Читать книгу Cordi O'Callaghan Mysteries 3-Book Bundle - Suzanne F. Kingsmill - Страница 17

“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.

I opened the screen door, raised the heavy metal knocker, and hesitated. Once it fell, I was committed. I let it go. Its thud rumbled through the house like thunder.

After a short wait the door opened slowly and gingerly. An elderly woman with rheumy eyes gazed out through the screen. She was wearing two startling pink barrettes that were losing the battle of keeping her snow white hair out of her eyes.

“Who are you? What do you want? We don’t need any fish today, do you hear?” she said in a flat monotone.

“I’m not selling fish,” I said with a smile. Did he still live with his mother?

“Well, we don’t want any more of those damned chocolate bars either. I think everybody plays hockey around here, don’t you? Always looking for money to keep their ice cold. Why don’t they just play in the winter as God intended?” She began to close the door.

“Mrs. Whyte?”

The door stopped closing and slowly reopened as the old lady peered again around the door.

“No, dearie, I wouldn’t be seen dead with that wretched man’s name attached to me. I go by the name I was born with: Santander. Pity my son won’t change, but then he didn’t hate his father quite as much as I do. Do you realize what a selfish, whining, snivelling, log-splitting son of a …”

She started at the sound of Patrick’s voice calling gently from the bowels of the house. “Mother, Mother, what are you doing?” She looked at me conspiratorially.

I smiled uncertainly. “I have a meeting with Patrick Whyte, please.”

“Oh, you don’t want to go upset my little Pattie.” Again, the old woman started to close the door. “He’s busy now on his electric computer. There’s a sweetie. Run along home and play.”

I started to protest and then heard Patrick’s voice again, “Mum, what are you doing? You know you’re not supposed to go answering the door. I’ll take care of it. You go back to your room.”

The voice was strong, solicitous, and made my knees go weak, but when its owner jerked the door wide he stopped, suddenly embarrassed. Was it because he had forgotten about me or was it because of his mother?

His mother cackled in the hallway. “Your girlfriend called me Mrs. Whyte, Pattie. What a rotten nasty man he was …”

“Mother. Nobody’s interested in Dad,” he said gently. “Leave it be. You know it just upsets you. And she’s not my girlfriend.” He gently guided his mother back into the house as she called over her shoulder to me.

“You don’t want to go upset my little Pattie. He’s got his work to do. He’s got a paper route, all by himself, and only eleven too. He’s gonna be really wealthy one day.”

“I’m sorry. Perhaps I shouldn’t have come,” I said, when Patrick returned.

He shrugged as if to say the harm was done.

“It’s one of her bad days,” he said. “She just forgets sometimes what day it is.” He looked at me, as if waiting for me to contradict him. I wanted to say something that would make him realize that I understood, make him realize what a terrific person I was, but of course I couldn’t find the words. Probably because I didn’t really understand what he was going through.

“You wanted to see Diamond’s disk before showing me the film? We were to meet at your lab but you weren’t there, so …” I trailed off.

“Oh jeez, I’m sorry. I completely forgot.” He glanced back over his shoulder, flicking the hair out of his eyes. “I forgot. Give me five and I’ll be right with you.”

I stood in the foyer peering into the dark interior, feeling embarrassed. But why should I feel embarrassed? He was the one who had forgotten. I could hear Mrs. Santander’s voice floating querulously back to me. “But Pattie, I don’t want Mrs. Brickman again. I don’t like her. You know I don’t, Pattie.”

It was some time before Patrick came back, ruffling his hand through his hair and sucking on his lower lip.

“Let’s go,” he said.

I had to jog to keep up with his rapid walk across a small park, down a residential street, and out onto the campus. He didn’t say anything, and the silence was excruciating. Finally, I just said the second thing that came into my head. The first thing was X-rated.

“Who took care of Diamond’s film?” I asked.

Without a hesitation in his stride he said, “I did. He’d dump everything on my desk and get me to take it to the lab.”

“Did he take very many pictures when he was in the field?”

Patrick laughed. “It depends on what you mean by many. Jake was a photoholic. He took pictures the way most people eat potato chips — non-stop.”

“What about pictures from that last field trip? Did any turn up?”

