I’ve already requested transport, Jens said without looking up. I didn’t tell them who for. He was making notes in his group nutrition records, consulting Paul’s recipes for the past few days and working out calories with a calculator.
It won’t do his career any good, Vanderbyl said, but nobody wants him committing suicide either. He turned to Rebecca. When’s this stupid fog going to lift? You’re the cloud expert, tell us something useful for once.
Rebecca took her jacket down from a peg and left the mess.
That was uncalled for, I said.
Don’t you tell me what’s uncalled for, Vanderbyl said.
All right, all right, peacemaker Wyndham put in. Let’s keep things civilized, shall we?
Too late for that, Vanderbyl said. Some people don’t know what the word means.
Calm down, Kurt. It’s just the damn fog getting to everyone.
Wyndham got Kurt’s jacket and handed it to him-the temperature had warmed so much in the past few days that we had abandoned parkas for lighter clothing-and the two of them went out.
Jens, I said, did Kurt tell you what happened at the remote navigation shack?
Jens raised his Viking eyebrows. I’ve worked with Vanderbyl at half a dozen stations and I’ve never seen him like this. Don’t you think you have rather a lot to apologize for?
I’ve never seen me like this either. Did he tell you about the navigation shack?
No.
They radioed in yesterday. One of them stumbled over-literally, that is-one of them stumbled over a dead polar bear. Nine bullets in him. That’s a full clip.
Do we know Ray did it?
His automatic was empty when he finally decided to stagger back here.
Well, if his life was in danger…
He had a flare gun, he could have scared it off with that. Yes, I know-maybe it was past that stage. Except it wasn’t. All of the bullets caught the animal in the back. It was apparently dining on a baby seal when Ray decided to kill it.
Dear God, Jens said. Well, he’ll be leaving us soon enough. And I’m asking you and everyone else to be discreet about it. The pilot will be expecting a passenger, but he won’t know why. Base doesn’t even know why, other than “medical reasons.”
Rebecca came to my cabin that night, the first time in more than a week. She made a valiant effort at passion and lust, tearing her clothes off without a word. And then, amid all the sweat and cries and breathlessness, she suddenly went limp and rolled away from me, sobbing into the pillow. Why does he hate me so much? It devastates me. He has nothing but contempt for me.
I held her lightly from behind and kissed the back of her neck. He doesn’t hate you. He wouldn’t be in such pain if he hated you. It’s me he hates.
I’ve only ever wanted his love and respect. And for a time I thought I had it. I think I did have it. I did.
You mustn’t mind what he says. He’s in pain, that’s all.
I know, she said, and wept again. That’s the terrible thing-I deserve his contempt. If it were totally unjust, I could live with it, live with myself. But I deserve it. Why do you want me? You see how horrible I am.
No, I said, kissing her shoulder, I see how perfect you are-how tender and hurt and perfect and good-and I want to be with you always.
How does one measure love, the emotional current flowing through the connection of one human being to another? The instruments have yet to be invented. Were it to be measured in kisses, ours would not have come to much. But in tears…
13
Arsenault released the brake on the hoist and the pulleys squealed as they began to turn. The body of Laura Lacroix, strapped to a pallet and shrouded in its dark plastic bag, swayed against the blue of the sky.
Everyone inside the turret-including Cardinal, Delorme, Loach and the two ident men-had stopped working to watch. Dr. Barnhouse tore off his top sheet and handed it to Loach. “Hypothermia is my guess, based on two things. First, the lack of lividity, which you get when the muscles stiffen with cold. Second, the lack of any other obvious cause. You’re going to need the autopsy for anything more specific than that. Why Dr. Harris couldn’t tell you this is a question for the medical college.”
“Dr. Harris,” Loach said, “never got above the first ten steps. He’s afraid of heights.”
“Whatever happened to normal?” Barnhouse said. “There used to be normal people in this world.”
“Luckily we have you,” Cardinal said.
Barnhouse tipped his fur hat and set it back on his head, then took hold of the safety rail before starting his descent.
Arsenault and Collingwood were poring over the bed where the body had been secured. They had tried and failed to get prints from the straps that had held her in place, and now they were examining the mattress. They had brought lights up on the hoist, but so far they hadn’t needed them. Looking in some directions required sunglasses.
Loach hovered over them. “Are we locked-down, hundred percent sure we’re dealing with the Flint doer here?”
“I’ve never come across another case where someone was deliberately frozen to death,” Cardinal said. “Now we’ve got two. And once again she’s wearing what appear to be brand-new clothes-at least some of them. Clothes that would keep her warm for a while, but not warm enough. He even broke the windows to make sure the sunlight wouldn’t raise the temperature.”
“Not quite thorough enough on that point,” Loach said. “I’m gonna have to burn these goddam clothes.”
“It’s the same guy,” Delorme said. “He left her food, same as Flint. He wanted her to last a while.”
“Women are always complaining guys don’t make it last.”
“That’s not actually funny,” Delorme said.
“It is if you have a sense of humour.”
“We need to figure out what these two women have in common,” Cardinal said. “We’re not dealing with crimes of opportunity-they were targeted. So far, the only thing they have in common is they fly Air Canada.”
“I thought you liked this Leonard Priest character,” Loach said to Delorme. “Fond of the outdoors, right?”
“Much as I’d love to put Leonard Priest behind bars, there’s no sign of sexual assault in either of these cases. He has no connection to Flint that we’re aware of, and no recent connection to Laura Lacroix or her husband, Keith Rettig.”
“Take a look at this, guys.” Arsenault was standing between the table and the bunk, a dark, pudgy figure against the brilliant window. He pointed at one of the few unbroken windows.
“It looks like a Volkswagen,” Loach said. “Thank you so much for pointing this out.”
“Not the cloud, the window. You have to be at the right angle.”
They craned their necks at different angles and squinted.
“Call me crazy,” Arsenault said, “but that looks like a 4 and a 5 to me.”
“Me too,” Cardinal said. “It was 25 at the tree house by the Flint residence.”
“You think they’re related? Anybody could’ve put that here,” Loach said. “It could’ve been here for years.”
“I know. It would be nice if we could rule out the numbers or rule them in.”
“We’ll take a closer look,” Arsenault said.
Cardinal took Delorme aside. “This is too good, don’t you think? Too organized.”
“What?” Her mind seemed to be somewhere else entirely.
“He must have done this before. It’s so well planned. And so was Flint. You don’t get this good that fast.”
“What’s so good?” Loach said. “The vehicle’s been seen. People have glimpsed the guy himself. We’re not
