The Third Riel Conspiracy (7 page)

Durrant walked among the rows of stalls, minding his footing on the churned earth. After a few minutes of searching he asked one of the teamsters for directions, and with a sideways glance he was pointed to where Wake's body had been found.

Durrant knew he was in the right place: a tight grouping of wagons bore the same insignia,
WAKE LIVERY AND BOARDING
. He stopped and considered the scene. Here the wagons were configured in a tight square, creating a compact enclosure five or six yards across. Between two of the wagons a narrow passage led to the rest of the stables. Wake must have arranged his wagons in such a manner to provide the perception of protection, even within the walls of the zareba. The actions of a man who knew he had enemies? Or just a precaution during a time of war?

Durrant studied the ground in the narrow passage. He quickly found the place where Wake had fallen. Though the weather had been mostly grey over the last twenty-four hours, no rain or snow had sullied the earth, and he was able to see where the man had bled. Durrant stooped and examined the spot, looking beneath the wagons for anything the killer might have left behind. He could see nothing. He straightened and went inside the enclosure. There was a fire ring in the centre, and Durrant could easily see where several men had regularly bedded down. Some dirty dishes, a heap of cast-off bedding, and a few faggots of wood had been pushed under one of the wagons. Durrant examined the wagons and soon located a latch to a compartment above the running board of one. He popped it open and found little of interest—just a few personal items, including a comb, a straight razor, and a Bible. Durrant opened the book to see if there was an inscription, but there was nothing. He put the items back. He stepped on a small stone and looked down at it. It was a polished river rock, nothing out of the ordinary.

It seemed obvious that someone had known where Wake kept his personal effects, including his pistol. The killer had simply snuck into the enclosure, taken the Colt, and surprised Wake. Reports claimed that two cartridges had been fired from the Colt. Why two? Durrant wondered. Saul had mentioned only a single hole in the man's head. Without the corpse to examine, the question remained.

Why go to the trouble of stealing the man's pistol? With so many arms about, why not just use what was close at hand? Even Terrance La Biche had been able to secret away a sizable hatchet. Whoever had killed Reuben Wake must have intended on placing the pistol on La Biche, and that the plan from the start had been to frame him.

Durrant concluded his search having found more questions than answers.

SIX

MAY 14, 1885.

It felt warmer to Durrant Wallace when he awoke for the second morning inside the zareba. Now he was meeting with Saul and Garnet over a morning meal. “While you slept the morning away”—Saul sat down on a stump and passed a plate of food to each of his friends—“I was able to ascertain that some of our host of men will decamp today. The company will send a contingent of men to join up with General Strange and Durrant's very own Sam Steele. They are to rendezvous with the general at Fort Pitt. Most of our company will remain behind to root out further troublemakers around Batoche.”

“That gives us a little more time.” Durrant drank his coffee and warmed his prosthetic by the fire. “Has La Biche been dispatched to Regina?”

“No. It's as if he were the pea in a shell game, though. He's being kept apart from the other prisoners. I have asked to see him to administer medical care, but have been told he's to be seen by General Middleton's personal surgeon and none other.”

“Seems as if Sub-Inspector Dickenson is acting more than a little suspicious,” said Durrant.

“Indeed. As of this morning, La Biche has been stowed in a wagon near to where the Regina companies have pitched their camp, close to the rank little pond that serves as our water source,” said Saul, his eyebrow pitched at an angle to illustrate his displeasure with the prospect.

“This means we yet have an opportunity to learn more about our murdered man and those who may have wanted him dead,” said Durrant.

Garnet winked at Saul. “My good Sergeant, it's as before. You simply can't accept the simple explanation, can you? Why not accept that this man La Biche had it in for Reuben Wake and found a way to do him in? You told us yourself that he'd gone to the lavatory at the very time that Reuben Wake was killed!”

“Surely you of all people would understand my reluctance to accept the simple explanation, Mr. Moberly. Wasn't it you who taught me to seek out a man's means, motive, and opportunity when making such an inquiry?”

“Did this man not have all three?” asked Garnet.

