The Glacier Gallows (19 page)

“Who are you, Blake Foreman?” said Walter as he watched the light fade along the eastern slope.

EAST GLACIER, MONTANA. JULY 5.

BRIAN MARRIOTT STOOD UP WHEN
Cole Blackwater stepped into the café. Cole scanned the tables at the back of the Two Medicine Grill and then saw him at the counter. In the tight space, the two men shook hands and then did an awkward half hug that made them both conscious of the other patrons' eyes on them. They both sat at the counter. Brian had a cup of coffee in front of him and a menu. A young woman with long red hair pinched back with a hair clip handed Cole a menu and poured him a cup of coffee. He added cream from a carton.

“Have you been in town long?” asked Brian.

“A couple of days. I had some things I needed to pick up, and I spent yesterday just driving a rental car around, looking at what all the fuss about fracking is about.”

Brian nodded. “I've met with Derek from East Glacier Guiding and we're all set. The only thing left to do is meet our guests.”

They ordered breakfast and talked shop while they watched the cook manage the grill. “How is Joe Firstlight?” asked Cole.

“You can ask him yourself. He'll be here in a few hours. But he's fine. I think he's pretty frustrated. Every move he makes to try and convince the Blackfeet Tribal Council that fracking is going to poison their water—and that wind power is clean and economical—gets kneecapped. He told me last week that High Country Energy has offered to build a new library along with a gymnasium on the reservation. These guys aren't even trying to hide the fact that they are buying support.”

Their breakfasts came and they started eating. Brian said, “When we used to square off against each other, did you ever want to, well, you know . . . kill me?”

Cole laughed and almost choked on his food. He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “Sure, but never seriously. Is there something wrong?”

“No. It's just that . . . it's nothing. Listen, when we get back from this little outing, I want to bring you in on something that I'm working on. It's got to do with the tar sands.”

“What is it?”

Brian looked around. “I don't want to get into it right now. You asked if I'd followed the money on this fracking debacle and I
have
followed some, on something big that's going on in the tar sands. I need you to look over some files.”

“You don't have them here?”

“No. They're at home. Safe.”

Cole smirked. “You're starting to sound like me.”

“Not sure that's such a bad thing, Cole. You know, when I was with the Petroleum Resources Group, we used to talk about how we could take
you
out, metaphorically speaking.”

“Yeah,
we
used to talk the same way about
you
. In the end, I took myself out. Couldn't keep my pecker in my pants and told a little white lie that became a black hole for my career. It got both Nancy and me fired.”

“Well, that saved me a lot of heartache for a few years, but in the end, you were right. I was wrong. I think the thing that separates us now is just a question of how, not necessarily why—how to create the change that will make things better, not why bother.”

Cole said, “What do you say, partner? Shall we go for a hike?”

CALGARY, ALBERTA. AUGUST 10.

COLE SAT IN THE PASSENGER
seat while Walter drove. Nancy sat behind him, and Dorothy Blackwater was next to her. The sun broke over the eastern horizon; the foothills outside Longview bloomed gold in the day's early light. In the dells, a fine mist sat low to the earth, and overhead a few threads of clouds formed and reformed like ephemeral cotton candy. Cole sighed deeply. This might be his last sunrise as a free man. Nancy put her hand on his shoulder, and he reached up and held it.

PERRY GILBERT MET
them at the law courts. He was dressed in a three-piece suit with a conservative tie. Cole wore a dark suit with an open collar. “We've got about an hour,” said Perry, looking at his watch. “Do you want to get a coffee?”

“I don't think I can. I haven't been able to eat this morning. Any last-minute information?” Cole asked.

Perry reached into his briefcase and pulled out a file. He put the briefcase down and opened the file. “I got this last night. I should have forwarded it, but it was pretty late. They have confirmed that the body was that of Chip Prescott. The time of death has been pegged to a twenty-four-hour window around the third of July.”

“Three days before the hike,” said Walter.

