For his part, Elliot’s well-honed policeman’s instinct for danger set off warning bells in his head in the same instant he experienced a similar emotional reaction to Jeremy Parr’s, minus Jeremy’s internal poetry about absence and loss. Elliot’s life had thus far been divided between pleasure and pain, hunger and satiation, success and failure, desire and repulsion, safety and danger. It had been a jock’s life, a warrior’s life. Now it was a cop’s life, or at least the way Elliot imagined a cop’s life to be, an extension of his physicality and prowess elsewhere.
The sight of Jeremy Parr-whom he recognized as effortlessly as Jeremy had recognized him-inspired both desire and danger. The first impulse went directly to his groin, briefly slapping his heart the way a buddy might slap his shoulder. The second, more dominant, impulse was awareness of acute danger, in a robotic Lost in Space sort of way.
“Who’s that, do you suppose?” Thomson grunted, turning around to follow the retreating Chevy Chevelle as it headed in the direction of Bradley Lake.
“Dunno,” Elliot said noncommittally, looking straight ahead, exactly the way Jeremy Parr had seconds before. “Didn’t get a good look. If you want me to find out, I can track ’em down after we catch up with that Indian at the Nugget. Those two were probably just lost tourists, coming up here to check out the goddamn leaves.”
Billy Lightning was sleeping when the knock came on the door of his motel room. It was not a friendly, managerial knock. It was as sharp and definitive as brass knuckles. He hadn’t realized he had a splitting headache until he’d woken to that rapping sound.
“Just a minute,” Billy called out. “I’ll be right there.” The knock came again, harder. “I’m coming!” he shouted. “Jesus
He opened the door of the motel room. There were two of them this time. The young one from the station, and an older one with a more seasoned and rational mien.
The older one spoke first. “Mr. Lightning?”
Billy sighed. “
“
“Come in, gentlemen,” Billy said. “I’ve just checked in.” He gestured to the two chairs on either side of the Formica kitchen table on the far side of the room. “Would you like to sit down?”
“No, thank you, Dr. Lightning,” Thomson said politely. The younger one-McKitrick-just shook his head and continued to stare at Billy.
“Dr. Lightning, I wonder if you’d mind if I asked you a few questions? Constable McKitrick told me you stopped by the station today with some of your own. Perhaps we can sort this out and answer each other’s questions. How about that?”
“As you wish, Sergeant Thomson.” Billy sat down on the edge of the bed and stretched his legs. “You’ll forgive me, but it’s been a long drive. I’d rather not stand. I’m a little sleep deprived and I hadn’t expected you before twelve noon.”
“Absolutely.” Thomson smiled. “According to Constable McKitrick, you were curious about any break-ins that we may have had in the area. May I ask why?”
“I recently lost my father, Sergeant Thomson.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Dr. Lightning.” Thomson made a sympathetic face, and waited for Billy to elaborate.
“He was murdered. In his home. In Toronto. About six weeks ago.”
“I see. Again, I’m very sorry to hear that. It’s a terrible tragedy to befall any family. But surely, Dr. Lightning, you didn’t drive all this way on the matter of your father’s death? What could break-ins in Parr’s Landing have to do with that very sad event?”
Billy took a deep breath, realizing in advance how what he was about to tell the two police constables was going to sound to them. He wished they were sitting in the police station, as he’d originally planned, or at the very least that Thomson had phoned, as Billy had made clear was his preference.
“Sergeant Thomson, my father spent some time here in Parr’s Landing twenty years ago, in 1952. He was an archaeologist at the University of Toronto.”
“Yes, I know.”
Billy raised his eyebrows. “You
“I joined the Parr’s Landing detachment as a constable shortly after his crew left town, but I remember hearing about it from my predecessor, Sergeant Bowles. He told me all about the excavation. He spoke very highly of your dad.”
“Thank you,” Billy said. “Did Sergeant Bowles tell you what happened? I mean, why my father had to terminate the excavation?”
“No, sir, he didn’t. Forgive me again, Dr. Lightning, but I have to ask-what does this have to do with why you’re here, and what does it have anything to do with possible crimes in Parr’s Landing?”
Billy gestured again at the chairs on either side of the table. “It’s a rather involved story, gentlemen. I’m happy to explain, but you really should sit down.”
Thomson sighed and pulled out a chair. He sat down. He nodded to Elliot, indicating that he should sit down, as well. The younger man rolled his eyes, but sat nonetheless. He pulled a note pad from his jacket pocket and began writing.
Thomson asked him, “What was your father’s name, Dr. Lightning? For the sake of clarity in our report?”
“His name was Professor Phenius Osborne.” Billy said, and then spelled it out.
Elliot raised his eyebrows. “Sorry, what? He was your father, I think you said? Why do you have a different last name than him? Wasn’t his name Lightning, too? Or did he change it? Was he an Indian, too?”
“I was adopted when I was twelve years old, constable. From the St. Rita’s residential school in Sault Ste. Marie,” Billy said coolly, ignoring the second part of Elliot’s question. “I was William Osborne for six years. I took back my name legally when I turned eighteen, with both of my parents’ blessing.”
“You mean the Osbornes’ blessings, don’t you?” Elliot persisted. “Did your Indian parents influence you in some way?”
“My birth father had died by the time I was able to look for him-my search for him was also with my parents’ blessing. The Osbornes were my legal parents, and were-and are-the only parents I have ever had. My mother- Margaret Osborne-passed away five years ago.” He turned to Thomson. “Is this really relevant? I fail to see how the details of my adoption are relevant at this point, and I’m finding Constable McKitrick’s questions intrusive and crude. Do you mind?”
“I think we have enough information for right now, constable,” Thomson said evenly. “No need for you to take any more notes. If we need a formal statement from Dr. Lightning at some point, I’m sure he’ll oblige us. Right, doctor?”
Billy nodded impatiently. “Yes, of course.”
“Please tell us your story, Dr. Lightning. The sooner we get all of this cleared up, the better we may be able to sort it all out.”
And then Billy braced himself and told the two policemen his story.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“In the summer of 1952, we came to Parr’s Landing to excavate the site of the St. Barthelemy mission to the Ojibwa,” Billy Lightning began. “My father was writing a book about the history of the
