Fatima, did you see my husband and son? I saw nothing that will help.
Maggies jaw dropped.
You saw something, didnt you?
Fatima searched for her cane.
You have to help me, please, tell me what to do? Maggie asked.
Helga helped Fatima from the table.
Please, Maggie. Helga nodded toward the door. Were done.
Yes, Fatima whispered, I must sleep.
Thats it?
You must leave, Helga said.
No! Wait, please, you have to tell me what you saw. You have to help me!
Fatima extended her shaking hand to Maggies, then dropped Logans key ring and Jakes penknife into it. Fatimas eyes held Maggies for an intense moment.
No one can help, especially me.
What are you saying? What does that mean?
You should pray.
Pray for what? I dont understand. Helga was closing the door on her. Please, you have to help me! You can try again! Please! I felt Logan with us! I know you saw something!
Maggie stepped from Fatimas mobile home and the locks clicked behind her. She leaned against the door, slid to the landing and buried her face in her hands.
16
Calgary, Alberta, Canada
Jesus Rocks filled the police binoculars.
The words strained across Neil Bicks T-shirt, adver tising his tattooed physique, earned in Stony Mountain federal prison where he did three years for stealing computers from RVs, cabins and cottages.
Hed also shot at-but missed-the two Winnipeg cops whod arrested him.
How did this ex-cons fingerprints get on the SUV rented by the Tarver family, Graham wondered, watch ing through binoculars as Bick walked down a neglected southeast Calgary sidewalk and into a world of trouble.
The Calgary Police Tactical Unit had a perimeter around his ramshackle house. The street had been cleared. Far off, an unseen dog barked.
All right, take him, the TAC commander whis pered over the radio.
Heavily armed police rushed from the cover of shrubs, alleys, porches and parked cars, putting Bick facedown on the street at gunpoint.
What the fuck?
They handcuffed him, patted him down and read him his Charter rights.
What the fuck is this?
Twenty-five minutes later he was sitting in an inter view room with Graham, whod read his file a third time.
Neil Frederick Bick, age thirty-four, born in Winnipeg, Manitoba. Mother was a hooker murdered by an outlaw biker when Bick was six. Hed been a child of the province. In and out of school. In and out of the military. In and out of jail.
Graham asked Bick if he wanted a lawyer.
Fuck lawyers. I dont need one because I didnt do nothing. Why are you jamming me, man? Ive been livin straight since I got out. I need a smoke.
The federal building was subject to no-smoking laws but Graham returned his pack. Bick shook one out, lit it and squinted through a cloud.
Yeah, I remembered that family after Id read the news. Wild.
Tell me again how your prints got on their SUV.
One of my jobs is pumping gas into airport rentals. I filled their tank and cleaned their windshield. I gave them directions to the Trans-Canada. My prints are on a lot of cars, you already know that.
Graham knew it.
He also knew theyd just executed a search warrant on Bicks residence.
Neil, tell me about the four laptop computers we found in your possession.
Im repairing them for people at my church. I studied computer tech at Stony. The church outreach people set me up here in Calgary. New place, new start and all.
Bick tapped ash into the empty soda can Graham had passed him.
Ray Tarvers computer was not among the four theyd found with Bick. None of the models or serial numbers were close. In fact, they all belonged to church members whod corroborated Bicks account.
And Mounties in Banff had called Graham after theyd showed Bicks photograph to the staff at the Tree Top Restaurant, including Carmen Navales.
No one can say if Bicks the man who was sitting with Ray Tarver.
By late afternoon, Graham had established Bicks whereabouts for the time surrounding the tragedy. Hed been nowhere near the mountains. A minister came to the Duncan building to confirm that Bick had driven seniors to Dinosaur Provincial Park in a church van on the days in question. He had pictures.
At that point, Graham resumed discussing Bick with his commanding officers. Between making calls and handling other cases in his office, Inspector Stotter had watched most of the questioning from the other side of the rooms transparent mirror.
Graham said, Our guys not connected to this.
Stotter held Graham in a stare that bordered on concern for a tense moment.
Kick him loose and go home, Dan. Well talk in the morning.
Driving from work, Graham had to pass his wifes roadside shrine again.
He had to pass it every day.
The windswept stretch where shed died was on the only highway to their home. The white cross jutted from the earth like an accusation but he didnt stop to face it today. Not this time.
Something deep in his stomach turned cold but he kept driving, asking for forgiveness as he passed the site.
