Forever Dead (21 page)

On impulse I put a call into Patrick again and this time got him on the first attempt. The sound of his voice sent shockwaves through me, and I realized my hands were shaking. Disconcerted, I stammered out my hellos and identified myself, silently cursing my sudden attack of nerves. Or was it nerves?

“I've just got into a disk of Diamond's that Shannon gave me and I wanted to ask you some questions I couldn't answer.”

“Fire away.” I tried to picture him on the other end of the line. Was he smiling? I wished I had something to say that wasn't just business, but I couldn't think of a thing in my muddled state of mind, so I asked him what I had called to ask him in the first place.

“You said the other day that you accompany Diamond on his tagging expeditions. Do you also accompany him on surveillance flights and ground surveillance to track the animals' movements?” God, I sounded so bloody official. What was he thinking of me?

“No. Not usually. It's very time-consuming, but I do help sometimes. We radio-collared the last cat in May. Let me just boot up here and check.” I heard the telltale ping of a computer turning on and shortly after Patrick was back, “Yup, May. I helped him with that and went out on surveillance a couple of times in late April and early May but then he said he didn't need me for any surveillance in May and June anymore and I was happy with that. I had a lot of my own work.” He paused, his tone suddenly guarded. “Why are you interested in this?”

I wished I could see his eyes. I couldn't read anything from his voice.

“I'm wondering if whatever he was working on just before his death might have something to do with why his body was moved and why my larvae were killed and my disks stolen.”

Patrick grunted into the phone but politely said nothing. I cleared my throat, wondering what I was looking for, knowing he was wondering that too. “Diamond's data lists six cats that were surveyed in the six months before his death. Do you —”

Patrick interrupted, “What was on that disk Shannon gave you?”

The sharpness of his tone put me on the defensive, and I felt the beginnings of panic welling up inside me that surprised me. I really didn't want this guy angry at me. I wanted him to like me.

“What she told me was on it: all his logging stuff. But then there was also a folder on his research.”

“I think we'd better meet. Before I answer any of
your questions I want to see that disk. At the same time I can show you the film.”

There was nothing for it but to agree. The coldness of his voice made it clear that I'd get no further on the phone. We arranged to meet in two days' time at his lab.

I hung up, part of me pleased that I would see him again, part of me frustrated because he had every right to the disk and the information on it and I didn't. Part of me upset because I hadn't liked the coldness in his voice and I wanted to warm it up in the worst way. This guy was really affecting me.

Ryan was in the darkroom, so I fooled around, trying to find the password for the last folder. I tried Leah all the way to 99 and then repeated it with the name of Diamond's cat, Polly. No luck. Ryan came out of the darkroom with some negatives and laid them out on his light table as I was making a copy of the disk.

“What did you lose?” I asked, dreading the response. I'd delayed asking the question for so long I was sure it would be all bad.

“What?”

“You know, the film you lost at the rapids. How many pictures did you lose? Ballpark damage.”

“I didn't lose any.” His words echoed off my thoughts like a boomerang and came winging back at me with menacing meaning.

“What do you mean you didn't lose any?”

“I checked my records and every shot I took is accounted for.”

I stared at Ryan. He took meticulous records of each of his pictures, noting the f-stop, ASA, lighting, everything, all neatly numbered, and he wasn't missing any?

“Then that film that we found?”

“Wasn't mine,” said Ryan.

“This throws a whole new light on things, doesn't it?” I said as I watched Martha deftly cutting up some pieces of liver.

“I mean, whose film was it if it wasn't Ryan's? Can you tell me that? Do you think someone wanted it badly enough to try to kill us for it?”

“Doesn't make sense, Cordi. Besides, the film was lost in the rapids.”

“What if there was something incriminating on it and someone just wanted to destroy it? Sounds better than being a martyr to a bunch of insects, doesn't it?”

Martha looked up with interest. “You mean your close call had nothing to do with the larvae?”

