Десмонд Бэгли - Landslide

‘At the time I wondered what it was about and I still have not come to any firm conclusion. It certainly was nothing to do with the Vancouver police because, as you know, I straightened them out about you, and a hell of a task it was. Most laymen are thick-headed about psychiatry, but police and legal laymen have heads of almost impenetrable oak. They seem to think that the McNaughten Rules are a psychiatric dictum and not a mere legal formalism, and it was no mean feat getting them to see sense and getting Bob Boyd off the hook for what Robert Grant had done. But I did it.

‘So who could have employed this private eye? I did a check and I came up with nothing — it is not my field. Anyway, it is many years ago and probably means nothing now, but I thought I might as well tell you that someone, other than your mysterious benefactor, was interested in you.’

That was interesting news but many years out of date. I chewed it over for some time, but, like Susskind, I could come to no conclusion, so I let it lie.

In the spring I headed north to the MacKenzie District where I fossicked about all summer somewhere between the Great Slave Lake and Coronation Gulf. It’s a lonely life — there are not many people up there — but one meets the occasional trapper and there are always the wandering Eskimos in the far north. Again, it was a bad year and I thought briefly of giving it up as a bad job and settling for a salaried existence as a company wage slave. But I knew I wouldn’t do that; I’d tasted too much freedom to be nailed down and I’d make a bad company man. But if I were to continue I’d have to go south again to assemble a stake for the next summer, so I humped my pack for civilization.

I suppose I was all sorts of a fool to go back to British Columbia. I wanted to follow Susskind’s advice and forget all about Fort Farrell, but the mind is not as easily controlled as all that. During the lonely days, and more especially the lonelier nights, I had thought about the odd fate of the Trinavants. I felt a certain responsibility because I had certainly been in that Cadillac when it crashed, and I felt an odd guilt about what might have caused it. I also felt guilty about running away from Fort Farrell — McDougall’s last words still stuck in my craw — even though I had Susskind’s assurance that I had done the right thing.

I thought a lot about Clare Trinavant, too — more than was good for a lone man in the middle of the wilderness.

Anyway, I went back and did a winter job around Kamloops in British Columbia, working for an academic team investigating earth tremors. I say ‘academic’ but the tab was picked up by the United States Government because this work could lead to a better means of detecting underground atomic tests, so perhaps it was not so academic, after all. The pay wasn’t too good and the work and general atmosphere a bit too long-haired for me, but I worked through the winter and saved as much as I could.

As spring approached I began to get restless, but I knew I had not saved up enough to go back north for another summer’s exploration. It really began to look as though this was the end of the line and I would have to settle down to the company grind. As it turned out I got the money in another way, but I would rather have worked twenty years for a company than gain the money the way I did.

I received a letter from Susskind’s partner, a man called Jarvis. He wrote to tell me that Susskind had unexpectedly died of a heart attack and, as executor of the estate, he informed me that Susskind had left me $5,000.

‘I know that you and Dr Susskind had a very special relationship, deeper than that normal to doctor and patient,’ wrote Jarvis. ‘Please accept my deepest regrets, and you will know, of course, that I stand ready to help you in my professional capacity at any time you may need me.’

I felt a deep sense of loss. Susskind was the only father I ever had or knew; he had been my only anchor in a world that had unexpectedly taken away three-quarters of my life. Even though we met but infrequently, our letters kept us close, and now there would be no more letters, no more gruff, irreverent, shrewd Susskind.

I suppose the news knocked me off my bearings for a while. At any rate, I began to think of the geological structure of the North-East Interior of British Columbia, and to wonder if it was at all necessary to go back to the far north that summer. I decided to go back to Fort Farrell.

Thinking of it in hindsight, I now know the reason. While I had Susskind I had a line back to my beginnings. Without Susskind there was no line and again I had to fight for my personal identity; and the only way to do it was to find my past, harrowing though the experience might be. And the way to the past lay through Fort Farrell, in the death of the Trinavant family and the birth of the Matterson logging empire.

At the time, of course, I didn’t think that way. I just did things without thinking at all. I turned in the job, packed my bags and was on my way to Fort Farrell within the month.

The place hadn’t changed any.

I got off the bus at the depot and there was the same fat little guy who looked me up and down. ‘Welcome back,’ he said.

I grinned at him. ‘I don’t need to know where the Matterson Building is this time. But you can tell me one thing — is McDougall still around?’

‘He was up to last week — I haven’t seen him since.’

‘You’d be good in a witness-box,’ I said. ‘You know how to make a careful statement.’

I went up King Street and into Trinavant Park and saw that there had been a change, after all. The Greek place now had a name — a garish neon sign proclaimed it to be the Hellenic Café. Lieutenant Farrell was still the same, though; he hadn’t moved a muscle. I checked into the Matterson House Hotel and wondered how long I’d be staying there. Once I started lifting stones to see what nasty things lay underneath I could see that innkeeper Matterson might not want to have me around as part of his clientele. But this was for the future; now I might as well see how the land lay with Howard.

I took the elevator up to his office. He had a new secretary and I asked her to tell the boss that Mr Boyd wanted to see him. I got into Howard’s office in the record-breaking time of two minutes. Howard must have been very curious to know why I was back in Fort Farrell.

He hadn’t changed, either, although there was no real reason why he should. He was still the same bull-necked, beefy guy, running to fat, but I thought I detected a shade more fat this time. ‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘I’m certainly surprised to see you again.’

‘I don’t know why you should be,’ I said innocently. ‘Considering that you offered me a job.’

He goggled at me incredulously. ‘ What ?’

‘You offered me a job. You said you wanted a geological survey of all the Matterson holdings, and you offered the job to me. Don’t you remember?’

He remembered that his mouth was open after a while and snapped it shut. ‘By Christ, but you’ve got a nerve! Do you think that...’ He stopped and chuckled fatly. ‘No, Mr Boyd. I’m afraid we’ve changed our minds about that project.’

‘That’s a pity,’ I said. ‘I find myself unable to go north this year.’

He grinned maliciously. ‘What’s the matter? Couldn’t you find anyone to stake you?’

‘Something like that,’ I said, and let a worried look appear on my face.

‘It’s tough all round,’ he said, enjoying himself, ‘but I’m sorry to tell you that I don’t think there’s a job going anywhere in this territory for a man in your line. In fact, I’ll go further: I don’t think there’s any job around here that you could hold down. The employment situation is terrible in Fort Farrell this year.’ A thought struck him. ‘Of course, I might be able to find you a job as a bell-hop in the hotel. I have influence there, you understand. I hope you’re strong enough to carry bags?’