Chapter 15: CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Fenwick had wandered into the forest. Not too far, since a slew of wild animals made their homes here. Bears, wolves, foxes, moose... He didn’t want to tangle with any of them. The trees, evergreens, snuggled close together, and the air was fresh, clean, invigorating, unlike the smog-infested atmosphere of Los Angeles. He could see himself staying here, and to hell with Harold Creighton, and CGI, and motion pictures, and everything the film industry represented. He was here temporarily, however, and staying meant more paper work, more forms to fill out. If there was good news it was the location. Northern Ontario, Canada, far from the madding crowd. Who’d know? He could just stay there, in the forest somewhere, get lost. But they’d come looking for him, wouldn’t they?

He shook his head. Stupid thought. He was Los Angeles born, he had lived in that city all his life, and he’d be as much out of place here as a chicken in a fox den.

He reached the place where Arak had been found. He knelt down, studied the ground. The obvious blood marks were there, as well as footprints, different ones, some human, some Tereskàdian. The latter was understandable; they walked this path numerous times, seeking prey. The human footprints were rather distinguishable, someone who wore a boot with the heel grooves worn down.

He wasn’t a detective, just worked in the special effects department at Creighton Studios. He was an expert in CGI, not footprints, not shoes, or shoe sizes, or grooves in heels.

Daniel de Montelier should be here, looking at this.

He stood up, aware that someone was behind him. When he turned around, one of the crew members walked up to him.

“Fenwick?”

“Yeah?”

“What’re you doing?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“You walked in here,” the young man said.

“You’re Harrison, aren’t you?”

“Chester Harrison,” he said. “I’m the guy who doesn’t have much to say in this, but...” He scrunched up his face. “What are you doing here?”

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“Just taking a walk,” Fenwick said. “No law against that.”

“I saw you looking at something. You’re not supposed to disturb a crime scene, you know.”

“I didn’t touch anything.”

“That RCMP guy says we’re all suspects.”

“That makes sense. Did you kill Arak?”

The young man’s eyes raised up a few millimeters. “I didn’t even know the guy.”

“Creighton and the old man had an argument.”

“Maybe Creighton killed him.”

Fenwick shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense. Arak told him he could shoot the film here.”

They walked together in silence, heading back to the village. Fenwick was deep in thought. If the Tereskàdians wanted to ask him if he had killed Arak, they could go right ahead and ask him. He had nothing to hide.

But someone here did. And how this someone was going to hide the fact that he – or she – was a murderer was something he wanted to see.

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