“And within the time Cole was in East Glacier.”

Cole looked down.

“Cause of death—and here you were bang on, Walter—single gunshot wound to the head. In and out. No ballistics on site, but the
ME
says the size of the hole in the head is consistent with the weapon the
FBI
say Cole procured in Browning. It's not conclusive. Any heavy-caliber weapon could have made that wound.”

“Are they going to try and pin this on me?” asked Cole, still looking at the sidewalk.

“I don't know, Cole. Not today. But I don't know what might happen down the road. Altogether, though, it adds to their argument that you should be tried in Montana.”

Cole looked at Nancy, then at Walter, and finally at his mother. “I'm really sorry about this. I'm really sorry.”

“There's nothing to be sorry about, darling.” Dorothy took Cole's hand.

“We better get inside.” Nancy put a hand on Cole's shoulder. “I just saw the Global
TV
van pull up around the corner. I think things are going to get crazy out here.”

HALF AN HOUR
before the scheduled hearing, there were three
TV
vans outside the courthouse and a dozen reporters crowded the lobby, waiting for admittance to the court. Cole sat with his family and lawyer in an isolated corner of the law courts building, avoiding the reporters and cloaked in his own dark thoughts. Nancy held his hand.

Cole closed his eyes and saw Brian Marriott's broken visage. His murder had left a vacuum that sucked the world into the empty space. Just as nature abhors a void, so too does society. People rush to fill it: they point fingers and assign motive in an effort to stanch the suctioning of other lives into that emptiness. Cole was at the center of that empty space, and the world rushed to use his life to fill the dark void that was Brian Marriott's murder. He felt Nancy's grip tighten on his hands. He looked up.

The lawyer from the federal solicitor general's office walked across the lobby of the law courts. “Mr. Gilbert? Can we have a word?” Perry stood up. He looked back at Cole, then went to confer with opposing counsel.

Cole watched as the government lawyer spoke for a few minutes and then Perry asked a series of questions. Cole felt sweat forming where his curls sat on his forehead.

Finally, the conversation ended, and the government lawyer reached out to shake Perry's hand. Perry hesitated a moment, a look of frustration on his face, but he shook the man's hand and watched him walk to the door. Cole felt a moment of confusion twist in his head. He watched Perry turn and start back toward them, a smile spreading across his face.

A GAGGLE OF
reporters huddled around Perry Gilbert and Cole Blackwater. Nancy, Walter, and Dorothy stood a few feet away, each still reeling from the turn of events. Two Calgary police officers flanked the group, but instead of watching Cole, they were watching the growing throng of reporters.

Perry spoke to the reporters. “The
US
federal district attorney has dropped the extradition request against my client. There will be no charges laid. He's a free man. He had no involvement whatsoever in the death of his friend and colleague Brian Marriott.”

The press spit questions at the pair. Perry held up his hands in a plea for calm. He pointed to the
Calgary Herald
reporter. “What explanation did the solicitor general's office give for the extradition request being dropped?” asked the reporter. He sounded disappointed.

“All they told us was that new evidence has come to light that exonerates Mr. Blackwater and has led both the
RCMP
and the
FBI
in a new direction in the investigation.”

“Did they explain what the new evidence is?” asked a woman who wrote for the
Calgary Sun
.

“No. They refused to provide this. The
RCMP
and the
FBI
are apparently still working together on this case, and all I know is that this evidence has taken them in some new direction. I don't know if they have a suspect, nor would they tell me what that evidence was.”

“Mr. Blackwater,” said a woman who was with
CTV
, “what are you going to do now?”

Cole stepped up beside Perry. He cleared his throat. He felt dizzy. “I'm going to go home. To Vancouver. I haven't seen my daughter in six weeks. I just want to go home and get on with my life.”

“And what about Brian Marriott's death? He was a friend of yours.”

“Brian's death was a tragedy. He was a good man, doing good work. Whoever killed him has to be brought to justice.”

