious.”

  “I don’t know. All my political alarm bells are warning me that this is a trap. But I just don’t know what the trap is. Do you think I should go?”

  “Yes. I think so. Why not? Just make sure that you don’t bite the hook.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look, when I was doing Hill stuff, ministers would invite us enviros to the meeting or announcement and throw us a few bones. For you, it’s going to be a review of the rules around renewable power generation. I wouldn’t be surprised if the minister made some kind of announcement that said renewable energy had to be considered for all federal power-generation projects. We’ve been pushing for that, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “So that’s the bone. But you say carbon sequestration will be in the mix too?”

  “Yes.”

  “So what else?”

  “That’s the thing … I just don’t know.”

  “What have they been wanting to do but haven’t been able to yet?”

  “Build a pipeline to China.”

  “Yes. So maybe there will be something in there about reviewing all energy-related projects. Or maybe something about infrastructure. Do you know if the Minister of Industry will be there?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll check.”

  “He might throw in something about climate-change technology. This government is all about building stuff.”

  “I don’t know …” Marriott said again.

  “Brian?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You faded out on me.”

  “Cole, I think I got what I need. This has been helpful.”

  “Okay, I think I just felt the Earth slip on its orbit.” Cole laughed.

  Brian didn’t hear him. He hung up the phone without saying goodbye. He knew what the minister would sneak into the regulatory review.

  BRIAN STEPPED OUT of the West Block and looked up at the Peace Tower. He pulled on his gloves. When he heard his name called, he turned with a start.

  “Didn’t mean to scare ya.” A man walked down the steps behind him.

  “Hi, Charles.”

  Charles Wendell was dressed in a down coat and clownish wool hat. “Evening, Brian.”

  “Were you at this thing with the minister?”

  “I was incognito.”

  “Surprised the minister sent you an invite.”

  “Well, he didn’t. The dippers had an extra pass and gave it to me.”

  “You work for the New Democrats now?”

  “Nope, still with Green Earth. One of the MPs—the environment critic—lets me use her office. Her staffer couldn’t go to the reception, so I got the invite. What did you think?” Charles asked.

  Brian turned to look back at the Peace Tower. “I don’t know what to think.”

  “I do. It’s a load of bullshit, Brian. That jackass Canning is hosing us. He’s going to tie us up in a regulatory review for the next year, promising more access for wind and solar while he pushes through the largest expansion of the tar sands in history. He’ll approve new pipelines and let his pals frack the hell out of BC, Alberta, and Saskatchewan.”

  Brian sighed. “We need to open the market for renewable energy.”

  “Sure, but not while they ram the tar sands down our throats.”

  “What would you do?”

  “Shut that shit down. I know the moderates want to use tar sands royalties to fund the development of solar and wind. Don’t get in bed with the enemy, man. If we go there, we can’t turn back. We take millions, maybe billions, of dollars from the tar sands players and we may as well marry them. It will be impossible to criticize them if we’re taking their cash.”

  “We need to fund the transition.” Brian had snow settling on his hair.

  “Taxes, man, good old-fashioned taxes.”

  “From this government?”

  “You see, the problem is that so long as guys like you—with your suit and tie and party credentials—go to receptions and sit in the front row at press conferences, this government can get away with this shit. I know you don’t like to hear this, but you’re undermining the movement.”

  “What movement is that?”

  “The environmental movement.”

  “I didn’t know it was a movement. I thought it was a business.”

  “You see? That’s the kind of shit I mean. You’re just in your role at AEG to make this government look good, and while you’re doing it, you’ll marginalize the real environmentalists.”

  “As always, Charles, this has been fun. As long as you don’t have any solutions, only objections, I’m going to head home. Tomorrow is going to be a big day.”

  “Oh, I have solutions, Brian. When someone bags you on the Hill, you bag them back.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You got bagged tonight. So did I. So did the environmental movement. I’m going to bag the minister back.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Remember that little off-the-cuff remark about locking up the enviros?”

  “Yeah, the minister sounded like he’d had a glass of wine or two …”

  Charles pulled out his iPhone and touched the screen. A video of the minister offering to lock up environmentalists appeared on the screen. “It’s already on YouTube. Twelve hundred twenty-one views in the last thirty minutes. It will be on CTV and CBC news by now. I emailed it to every reporter on the Hill.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “Nope. This is how you play ball, Brian. If you can’t play ball, then get off the field.”

  “Listen, Charles. I’m not here to play ball or bag people or score cheap political points. I’m here to get something done. I want to make a difference.”

  “And I want to beat these fuckers, Brian. Nobody in the movement thinks that you’re here to make a difference. You’re just trying to sidetrack us with talk of wind power. The real game is seizing power. The only way that’s going to happen is if we can defeat these bastards in the next election. This video will help.”

  “Does the minister know you posted it?”

  “Well, it’s posted anonymously. No sense blowing my cover and getting the dippers in trouble. And if he doesn’t know it’s online, he will soon. What are you going to do, call him?”

  “If you wanted to make the planet better, Charles, you would have put that in your pocket and asked for a meeting instead.”

  “That might work when you’ve got political and financial connections, Brian. But right now we have neither, so we use what we got.”

  “Good night, Charles.” Brian pulled his collar up and dusted the snow off his hair. He could sense that Charles Wendell was watching him as he walked away.

  TEN

  GLACIER NATIONAL PARK, MONTANA. JULY 10.

  THEY WERE HERDED LIKE CATTLE into the kitchen area of the camp while the investigating officers held a conference. Nine people in total—the seven remaining hikers and two guides—sat in what little shade the kitchen shelter provided, nibblin
g on trail mix and dried apples, watching as the RCMP, FBI, and Canadian and US parks agents formed a tight circle. In the last two hours, the superintendents of both Waterton Lakes and Glacier National Parks had arrived, as had the district commander of the RCMP from Lethbridge and the FBI special agent in charge, all the way from Salt Lake City. The mountaintop was starting to feel very crowded as four different helicopters and two separate search and rescue teams combed the rocky plateau for some sign of the missing guide Blake Foreman.

  Cole sat next to the lead guide. “Derek,” he whispered. “What the hell is going on with your man Foreman?”

  “I have no idea,” Derek whispered back.

  “Is it like him to just up and go walkabout?” Cole asked.

  “I don’t know.” Cole shot him a troubled look, and Derek continued. “I met Blake in the Two Medicine Grill last week. He looked the part. Hell, he looked like me. He had his papers from the Association of Mountain Guides, so I hired him.”

  Cole looked toward the confab of law-enforcement officers. His brother, Walter, was standing behind his park superintendent, listening. Walter looked at Cole, and their eyes locked a minute. Something in Walter’s eyes made Cole shiver despite the heat. At that moment, the discussion broke up and the special agent in charge walked back toward a waiting helicopter; its rotor blades began to spin. The noise and dust forced several of the weary hikers to cover both ears and eyes. When the bird was airborne, Special Agent Steven McCallum approached the group.

  “Ladies and gentleman, we’ve done all we can with you here. It’s hot, and you must be worn out from the day’s events. Unfortunately, we still have need of your insights into this case, so we’re going to be transferring you to Browning, where we can conduct proper interviews. If everything goes as planned, you’ll stay the night in Browning, where we have secured a block of rooms, and in the morning we will arrange for your transportation home. I ask that you continue to remain silent about this case. There may be media in Browning, thanks to our thumb-happy journalist.” McCallum looked at Tara Sinclair. “I also ask that you refrain from discussing this situation among yourselves. Understood? Questions?”