“Yeah, that was odd. There were none, at least nothing’s arrived at the lab. I suppose Lianna might have them. I hadn’t thought to ask her.”

“As I told you, the cops say there were no films at all. No unexposed film either.”

“Odd. He must have lost them, I guess. It’s been known to happen before. He once put all his exposed film in a jacket pocket and then lost the jacket. “

“Did he usually keep the canisters to put the exposed film back in? Or did he toss them?”

“Always kept them. He wasn’t like most of us, who usually lose a canister or two. His exposed film always went back into a canister. You do ask a lot of questions, don’t you?” But at least he said it with a smile.

I thought back to the film Ryan had found. It hadn’t been in a canister, and that could mean only one thing: if the film was Diamond’s, it had been taken out of his camera by someone else. But why?

When we got to Patrick’s lab I handed him the disk and he popped it in.

I pointed to the folders and said, “There were six cats.”

Patrick shook his head and began searching through the files. “Can’t be right. We only collared five.”

He punched some keys and said, “No, that’s wrong. Diamond’s got an old folder mixed up in his current things. He was always doing that sort of thing. It’s impossible, you see. We lost the sixth radio collar a year ago — we had only six because they’re worth a small fortune. One of the lynx disappeared, and the signal stopped transmitting. We never did find the collar, much to Davies’ annoyance.”

“But look, one of them appears to have been tagged in March,” I said and reached over to take the mouse from him. Our hands touched, and I looked up to see him smiling at me, his eyes dancing and my heart swirling. I looked away in confusion. He took his hand away.

“No way. He never tagged on his own, never. We tagged five cats in April and May. This sixth cat is from last year. We radio-tagged six cats last May, so he’s mixed up his folders somehow with them.”

He punched in some numbers and checked the date. There was no year. No wonder Diamond mixed them up. I wondered if he forgot to date his data often.

Patrick stood up, towering over me, and I suddenly felt his strength as he looked down at me, aware for the first time of just how small I was compared with him. Disconcerted by the force of this revelation and the softness of his eyes, I tried to concentrate on all the questions that I wanted to ask him. He walked over to a shabby leather sofa and sat down.

“Have a seat,” he said, patting the sofa beside him and smiling. Jesus, what do I do now? I thought. Self-consciously, I walked over and sat down, feeling like the Tin Man needing his joints oiled as his eyes followed me the whole way to the sofa. Suddenly all I wanted to do was get away, afraid I would blow whatever I hoped might develop between us by saying something stupid. I was in that kind of mood, but I needed to know what he knew and it was easier to ask questions than to get up and make some feeble excuse about having to go. I was committed. There was no easier way out than to stay. So I pressed on.

“What I wanted to know was where he was flying during May and June and who flies surveillance for you?”

He turned his eyes away from me then and said, “It would have been over his study area, which is huge, but the notes would pinpoint that. He has the co-ordinates keyed in. I have them here, but you must understand that their home range can be quite big, so I really don’t see that their movements will help you at all.”

I sighed. Big dead end.

“What about Jeff? Who was he?”

“Jeff Reardon? He used to take Diamond out. He owned a small wildlife preserve up near Dumoine and did a bit of breeding of wild animals. Had permits, of course. It was a first-class operation.”

He paused, and I could hear a phone ringing in the distance.

“What happened to him?” I asked softly.

“His place burned down in July and took Reardon with it. Everything was lost, all his records, everything. It was a real tragedy. Most of the animals died too. It was a horrible fluke thing. We’d had no rain in weeks — you remember how dry the spring was. There were forest fire alerts out all over the place. And it was too remote for the fire department to get there in time. Lightning hit one of the buildings and there was nothing anyone could do. All the buildings were wood. It was gone in twenty minutes, they say. Reardon died trying to save his animals.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too. It’s a horrible way to die. ”

I didn’t know what to say to that so I just nodded, and waited a respectful amount of time before asking, “Would Jake have worked with him on artificial insemination?”

