Forever Dead by Suzanne F. Kingsmill Page A

and said, “I only just bumped into these two down by the biology station when I heard you yelp. Leslie Mitchell and Don Allenby, Cordi O’Callaghan.”
    The woman inclined her head, but the man didn’t seem to notice the introductions at all.
    â€œWho was that guy?” asked Ryan, jerking his head in the direction of the departing truck.
    Don’s voice came again, louder, verging on hysteria.
    â€œWhat body?” He was nervously wringing his hands and the sweat glistened on his forehead.
    â€œHis name is Cameron,” said Leslie, who glanced worriedly at Don before repeating his question. “What body?”
    â€œA couple of hours ago we found a body up river at the beginning of the portage around the falls. I was about to tell you when we heard my sister yelp. We need to contact the police,” said Ryan.
    â€œOh, Jesus.” Don shook his head from side to side with a half moan.
    â€œFor god’s sake, Don, get a hold of yourself,” snapped Leslie. She turned and looked at me. “Where?”
    â€œWe found it near the water about a hundred yards from a campsite of some sort.”
    Don groaned and whimpered. “Oh, God. It’s Jake.
    It’s gotta be Diamond. Oh, Jesus.”
    â€œFor Pete’s sake, pull yourself together,” said Leslie, looking curiously at Don.
    â€œThat’s his campsite up there. He’s the only one who stays up there,” moaned Don. “He was due back tomorrow. It’s not my fault. If he hadn’t returned I was to give out the call. We all do that for each other. We go into the bush so often to do our fieldwork. It’s mostly crown land. All our study sites are up this way, we’re all biologists of some description or other. I work with small mammals: rabbits and things like that. Jake works with large mammals: Canada lynx, sometimes bobcat. Leslie here’s a moose woman. And we do a lot of fieldwork. Our base station is the building around the corner, down the road. We use it as a jumping off spot for say a week, a month in the field at a time. Leslie and I …”
    After this long speech he wiped his forehead with his shirtsleeve. “But Jake knew the bush, unbelievable he was. Not a better man than Jake in the bush. How could this happen to him? How could it be Jake? What the hell happened?”
    Leslie stopped the flow of words with a chop of her hand.
    â€œFor Christ’s sake, Don, pipe down. It may not be Jake. It’s probably some poor sucker who got lost and panicked. Jake’s too much of a bushman to get into trouble, and he’s as healthy as an ox. He’ll be along to tell us all about it. Besides, whoever it is, there’s nothing we can do right now but get through to the police and report it.”
    She looked at me and Ryan. “There’s a CB radio in my car down the road. We can use that. Cell phones don’t work up here — too remote.”
    We walked in silence. Jake Diamond. The name rang some distant bell in my mind. I did of course knowof him as a mammalogist, but it was for something else that this little bell tolled.
    â€œIt’s Jake. I know it is. It’s Jake,” wailed Don with such sudden conviction it made me uncomfortable. I couldn’t help but think that this trembling basket case knew something the rest of us didn’t.

chapter five
    â€œWhat’s this I hear about you finding a dead body? In pieces, no less. I’m gone three short weeks and you get yourself into trouble.”
    I was standing at my office window looking down at the pavement five flights below, feeling like a washed-out watercolour, bits of me fading into the early morning air, thoughts running into each other, creating mud. The early morning sun glinted off the sidewalk below, and the students rushed to make their 9:00 a.m. classes. At the sound of Martha’s deep guttural purr I turned in relief. Martha Bathgate literally filled the doorway