12. Inspector Perry
Inspector Perry
Steve
Inspector Gavin Perry arrives in an RCMP vehicle with another officer and the expression of a bloke who's already decided how this conversation ends.
I watch through the lodge window as he gets out.
Mid-fifties. Heavy winter coat. Senior enough to have authority and comfortable enough with it that he doesn't bother hurrying through the cold.
Jan looks up from the table. “Expecting company?”
“Nope.”
That makes two of us. I meet Perry near the entrance before he gets any farther inside.
“Mr. Hollands.”
“Inspector.”
He knows who I am. Interesting.
“I understand you and several associates have been conducting an unauthorized investigation on Lockhart property.”
“We're searching for a missing woman.”
“The RCMP has already investigated Ms. St. John's disappearance.”
“Did you?”
His expression hardens slightly.
There it is.
Recognition.
He knows exactly what I'm asking.
Perry removes his gloves. “You are not law enforcement in Canada, Mr. Hollands. Whatever authority you may have elsewhere doesn't extend here.”
“Never said it did.”
“You've interviewed residents, accessed historical police information and entered private land.”
“We haven't entered Lockhart property.”
“Then I'd strongly recommend you keep it that way.”
Jan has come up behind me, quiet enough that Perry doesn't immediately acknowledge her.
I study him.
Other investigations have given us one corrupt official sitting in exactly the right place to make problems disappear.
This is different.
Perry couldn't have closed files in the seventies or eighties. He would've been a kid for most of them. Some of the officers whose names we've found are dead. Others retired decades ago.
Personnel changed. The outcome didn't.
But Perry is the current version of the same problem.
“How long have you been stationed up here?” I ask.
His eyes narrow. “That's irrelevant.”
“Humor me.”
“Seventeen years.”
Long enough.
“How many Indigenous women have disappeared near Lockhart operations during those seventeen years?”
The officer beside him shifts.
Perry doesn't.
“I don't have those figures available.”
“I do.”
Jan hands me the tablet.
I don't need to look at it.
“Seventeen years,” I say. “That’s the part I’m interested in. Honor disappeared on your watch, Inspector. So did plenty of other women.”
“You need to be very careful about what you're suggesting.”
“I'm suggesting you've got a fucking problem.”
His jaw sets.
“Your private organization has no jurisdiction here.”
“Neither does Lockhart Mining, but they seem to be doing pretty well.”
That gets me something.
A flicker. Small, but there.
Perry steps closer.
“Leave this to the RCMP.”
“We did.”
I keep my voice quiet.
“For fifty years.”
His face changes.
Now I know.
Perry didn’t build whatever arrangement exists between Lockhart and the RCMP.
He inherited it.
Seventeen years in this region, and his first concern after Honor disappears is keeping us off Lockhart property.
That tells me exactly where his priorities sit.
Perry’s expression hardens.
“You are formally warned against entering Lockhart property or interfering with any RCMP investigation.”
“What investigation?”
His eyes lock on mine.
“Because if you mean Honor St. John, your people barely searched for her. If you mean the women who disappeared before her, we’ve got files your detachment closed without doing much of anything.”
“That’s enough.”
“No, Inspector. It’s not enough. I reckon we’re just getting started.”
The officer beside him shifts again, and this time Perry notices.
Interesting.
Perry steps closer. “If you or anyone associated with your organization trespasses on Lockhart property, interferes with RCMP operations, removes evidence or obstructs an officer in the execution of his duties, I will have you arrested.”
There it is.
Not a warning anymore. A threat.
Jan stays behind me, silent.
I hold Perry’s gaze.
“Then you’d better be bloody certain which side of this you want your name attached to.”
His face goes still.
I turn toward the table and pick up the folder Shane prepared before Perry arrived.
Old missing-person reports.
Lockhart company records.
Mercer’s survey maps.
I don’t hand Perry any of it.
I simply let him see what’s sitting there.
His attention catches on the map.
Only briefly.
But I see it.
North Star means something to him.
And suddenly I’m in no hurry for Inspector Gavin Perry to leave.
White Pine Lodge, Northern Manitoba, Canada. 0945 hours.
Perry’s attention stays on the survey map half a second too long.
North Star.
He knows the name.
I close the folder.
“You have no legal authority to possess confidential RCMP material,” he says.
“Most of what we have came from public records, families and people who kept copies because your lot kept losing interest.”
“You’re dangerously close to obstructing an active police investigation.”
I almost laugh.
“Which one?”
His mouth tightens.
“Honor St. John.”
“That became active quickly.”