“You mean the captive lynx? Absolutely. One of Diamond’s females was shot by some goon a few years back, and the three cubs, two females and a male, were left to die, so Diamond took them to Jeff and they were raised semi-wild. They experimented with artificial insemination. Jeff picked up a couple more, a male and female, on a reconnaissance flight in New Brunswick. Another hunter’s nervous trigger finger had orphaned them, I gather. Anyway, that gave Diamond and Jeff a lot of cubs to work with, and I think all three females got pregnant. Diamond used to go up there a lot to watch them in their compound and see what difference it made being in captivity and that sort of thing. He spent a lot of time up there this past spring.”

“Did you ever go up there and see the cubs?”

“No point. The cubs were strictly off limits to anyone but Diamond and Jeff. Guarding their turf, I guess. Diamond was like that. Fiercely protective of his research. Hated anyone ogling him.”

“There’s a locked folder on the disk Shannon gave me. Any idea of the password?”

“Locked folder? What’s it called?’ He rose to check it out on the computer, but then changed his mind and sat back, shifting himself closer to me so that his left thigh pressed against mine.

“Wild card.” Somehow I managed to get the word out as my mind lingered on the warmth of his body.

“Doesn’t mean anything to me,” he said, smiling down at me. “Must be personal, but I’m afraid I can’t help you. His passwords were always names — even his bank card number, he turned that into a name — said it was easier to remember. Anyone tell you you have beautiful eyes?”

God, now what do I do? I thought, startled by this sudden change of events. Seeing my confusion he stood up and offered me his hand. I hesitated a fraction of a second and then gave it to him. He pulled me up faster than both of us realized and I stumbled against him. I felt his other arm come around my waist to steady me and I wanted to melt into his arms in the worst way. I looked up into his eyes and got lost in their warmth. He didn’t let go of me, but stared into my eyes.

“Who are you, Cordi O’Callaghan?” he asked in a soft voice, as he languidly traced a finger around my mouth. Footsteps sounded down the hall and he gently let go of me, and I screamed inside for what I had been sure I had seen in his eyes. He said, as if nothing had just passed between us, “Let’s go see the film.” I gathered my senses together and followed him out the door, marvelling at my composure. He led me down a maze of corridors and out into a courtyard. He took my arm then and we walked in silence, my thoughts in turmoil, until we came to a large three-storey old stone building, the only old building on the campus. We walked up the wide stairs, through the massive oak door, and down a long tiled corridor. The walls were warm wood panelling and the high ceilings soared over Patrick’s lanky frame. He told me that it was an old courthouse that had been turned into the university’s multimedia centre. We stopped at the main desk in a central foyer, and Patrick rang the piercing bell that stood on the desk. A big, burly dishevelled redhead appeared from an inner office.

“Kevin, buddy. Here’s the lady that wanted to see the footage of the peace camp meetings — the ones that the students of 101 filmed where Diamond and the loggers nearly came to blows.”

Patrick turned to me as Kevin left to retrieve the film and said, “I’ve got to get back. Are you around for dinner?” I don’t know why I said no. It certainly wasn’t what I wanted to say but out it came, and he just smiled and said, “Maybe another time then?” I mutely nodded and then he was gone. The ache in my mind that he had ignited grew stronger as I watched him disappear. Why had I said no?

What was I afraid of? Was I on the threshold of something good or something bad? I stood there in the hall twiddling my thumbs and thinking about him. I must have been mistaken about the look he gave me. It must have meant something else. He was really just being polite asking me to dinner. I tried to put him out of my mind. I didn’t need this.

“Dr. O’Callaghan!”

I turned with a sinking heart and saw Eric Davies walking briskly toward me, his small frame and hair and red face bristling with purpose. I braced myself for the onslaught. He was at least ten feet away when he held out his hand and sailed in on me, saying, “I think I owe you an apology for my behaviour the other day.”

Was this damage control, I wondered, and if so, why?

“It was inexcusable. I do get carried away when it comes to guarding the reputation of my department.” He took me by the arm and said, “I hope you won’t make any trouble for us here. You know our university doesn’t need negative publicity. We don’t want anything more in the papers.”

I laughed, a meaningless, hollow, social response as I shook my head and he released my arm. “I’m just trying to find my disks, that’s all.” We stood for some moments in awkward silence.

“Patrick said you were going to look at the film of the information meeting about the logging. I was hoping to catch you before you see it.”

