“Isn’t that a little odd, not going through a lawyer?”
“Not really. Jake said it’s perfectly legal as long as it’s witnessed and it’s handwritten. It all happened because the night before he was due to go into the bush he read an article in the paper about separated couples, and what to do to make sure you don’t get screwed financially. Well, it said the first thing to do is to change your will because if you die all your stuff goes to the wife, not to me. So he scribbled it all down in his black book and we got it witnessed by his friends. He was going to put it in the safe deposit box but he didn’t. I checked. It isn’t there.”
“And you have no idea where it is?”
“It must have gone into the bush with him. I haven’t seen it, but my brother, he’s a lawyer, he told Lianna’s lawyer about it. Her lawyer then confirmed its existence with the witnesses, and told me that unless I can find the will, the will favouring Lianna stands.”
Suddenly her green eyes widened and she looked right through me. “Holy God. The bloody bitch. Do you think that’s why my place was ransacked?”
chapter thirteen
When I got into work the next day I met Martha in the hall staggering under a pile of books as she tried to open the office door with no free hands. I didn’t make it in time to catch the pile as it toppled over. I leafed through Jemima Puddle-duck as Martha picked up Winnie the Pooh and Brer Rabbit. Martha was not married and she’d never talked of any children.
“Martha, what are you doing with these?” I asked.
“The local daycare needs some more books, so I scrounged up some of these from the students here,” she said with a shrug.
We walked into her outer office and I dumped the books on Martha’s desk and let out a big sigh. Martha cannot stand big sighs followed by silence, so I knew I had her attention.
“This thing’s getting stranger and stranger, Martha. I can’t figure it out. Nothing fits.” I quickly filled her in on my conversation with Shannon.
When I was through Martha chortled and said, “When I was a kid I used to do those big thousand-piece jigsaw puzzles.”
I looked at Martha in exasperation. What the hell was she going on about?
“It was a wonderful feeling getting those last few pieces, but one day my kid sister put one puzzle in the wrong box. One was a mountain scene with a stream and the other was a mountain scene with a stream but all different — same colours. I couldn’t get the puzzle. It didn’t make sense because I didn’t know what the final picture looked like. When I finally realized what had happened I was able to fit the pieces together.” Martha’s eyes were twinkling like a gurgling mountain stream. “You have to figure out what the problem is before you can start fitting the pieces together,” she said triumphantly as she plunked herself down in her chair. I pulled up a stool and straddled it.
“Okay. You find a dead body. Killed by a bear. Someone moves that body from the death scene. There’s no forensic entomologist at the scene — except you — so the cops don’t collect proof that the body’s been moved. You do. Then your life is threatened, your lab is fumigated, and all the insects taken from Diamond are stolen. Coincidence? Unlikely. Someone went to a lot of trouble to prevent you from finding out the body had been moved. That is your first question. Why was the body moved?”
I remained silent, wondering what she would come up with.
“Okay. We know, or at least we’re pretty sure because of the tranquilizer gun, that someone was with Diamond when he died. It wasn’t his trank gun, and Shannon told you he wouldn’t have had a chance to get another. Suppose whoever it was got scared, tried to save Diamond, but accidentally shot him with the trank gun. Then panicked and fled.”
“Who moved the body then?”
“They came back and moved the body because the place he died would identify them somehow.”
“Why go to all that trouble? Why not just go to the cops with the whole story and muscle it out? It’s not a criminal offence to try and help someone.”
“Maybe they were too ashamed.”
“Yeah, right. It’s got to be something more,” I said.
“Maybe he was in partnership with someone and they’d discovered something worth a lot of money, a gold mine or something. When the bear attacked them, his partner, after failing to save Diamond, moved the body so that no one would come snooping and find the gold. Then they snatched your disks to cover their tracks.”
I was musing on the merits of Martha’s theories, particularly the last one, when the phone rang. Martha answered and handed it over to me.
Duncan’s voice came booming over the line. “Did you know they found the bear about a day after the body was found?”
“How do you know? I don’t remember seeing it in the papers.”
“Apparently before they could get a team together to go and comb the area, one of the loggers phoned and said they’d shot a bear near Diamond’s permanent camp. The wildlife people went up to take a look but the loggers apparently burned the body to keep other wild animals away. Can you believe it? The wildlife guys were furious and thought maybe it was just an attempt to hide a bear-poaching job, but the loggers’ story held and they didn’t find a pelt. Apparently one of the loggers had recently been raked by the bear and his friends had saved him. He had the scars to prove it. Of course, it was too late to be able to prove it was the bear that got Diamond, but the wildlife guys were convinced by the scars. Two rogue bears in one area is hard to stomach.”
When I didn’t say anything to this piece of news Duncan asked, “Are you still there?”
“Yeah, sorry, I was just thinking about something else. Was there a flare gun among Diamond’s belongings?”
“Hang on a sec.” I could hear a file cabinet opening and the rustling of papers and then he was back on the line.
“Let’s see … No, no flare gun. Should there have been?”
“Apparently, yes. When I talked to his girlfriend she said he never went into the bush without his flare gun.”
“Nope. There was no flare gun found, but there was something else you didn’t see which might convince you that perhaps you’re blowing things way out of proportion.”
At least he’d softened it with the word perhaps, I thought as he continued.
“Seems Diamond was quite careless. One of my report pages was with my secretary the day you came. Diamond’s trousers were drenched in fish oil — not the kind found with fresh fish. This was an oil, like sardines, which would fit with what you said about sardine cans being found there.”
My mind raced back to that lonely and deserted campsite, and I said in puzzlement, “Yes, but why would a man who hauls up his food pack, complete with toothpaste, wear trousers saturated with fish oil that is bound to be a dinner gong for any bear in the area?”
“So he ate sardines for dinner and spilled it. Do it all the time myself. Those tins are such a bitch to open.”
I shook my head at the phone. “Doesn’t make sense.
He comes across as an experienced camper. He knew the dangers. Why didn’t he wash his pants?”
“Maybe he didn’t have another pair.” When I snorted, Duncan changed tack.
“There’s no accounting for people’s lapses. Haven’t you ever forgotten to look both ways before crossing the street and narrowly missed getting flattened? Awful yeasty feeling in your mouth when it happens.”
After we disconnected I stood in my office staring at the wall thinking about Diamond,