Fool's Gold (22 page)

"Ignore him," Gallagher told the pilot. "My policeman has a gun in his holster, right side. Take it out."

The pilot did and handed it to Gallagher. He turned and gave it to the nurse. "Here you are, Millie," he said. "If he makes a move, shoot him."
 

He winked at her, but she didn't acknowledge it. "Right, Chief," she said. "What are you going to do?"

He laughed. "Me? I'm going hunting with young Reid, here," he said.

 

 

 

17

 

 

We helped Millie into the plane and handed her the medical bag. She took it, plumped the gun inside it, and set it down between her big, practical shoes. The pilot leaned past her. He was dressed in a business suit with a leather jacket over the top of it. I guessed he was an amateur Gallagher had press-ganged.
 

"Any instructions, Chief?"

"Yeah. Sergeant Jackaman will be waiting at the dock. Tell him to put Tettlinger in the cells and keep him there. Hold off on a bail hearing until I get back."
 

The pilot nodded. "What about you guys?"

"Arrange for the chopper to come for us tonight if he can, with a couple of my men to help in the search. We'll see him on the river where the portage comes out—that's due west of here. If nobody can make it tonight, tell 'em first light tomorrow. And one last thing, tell Jackaman to take care of this. Don't touch it except to take prints." He laid the Lee Enfield rifle across the feet of the two men in the backseat, holding it carefully in his handkerchief. I noticed he set the butt end over Onyschuk's feet. That was the part that would be printed, the end Tettlinger might work to wipe with his feet as he flew.
 

The pilot nodded. "Will do. Now if you'll shove me off and point me offshore, I'll go."

Gallagher nodded and shut the door. Then we both leaned against the fuselage until the float was clear of the rock and the aircraft was pointing toward the island. The pilot started the engine in a crackle of sound and a blast of the slipstream that made us turn away with watering eyes. He moved majestically out into the open channel and turned north, into the light wind. We watched until he lifted off, turning as he climbed to head south again, down to Olympia.
 

I stooped then and began repacking my backback. Gallagher followed me, shoving Onyschuk's gear back into his bag. As we worked he asked me, "What happened?"
 

I filled him in and he said, "That'll be his defense for sure, accidental discharge of the weapon."

"It won't stick," I promised. "He's going inside for a long stretch."

"Hopefully until I'm through with this job," Gallagher said. He pulled the drawstring on Onyschuk's bag. "I figure we'll leave this here. You can't carry a thing like this and a gun and a canoe."
 

"You figure to take the canoe over the portage?"

"We'll be stuck without it if the chopper doesn't get in. Otherwise we could make it back to the highway in two days."

I nodded. "Okay. I guess I put more faith in choppers than most people. I'm just leery about having one of us looking like a turtle if there's anyone else with Tettlinger and he stands off to drill us."
 

Gallagher took the bag and dropped it in the canoe. "With your dog along he won't get the chance," he promised. "I've covered the portage before. There's nowhere for him to get a clear shot. He'd have to be close up and Sam would flush him out."
 

"Okay, let's do it." I whistled Sam back from the bush and set him in the canoe. Then we launched it, stern first, and swung it parallel to the shore. "You take the bow," I told Gallagher. "I want to be where I can see Sam."
 

He clambered in, bearlike in his heavy parka, and took up the paddle at that end. Then I did the same and we pushed off.

"It's up the shore," he said over his shoulder. "Let's stick close in, 'case any other bastard is around."

We stayed in the shallows, only a canoe-length from the shore where Sam could sniff the wind. He sat up, rigid except for the swings of his handsome head as he tasted the air. But he got no scents and in a couple of minutes we beached the canoe on a tiny patch of sand where somebody had tied a piece of geologist's orange marking tape around a tree trunk.
 

We prepared carefully for the portage. While I kept watch, Gallagher lashed the paddles inside the canoe. Next he hung Onyschuk's backpack from the branch of a tree.
 

