Manitou Canyon (23 page)

C
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44

T
hey met Sheriff Dross in her office, crowding into the small room. Rose sat, but the others stood in varied and uneasy poses as Dross explained the situation.

“Bud Bowers flew over every lake that Henry mentioned was on the old warpath. Flew over them several times at different altitudes. He didn't see a thing. No sign at all of Cork and Lindsay and whoever they're with.”

“They could have been hiding,” Jenny said.

“That's certainly a possibility,” Dross said. “So what Bowers did was to move away from each lake for a while, then come back in the hope of catching them out on open water.” She shook her head. “I think that if they were ever there, they've gone now.”

“If Henry says they were there, they were there,” Stephen said.

“Then someone pulled them out,” Dross said.

“Pulled them out?” Jenny said. “How?”

“The same way we planned to. A floatplane.”

Rose said, “Where have they been taken?”

“My guess would be deeper into Canada,” Dross said. “That's the direction they've been headed all along.”

“And that's what Henry said about the warpath,” Stephen pointed out. “That it led to Canada.”

Jenny's brow furrowed. “Why Canada?”

Dross put her hands on her desk and pushed herself up. “I think it's time I had a little talk with Trudeau.”

* * *

The day had started with a break in the cloud cover. The sun had appeared, and the dead grass of the meadow on Crow Point had seemed to come alive again with a golden brilliance. Rainy's spirits had revived, too, as she waited for word that Cork and Lindsay Harris were safe.

She'd prepared breakfast for Henry and for their guests, then Daniel had received a call from Jenny, telling him that the CIRT team hadn't been successful in their mission. Cork and Lindsay Harris were still missing. After that, she went for a walk alone and took a towel with her.

She crossed the meadow and followed the lakeshore to the place where Wine Creek emptied into Iron Lake. The bottom was sandy, and a tiny half-moon of a beach curled to one side. The spill of the creek kept the water there ice-free well into the winter. She dropped her towel on the sand, disrobed, waded into the frigid lake naked, and submerged herself. It was like being in the angry grip of an ice giant. She fought her body with her mind, worked to calm her rebellious, cramping muscles, focused on moving beyond all the alarming messages of the flesh. She endured this self-­imposed torture for several minutes, and it was only when she knew that she would not break and run that she rose up and slowly exited the lake. She dried herself carefully, dressed, and stood at the edge of the water, letting her mind and body enjoy the sense of being fully alive and, for a little while, empty of concern. It was a discipline she'd learned from Henry.

She didn't think of herself as a weak woman, but she knew that love had opened the door to a fear outside herself. Love let in harpies of worry that beat their wings against logic and courage and could drive a person mad. Although he seemed never to show it, even Henry admitted to being harassed occasionally by these demons. But somehow he found a way to keep them at a harmless distance. She wondered if she would ever achieve that wonderful old man's strength of spirit or his wisdom.

Everything in her life, in the life she'd created for herself on Crow Point, seemed to be on the verge of collapsing. Everything she'd come to love seemed about to be taken from her. She didn't believe that the Great Mystery was a spirit of punishment, but even in the calm of that moment, she heard an old, vindictive voice in her head that told her this was retribution for all she'd run from, all those ancient sins. But the calm of the discipline stayed with her, and as Henry had advised, she let that withering voice speak without giving it power.

She felt she was no longer alone and turned to see Daniel coming from the direction of the cabins. His face wore that determined look it took on whenever he was focused on some essential mission. He was a young man for whom duty was important: his work as a tribal game warden on the Iron Lake Reservation, his relationship with Jenny and Waaboo, his responsibilities to his larger family and to his people. He was not unlike Cork in this respect, and Rainy thought about the old saw that women marry their fathers. But Daniel was his own man, very different from Cork in many ways: a published poet, a reader of literature, a partner who could appreciate Jenny's deep desire to write and would support her in that journey. As she stood watching her nephew approach, she retained a good measure of the calm that the discipline of the icy plunge had given her, and she realized that even in her worry, the worries of them all, as a family they remained greatly blessed because whatever the outcome, they would still have each other.

“I'm sorry to break in on you like this, Aunt Rainy, but I got another call from Jenny. Marsha Dross is rounding up Ben Trudeau for questioning and she wants Trevor Harris there. I thought you might want to come along.”

“Thanks, Daniel. I'd like that.”

Daniel watched her pick up her towel, then he eyed the crystal water. “You really went swimming?”

“Not swimming exactly,” she said. “Waking up. Focusing.”

“Jesus,” he said in a voice tinged with awe. “Wouldn't a cup of coffee do as well?”

