Six Seconds

10

Calgary, Alberta, Canada

Dental records confirmed Anita, Tommy and Emily Tarver as the victims.

Ray Tarver’s body had still not been recovered. The tragedy landed on the front pages of Calgary’s newspapers with the headlines RIVER HORROR

CLAIMS FOUR AMERICANS and U.S. FAMILY DIES IN MOUNTAINS. The Calgary Herald and Calgary Sun ran pictures of the Tarvers, the scene and locator maps. Through interviews with shocked U.S. friends of the Tarvers, the papers reported that Ray

Tarver was a freelance journalist, Anita was a part-time librarian and that Tommy and Emily were “the sweetest kids.”

Not much more in the Web editions of the Washing ton Post and Washington Times either, Graham thought before he met Jackson Tarver at the Calgary airport.

From the passport and driver’s license photos, Graham saw the father and son resemblance, except the elder

Tarver had thin white hair parted neatly to one side. Jackson Tarver was a sixty-seven-year-old retired high-school English teacher. His handshake was strong for someone whose world had been shattered. He insisted on “taking care of matters right away,” so Graham drove him to his hotel where they found a quiet booth in the restaurant. Tarver never touched his coffee.

He sat there twisting his wedding band.

“Since your call, I’ve been praying that this has been some sort of mistake,” Tarver said. “I need to see with my own eyes that this has happened. I hope you under stand?”

Graham understood. He opened his folder to display sharp color photographs of Anita, Tommy and Emily

Tarver, on autopsy trays.

Pain webbed across Jackson’s face and he turned away.

After giving him time, Graham took Tarver’s fore arm to ensure he was registering their conversation. “Our services people have contacted the U.S. Con sulate here. They’ll help you with the airline bookings and the funeral-home arrangements and they will assist you in getting them home with you,” Graham said.

“They’ll also help you get the belongings shipped home later when we’ve finished processing them. Here’s some paperwork you’ll need.”

Graham slid an envelope to Tarver who took several moments to collect himself.

“Do you know how it happened?”

“At this stage, we believe their canoe capsized in the

Faust River.”

“And they weren’t wearing life jackets?”

“No.”

“I just don’t understand. Ray was so careful. When things were good, he’d taken Anita and the kids to Yel lowstone. He was no stranger to the outdoors. For goodness’ sake, he’s an Eagle Scout.”

“You said, ‘when things were good.’” Graham was taking notes.

“Ray used to be a reporter with the Washington,

D.C., bureau of World Press Alliance, the wire service.” “What sorts of stories did he do?”

“He covered everything before moving to investiga tive features.”

Graham nodded.

“Then he began clashing with his editors. About a year ago he’d had enough and decided to try making a living freelancing.”

“How did that go?”

“It was rough. Anita was worried. He’d quit a wellpaying job with benefits.”

“So there was stress in the home?”

“Some. Sure, over the money and for Ray quitting

World Press.”

“So why not try to find another news job?” “I think Ray always felt he was close to a big story, or a book deal. Until then, he was always borrowing money from us to pay the bills, always struggling, worrying about Anita and the kids. About six months ago, he took out extra life insurance so Anita and the kids would be okay, if anything happened to him.” “Really? How much?”

“I think he said it was two hundred and fifty thousand.”

“Means more premiums. How did he pay for this trip?” “I loaned him the money for this trip. He told me they really needed to get away. He found a cheap package deal. I figured he was going to pay me back with the money he’d get for some travel features, which usually happened. It just took time.”

Graham didn’t voice his view that Ray came across as something of a contradiction. Here was a guy who was not a risk taker but had taken a gamble leaving his job. Ray’s father must’ve picked up on what Graham was thinking.

“Is there something you’re not telling me, Cor poral?”

“I’m just trying to figure things out.”

“You said it appears to be an accident, at this stage.

Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“I’ve told you all we know. We just need to locate

Ray.”

“Corporal, it’s hard to explain a life here. My son loved his family. For him, reporting was a quasireligious cause. He worked hard on his articles, they were very good. In fact, I’d like his laptop returned to me as soon as possible. It would mean a great deal to me to read what he’d been working on.”

“Laptop? I don’t think we found a laptop.” Graham flipped through the inventory sheets from the crime scene guys.

“He never went anywhere without it.”

“It’s possible we have it in an evidence locker, or the lab is processing it.”

“He had it with him when I took them to the airport for this trip.”

“I’ll look into it.”

Graham was certain no laptop was found anywhere with the Tarvers and spent the rest of the night on the phone to the lab and the guys in Banff getting them to search for it.

In the morning, Graham rose early and drove Jack son Tarver two hours west to Banff, then deep into the

Faust region to the site. Jackson Tarver tossed roses into the river where his grandchildren, daughter-in-law and, most likely, his son had died.

That afternoon, Graham accompanied him to the airport and badged his way through to the gate where they watched three casket-shaped containers roll along the luggage conveyor and into the cargo hold of Tarver’s plane.

Before he boarded, Tarver took Graham’s hand and shook it.

“I heard what you did, how you risked your life trying to save Emily. Thank you.”

“No thanks necessary.”

“I hope you’ll find my son, so that he can come home with his family.” Tarver’s grip was like that of a man fighting to keep from breaking into pieces.

“Please.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Graham stayed at the window watching Tarver’s jet roll slowly from the terminal, turbines whining, running lights strobing, until his cell phone rang.

“Graham, it’s Fitzwald.”

“Fitz, did you find the laptop?”

“No laptop, but I did find something you should see.” Twenty minutes later, Graham was at Fitzwald’s desk looking at a sneaker.

“We figure it belongs to Ray Tarver.”

Graham was puzzled; he’d seen this sneaker and its mate before.

“I don’t get it, Fitz, I’ve seen the shoes. They were in the tent.”

“And this was in the left shoe.”

Fitzwald tossed a small, slim leather-bound note book on the desk before him.

“What do you make of it, Dan?”

Graham fanned the pages filled with notes, handwrit ten in ink. They were cryptic: something about an SS

Age, another, see B. Walker. Scores of notations just before the last entry: Meet ‘x’ and ‘y’ verify link to Blue

Rose Creek.

“Hard to say if it’s important.”

“It must mean something because it was hidden under the foot cushion. He valued this more than his passport.”