Jan stays near the table, watching him.
Perry steps toward me. “I’m warning you, Hollands. If you or any of the people working with you enters Lockhart property, interferes with an RCMP operation or removes potential evidence, I’ll arrest you.”
“Understood.”
My answer throws him.
He expected an argument. I don’t give him one.
Instead, I pick up the folder again.
“We’ve got the survey maps.”
His eyes flick down despite himself.
“We’ve got North Star. We’ve got decades of missing women whose last known locations cluster around Lockhart operations. We’ve got families who reported daughters, sisters and mothers missing and were told they’d probably run away.”
“You have allegations.”
“We have a pattern.”
“You have no evidence connecting Lockhart to any crime.”
“Then you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
His stare hardens.
I keep my voice level.
“Everything we’ve collected is already backed up outside Canada. Maps, names, police reports, corporate records, witness statements. Multiple secure locations.”
Jan folds her arms.
Perry looks between us. “Is that supposed to intimidate me?”
“No. It’s supposed to save you some time.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning there’s no laptop in this lodge you can confiscate that makes any of it disappear.”
The other officer looks at Perry. He doesn’t like that. Neither does Perry.
I step closer.
“If anything happens to us, to Rose, to the families helping us, or to anyone connected with this investigation, the entire package goes out.”
“To whom?”
“Journalists in the US, Canada and Europe for a start. News organizations. Human rights groups. Indigenous advocacy organizations. Anyone likely to ask why women have been disappearing around the same mining dynasty since the seventies while police kept closing their files.”
Perry’s face loses some color.
There you are.
“And once it’s public,” I continue, “you won’t be dealing with outsiders at a lodge anymore. You’ll be dealing with reporters crawling through fifty years of RCMP decisions and asking who benefited from them.”
“You’re threatening the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.”
“No.”
I hold his gaze.
“I’m telling you the truth is already beyond your reach.”
Silence stretches between us.
Perry glances at the folder again.
He came here expecting jurisdiction to frighten us off.
Instead, he’s learned HAVEN has North Star, the historical pattern and enough copies scattered around the world that none of it can be buried quietly.
What he does next matters.
So I don’t push him toward the door.
I give him space to make his choice.
“Your move, Inspector.”
White Pine Lodge, Northern Manitoba, Canada. 1000 hours.
Perry makes his choice three minutes later.
He doesn't ask to see the survey maps.
Doesn't ask for the names of the missing women or offer to reopen a single file.
He leaves.
I watch through the window as he crosses the snow toward the RCMP vehicle, already pulling out his phone.
“Felicity,” I say.
Her voice comes through the secure connection from San Francisco. “I'm here.”
“Can you track where Perry goes from here?”
“His vehicle, probably. His phone depends on what he's carrying and what access I can get.”
“I don't need miracles. I need to know whether he heads back to the detachment or toward Lockhart.”
Jan comes to stand beside me.
Perry gets into the vehicle. The other officer hesitates before following.
“And get Faith onto him,” I add. “Seventeen years stationed up here. I want his finances pulled apart.”
Faith answers immediately. “Already starting.”
“Salary, property, vehicles, investments, debts, family trusts, companies, unexplained deposits. Anything he owns that doesn't match what the RCMP pays him.”
“I'm also checking his spouse and immediate family,” she says. “If Lockhart paid him, they may not have been stupid enough to put it directly into his account.”
“Go back the full seventeen years.”
“Will do.”
The RCMP vehicle disappears beyond the trees.
“Bastard,” I mutter.
Jan looks at me. “You think he's going straight to Lockhart?”
“I think he came here knowing enough about us to be worried, saw North Star on that map and didn't ask one bloody question about what might be happening there.”
My satellite phone rings.
Kai.
I answer. “We've got a problem.”
“So do we,” he says. “More vehicle movement at the compound. Two pickups arrived in the last hour. Extra security.”
Damn.
“Perry just paid us a visit.”
Kai goes quiet.
“He know about Honor?”
“He knows we're searching for her. More importantly, he knows we've got evidence connecting decades of disappearances to Lockhart operations.”
“That'll speed things up.”
“Yeah.”
Felicity cuts in through the laptop. “Steve, I've got Perry's vehicle.”
I turn. “Where?”
“He's not heading toward the nearest detachment.”
Jan swears softly.
“Direction?”
“Lockhart.”
There it is.
I look at the map.
Perry came here to shut us down. When that failed, he went straight to the people we're investigating.
Whatever doubt remained disappeared with him.
“We move today,” I tell Kai.
No argument.
“I'll start preparing.”