“Let's go,” Rainy said. “Maybe we'll finally get some answers.”

But at Henry's cabin, it was clear that Trevor Harris had other ideas. He sat on the bunk with his arms crossed and his face pinched.

“Uh-uh.” He shook his head like a recalcitrant child. “I'm not leaving. I show up in public and I'm a dead man.”

“You've been watching too many gangster movies,” Daniel said.

“They don't know I'm here. As soon as they see me with you, they'll know, and then there's no place to hide. I'm not going.”

“Oh, you'll go,” Daniel said. “One way or another.”

Henry said, “I will go, too.”

Rainy saw the young man's face change just a bit, grow a little less fearful, less set in its look of refusal. She wondered if her great-uncle's decision was because he thought his presence might bolster Trevor's flagging courage.

Henry made it clear that wasn't the case. “I would like to talk to this Trudeau myself,” he said.

Leah said, “I should go, too. Back to my hotel for a change of clothes, at least.”

Daniel held out his hands toward Trevor Harris, as if to show they hid nothing. “There you have it. Everyone's leaving. You want to stay here by yourself? You've already made it clear these people are everywhere. Who's to say they won't show up at this cabin while you're all alone?”

The young man's eyes flew to the windows, then around the small room, and finally settled on the door. “You don't have any locks?”

“Here, everyone is welcome,” Henry said.

“My gun?” Trevor's voice was taut with mounting panic. “Where's my gun?”

“In a safe place,” Henry assured him. “But a gun is no protection from what stalks you.”

The young man looked at him without comprehension, then looked to Rainy as if for an explanation.

“What threatens you is your own fear,” she told him.

“Christ, you'd be afraid, too, in my shoes.”

“I am afraid,” Rainy said. “We're all afraid.”

Trevor shook his head and nodded toward Henry. “Not him. I want to stay with him.”

“Then come,” the old man said gently.

C
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45

B
en Trudeau sat at the table in the interview room of the Tamarack County Sheriff's Office. Rainy could see him from her side of the one-way glass. Cork's children were there with her. Henry, too. Trevor Harris had been asked to wait in the sheriff's office until Marsha Dross finished her questioning of Trudeau. It was clear that Deputy Pender, who was videotaping the interview, thought the observation room was way too crowded, but it wasn't his call. The sheriff entered the interview room, bringing with her a couple of disposable cups filled with coffee. She set one of the cups in front of Trudeau and then sat at the table herself. Trudeau had a pleasant smile on his face, as if he and the sheriff were just going to have a friendly chat. Which, in fact, had often been the case. Trudeau had become well liked, well respected in his short time in Tamarack County, and genial meetings over coffee were part of how he'd connected so quickly and so easily.

“Thanks for coming in this morning, Ben.”

“Always at your service, Marsha.” He glanced around the room. “Though this is a little different.”

“I'll get right down to it. We've received some rather disturbing reports about the casino operation, Ben.”

“Really? What kinds of reports?”

“Specifically, cheating at your blackjack tables.”

“We watch that very carefully, Marsha. I can assure you that no one slips anything by our security people.”

“Apparently, Trevor Harris has,” she said.

He nodded thoughtfully, and his face took on a serious look. “We're watching Harris closely. He's a big winner right now, but gambling is all about odds, and sometimes odds can swing in a startling direction for a while. They always swing back eventually. I can assure you that Harris won't enjoy this winning streak of his much longer.”

“We've had a report that you've interfered personally with the surveillance of Harris's activities at the casino.”

“Really?” He looked genuinely surprised, then gave a little shrug. “In an operation as large as the Chippewa Grand, you're always going to have a disgruntled employee or two who will do their best to sully the operation and throw some dirt, especially at those of us in charge. You've been sheriff here a lot of years. You've never had to deal with an underling who had a chip on his shoulder?”

“Trevor Harris has confirmed that his winning is more than just luck.”

The genial demeanor dropped away, and Trudeau said, “He's accused someone at the Grand of colluding with him to cheat the casino?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me who it is, and I'll see to it that she's dealt with. I'll see to it personally.”

“She?”

He faltered, then regained his composure. “The majority of our dealers are female.”

“Does the name Wes Greenfield mean anything to you?”

He thought a moment. “No.”

“I had a conversation less than an hour ago with Greenfield. He's with the New York Bureau of Criminal Investigation. Do you know the Lake Pokegama Casino in New York?”

“I know it's one of the casinos the company I work for manages.”