“He said that while he had the intent of killing Mr. Wake, he was not able to seize it.”

“So there is some skulduggery afoot, then?” suggested Garnet.

“Do you believe the true murderer had access to La Biche's garment after his arrest?” asked Saul.

Durrant took a mouthful of breakfast and set his plate down on the grass. “If this man had killed Wake, why would he not simply confess to it, if he is so honest about his intent? He went to the trouble of putting aside a meat hatchet. We must determine what La Biche's motive might have been for allowing his own capture in the first place. He was on the verge of confessing this to me yesterday when we were interrupted. I aim to have another go at him this morning. Then we must set about learning who else wished to undertake this brazen act.”

“There could well be many.” Garnet dug his pipe from his pocket and packed down a plug of tobacco.

“This is certainly the case, my friend. We'll need to work together to learn all we can while we are still at the scene of the crime. Saul, are you able to free yourself of your service in order to help us out?”

“I don't see why not. All but the most minor wounds have been attended to now. What did you have in mind?”

“Well, there is the matter of the physical evidence that we must consider,” said Durrant. “We're going to need to find out where Mr. Wake's body is. We may have to track down, amid these eight hundred soldiers, who it was that disposed of the body and in such haste! We'll need to examine Mr. Wake's pistol to determine if in fact this was the weapon used to kill our man. Can you be of assistance with either of these tasks?”

“I have, despite my isolation in Regina before this endeavour, kept abreast of some new insights into the forensic sciences that may be of assistance. Matching the make and model of the weapon with the wound hasn't been perfected, but some advances have been made. Mind you, we don't have access to the records of the weapon's manufacturer here, and that will complicate matters. I can certainly tell you whether the bullet that caused the death of Mr. Wake was fired from a shotgun, a rifle, or a small- or large-calibre pistol. Durrant, we'll first have to find the body and get access to the weapon, currently under the watch of your overzealous colleague Sub-Inspector Dickenson.”

“I will find a way to wrest it from Dickenson's grasp,” said Durrant. “We have several angles to explore to find the body. We shall go to the cemetery at our earliest convenience and look to see if Mr. Wake has been consigned to that place. If need be we will go straight to the source and find the men who committed the corpse to the grave. Garnet and I will handle that. In the meantime, I aim to parley with Mr. La Biche, and others in the stockade, in order to learn all that I can about what motivated his course of action on the first day of battle. Let's convene again at the lunch hour. Gentlemen, we must use our wits here. I suspect that there is more to this murder than we can see at this time. There are those about our encampment who will interfere, possibly roughly, with our investigation.”

IN THE EARLY
morning light Durrant made his way across the zareba to where Saul Armatage had told him he might find La Biche. It was still cold enough that the muddy earth underfoot was nearly frozen. He located the spot near the squalid lake where La Biche was being held. Determining that the detainee was being guarded by a single man, he approached the wagon. “Good morning, Constable.” Durrant stepped close to the wagon. The bleary-eyed young constable looked down at him from the seat. Durrant had had the foresight to fill a coffee cup before he walked over, and he handed it up to the tenderfoot. The constable gratefully accepted it. “I'm Sergeant Durrant Wallace. I'd like to interview the prisoner.”

The young man straightened. “I'm sorry, sir, but Sub-Inspector Dickenson says that no one is to talk with the killer except his self.”

“Is that so?”

“That's his orders to me.”

“You pulled the morning shift, son?” Durrant changed tack. “Still cold enough last night—could see my breath this morning.” The young man only nodded. His face was pale. “There's bacon this morning. Wouldn't it be nice to have a square meal? I'd be happy to sit in your stead for a few minutes while you found a plate. It was going fast last I looked.”

“But—”

“Son, I've been Mounted Police for twelve years now. I've guarded more than my share of prisoners.”

The young constable wavered, looking as if he might begin to drool at the prospect of bacon. “Anything happens to this man and it's my head that will be on the block.” He looked around to see if he was being observed.

“I take responsibility.”

“An yer not to have words with him,” said the young man, and then added, “Sir.”

