I don’t know how much Kevin knew. I got the impression he thought ‘For n had got himself deep in debt with some very dangerous people and was hiding out from them, pretending to be dead. It was as good an explanation as any and Kevin’s generosity, his involvement in Tom’s affairs, could be motivated by hope of another gold strike in the Ice Cold area. The only question he asked, at least in my presence, was about Tony and the two men left up at the Squaw Creek camp. ‘Do you want me to go up there and truck them down? I could drive them to the US border. It’s only fifty miles from the Dalton’ Post turn-off.’
‘You think they’d cross?’
‘They might.’
Tom shook his head. ‘I doubt it. And anyway you’ve done enough to help me already. Some time this morning either that little bastard Tarasconi will walk back to his claim and release them, or they’ll manage to release themselves. If they turn up here asking about their truck, tell them I’ll be dumping it in Whitehorse, probably in the airport parking lot.’
‘And where will you be?’
Tom shook his head. ‘It’s best I keep that to myself.’
Kevin nodded. ‘I guess you’re right.’ He hesitated, then got up from his seat on the bed. ‘Well, I’ll leave you now. I got work to do anyway.’ He held out his hand. ‘Good luck, Tom.’
‘Thanks.’ He was on his feet, seizing Kevin’s hand in both of his. ‘I don’t know how I can ever repay you.’ He looked across at me and grinned. ‘I’ll give instructions to my lawyer, of course. But a hell of a lot of good that will be — in the circumstances.’ The grin faded as he said that. ‘If I were to tell you…’ But he shook his head. ‘You wouldn’t believe me. Nobody would believe me.’ He wasn’t speaking to Kevin then. He wasn’t speaking to anyone, only himself.
We left shortly afterwards. I drove as far as Kathleen Lodge, where we had some more coffee, then Tom took over. He had had a good sleep and looked a lot better. But he wouldn’t answer my questions. ‘You wouldn’t believe it.’ He said that several times, a sort of refrain, but he wouldn’t say what it was I wouldn’t believe. In the end I dozed off. I remember Haines Junction, the RCMP post and then turning east, away from the Front Ranges and the great white wall of the mountains. After that I slept most of the ninety-eight miles to Whitehorse.
He drove straight to the airport, where he parked between another pick-up and an empty mobile home so that we were screened as we collected our things. We got a taxi at the terminal and drove down Two Mile Hill, past the shopping mall and a gaggle of gas stations to Fourth Avenue and Wood Street where we booked into the Sheffield House for the night. There was a letter waiting for me, an airmail letter with a typewritten address and postmarked Worthing. It was from my partner, who hoped it would reach me in time and that I was enjoying the trip. He enclosed a letter from Brian Halliday — / thought it important you should have this as you may wish to contact him or see for yourself what is going on at the Halliday forest property in BC.
Brian Halliday had written from a place called Bella Coola in BC, a brief scrawl on a Canadian airmail letter card to inform me that there were several men at the old logging camp up the Halliday Arm, two of them cutting into High Stand using big high-powered chainsaws. He thought they had already felled more than the two hectares allowed for in the sale agreement, but he couldn’t be sure as he had not been allowed to check the clear-felled area. In fact, as soon as he had challenged their right to continue felling they had called up a man named Lorient, who claimed to be the manager but looked more like a security guard. He told me the property was licensed for felling by an American timber company and would I please get the hell out. The American company was, of course, SVL Timber. He had asked for Thor Olsen, his father’s manager, but Lorient had told him there was no caretaker, that the camp had been deserted when they had arrived.
The letter ended with a request that I cable the police to check the whereabouts of Thor Olsen, and the final paragraph asked two questions: What is my legal position? Can I have the law throw them off my land? Please advise. Also confirm that any felling additional to the two hectares covered by the sale agreement signed by my father is illegal. Kindly cable your reply to these questions soonest possible. And he gave a post office box number at Bella Coola.
The letter was dated 20 September, two days after he had let the barge load of logs be towed over his inflatable for the benefit of the TV cameras. It seemed odd that he should write to me for legal advice when he was on the BC coast and could have obtained much better advice from his father’s Canadian solicitors. And why hadn’t he contacted the RCMP himself about Olsen? Also, the information about felling activity in the Cascades was in direct conflict with the assurances given me over the phone by Barony of SVL Timber.
I took the letter to Tom in his room down the corridor. He was having a shower and he read it with the water pouring down his back and his naked body dripping in a haze of steam. His eyes seemed slightly dilated. ‘Always the same with that boy.’ He handed the limp scrawl back to me. ‘Why the hell can’t he leave things alone?’
‘Is it true?’ I asked.
‘What’s that?’ He stepped out of the shower and began towelling himself down. ‘Is what true?’
That they’re still cutting those trees? Did you sign anything — apart from the sale agreement with SVL Timber covering those two hectares?’
He stopped towelling, standing there stark naked, the towel across his shoulders. ‘You know about that?’
‘The agreement was in your desk.’
‘I see.’
‘Have you signed any other agreement?’
‘No, of course not.’ And he added, ‘You’ve seen the deeds, I suppose? You’ve read what the Old Man wrote. Nobody in their right mind …’ He dropped the towel, turning away and reaching for his pants.
‘What about Miriam? Did you give her power of attorney, anything like that?’
‘No.’ He pulled on his pants, then swung back towards me. ‘If Miriam’s signed anything…’ He smiled at me. ‘It’s your problem. You look after it.’ He was staring at me, his body hard and brown with high-altitude labour in the wind and the sun. ‘If Miriam has signed anything — even if she claimed she was acting as executor… it wouldn’t count, would it?’
‘No.’
He was trembling slightly. ‘If I’m dead the forest belongs to Brian. That’s right, isn’t it? That’s what the Will says.’ He waited until I had nodded my agreement, and then he added, ‘And if I’m not dead, it still belongs to me.’
‘And you’ve signed nothing?’
‘No, I refused. That’s what it’s all about.’ He was still staring at me, his eyes wide, a frightened look on his face. ‘I wouldn’t sign.’ Then abruptly he seemed to pull himself together. ‘Forget it. That’s why I willed it to Brian. Let him cope with the bastards. It’s Miriam I’m worried about.’ He went to his case and rummaged for a clean shirt. ‘More than a month’s dirt and sweat I’ve just run down that plug’ole and not a dam’ thing to show for it. Nothing changed — only Miriam, she was on the verge of clinching a deal that would have got me the gear I needed to prove the Gully.’ He shrugged. ‘Oh well — you cable Brian. Tell him we’ll be at Bella Bella in three days’ time. Well, three and a half. That’ll be Tuesday. If he can meet us there …’ He crossed to the bed where his clothes lay in a heap. ‘As soon as I’m dressed I’ll arrange train and ferry bookings, then I’ll have a word with Jonny and after that we’ll go out on the town for the evening, eh? Do us both good.’ He said it with sudden cheerfulness — a determined cheerfulness that he managed to sustain throughout the evening.