“A man named Virgil Stark won over sixty thousand dollars there in the space of a couple of weeks. Does that name ring a bell?”

“I can't say that it does. But big winners aren't unusual in the course of operating a casino. As I said, the odds always swing back. I'm sure if you were to follow up, you'd find that this Virgil Stark has probably lost everything he won and more.”

“He won the money by cheating. And he isn't spending any of it at the moment. He's in jail. He's been charged in the murder of Richard Axton.”

Trudeau gave a small, quick smile. “If a man is a cheater, maybe it's only a short step to being a murderer, too.”

“So cheating is one way to win, yes?”

“I suppose it's possible. But not in the casinos I run, I can assure you.”

“Richard Axton was a Canadian citizen accused of human trafficking. He was alleged to have dealt primarily in the trafficking of Native women and children. He'd been investigated by the RCMP and New York's BCI, but nothing had come of those investigations. No charges were filed on either side of the border. Then Mr. Axton was murdered.”

“A man like that.” Trudeau gave his shoulders a little shrug, and finished, “As ye sow.”

“Stark has told investigators that he was paid to kill Axton. It was a hit. His payment came in the form of winnings at the casino, some of it prior to the hit, some of it after. A down payment and then a settling of the bill.”

Trudeau's face showed no change.

“The woman who dealt that man his winning hands has given a sworn statement confessing to her part in the payoff.”

“Given to whom?” Trudeau said.

“Me. She works at the Chippewa Grand now. A dealer there. In that statement, she confessed to doing the same thing here with Trevor Harris. And she's implicated you.”

Trudeau folded his hands in his lap and his face was a blank.

“Trevor Harris was paid to deliver his grandfather and his sister into the hands of kidnappers. Why?”

“If, in fact, that's true, I have no idea.”

“Between the evidence that's coming in from the New York investigation and the statements we're collecting here, we have enough to hold you on suspicion of conspiracy to commit kidnapping. Maybe even murder.”

“Then I think it's time I asked for a lawyer,” Trudeau said calmly. “Don't you?”

That's when Henry stood up and said, “I will talk with this man.”

* * *

Deputy Pender knocked on the door of the interview room and called the sheriff out. Dross excused herself and came to the observation room, where Henry repeated his request. She thought it over.

“What can it hurt?” Daniel said.

Dross glanced at Trudeau, who sat in his chair in the interview room looking not uncomfortable in the least.

“What the hell,” she said with a shrug.

She left with Henry, and a moment later, Rainy saw the door of the interview room open. Henry entered alone. The sheriff joined the others in the observation room.

“
Boozhoo,
Benjamin Trudeau,” the old man said.

“
Boozhoo,
Grandfather.”

“We have not met, but I know of you.”

“And I know of you, Grandfather.”

Henry sat at the table. “Will you smoke with me?”

“I will.”

The old Mide took a small leather pouch from one of his two shirt pockets and a slightly larger beaded pouch from the other. From the beaded pouch he drew out a carved stone pipe. From the leather pouch, he took a bit of tobacco and filled the pipe. He plucked a tiny box of wooden matches from the front pocket of his pants and lit the tobacco. He smoked and offered the pipe to Trudeau, and they shared it in silence. When the tobacco had become ash, the old man tapped it into his palm, added the ash to the
contents of the leather pouch, put the pipe and the tobacco back where he'd pulled them from, and sat with his ancient, spotted hands folded on the table.

“I would like to tell you two stories,” Henry said.

“I would like to hear them, Grandfather.”

“When I was a young man, much younger than you, I often went with my uncle when he guided men into the great wilderness to the north, Ishpeming. My uncle was a fine hunter and he knew that wilderness well, and loved it as a man loves his home. One autumn, he led two hunters into Ishpeming.
I went with him. It soon became clear that it was not the animals of the forest they hunted. These men were looking for gold. When we became aware of this, I asked my uncle how he could do this thing that might end in a great wounding to the spirit of Ishpeming. He told me that if these men found what they were looking for, he would kill them. He was not a violent man. He knew that to do such a thing would deliver a terrible wound to his own spirit. But because of his love for that beautiful place, he was willing to do this thing.”

The old man fell silent, and the two of them sat for a long while without speaking.

“That's all?” Dross said.

“Patience,” Rainy counseled.

“Did he kill these men, Grandfather?” Trudeau finally asked.

“They did not find gold,” the old man said.

“Why do you tell me this story?”

“Because I think you are a man who will understand.”

“The other story, Grandfather?” Trudeau asked.

“When I was a child, the woods here were still full of wolves,” Henry said. “They are remarkable creatures, not unlike human beings in many ways. We think of them as our brothers.”

