Kathy Reichs - Bones Are Forever

“Treasure under the tundra?” Tyne’s voice dripped disdain. “Death to the tundra is more like it.”

Ryan slipped me a look. Enough circling. “You say you know Annaliese Ruben’s family,” he said, wishing to get to the point.

“Knew her father pretty well. Farley McLeod was quite a character.”

“Was?”

“Dead. He and I worked for Fipke.”

“Fipke?”

“Seriously?” Tyne looked at me as though I’d asked him to explain soap.

“Seriously.”

“Chuck Fipke is credited with discovering diamonds in the Arctic. Which he did with a guy named Stu Blusson. Everyone thought the two of them were crazy. Turned out they weren’t. Now, thanks to them, the caribou are taking it in the pants.”

“Diamonds have replaced gold in the territory?” I asked.

“Seriously?”

Tyne loved the word. This time I didn’t play parrot. “How many mines?”

“Ekati opened in ’98, Diavak in 2003, Snap Lake in 2008. She’s the only one underground.”

“Where are they?”

“Couple hundred kilometers north. Snap Lake is De Beers’s first mine outside of Africa. Now they’re trying to bring another one online. Gahcho Kué. Won’t be a caribou left when these bastards get through.”

My knowledge of the diamond industry was limited. No. That’s being too generous. I knew that Cecil Rhodes founded De Beers in the late eighteen hundreds, that the group was based in Johannesburg and London, and that it was responsible for 75 percent of the world’s diamond production. I knew that Angola, Australia, Botswana, Congo, Namibia, Russia, and South Africa were diamond-rich. I had no idea Canada was a player.

“You said you did some staking. What’s a staker?” I asked.

“A guy drives in stakes.”

“To register a claim.”

“You’re quick, little lady.”

“Seriously quick.”

Tyne pointed two fingers at me. “Once Fipke found his pipe, all hell broke loose. Made the Klondike rush look like a garden party.” Tyne hiccup-laughed again. “’Course, that’s ancient history. Today there’s not a square inch of tundra hasn’t been staked by some bonehead hoping to strike it rich. And the big boys have sucked up every claim worth a spit. Rio Tinto. BHP Billiton. De Beers.”

“What’s a pipe?” I asked.

Tyne’s eyes went flat. “Thought your interest was in Annaliese Ruben.”

“It is,” Ryan said. “Did Annaliese live with Farley?”

“Farley wasn’t the parenting type. Spawned ’em and left ’em, kinda like carp.”

“Annaliese lived with her mother?”

“Micah Ruben. Then she changed it to Micah Lee. Don’t think she ever married. Those two just liked changing up names.”

“Oh?”

“Micah named the kid Alice. At one point she was Alexandra. Then Anastasia. Thought they sounded fancier.”

“What happened to Micah?”

“She was a drinker. Five, seven years back a neighbor found her lying in the snow, a human Popsicle.”

I remembered the DNA. “Was Micah aboriginal?”

“Dene.”

“Farley?”

“Plain old white bread. Farley passed not long after Micah. Two thousand seven, I think.”

“How old was Annaliese?”

Tyne appeared to give that some thought. “I think she’d just started at the high school. What would that make her? Fourteen? Fifteen? ’Course, Annaliese wasn’t the sharpest stick in the bag. She could have been older.”

“How did Farley die?”

“Crashed his Cessna into Lac La Martre. Hunter saw it go down. Searchers found debris, not Farley.” Tyne paused. “I think Annaliese may have been living with her daddy then. Because of Micah being gone.”

“Where was that?” I felt a tickle of excitement.

“Little shithole in Yellowknife.” Tyne wagged his head. “Farley lived month to month. When the deposit was gone, orphan or not, the kid got the boot. Her siblings didn’t reach out, so I let her crash with me for a while. I was living in town then.”

“And?”

“And then she left.”

“To do what?”

Tyne shrugged. “Girl had to survive.”

“Meaning prostitution,” Ryan said.

“I’m only guessing. Based on her ma.”

“Did you try to intervene?” The tickle of excitement was morphing to disgust. “Urge her to stay in school?”

“I’m not kin. I had no say.”

“She was—”

Sensing my hostility, Ryan cut me off. “You say she had siblings.”

“All’s I know about are a half brother and a half sister.” Again the hitchy laugh. “Probably a whole platoon out there. Farley had a way with the ladies.”

Dazzled with the squeeters. I didn’t say it.

“Who was the half brother?”

“A guy named Daryl Beck. Different mother. Beck was a bit older than Al—Annaliese.”

Ryan noted the verb tense. “Beck is dead, too?”

“One too many lines of blow, I guess. House burned to the ground. Heard they hardly found enough to ID.”

“Beck was a crackhead?”

“I only know what I hear.”

“When was this?

“Three, four years back.”

“Was there an investigation?”

“Cops tried.”

“Meaning?”

“Folks keep to themselves up here.”

“Was Annaliese close to her brother?” I asked.

“Damned if I know.”

“Did Beck have other family?”

“Same answer.”

“While she was staying at your place, did Beck ever visit? Call?”

“No.”

“Anyone else?”

Tyne just looked at me.

“Where did Annaliese live after she moved out?”

“The kid left no forwarding address.”

Again the tickle. “Did you ask around?”

Tyne’s eyes roved my face. I could feel him trying to read my thoughts.

“Did you and Annaliese part on bad terms?” Pointed.

“I don’t like what that implies. You ask a lot of questions for people trying to deliver a package.”

Tyne pushed to his feet. The interview was over.

“We appreciate you talking to us.” Ryan placed his aviator shades on the bridge of his nose.

At the door, I squeezed in a few last questions.

“Do you know why Annaliese left Yellowknife?”

“It was none of my business.”

“If she has come back, do you know where she’d go? Who she’d contact?”

“Maybe the half sister.”

“What’s her name?”

Seriously?

NELLIE SNOOK.

Neither Ollie nor anyone at G Division had uncovered the link.

The whole way back to Yellowknife, I’d been trying to wrap my mind about that. “Snook’s name never popped when they ran checks on Ruben?”

“No reason it would.”

“Fewer than twenty thousand people live in this town.” I wasn’t believing this. “Wouldn’t it be common knowledge that Snook and Ruben are half sisters?”

“Apparently not.”

Ryan parked in a strip of dirt fronting a bright blue shack. We got out of the Camry and crossed to it.

“And not one single person they questioned had a clue?”

“Tyne told you. Folks keep to themselves up here.”

Antlers, snowshoes, and an oddly shaped paddle hung above the shack’s door. A sign had been nailed to the siding beside it. No Sniveling .

Ryan pointed to the sign and raised his brows.

“I’m not sniveling.” I wasn’t. I was venting.

Ryan pointed to another sign. Hot Beer. Lousy Food. Bad Service. Welcome. Have a nice day . Then he opened the door. Bells jangled us in.

To our left was a stuffed moose head doing duty as a hat and coat rack. Opposite Bullwinkle was a combo bar, fry kitchen, cashier’s station. A woman in a black Mao cap, plaid shirt, and jeans was scraping the griddle with a spatula. The rest of le bistro was taken up by wooden tables and high-back chairs, some plain, others carved.