“Do you know if he had any favourite passwords?”
Shannon laughed. “Yeah, sure. It pissed him off that he even had to use a password for his documents. He never really believed it was necessary, but he did it anyway because Davies was on his case about security and stuff.” There was silence at the end of the line, and then she said, “He made it as easy for himself as he could. He almost always used his mother’s name, Leah, with a two-digit number after it. Sometimes he used his cat’s name, Paulie, or other family names … I figured I’d really made it when he trusted me enough to tell me. I’m the only one who knows, besides Patrick. Anyway I’d try the Leah one first and try numbers from eleven to ninety-nine. He never used three digits. If that doesn’t work, ask Patrick. He should know.”
I wrote the names on a piece of paper and handed it to Ryan.
“One last question: Did Diamond like sardines?”
There was a long pause and then, “Sardines? Yeah, he loved sardines.”
“Were they part of his diet in the bush?”
“Hardly. Not when he could get fresh fish from the lake. Sardines are so smelly — they attract too many animals. He wouldn’t likely touch them out there with a ten-foot pole.” There was a pause and then she asked, “Why, were there sardines in the tent too?”
“Not in the tent, no.” Thoughts were tumbling around in my mind taking shape, coalescing. I rang off, and as I stood there lost in thought, Ryan exclaimed, “Bingo. We got it! Leah22.”
There were six main folders labelled “lynx/cat” with a three-digit number after each one and another main file labelled “wild card.” There were reams of data in each of the cat files detailing everything about the lynx, including pregnancy. The notes were meticulous and boring. The measurements and physical characteristics of each cat were recorded at the top: weight, length, length of pregnancy, and so on, and all with the nauseating detail of a thorough researcher. It was mind-numbing and a little chastising. My research was not this thorough. But at least he was human. I noticed that he’d forgotten to record the weight and length for the sixth cat. In one of the folders there was a paper on captive breeding and artificial insemination techniques for lynx and a reference to four captive reared cats — Dana, Simba, Sian, and Myth — who were bred successfully, it seemed. I smiled. So Diamond had had a sentimental streak. He’d given these cats names rather than numbers. Another folder titled “radio-collaring” had the notes and observations and surveillance records on six cats. All cats had been under surveillance from at least May on, except one from April on. I skimmed through dates of surveillance and rough maps with dots all over them, wondering what I was looking for. A pattern? An indication of what he was doing just before he died?
On impulse I put a call into Patrick again and this time got him on the first attempt. The sound of his voice sent shockwaves through me, and I realized my hands were shaking. Disconcerted, I stammered out my hellos and identified myself, silently cursing my sudden attack of nerves. Or was it nerves?
“I’ve just got into a disk of Diamond’s that Shannon gave me and I wanted to ask you some questions I couldn’t answer.”
“Fire away.” I tried to picture him on the other end of the line. Was he smiling? I wished I had something to say that wasn’t just business, but I couldn’t think of a thing in my muddled state of mind, so I asked him what I had called to ask him in the first place.
“You said the other day that you accompany Diamond on his tagging expeditions. Do you also accompany him on surveillance flights and ground surveillance to track the animals’ movements?” God, I sounded so bloody official. What was he thinking of me?
“No. Not usually. It’s very time-consuming, but I do help sometimes. We radio-collared the last cat in May. Let me just boot up here and check.” I heard the telltale ping of a computer turning on and shortly after Patrick was back, “Yup, May. I helped him with that and went out on surveillance a couple of times in late April and early May but then he said he didn’t need me for any surveillance in May and June anymore and I was happy with that. I had a lot of my own work.” He paused, his tone suddenly guarded. “Why are you interested in this?”
I wished I could see his eyes. I couldn’t read anything from his voice.
“I’m wondering if whatever he was working on just before his death might have something to do with why his body was moved and why my larvae were killed and my disks stolen.”
Patrick grunted into the phone but politely said nothing. I cleared my throat, wondering what I was looking for, knowing he was wondering that too. “Diamond’s data lists six cats that were surveyed in the six months before his death. Do you —”
Patrick interrupted, “What was on that disk Shannon gave you?”
The sharpness of his tone put me on the defensive, and I felt the beginnings of panic welling up inside me that surprised me. I really didn’t want this guy angry at me. I wanted him to like me.
“What she told me was on it: all his logging stuff. But then there was also a folder on his research.”
“I think we’d better meet. Before I answer any of your questions I want to see that disk. At the same time I can show you the film.”
There was nothing for it but to agree. The coldness of his voice made it clear that I’d get no further on the phone. We arranged to meet in two days’ time at his lab.
I hung up, part of me pleased that I would see him again, part of me frustrated because he had every right to the disk and the information on it and I didn’t. Part of me upset because I hadn’t liked the coldness in his voice and I wanted to warm it up in the worst way. This guy was really affecting me.
Ryan was in the darkroom, so I fooled around, trying to find the password for the last folder. I tried Leah all the way to 99 and then repeated it with the name of Diamond’s cat, Polly. No luck. Ryan came out of the darkroom with some negatives and laid them out on his light table as I was making a copy of the disk.
“What did you lose?” I asked, dreading the response. I’d delayed asking the question for so long I was sure it would be all bad.
“What?”
“You know, the film you lost at the rapids. How many pictures did you lose? Ballpark damage.”
“I didn’t lose any.” His words echoed off my thoughts like a boomerang and came winging back at me with menacing meaning.
“What do you mean you didn’t lose any?”
“I checked my records and every shot I took is accounted for.”
I stared at Ryan. He took meticulous records of each of his pictures, noting the f-stop, ASA, lighting, everything, all neatly numbered, and he wasn’t missing any?
“Then that film that we found?”
“Wasn’t mine,” said Ryan.
chapter fourteen
“This throws a whole new light on things, doesn’t it?” I said as I watched Martha deftly cutting up some pieces of liver.
“I mean, whose film was it if it wasn’t Ryan’s? Can you tell me that? Do you think someone wanted it badly enough to try to kill us for it?”
“Doesn’t make sense, Cordi. Besides, the film was lost in the rapids.”
“What if there was something incriminating on it and someone just wanted to destroy it? Sounds better than being a martyr to a bunch of insects, doesn’t it?”
Martha looked up with interest. “You mean your close call had nothing to do with the larvae?”
“I’m not saying that exactly.