The Cardinal Divide (22 page)

Heads turned. He stepped toward her table, hands jammed awkwardly into the pockets of his jeans. “You're looking well.”

“You're not. What happened to you? Like I care.”

“Family restaurant, Nancy,” said Cole, nearly tearing his sutures with his forced smile.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, loudly enough that patrons at the surrounding tables stopped eating to look at them.

“I'll tell you if you just shut up,” he growled.

“Don't you dare sit down,” she hissed.

His reply was to sit. And before his back was against the booth she slapped him. The pain blinded him and his first impulse was to hit back. His jaw clamped and he restrained himself.

“What are you doing here, you bastard?”

“You used to have such a great vocabulary.” He looked at her and looked around. Eyes were trained on him. She swore at him and hit him but everybody assumed he had it coming.

And they were right.

It looked like she was about to swing again and he said, between gritted teeth, “Don't.”

Nancy Webber must have seen the intent in his eyes because she lowered her hand.

“Or what, Cole?” She looked around. “You'd be in the alley with the rest of the trash if you lifted one finger at me, tough guy.”

“Maybe,” he said.

They stared at each other.

“You haven't answered my question,” she finally said.

“Why don't you try asking me nicely?”

She exhaled a long, slow breath. “Cole,” she said with exaggerated sweetness, “what brings you to Oracle?”

How could he hate her so much after loving her too? “I'm working here.”

“Really?” she continued in the patronizing voice. “In the mine, or running a skidder?”

“Neither.” His voice was low. “I'm working for some folks who are trying to stop the mine at Cardinal Divide.”

Nancy couldn't hide her interest. “Really, Cole? And just how is that campaign going?”

“Not very well,” he said, looking sideways.

“You don't say? Sounds like one of your clients has popped the mine manager. Was that part of your strategy? Or was it, as you used to say, collateral damage?”

“I thought reporters were supposed to cover the story, not invent it, Nancy. Or don't the Saskatoon hog report readers expect unbiased journalism?”

“Sources close to the police say otherwise.”

“Oh yeah? Someone with a vested interest, perhaps?”

Nancy was silent; her green eyes betrayed nothing. “You really have fallen far. Covering small town murders,” he said.

“You ought to know, you pushed me.”

“You were the one who printed it.”

“And you were the lying bastard who fed me the story.”

“You were the willing reporter who gobbled it up.”

“I won't be making that mistake again.”

“Sounds like you already have.”

“I'm just following leads, Cole.”

“Right, Nancy, you're following whatever leads the owners of this town and your two-bit newspaper feed you.”

“You're one to talk, Cole. Look at you. Talk about how the mighty have fallen.”

Cole was running two for two with scorned ex-lovers.

“We're done here,” he said and prepared to rise.

“Don't get in my way on this story, Cole.”

“Or what?”

But she didn't answer because her Blackberry buzzed as her mouth opened and, like all reporters, she was wired to her technology. She scooped it up off the table and read the message. Cole saw her grin, the smile wide and triumphant. Her green eyes met his and as they locked gazes, he knew what was in the message she had received.

His phone rang. Without taking his eyes from Nancy Webber, he answered: “Blackwater.”

“It's Peggy.”

“Go ahead, Peggy.”

“Dale van Stempvort was just arrested. He's been charged with murder.”

“I'm going to the
RCMP
detachment now.” Peggy's voice shook. “To make sure Dale gets a lawyer.” Her voice trailed off.

Nancy tucked her Blackberry into her purse and zipped the bag.

“Do you want me to meet you there?” asked Cole.

“Would you? I don't know anything about this,” said Peggy.

“It's not exactly in my job description either, Peggy.”

“Well, two heads are better than one.”

Cole sighed. “
OK
, I'll see you in twenty minutes,” he said and hung up.

“This has been a blast, Cole,” said Nancy. “But I have to go. Story to file, you know.”

“And what exactly do you think the story is, Nancy?”

“Pretty clear, isn't it, Cole?”

“Illuminate me.”

“Angry environmentalist bludgeons mine manager,” she said.

“Can't argue with you about that.”

Nancy turned to leave.

“You could always tell the back story. Dig a little deeper. You were good at that once upon a time.”

“If it bleeds it leads, Cole. Don't talk to me about the good old days.”

“Fine, whatever.” Cole waved her away and watched her go. But he knew he hadn't seen the last of Nancy Webber.

The evening air was refreshingly cool when he left the Big Sky Restaurant. In the indigo sky Cole saw Arcturus and followed its arc to Spica, barely visible on the horizon. The air revived him, but nothing could fix the ache in his bones. And miles to go before I sleep, he thought. The driver's door of his truck protested when he opened it. Don't you start acting up on me, he thought. I need something in my life to be dependable. And then he thought of Sarah.

He pulled his cellphone from his pocket and dialled Jennifer's number. On the fourth ring, Polson answered, saying, “It's about bloody time, Cole.”

“Hi Jennifer.” He had no energy to argue.

“Sarah is worried sick about you.”

“How are you, Jennifer? I'm fine.”

“Cole, you are an asshole.”

“Well, Jennifer, things are a little nutty in Oracle.”

“Cole, do you even care about Sarah?”

Cole closed his eyes and felt the familiar heat of adrenaline flood his neural pathways. In a moment, if he wasn't careful, his vision would narrow and obliterate the peripheral until all that remained was a narrow band right in front of him. And when that happened, as it had so many times in his life, trouble usually followed.

“Has something happened to Sarah?” he finally asked.

“No, nothing, Cole.”

“What about you, have you been in an accident?”

“No, Cole.”

“Have either of you contracted a mysterious disease that impairs your ability to dial a telephone?”

“Jesus Christ, Cole, you are a prick.”

