Part 4
A second flashlight came toward Owen through the snow. Caleb met him above the station and handed it over, then told him the other patrol was still crawling behind a plow on the coast road.
“Dispatch knows we’re here. They’re on our side of the pass, but it’ll take a while.”
Owen nodded. He was grateful not to have to ask whether anyone knew where to find them.
Flint waited at the railing, but she didn’t return to the hole. She went around the instrument shed, nose lowered along the sheltered edge of the building. Owen followed until the wind dropped abruptly and a smell of old fish and fuel reached him.
Discarded wall panels enclosed a passage between the shed and the rock. Beyond an open doorway stood a crude cage.
Caleb touched Owen’s sleeve, and they stopped to listen. He called out. With no answer, they moved far enough to see two more enclosures reinforced with wire, a chain anchored near the floor, and a bucket of scraps frozen solid.
Flint went to one cage. She nosed its corner, then scraped beneath a loose board. The movement hurt her shoulder; she stopped and stood panting.
Owen crouched beside the disturbed wood. After Caleb photographed it, he lifted the edge.
A leather collar lay underneath. Darkened on the inside, it held long gray hairs beneath the buckle. Flint pushed her muzzle against it and gave a sound so low that Owen felt it through the boards under his knee.
He had expected to find another pup. Instead there was an empty enclosure and hair that didn’t quite match hers. Someone else from her pack might have worn that collar. He couldn’t tell whether the animal had died here or been carried away.
He stayed beside her while Caleb took more photographs. His hand started toward her back, then settled on his own knee.
“Don’t move the collar,” Caleb said. “I’ve got where it was.”
Their lights found rope, unused wire, and empty glass ampoules. A crate under the shelves bore the cooperative’s name. Caleb recorded the containers and labels without making claims about what had been inside.
Near the doorway, Owen noticed an oilcloth bundle on a high shelf. He pointed, waited for the photograph, then lifted it down under Caleb’s direction.
Inside was a notebook, dry where almost everything else had taken on damp.
The first entries could have belonged to any excursion business: names, payments, dates. Then Owen saw the arrangements customers had paid for. A predator restrained by a chain. Night photography. Live animals used as bait. A note about concealing the animals during inspections had been emphasized twice.
He held the pages open for Caleb’s camera, keeping his fingers away from the writing.
“So much for her wandering into his sheds,” Owen said.
Caleb looked toward the entrance. “We need this secured. And we need her clear of here.”
Flint had begun pacing between the collar and the passage. She paused each time she reached the doorway, ears turned toward the road. Owen stopped handling the notebook and listened.
At the chapel, Ruth found Dennis seated before the open recorder. Laura had said the pups were settled for the moment; Ruth had come back while she could. Fresh batteries lay beside the discarded ones, and a hymnbook held the loose cover out of the way.
“It’s turning,” Dennis said. “I wouldn’t count on a second run.”
He pressed the button.
Walter’s voice came through the hiss, brisk and irritated. Ruth covered her mouth. She had remembered his laugh and the sound of him coughing in the morning; she hadn’t expected this work voice, the one he used when equipment refused to behave.
He reported the main set down. He named the cooperative boat and said someone had asked that its departure not be announced until morning. Owen was outside, heading for the reserve antenna, trying to restore the shore connection.
Static filled the little speaker. Ruth leaned toward it, her hand still at her lips.
Then Owen’s voice broke through, younger and tight with effort. He was climbing to the antenna. He wanted them to continue transmitting.
Dennis let the tape run through the remaining interference. When it clicked to a stop, neither of them moved for a while.
“I said he let the calls go,” Ruth whispered.
“You hadn’t heard this.”
She looked at the box by her feet.
“It was here.”
Dennis took out the cassette and returned it to its case. He helped her protect it with the notebook, and she put both inside her coat before starting uphill.
At the station, the engine arrived before the lights. Owen stood near the passage entrance as a snowmachine swung across it, throwing glare into his eyes. Flint flattened against the wall.
Danner stopped the machine sideways across their route. A second man climbed off the rear seat. His hood hid most of his face, but Owen could see the flare gun held against his thigh.
Danner looked at the notebook.
“You’re holding property that belongs to us.”
Caleb brought his phone close to his chest. Owen saw his thumb start the recording.
“This is a disused government station,” the trooper said. “We’ve documented evidence of animals being confined here.”
“People store gear wherever they can. You know that.” Danner removed a glove and tucked it into his belt. “Bring your questions to my office.”
“We’ll be taking the evidence with us.”
Behind Danner, the other man shifted his grip. The flare gun came away from his leg, not quite raised. Flint drew back her lips.
Owen knew how little room there was between the man and the wall. He knew what he might reach before anyone else moved. He pressed his free hand flat against his coat, keeping the notebook against his chest.
“Lower the gun,” Caleb told the man.
Danner stepped closer, closing the gap beside the machine. He extended his bare hand toward Owen.
“The book. Now…”
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