“I'll just stand watch.”

“A spot of breakfast might return some feeling to my fingers and toes,” the young man conceded.

“Hurry along.”

The constable disappeared toward the mess. Durrant pulled himself up onto the seat of the wagon. Terrance La Biche was not there.

Durrant stepped down into the back of the covered buckboard. There was a set of chains for securing a prisoner, and a worn grey blanket was curled up in one corner. Durrant put his hand on the blanket. It felt warm to the touch, but he could not decide if that was simply the feel of the heavy wool or if it had been slept in and cast aside just recently.

He was holding the blanket in his hands when he looked up to see a face regarding him from behind the wagon. He instinctively put his left hand on his Enfield. It was Sub-Inspector Dickenson.

“I heard that you were a little jumpy, Wallace. Going to throw down on me?” The sub-inspector was grinning.

Durrant straightened. “Where is Mr. La Biche?”

“I think you are forgetting that I am a superior officer, Sergeant.”

“Where is Mr. La Biche,
sir
?”

Dickenson laughed. “He's being attended to by Middleton's physician at the present moment. He seems to have come down with something of the flu.”

“Sleeping out without a blanket will do that.”

“As you can see, he has been furnished with one.”

Durrant stepped down from the wagon and faced Dickenson. “You knew I was coming to speak with this man. You've moved him so that I can't question him.”

Dickenson laughed. “Sergeant, you really do believe that there is some kind of malfeasance afoot, don't you? The simple fact is that this man was caught red-handed trying to kill Reuben Wake.”

“He told me yesterday about his encounter with Wake at Fish Creek.” Durrant tossed the blanket back into the wagon.

“He readily admits that his aim was to kill Reuben Wake, Wallace.”

“What a man does in the heat of battle and what he does in cold calculation are two different things, Sub-Inspector. The facts don't add up to justify this man's arrest for murder. Charge him with conspiracy, if you must, but I believe that the real killer is still afoot, and may be still within our camp. There is too much that is circumspect to simply open and shut this case.”

“You are deluding yourself, Sergeant. The matter is plain to see. La Biche freely admits to his effort at Fish Creek. He has told you that he was under the command of General Dumont when his forces ambushed us at Fish Creek on April 24. I was there. I saw it occur.”

“Surely you confuse an act of war with attempted murder.”

“No, Wallace, it is you who is confused. It was no act of war. This man who you seem to think is innocent, when seeing Wake holding fast to a team of quarter horses and carts, broke away from the fighting and on his own flanked our position. He took up a post high above the fray and took aim to do Mr. Wake in. I saw this with my very eyes. Had my company not fired a volley into the grass where he lay taking a bead, Mr. Wake would not have survived the Battle of Fish Creek, and would now be with the ten brave loyalists who were buried in that coulee.”

Durrant pondered this information. He compared Dickenson's version of the Battle of Fish Creek with the tale told by Terrance La Biche. That the man wanted Wake dead and tried to kill him during the battle was obvious, but that Dickenson had witnessed this act and had previously said nothing seemed suspect.

“By La Biche's own account we know that he wanted Reuben Wake dead, Sub-Inspector. That is not in question. What is in question is whether he, or some other person, delivered the fatal shot here, in the zareba. While I do not doubt the veracity of your claim, there are others who had cause to see Wake murdered, and your interference in my efforts to unearth these other motives is very curious indeed. What is your stake in this matter? Why are you so determined to hold La Biche for this crime?”

Dickenson laughed. It was a harsh, staccato sound and it made Durrant think about a caged animal. “Sergeant Wallace, the only interference that I am posing is to your unauthorized and unbecoming intrusion into a case of murder you have no right to investigate. I suggest that if you wish to keep your stripes you go back to Fort Calgary at once. Maybe there you can find some gentle undertaking that won't tax your handicaps and result in you being ousted from the force.” Dickenson's laughter trailed off and he fixed Wallace with a dark stare. “If you're not careful to mind your own business, Sergeant, you may find yourself knocked down to the rank of private before this campaign is through.”