“Well, you have. Kevin’s just gone to get it,” I said.

Davies let out a long, low laugh. “Diamond sure blew that one. The cardinal rule for environmentalists battling the opponent is never, ever lose your temper. Diamond paid for that.”

“What do you mean?”

“He lost the chance to reason with these people, to show them that we are intelligent and are willing to work together for solutions. His tantrum — you’ll see it in the film — led to the inevitable: the logging company pushing forward and Diamond responding with a barricade and court proceedings. Might have gone that way anyway but who knows?”

I nodded but said nothing.

“And he’s made a royal muck-up for the reputation of this university. Just my luck to get a brilliant troublemaker like Diamond. He did good research but he brought a lot of bad press around here with all his hare-brained ideas and causes, and I got some of the blame. I could have killed the man but the bear beat me to it. It’s always better to solve problems in a rational, reasoned way, and not go off the deep end.”

I marvelled at the dichotomy inherent in his last two sentences and the fact that he didn’t seem to see it. “Is that what happened between Leslie and Diamond?”

Davies narrowed his eyes and peered at me.

“What are you getting at?”

“I understand Leslie was in competition with Diamond for tenure since they first arrived. Now that Diamond’s gone I gather she’s a shoe-in to get tenure.”

“He was the better man. Oh sure, their qualifications were about the same, but Diamond struck me as a better researcher and he can’t get pregnant. Leslie, of course, should have had tenure a long time ago. She was very bitter and took it out on Diamond. She’s very good but we have a small budget and not enough tenured positions, so Leslie lost, until now, of course.”

“You’re not worried she’ll get pregnant now?” I asked.

He didn’t seem to notice the sarcasm dripping off my voice.

“Oh well, now that we don’t have Diamond, we can handle it if it happens, you know?”

“No, I don’t know,” I said, and then, wanting to avoid controversy, I added, “It couldn’t have been pleasant working with them.”

“It was a pain in the ass, quite frankly. They had a hell of a row about a month before Diamond died. Leslie was getting more and more bitter about tenure, and we couldn’t offer her anything. We suggested she look elsewhere, of course, though we hated to lose her. But everything’s tight and there was nothing out there for her that she wanted. Then Diamond was secretly offered a job in government — increased salary and security. Somehow Leslie found out and tried to persuade him to take it but he’d already refused it. Said he liked small-town life.”

“Why didn’t Leslie apply for the job?”

“That was the source of her anger. She didn’t hear about it until it was too late. It was a little bit under the table, I think. They invited him to apply with all the other public servants, guaranteeing him the job. It wasn’t well-advertised, and Diamond apparently wasn’t about to tell anyone. A bit selfish, I thought, but then he was a selfish man. Anyway, she was livid and he just laughed at her. He really was an asshole where Leslie was concerned, pardon my language. They were lovers once, until he dumped her. But what’s all this got to do with your disks?”

“I don’t know really,” I said. “I guess I’m just fishing.”

At that moment Kevin-buddy returned and Davies took off.

Kevin held out the two films and looked at me as though I was naked. Why did some men do that? If my lecherous thoughts about Patrick could be read as easily I would be mortified. But some guys seemed to thrive on it.

“You a tree hugger?”

“Depends on where the tree is,” I said.

“All right. A witty lady. I can give you a room for a couple of hours but I’ll have to kick you out at two o’clock. I have a whole slew of kids coming in then to edit their assignments.”

He showed me into a tiny viewing area and made sure he brushed up against me in the small space as he handed me the tape. I moved away from him and looked for the button to open the machine so that I could put the tape in.

“It’s not edited or anything so there’s lots of garbage. If you want I’ll stay and help. It can be complicated, this machinery.” His leer was wide enough for a ten-ton truck to drive through.

I gave him my best ice-cold glance, which probably wasn’t very cold or icy because I hate hurting people. Gets me into a lot of trouble, but there it is.

“Isn’t this just a standard machine with pause, play, and stop buttons?”

“Uh well, yeah, I guess it is.”

“Then I can manage it myself, thanks.” I turned my back on him and I heard the door shut quietly behind me. God, I hated sounding bitchy, but how else was I supposed to get rid of a guy like that without kicking him in the nuts?