Chapter Thirty-One
“That’s not possible,” I say after I take a moment to digest émilie’s words. “No Canadian correction facility would be located— But it’s not Canadian. You said the tattoo was from an American prison.”
“Yes, though that’s not the same prison that sent the man here. He was released, reoffended and put into a privately run institution—also American.”
I shake my head. “I know the US has some private prisons, but they’re not running camps in the Yukon. That isn’t how the system works.”
“You mean that’s not how the system is supposed to work.
I won’t pretend that I understand what’s going on here, Casey.
My investigator hit a dead end very quickly, with signs that they should stop digging, for their own safety.
No one is claiming that a gold-mining operation in Canada’s Yukon is a legitimate American prison camp.
But it also might explain how Mark and his wife’s deaths were so easily covered up. ”
“In Canada?”
“Mark was from Vancouver, until he married an American. The accident occurred there.”
I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Casey?” émilie says gently. “You need to set aside the law-enforcement side of your brain that says this isn’t possible. Pretend it is possible.”
“I know.” I take a deep breath. “Imagine a scenario where American prisoners could, somehow, be brought to Canada to work on a mine. We know the operation is American. That part fits. But why? What is the point? Cheap labor?”
“Maybe, if they found something valuable enough.”
“Bringing prisoners, across the border, into a prison camp … How much would that cost? How many palms would need to be greased? How can cheap labor possibly justify that?”
“Once they’re in Alaska, getting them here is easy enough.
It’s a vast wilderness. No need to officially cross a border.
With prisoners, the labor is practically free.
And didn’t you say that your Mr. Rogers was very upset at the thought that a community of regular citizens lived nearby?
He expected isolation. He warned you that some of their employees could be ‘rough men.’”
“If this is what the camp seems to be, then that’s what it is, and whatever questions I have remaining, I need to work through.”
“It might explain one thing,” Dalton says.
I glance over at him.
He shrugs. “Mark’s former friend comes sniffing around, maybe looking for answers to a death that doesn’t quite fit. What happens when he gets too close?”
“They kill him,” I murmur. “And then realize he wasn’t alone, and they have one more person to silence.”
We’re on our way to Lilith’s cabin. I’ve barely said a word, my brain spinning. Finally, I look over at Dalton.
“That explanation works for you?” I say. “A prison work camp?”
“I don’t know enough about gold and whatever else they might be looking for. I do know how much trouble everyone went through with Rockton, and those guys sure as hell would do all this, for the kind of money they pulled in. But that’s different.”
“They’ve gone through so much trouble. I can’t imagine it’d be worth it.” I keep walking. “I suppose hiring prisoners would help with the privacy aspect. Their employees aren’t in a position to ask too many questions, and definitely aren’t in a position to sell their secrets. But still…”
Dalton doesn’t answer. He only grunts, which tells me he agrees.
“If it’s not about gold, then what?” I say.
And he has no answer for that either.
At Lilith’s cabin, we give Anders and Yolanda a much-deserved break. We’ve discussed having Dalton stay behind, while one of them returns with me, but they’re prepared to finish this, and I appreciate that.
They head out for a walk, while Dalton settles in, making coffee.
I begin the interview on an equally comfortable note.
That’s much easier now. Gretchen is almost certainly an innocent victim and deserves my sympathy.
I ask how she’s doing and promise we’ve made arrangements to fly her out in the morning, which is technically true.
She’s obviously irritated at being confined to this cottage, but I stress that we’re going to make sure she’s picked up safely, guarding her the whole way.
That subtly reminds her that this is protective custody, and she relaxes.
“So,” I say as I settle in with my half cup of coffee. “I only have a few more questions, I hope. We’re making progress. Can you start by telling me about Matthew Gordon?”
Her head shoots up. That’s the name of their miner friend, the one we knew as Mark.
At her startle, grim satisfaction swirls in me.
I’ve caught her off guard, as I expected.
Yet her expression isn’t furtive or worried.
It isn’t wary or even confused. There’s a flash of surprise … and then she smiles.
“You knew Matt?” she asks.
I make a noise she can take as assent.
“I never even considered that. I should have. We knew he was mining up here.” Her smile falters. “Oh. You … Do you know what happened to him?”
I keep my expression impassive and only say, “No.” Then I wait for her to ask what I do know.
“He died in a car accident,” she says softly. “Him and his wife. Driving home from up here actually.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “No, I didn’t hear that.”
She lifts one shoulder. “It barely made the news even in their township. Single-car accident. We heard about it through a mutual friend.”
“Oh?” I frown. “We were under the impression you two and Matt were close.”
Her gaze shifts, uncomfortable. “I knew Matt’s first wife. From university. We were the friends. Matt could be…” She trails off with a shrug. “Sometimes you get lucky, and your friend marries a great guy who just fits in, you know? You like him. Your husband likes him.”
She flushes, her discomfort growing. “We didn’t dislike Matt. But once Helen was gone, there wasn’t any reason to keep in touch.”
“I thought he was in a similar field to your husband? Both profs. Both interested in mining.”