“Can I talk with Sarah, please?”

Finally there was silence on the other end. He heard a muffled conversation in the background. Finally his daughter's voice.

“Hi Daddy!”

“Hi sweetheart. How's my girl?”

“I'm good. How are you?”

“Just fine.”

“You don't sound fine.”

“Don't I?”

“What's wrong? Are you
OK
?”

“I'm
OK
,” he said, and felt the unwelcome constriction in his throat that could lead to tears. The adrenaline drained from his system at the sound of Sarah's sympathy, and despair was beneath it.

“Don't be sad, Daddy. I love you.”

She made the heart glad. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

“So, are you saving the world from evil corporations?”

“I'm just getting started. Listen carefully,” he said, “something has happened here that you might see on the news tomorrow.”

“Are you
OK
?” she asked anxiously. He loved her so much.

“I'm fine. But a man has been killed. He was the manager of the mine that we are trying to stop, and someone I know is accused of killing him.”

The line was quiet as Sarah absorbed the information. “Did he do it, Daddy?”

It occurred to Cole that he hadn't actually asked that question. “I don't know.”

“What do you think?”

“I don't know what to think, Sarah.”

“Are you going to stay in Alberta for much longer?”

“I don't want to. This is a lost cause and I want to head home.”

“Are you going to see Grandma?”

He was silent.

“You should.”

“Now don't you go should-ing all over me,” he said with a smile, which he hoped she felt through the phone.

“You should,” she said again.

“I know.”

“When will you be home?”

“I'm not sure.”

“Will you call me and let me know?”

“Of course, or you can call me.”

She was silent. Cole could feel something there, something that he should ask about but dared not, so far away.

“I'm going now, honey. I have to go to the police station.”

“Be careful.”

“I will. There's nothing to worry about.” He had said that a few days ago before he left Vancouver. He had meant it then, but now he wasn't so sure.

“I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, Sarah. Be good for your mom.” “I will. Bye.”

He hung up and his hand fell to his side. He needed to sleep for a week. Was it only four days since he had seen Sarah?

The Toyota started with a reassuring roar and he drove to the
RCMP
detachment. The previously empty parking lot was overflowing with rental cars and
TV
vans whose satellite dishes pointed skyward, ready to beam the news to the nation.

Cole parked a block away, and walked along the sidewalk. People, likely reporters waiting for the
RCMP
to make a statement, stood outside the police station. He approached slowly, as if headed toward a cage of dangerous animals. He feared being recognized almost as much as he feared
not
being recognized.

In the shadow of a cedar shrub he watched for Peggy. He counted a dozen reporters, including
TV
crews from two of the four national networks. Their lights flooded the front door of the
RCMP
detachment. Huddled together, reporters chatted in conspiratorial tones. How juicy, thought Cole. A wet dream for the
Calgary Herald
, the
Alberta Standard
, and all the other right-wing mouthpieces. For so long the story had been Developer Kills Grizzly, Conservationist Loses Battle. Now the table was turned.

Cole scanned the crowd of journalists and saw Nancy Webber talking to a reporter he didn't recognize. He inhaled deeply and slowly released his breath. Things had gone about as badly as he expected they would at the Big Sky Restaurant. He expected that they would get worse before they got any better. But he really didn't see how he could avoid her.

“Someone's coming out,” a reporter called and all eyes turned to the front door. Cole realized he was holding his breath and he made himself exhale.

Peggy McSorlie walked through the door. She stopped and blinked as her eyes adjusted to the glare.

Keep walking, thought Cole, his body tense and sore.

“Did Dale van Stempvort kill Mike Barnes?” shouted a reporter.

Peggy stood, uncertain if she should stay and answer or push through the throng. “No,” she said. “He's innocent.”

You're in the animal soup now, Cole thought to himself.

“Have you been charged too?”

“No! I'm here to arrange for a lawyer for Dale.”

“Does your group advocate violence to stop the mine?”

Cole pushed his way from the back of the group to rescue Peggy.

“The murder of Mike Barnes is a tragedy,” said Peggy, regaining her composure. “Our prayers are with his family tonight.”

Cole caught Peggy by the arm and pulled her through the crowd. More questions were hurled at them. Someone asked, “Who the hell is he?”

Nancy's face appeared in the crowd. “More lies, Cole?” she asked, and he grimaced.

He spoke into Peggy's ear. “Where's your car?”

“Up the street.”

“We'll take mine,” he growled.

A few reporters followed them to his truck, where Cole tried to brush them off. “No story here, ladies and gents,” he said as amicably as he could. They were saved by shouts that the
RCMP
was about to make a statement.

“Shouldn't we wait to hear what they have to say?” Peggy turned toward the station.

“Not unless you want to answer more questions on Dale van Stempvort's behalf.”

Peggy was ready to cry.

Cole put the truck in gear and drove past the
RCMP
station, where Sergeant Reimer was now in the spotlight.

“Where can we talk?” asked Cole.

“My farm?”

“Too far,” he said. “I'd never make it back.”

“There's a guest room.”

“No thanks. Any place here in town that's quiet?”

“Andy's.”

“A friend?”

“No, it's a bar.”

There is a God, thought Cole. “Sounds good. Where?”

Peggy directed him to a small storefront off Main Street.

“I didn't know this place existed,” said Cole as he parked.

“You've only been here for four days,” said Peggy.

“Feels like four years,” Cole said without a smile.

Andy's was empty except for a couple at the bar. Half a dozen tables sat in the centre of the small room, which might once have been a diner but was now a jazz bar. Another half dozen booths lined the walls. John Coltrane infused the room with a blue sound.

“This is the cultural centre of Oracle,” said Peggy. “As long as they serve whiskey, it can be anything it likes,” said Cole.