Their property was southwest of Calgary on the upper slope of an isolated butte. One of the few modest old ranch homes still standing, it sat on a ridge over looking a clear stream and the mountains.
Since the day hed arrived in Alberta, Graham had wanted this acreage, known as Sawtooth Bend. After hed shown it to Nora, she fell in love with it, too. Six months after they were married they bought the land.
They belonged here.
Theyd had dreams for building a big new ranch home and raising children here.
But those dreams had vanished with the ashes hed released to the wind.
Loneliness greeted him when he opened the door.
He took a hot shower, changed into his jeans and a T-shirt. He wasnt hungry. He poured a glass of apple juice, collapsed in his swivel rocker, turned to the window to watch the sun sink behind the Rockies.
How could he live without her?
How could he go on chained to his guilt?
He glanced at their wedding picture on the mantel, loving how she glowed in her gown. An angel in the sun. He beamed in his red serge. For that moment in time, his dreams had come true.
He was born in a working-class section near To rontos High Park neighborhood. He grew up wanting to find the right girl and become a cop, just like his old man, a respected Toronto detective. When Grahams dad followed a case to Quebec, he met Marie, a secre tary for Montreal homicide. They fell in love and that was that.
The younger Graham grew up in Toronto fluent in English and, thanks to his mother, French. He dreamed of being a Mountie, a federal cop with the most recog nized force in the world. His father and mother had tears in their eyes the day his graduating troop marched by them at the RCMP Training Academy in Regina. His first posting was in southern Alberta, where hed made some key arrests at the Montana border. It led to a de tective job with GIS in Calgary. Then he joined the Major Crimes section where hed excelled at clearing the hardest cases.
But now?
He ran his hand over his face.
Now, his confidence had been shattered. He didnt know if he was on the right track, a fact reflected in the way Stotter had looked at him. Bick was not connected. Graham had no solid evidence to prove the case was anything more than a terrible wilderness accident.
So why the hell was he trying to make it into some thing more?
Did he believe it was something more?
Was he missing something?
He didnt know. He couldnt think. It was black outside and he went to bed. But night winds rattled the windows and tormented him with questions.
Maybe what happened to the Tarvers was no accident? What about the missing laptop? The stranger at Rays table? The meaning of Blue Rose Creek, the last note Ray had written? Earlier, Graham had run the term Blue Rose Creek through databases but got nothing concrete.
Then there was the big insurance policy. There was stress in the Tarver home, money problems and the fact that they still hadnt found Rays body.
Did he flip out, kill his family with plans to emerge and collect the insurance?
Go back.
What if Ray was onto a big story and someone killed him and his family?
How big does a story have to be?
Any way you cut it, a wilderness accident can be a perfect murder.
Mother Nature is your murder weapon.
The wind shook the house. Graham tossed and turned and in his dream state he heard Nora whisper to him as she did when hed been underwater in the river facing death.
Keep going, Daniel. You have to keep going.
Little Emily Tarvers dying words haunted him.
Dont-daddy.
But the girls voice was so soft, so small and the river was deafening. These factors raised doubts. Did she actually speak at all? Or did he dream that she did?
Was he dreaming now?
Or was he mining his subconscious as her last breaths played in his memory. He could hear her again. But this time she said more.
He heard her clearly.
An icy chill rocketed up Grahams spine, forcing him to sit up, wide awake.
The time glowed: 2:47 a.m.
He made coffee, sat in his chair and considered his case. Then he went to his computer and by dawn hed completed a new case status report. He showered, had fresh coffee and scrambled eggs for breakfast then drove back to the office and placed his updated report on his bosss desk.
Graham was convinced he now knew Emily Tarvers dying words.
Dont hurt my daddy.
After reading Grahams report, Inspector Stotter removed the jacket of his mohair suit, hung it on the wooden hanger, and then hooked it on his coatrack.
Dont hurt my daddy.
After reading Grahams report, Inspector Stotter removed the jacket of his mohair suit, hung it on the wooden hanger, and then hooked it on his coatrack.
I know youve saved our team many times with solid detective work, Dan.
Graham sat in one of the cushioned visitors chairs watching Stotter.
You stood your ground when everyone else thought you were wrong.
Stotter loosened his tie then rolled his sleeves to the elbows.
But I dont see it here. I dont see a reason to grant your request to go to the U.S. and look into Ray Tarvers history.
Why not?
I think youre using this case as a means of repen tance.
What?
I think its got something to do with why you were in the mountains in the first place and why you jumped in the river after the girl.