Perry looked at Cole and could see the color draining from his face. “Mr. Blackwater has been through a great deal over these last weeks. We need some time to consider what happens next.”

Cole stepped back as the circle of reporters crowded close around him and Perry. From the corner of his eye Cole could see two Calgary police officers still close at hand. He took another step back. He wanted to leave. He felt faint. He started to turn and move away from the crowd, toward Nancy, Walter, and his mother, who stood some feet away. The
Calgary Herald
reporter pressed toward him. “Do you think this murder had anything to do with Mr. Marriott's work to shut down the oil sands?”

Cole turned to him. He felt his cell phone buzzing in his pocket and thought how strange it was that he should be getting a call right at that moment. “We weren't trying to shut the tar sands down.” Cole pulled his phone from his pocket to look at the caller
ID
. “We were trying to use them to pay for alternative-energy development in Canada . . .” The phone continued to buzz. The call display read
DENMAN SCOTT
. His best friend. Denman must be watching this live.

Cole tried to press the Talk button while holding up a hand to wave off the reporter. One of the city police officers stepped close behind Cole to help him out of the crowd. Cole felt weak, and his phone slipped from his hand. It clattered onto the sidewalk and Cole bent awkwardly to pick it up.

As he did, the police officer cried out. Someone screamed. Cole was still reaching for his phone on the sidewalk when he saw blood painting the ground around him and watched the police officer collapse. More people were screaming. Cole stood up and turned and saw that the officer was lying on his back, his chest bright red with blood. Cole looked for and found Nancy ten feet away. Their eyes locked. She was moving toward him, screaming something he couldn't hear.

The
Calgary Herald
reporter next to Cole tried to push past him to get to the cop on the ground. Cole watched as the reporter's back opened up, making a tearing sound, and more blood sprayed across Cole. Cole felt something like a red-hot branding iron penetrate his left shoulder at the same instant, and his vision went black. He dropped the phone and took two steps backward. The
Herald
reporter fell forward toward him, his hands grasping at Cole's suit jacket. Cole tripped over the prone police officer and landed hard on the cement, hitting his head. He could see again, but as if through deep water. The
Herald
reporter landed next to him.

Cole could hear screaming and shouting, and then Perry Gilbert was next to him. He saw Nancy's face. She was saying something, but he couldn't hear her. She was looking around frantically. Another cop came into view, and Cole could see that he had his weapon in his hands. Nancy's hands were on Cole's face. He couldn't feel them.

The world faded. And then went black.

Glacier

CALGARY, ALBERTA. AUGUST 18.

COLE DREAMED DARK DREAMS IN
which Brian Marriott told him that he was next.

“IF YOU'RE UP
to it, Detective Sergeant Pullman from the Calgary police and Inspector Reimer from the
RCMP
would like to talk with you.” Perry Gilbert stood on one side of Cole's bed while Nancy stood on the other. Cole sat up and drank water through an articulated straw. His shoulder was bandaged and his left arm was in a sling.

“Sure, I can talk with them for a little bit.”

Perry went to the door and showed the two police officers into the room. Pullman was a tall man with tight black curls and dark skin who spoke in a deep baritone voice. Reimer followed him in. They both stood at the foot of the bed.

“Mr. Blackwater, you're looking well.” Pullman smiled warmly. “Thank you for agreeing to talk with us.”

“Don't think this gets anybody off the hook,” said Perry.

Reimer ignored him. “Let us tell you what we know. You were shot—”

“No shit,” Cole said without a trace of a smile.

“You were shot with a high-caliber round. We have recovered two cartridges from the crime scene. One was embedded in the cement wall of the law courts; the other, in the sidewalk. We've been able to calculate the trajectory and angle of the shots and have determined that they came from the roof of the adjacent City
TV
building.”

“I always knew the Calgary media had it in for me.”

Reimer continued. “So far, we've not been able to recover any forensic evidence from the City
TV
building. We've reviewed closed-circuit video surveillance from that location, but nothing so far.”