I reloaded my rifle, putting an extra round up the spout this time. Then Gallagher slung Onyschuk's Winchester over his shoulder, muzzle down, and crouched so I could turn the canoe and lift it onto his back.
 

I slung my own pack on my back and told Sam "Seek," and we advanced up the narrow trail someone had slashed through the brush. I held my rifle at the ready but I knew that Gallagher was right. Sam would flush any ambusher out before he could aim at us. I concentrated on listening and checking the trail itself as well as looking for anybody who might be hiding there.
 

The woods were quiet, except for the occasional clank of the canoe and Gallagher's snorting breathing. An aluminum canoe weighs around seventy pounds, and it's awkward to carry. It was a solid load for a man in his late fifties, but Gallagher didn't falter.
 

When we'd walked for fifteen minutes I stopped and spoke to him, softly. "You want to change?"

He canted the canoe prow up so he could look at me. "No, I'd rather you walked point, I haven't had to for thirty years. But I'd like a breather."

We set the canoe down and he straightened and arched his back gratefully. "You gotta remember, I'm closer to shuffleboard age than humpin' canoes up mountains."
 

"It's flat here," I reminded him, and he humphed. "That's what you think," he said.

We waited ten minutes, while Sam ranged ahead, then Gallagher said, "When we get another twenty minutes, let's dump our loads and go on to the river and scout around. Any camp'll be this side for sure, on the portage. Okay?"
 

"Right. I'll call Sam close so he won't warn anybody off."

Gallagher nodded. "If there's anyone still up there they'll have heard the activity in the air, so we won't be much of a surprise. But it wouldn't hurt to sneak a little."
 

I let Sam run ahead for another ten minutes, then whistled him back and let him lead us, only a few yards ahead. The bush was still dense. Nobody could have taken a long shot at us and I knew that Sam would give me notice of anybody close in.
 

Gallagher was tiring. Twice in as many minutes he shifted the weight of the canoe on his shoulders, setting up a hollow echoing clank that seemed to ring like a bell through the silent bush.
 

I felt for him. This was work. But at least we could be glad it was cool and there were no flies. In spring the blackflies would have been so thick we couldn't have breathed without swallowing them. Gallagher would have been in misery by now.
 

I checked my watch. We had walked twenty minutes so I stopped, and when Gallagher saw my feet under the rim of his burden he said "Good" and crouched so I could lift the canoe off his back. We set it aside, leaving so little room on the trail that we had to push branches out of the way as we moved ahead of it in Indian file.
 

I heard Gallagher work the action of the Winchester, the classic k-clack that every John Wayne Western fan would recognize in the dark. I kept Sam almost at my feet, sniffing and probing the air as we moved on, silently now. Ahead I could hear the muffled rush of rapids on the river. It's the same sound you get from a highway—even, ceaseless. It grew louder as we approached, and suddenly we were on the edge of a clearing against the river's edge, just downstream of the rapids, the last possible spot to pull out a canoe before you headed into white water.
 

I kept Sam with me as I scanned the clearing and as much of the far shore as I could see. It took a moment to notice the drab green tarpaulin strung like an open-ended tent between two trees on the edge of the clearing. I turned and beckoned to Gallagher. He came up beside me and I pointed to the tent.
 

"That'll be Tettlinger's," he whispered. "Misquadis wouldn't bother with a shelter on a short trip."

"Then some other guy could be around," I whispered back, "Stay here, I'll check it out." I urged Sam forward, silently, and moved ahead around the edge of the open space, checking constantly as I walked. There was nothing in the clearing itself to hide a man, but he could be back in the trees a short way, or across the river, where Sam would not be so likely to scent him.
 

I watched Sam and suddenly his muzzle lifted and his neck began to bristle. He'd picked up a heavy scent. I touched him on the back and he remained silent as we covered the last fifteen paces. Then I dropped to one knee, rifle covering the interior of the shelter while Sam hurled himself into it.
 

He worked all through the space, head down, sniffing at something I couldn't identify at first. Then I realized it was a sleeping bag, probably Tettlinger's.
 

