“You and your husband have been divorced for a few years. Why did you come up here from Toronto — that’s where you live, I believe?”
“Yes. Didn’t that lieutenant fill you in? I’m here because I was and still am vitally involved in the Arbor Vitae Corporation. Charlie and I may not have been very good marriage partners but we agreed completely about Arbor Vitae. We were determined not to let it be used to destroy or radically modify the environment. Unlike Bobbie Ballard and his gang, we didn’t want the big U.S. corporations to take over the process and make millions. As Canadians, we had some notion of public responsibility. On the other hand, the protestors worried us. We thought that Native artist fellow was a bit crazy, a publicity seeker. Why, he never even came to us to talk about our plans for the company! Just started making trouble and scaring the hell out of some of our scientists. I just hope he didn’t really kill poor Charlie. That would set the Native cause back a few years.”
Sam leaned forward. “Do you have any reason to think Daniel Summerways might have killed your husband, Mrs. Linton?”
“No, of course not. He didn’t even know him. Unless he really is an environment nut.”
“Last Friday night, in the bar — what did you and your husband talk about?”
“Let me see, what did I tell that lieutenant?” She smiled at them. “I wouldn’t want to contradict myself, you know.”
“People always contradict themselves,” Sam said. “Life contradicts itself. Just relax and tell us what you remember.”
She cast him a grateful look. He felt sympathy for her, but he doubted that was the kind of thing she would have wanted. She seemed too tough, too strong-minded in her vulnerability; she wore her L.L. Bean rig as if it were J. Crew, and likely never unlearned her sixties trust in carefree virtue.
“Charlie and I talked mostly business,” she said. “We talked about the future of Arbor Vitae and how we wanted the new company to be something good for Canada. As you both know, this country of ours has a precious resource of trees. Charlie and I wanted to make sure his research didn’t undermine that. We talked about how we could draw the Americans in without letting them take it over — always a tricky business. And that meant not letting Ballard and Annie Sergeant run the company. We didn’t know what to make of Kenny Chen, another senior adviser — at least I didn’t. Charlie said he thought Chen had a private agenda, and that we might have to get rid of him. That surprised me. He also said something about Ballard having a problem, a personal problem, but he wouldn’t go into it. He mentioned a businessman named Frank Rizzo, who operates here in the city. He was at the hotel that night. In fact, he passed through the bar when Charlie and I were there — a suave little man in an expensive Italian suit. I didn’t like him at all. Charlie said he had some business to discuss with Rizzo privately, but that it was complicated and he would fill me in later.”
She paused, and then added, “My husband and I also talked about our son, Charlie Jr. — he’s at school in New England. He enters university next year. My poor husband didn’t know they’d never see each other again. The boy’s up here now, in Montreal, making arrangements for his dad’s final rest. What makes me angry is that recently Charlie’s been spending more time with Simon Ballard than with his own son. God knows, with that father of his, Simon needs it, but I wish my husband had seen more of young Charlie.”
Her voice cracked a little, and her solid post-sixties facade threatened to dissolve. But when Paul offered to fetch her water, she waved him off.
“I don’t know if I’ve told you anything new,” she said. “I feel as if I’ve had this conversation already.”
“It’s important that we meet and talk to everyone,” Paul reassured her. “A lot comes from personal impressions. But one thing, Mrs. Linton, we do need to know. Will you be inheriting all your husband’s interests in Arbor Vitae?”
“That’s right. I get his majority shares and retain my place on the board, of which I’m already a member. Of course we’ve lost his incomparable guidance, and his vote. But I intend to get Charlie Jr. on the board as soon as possible. We won’t let this ship be taken over by those pirates, if we can help it.”
“I have a question, Mrs. Linton,” Sam said. “Did your husband mention anything about some strong American interest in the Arbor Vitae venture?”
Jane Linton considered this. “I don’t know … There’s so much going on. But there was somebody south of the border, some ‘White House crony,’ I believe he said, in the department of the environment down there who wanted to jump in with Arbor Vitae. Apparently, they’d approached Bob Ballard.”
“What did your husband say about that?” Sam asked.
Jane Linton caught her breath. “He said, ‘they’ll buy in over my dead body’ … yes, that’s what he said. I remember his words very clearly … ‘over my dead body.’”
Sam exchanged a glance with Paul, who stood up abruptly. “There’s just one more thing, Mrs. Linton, unless Sam has something. May I ask what your background is? Did you meet your husband at university, for example?”
She sighed; her face took on the weary look some people have when they are asked to repeat a past they remember only too well, or have gone over in their minds far too often. “That’s right — it was when he was teaching in California. I was a promising student, or so he told me when we met. Funny how professors marry promising students and turn them into housewives and acolytes. Sure, we were happy for a while. We used to go swimming and skiing together. But Charlie had other interests.”
Berthelet sat up. “What do you mean by that, Mrs. Linton?”
“I’m not going into it, I’m sorry. Most marriages have a few rocky years. Charlie was very ambitious, very busy, but we often had fun. We used to do a lot of outdoor things together, although I never went mountain climbing with him. I always got vertigo in the high places. Charlie was a fanatic climber, but he got a bit desk-bound in his old age. When he called me the other day he told me he might go climbing with Simon Ballard. That surprised me. He hadn’t been climbing in years. I couldn’t understand why he didn’t take young Charlie.”
Paul Berthelet looked inquiringly at Sam, who nodded and posed the next question.
“Do you mind telling us why you split up with your husband?”
Jane Linton’s face twisted into a kind of sour smile. “Why does any woman split up with an older husband? Because you get sick of their limitations, of their physical presence. You get tired of their obsessions, their jokes, their memories, their lack of any future. You begin to hate their eating habits, their bathroom routines, their snoring in bed, their pathetic sexuality. You want to be left alone, to be free, to wake up one morning and do whatever you damn well feel like doing …”
She stopped suddenly, then laughed to herself, not quite meeting the men’s sharp glances, as if she were suddenly embarrassed by her own brutal frankness. Paul Berthelet cleared his throat.
“Well, that’s very helpful, Mrs. Linton,” the inspector told her. “I think we can leave it at that. We’ll both be in Ottawa later this week. I’m sorry to say we may have a few more questions then.”
“Is that all you’re going to ask me?” She gave them an ironic look. “Well, why should I care, after all? Why should I care?” She hesitated, pressed her lips tightly together, and said in a quiet voice: “I may have more to tell you later. It depends on how things go.”
“If you have pertinent information …” Sam intervened. He could see that she was holding back intentionally, taunting them a little, or maybe gauging just how much pain would be involved in telling them more.
Jane smiled bitterly. “When I think of what poor Charlie suffered, I can almost forgive him — for everything,”