“Matt was the prospector. Blake’s only interest is—” She swallows, grief flashing. “His only interest was academic. Sometimes, I think that’s why Matt pursued the friendship, though. He mined in the Yukon. We were locals, and my husband had connections, through his job.”
“When was the last time you spoke to Matt?”
“A few years ago.” A grimace. “He needed something from Blake, as usual. Information about this area, actually. He’d been here the year before, scouting.” She looks up sharply. “Remember I told you someone raved about this region? The natural beauty? That was Matt.”
“Do you know whether he found anything up here?”
Confusion, and then a slow smile. “Oh, is that why you’re asking?
Got a bit of gold fever yourself?” She shrugs.
“He never mentioned finding anything, but he wouldn’t even if he did.
He played fast and loose with the claim laws, too, so if he found anything, I doubt he claimed it officially.
If you were hoping for tips, I don’t have any. ”
I shake my head. “We’re more worried about someone following up on his claim. We prefer to keep this area quiet.”
“If he filed a claim, I think it would have been considered part of his estate. I don’t know who that would have gone to.
They didn’t have kids. His parents? Siblings?
” She shrugs. “If you’re concerned about more people passing through, just check for a claim, but like I said, I doubt he made one, and he certainly wouldn’t have left notes. I’d say you’re safe.”
“Thank you. We knew he’d been in the area a few years ago, and the person running our background searches came up with a connection between you and him, which was concerning.”
A wry twist of her lips. “Small world, huh? Nope, it isn’t a coincidence.
Just…” Her eyes glisten with tears, and she looks away.
“When Blake wanted to come here, I resisted. I said it was too late in the season. I gave lots of excuses, some of them valid. But really, it just gave me a bad feeling, and I knew that was associated with Matt. I…” She swallows.
“Never trusted him, and I knew that was a silly reason not to come here. It wasn’t as if we’d run into him.
” A humorless laugh. “Wasn’t as if he’d lured us here for some nefarious purpose.
But it feels like that, because we came and… ”
She turns fully away now, crying softly. I pass her a tissue and refill her coffee.
When she recovers, I ask gently, “I hate to keep poking, but we’re really trying to figure this out, Gretchen. I knew Blake was the one who wanted to come. You say it was because Matt gushed about it. Is there any chance Blake was looking for Matt’s claim?”
A short laugh. “Definitely not. He liked Matt more than I did, but he always said Matt was wasting his time out here. All this natural beauty, and Matt kept his head down, digging for gold when the real treasure was all around him.”
When I go quiet, she stiffens. “You don’t believe me.
You think my husband came here to find gold, and that the hike was an excuse.
It’s the end of the season. Winter is right around the corner.
We have no mining equipment. Laying a claim requires work, and we’d have no time to do that before weather forced us out.
If we planned to just find it this year and mine it illegally next year, our very presence here could jeopardize a future claim.
An illegal claim would cost Blake his job. ”
“Someone killed your husband,” I say. “It wasn’t us. But if Matt found gold, that would explain how someone else could be here. Someone who might not appreciate Blake poking around.”
“You think a prospector killed him?” She leans back. “God, that would be…” She shakes her head and makes a noise that is half laugh, half sob. “The cruelest of ironies. We come to see the landscape Matt raved about … and someone trying to find his claim kills my husband.”
She meets my gaze. “Blake wasn’t ‘poking around.’ He had no interest in prospecting. He never even jokingly mentioned finding Matt’s claim.”
“When he fell,” I press, “he was trying to get a better look around.”
“Because we were lost!” Her voice rises in exasperation. “He wasn’t looking for…”
She trails off, and I try not to react. I try not to glance at Dalton, quietly sitting behind her.
“He saw something,” she murmurs. “Or he thought he did.”
“What?” I ask.
“A person. Out in the forest. That’s actually why he fell.
He was looking for landmarks, something to tell us which way to go, when he spotted movement.
He figured it was a bear, but then the figure looked up, as if seeing him.
Blake realized it was a person, and that startled him enough that he stumbled.
Later, after we met you, he grumble-joked that you owed him those bandages, since you or your husband were probably responsible for him falling. Inadvertently, of course.”
“Do you remember where he was when he fell?”
She nods. Dalton hands me a map of the region, and we figure out where they’d been.
“Do you know where he spotted the figure?” I ask.
“Roughly, yes.” She looks at the map and points.
“Southwest. He was facing this way. He said the person looked to be a few hundred feet from the bottom. So maybe…” Her chin jerks up.
“Oh. Is this…?” She looks at me. “Remember I told you I heard voices in a clearing? Where you found my footprints? That’s about where Blake would have seen someone. Right around there.”
She leans forward. “Blake saw someone in the same area where I later heard voices. Unless that was you guys, there’s definitely someone else out there.”
I look at the map, and then look at Dalton, who gives a grim nod. She’s right—where Blake saw a figure is the same general area as the clearing where we found a dead man. A convict miner who could have been buried the day Blake saw someone in the forest.
Blake saw whoever buried that miner.
And they saw him.