“I am Odawa, Grandfather. We think the same.”

The old man nodded and went on. “I once watched a gray wolf stand between his pack and a charging bull moose. The moose was huge, many times larger than the wolf. His antlers were like great hands with long, sharp fingers. Those antlers lifted the wolf
and threw him. The wolf rose and again stood between the angry moose and the others of his pack. The moose charged and lifted him up on those antlers and threw him again. And again the wolf rose and took a stand. While the wolf and the moose went at this time and again, the others of the pack circled and finally attacked the moose from many directions, and together they brought that enormous creature down.”

The old man ceased speaking, and both men sat in silence for another long while.

“Henry knows something,” Dross said. She looked at Rainy. “What does he know?”

“Wait,” Rainy said. “And maybe we'll see.”

“That is an interesting story, Grandfather,” Trudeau finally said. “The point?”

“When one wolf takes a stand against a great danger, others follow. Only in this way do the smaller creatures prevail. I think you understand this.”

“I do, Grandfather.”

“Do you know that Corcoran O'Connor is
Ma'iingan? Wolf Clan?”

“I do.” Trudeau's brow wrinkled, a ruffle of his calm demeanor. He shifted his eyes to the one-way window, where the others stood watching and listening. “And I also know that if you are the wolf willing to take that stand, you accept the sacrifice that may be asked of you.”

“To protect your own, that is a noble thing,” the old man said. “But not everyone is a wolf.”

“There are no innocents, Grandfather. This battle involves more than wolf and moose. The sacrifices that will be asked of us all are great. My fate, or Cork O'Connor's, or even yours, is unimportant. If we continue to lose this battle, we are all doomed.”

* * *

“What the hell happened in there, Henry?” Dross said. “What was that all about?”

Henry had rejoined them on the other side of the glass. Trudeau still sat at the table in the interview room, calmly finishing his coffee.

“He is not a small, selfish man,” Henry said. “He has a strong spirit.”

“What's this battle he talked about?” Daniel asked.

“I do not know,” Henry said. “But a spider spins its web with a single thread. If we find that thread, we may follow it back to the spider.”

“What thread, Henry?” Dross said.

“Ask yourself, what is it that connects these men who forced the woman dealer to cheat?”

“They both managed casinos,” Dross said.

“And?”

“They're both Native,” Rainy said. “And in a way, I suppose, they've fought for their people.”

“What is it that connects that thread to John Harris?” the old man went on.

“Some Native interest?” Stephen said. “Some threat?”

“What does John Harris do?” the old man said.

“He builds dams,” Jenny replied, then gave a little gasp. “The Internet search I did on Harris indicated he recently built a dam in Ontario. It's called . . .” She frowned, thinking. “The Manitou Canyon Dam. There was some controversy about it, I recall, pushback from a Native group.”

“But it still got built?” Stephen said.

“There was big money involved, I think.”

“Why kidnap Harris?” Rainy said. “If the dam's already built, what does it get them?”

Daniel thought a moment, then said, “Inside the dam. In every way.”

Jenny said, “For what? Sabotage?”

“Why not?”

“But why kidnap Lindsay and Dad?” she asked.

Dross said, “Maybe because they couldn't get what they needed
out of Harris. So they grab his granddaughter for leverage, and Cork gets taken in the bargain.”

Deep inside, fear began to chew at whatever hope Rainy had left. If Cork was of no real use to these people, what reason did they have to keep him alive?

Jenny said, “Could I use your computer, Marsha?”

They went to the sheriff's office. Jenny sat at the desk and spent a moment working the computer's mouse and tapping at the keyboard.

“There it is,” she said.

On the screen was a photograph of the Manitou Canyon Dam in the midst of construction. Below it was a photograph of a tall man, middle-aged, clearly Native. The caption under the man's photo read, “First Nations Chief Aaron Commanda.” The article was about a protest over construction of the dam in the narrows at the head of Manitou Canyon.

“The Ontario Ministry of Natural Resources says the dam is one of many intended to tap the vast energy potential of Canada's waterways,” Jenny synopsized out loud as she scanned the article. “But the Odawa claim the dam will only benefit the Caldecott Corporation, a South African company. That's a company that does a lot of mining worldwide. They have plans to begin an extensive open-pit operation a hundred kilometers northwest of the dam site. The Odawa contend the mine operation will pollute the Manitou River and the area around it, which is sacred to them. They petitioned the provincial government and got nowhere. They intended to take their case all the way to parliament if they had to.”