“I'm not saying that exactly. I thought at first that it was the larvae, but maybe it was the film. The police report gibes with what I saw: there was an empty film canister and the camera was empty. That means at least
one film is missing. The film we found wasn't in a canister, and if the film had something incriminating on it, it might have been enough for someone who saw us find it to dump our canoe to get rid of it, not aiming to kill us but just to get rid of the film.”

Martha wiped her hands on her apron and said, “Alternately they could have had the same motive concerning the larvae, although the film seems more plausible, I admit. So you think they lost it and saw you pick it up? If you're right then the film had something on it that someone wanted to keep secret.”

“We'll never know, will we?”

“Maybe Diamond was blackmailing someone — you know, sex pictures and stuff.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Now there's an original thought.”

“It's a time-honoured one anyway,” quipped Martha.

I spent the day working on my various papers. Patrick Whyte called while I was out for lunch and left a message with Martha saying he had made arrangements to show me the film at 10:00 a.m. and could I meet him then. I cursed myself for not being around when he called, and then immediately cursed myself for feeling the way I did. Which was what exactly?

Next morning I woke feeling vulnerable and scared and hoped to God my autumn darkness, which had struck every year without fail for all my adult life, was not falling prematurely. I had too much to do, but it was all I could do to drag myself out of bed, the horribly familiar feeling threatening me like a hit man. At my worst, in the depths of winter, there were times when a hit man would have been better than the blackness that enveloped me like a straitjacket. I felt a little better once I was up. I usually did, and the edge to my mood softened. It was too
soon for my worst months. I clung to that hope and took a long hot shower to wash the deadness from my thoughts. As a result I was half an hour late leaving and cursed myself for the lost time. I had really wanted to make sure I got to Whyte's lab in plenty of time to talk to Don before I had to view the films, but my initiative had deserted me and I arrived at the campus wishing I were anywhere else.

I wheeled my car into the parking lot of the zoology building and reluctantly got out. I rummaged around in the back for a box of Kleenex — something had blown into town and I was plugged up with hay fever. I had forgotten to bring any antihistamine, and I didn't feel like going to a drugstore with everything else I had to do in the mood I was in. I could put up with the hay fever for a spell, as long as I had Kleenex.

As I walked toward the zoology building I noticed a bunch of handwritten signs plastered along the walkway into the building with a picture of a familiar black cat with yellow eyes. In huge print the sign asked: “Have you seen Paulie? $$$ Reward $$$. Call Shannon.” So Shannon must have decided she ought to do something for Diamond's cat. I must say, even I felt guilty about leaving the poor thing in the bush, but I had had other things on my mind at the time and I had told Leslie and Don. I'd presumed they would do something. I caught sight of Davies and, like some guilty kid, hid behind a parked car and waited until he had disappeared into the building before I headed toward Patrick's lab. In the foyer I saw Don and nearly let him get away before I found my resolve and called out to him. He stopped and waited for me to catch up to him.

“Got a cold in this weather?” he asked as I approached him in a sneezing fit.

“Just hay fever.”

“My mother had hay fever. She said the worst of it was that she would get so plugged up that she couldn't smell the flowers. And she loved flowers.”

“She's right. You can't smell a thing during hay fever season.”

“I'm on my way to a lecture. Let's walk and you can tell me what you want,” he said, as he turned and headed toward the zoology building.

I said to his back, “There was something in Diamond's calendar about you and the Dean. Can you …”

Don stopped suddenly and faced me, so that I almost bumped into him.

“How did you know about that?” he whispered. His eyes flicked over my face like the darting tongue of a snake, searching randomly for God knows what.

“Well, Shannon gave me Diamond's research disk …”

Don was suddenly as still as ice, staring open-mouthed at me, his eyes frighteningly still. As I watched they grew rounder and rounder until the whites looked as though they would split and spill all over the blue of his irises.