I told Sam "Easy," and he backed off while I searched the shelter. There was only one bag and one set of utensils. I turned to Gallagher who was coming out of the bush behind me. "Looks like Tettlinger was on his own."
 

"Good," he said. "Last thing we need is some other bastard sniping at us from the bush."

 

 

 

18

 

 

Finding Tettlinger's camp had taken the pressure off. The terrain became ordinary bush once more, instead of hostile territory. We sat and talked and rested, like soldiers after a dangerous patrol.
 

"It's beginning to look systematic," I said. "First of all Prudhomme kills some guy. Then we find him killed in turn. Then we find Tettlinger up here, skulking around shooting at policemen. This isn't random killing, there's a pattern to it, if only we could see it."
 

I waited, but Gallagher said nothing. He held up one hand, then began to dig into the pocket of his parka. He came out with a pack of Export cigarettes and a book of restaurant matches. Almost sensually he pushed his chewing gum out of his mouth with his tongue. He took out a cigarette and lit it, holding up his head as he inhaled, like a priest elevating the Host at mass. "First in two days," he said, as he breathed out a column of smoke.
 

"When you're through with your orgasm, I was talking about the case," I said.

He took a quicker, more practiced drag, coughing and recovering. "Yeah, I'm still with you. You're wondering why people are getting murdered left and right." He scowled at me and coughed again. "It hadn't slipped my notice, you know."
 

"So what's your theory? Here we've had a killing and an attempted murder of a pair of coppers in a couple of days. That's premeditated. My question is, What's behind it all?"
 

Gallagher nodded patiently. "The obvious answer is money. My guess is, it's about those gold claims we talked about. I mean, if Prudhomme was a shareholder and now he's dead, that's a bigger piece of pie for the rest of the guys, right?"
 

I nodded. "That makes the most sense yet. I think that the lawyer, Laval, has Mob connections. It must have been him who set me up in Montreal—then torched the dentist. That smells like organized crime to me. So they could be involved here. Now if your buddy McKenzie was right, we're talking big money, maybe billions of honest, legal dollars. All they have to do is eliminate anybody who can connect them with the finding of the mine."
 

Gallagher exhaled smoke, coughed quickly, and recovered. "Those bastards would kill a guy for a thousand dollars. For the kind of money we're thinking about, they'd wipe out the whole of Olympia."
 

"Right. That's my reading. I guess they used Tettlinger early on to provide some muscle. Now they got him involved, to kill Prudhomme. Next step is to kill the pair of them."
 

Gallagher nodded. We stared at one another blindly for a moment and I went on, "I'm wondering how much more we can accomplish up here. I think we'd be better off in town, talking to Tettlinger."
 

"We can't get back before nightfall," Gallagher said. He was still holding his dead match. Now he folded it between finger and thumb to be sure it was completely out, and dropped it. He finished his smoke before continuing. Then he lifted his boot sole and ground out the butt completely dead before tossing it aside. "I figure we should spend our time up here looking for Misquadis. That was his rifle Tettlinger was using and I figure he wouldn't have parted with that without a struggle. Maybe he's in trouble."
 

"Right. But let's eat first, we may not get another chance all day. I'll go get the canoe. Why don't you get a fire going?"

"Good idea," Gallagher said. "I'm amazed you thought of it yourself." He turned to find some firewood while I took Sam and went back for the canoe and my pack.
 

I came back and opened a can of corned beef and put some rice on to boil. I fried up the beef, saving a corner for Sam even though I'd fed him before we came into the bush. When the rice and meat were cooked, I mixed them together and divided them, giving Gallagher the plate and taking my own food straight from the pan. We washed it all down with water from the river and a short taste of Onyschuk's rye. I wished he had bought Black Velvet, but the quick snort gave us fresh heart and after I'd scoured out the pan and plate we repacked and made our plans for the rest of the day.
 

"I'd like to talk to Misquadis," Gallagher said. "Or at least make sure that bastard didn't kill him."

"Me too. "D'you think he'd have crossed the river and baited for bear somewhere?"