“Shannon. Diamond told Shannon? But he promised me,” croaked Don. “Oh God. Listen, I was desperate. I didn't do anything really bad, just a few figures here and there.” He looked around nervously. “You can't pin anything on me. The data's gone. No one can prove I faked anything. For God's sake, my little girl …”

I tried to keep the surprise from showing on my face as my thoughts tumbled around. He'd faked the data? Jesus, what a bombshell. And I'd thought it was Roberta. He stood to lose everything if Diamond had made that meeting. But he hadn't. I suddenly saw things quite clearly and heard my voice, as if detached from my body, say coolly, “You faked data on your joint paper and now
Diamond's dead. You stood to lose everything if he'd lived, didn't you?”

Don looked at me in growing horror. “I didn't do it. I'm allergic to sardines. Can't you see it's a lie? Why would I bait him? I'm not …”

He stopped suddenly. His eyes were darting around like bingo balls bulging out of his head.

“Oh no,” he said in a stunted whisper.

He looked wildly around him like a cornered animal, the sweat running freely on his forehead, his hands twisting together like the talons of an eagle on its prey.

“You've got to believe me,” he said frantically, turning his back on some approaching students and putting his hand up to shield his face. He said nothing until they had passed, and then he grabbed me by the shoulder.

“We can't talk here. Can you come to my house this evening? Eight o'clock?” He dropped his hand, suddenly aware that he was gripping me too hard. He fished around in his coat pocket and pulled out a business card. He hastily wrote his home address on it, his hand trembling, and stuffed it into my hand.

“Please don't talk to anyone about this until I've had a chance to talk with you. You go around crying bloody murder and you'll get someone killed.”

He turned abruptly and left, leaving me to ponder what he'd just told me.

I stuffed the card into my pants pocket and, glancing at my watch, headed off to Whyte's and Diamond's lab, deep in thought. I hung around in the foyer for a spell, gearing myself up until it was 10:00. Roberta didn't hear me come in. I almost didn't recognize her because she was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Maybe the tight skirt and heels had just been an aberration or she had had a date that night and no time to go home and change. She was leafing through some stuff on Patrick's desk. When I
cleared my throat she jumped and said, “Christ, you scared the shit out of me.” She waved at the desk. “I was just looking for some papers …” Her voice petered out, and I wondered why she felt she had to make an excuse to me. She must have wondered that herself because she suddenly said, “What are you doing here again, anyway?”

“Patrick said he'd meet me and show me a film of the logging meeting,” I said, hoping he hadn't forgotten his meeting with me.

She quickly moved away from his desk and said, “You'll have fun watching that, all right. A real soap opera that was. But I just talked to Patrick on the phone. He's not coming in today. Sure you got the right date?”

I nodded. And felt like a fool. Nothing like being stood up in public.

“Well, I think you'd better phone him.”

She gave me the number, but all I got was voice mail.

“Does he live near here?” I asked.

“Yeah. Just down near the library. I've never been there myself, but it should be easy to find. Don't tell him I told you, though. He hates visitors.”

Great
, I thought.
Nothing could boost my confidence like hearing that
. I watched her scrawling Patrick's address on a waste piece of paper. I wondered just how much she had been involved in Don's deception. She had collected some of his data. Surely she couldn't have done that without knowing it was false. It would have ruined her career if she had knowingly participated.

“I understand Don and Diamond were going before the Dean just before Diamond died. Do you know why?”

Roberta's hand stopped in mid-air. Her eyes widened in surprise — or was it fear? — but she regained her composure quickly and handed me the address, saying, “Sorry, I don't know anything about that. Look, I've got a lecture. Bye.”

I watched her as she ran down the hallway, wondering how much of a lie I had just heard and how much truth.

I dawdled along the three blocks to Whyte's house trying to still my nerves at seeing him again by telling myself he couldn't be interested in me if he'd forgotten about our appointment. And why the hell would he be interested in me anyway? Jeez, I was really down on myself today — I couldn't seem to please myself no matter what I did. I found myself standing in front of a tiny, rundown house with a white picket fence set well back from all the other houses. There was a huge apple tree overhanging the front door, and although the pink paint was flaking off the door and windows, the house at least looked neat.