Free The End of the Line by Stephen Legault

took hold of the heavy tarp with his left hand and pulled it slowly back from Deek Penner’s head. As he did so, he watched from the corner of his eye for any change in expression in the eager Wilcox as the man stepped up to his side. If there was a change, Durrant could not detect it.
    Penner’s face was caved in so badly that he was likely unrecognizable to any but his closest friends. Congealed, frozen blood had pooled in the sockets of his unseeing eyes and coated his face. Any visible skin was frozen white, and his hair was tipped in a ghostly frost.
    Durrant had seen his share of dead men in the decade he had been a North West Mounted Police officer, but he had never seen a man so brutally murdered.
    â€œIs this the first time you’ve seen the body?” Durrant finally asked Wilcox.
    â€œNo,” said Wilcox. “When his body was found, I was called to the scene. I dare say, Sergeant, that it was far worse to be the first to come across a man so recently murdered.”
    â€œDoes this bother you?”
    â€œOf course it does!”
    â€œYou don’t seem too put out by it.”
    â€œJust ’cause I’m not blubbering doesn’t mean I don’t care about his death.”
    Durrant continued to consider the corpse before him. The murder of Deek Penner was an act of rage, of ferocity, he thought. He said to Wilcox: “Whoever did this is a monster. This is no simple murder. Whoever killed this man didn’t just want him dead. They wanted him mutilated.”
    â€œThere’s no argument about that, Sergeant,” said Wilcox looking around him as if the killer might be within earshot.
    â€œThere doesn’t seem to be any question about how this man died. Blunt force. He’s been bludgeoned. Only question is by what . . .”
    â€œThere are a hundred things in a camp like this that could be used to kill a man.”
    Durrant turned back to the corpse and pulled the tarp all the way back. Wilcox stepped forward with the lantern and shone the light into the darkened room. “You go through his pockets?”
    â€œI did not.”
    â€œHas anybody?”
    â€œNot that I know of. Maybe the killer did. He ain’t been left out for others to pillage, I can assure you. We had him locked up in your barracks before you came last night.”
    â€œFrom this point on, Mr. Wilcox, I am the only one to have access to Mr. Penner’s remains. I alone will hold the key to this building.”
    â€œAs you wish,” said Wilcox.
    â€œNow, sir, I will take some time alone with Mr. Penner. Please arrange to have Doctor Armatage join me. We need to conduct a more detailed examination of Mr. Penner’s remains before any decomposition takes place.”
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    Durrant had begun to take measurements of the fatal wounds to Deek Penner’s face and head when he heard a cough at the door to the shack. His left hand reached for the revolver in his pocket and he turned quickly in the darkness to see the shape of a man darkening the portal.
    The man laughed. “What kind of greeting is that for an old friend?” asked the man, stepping from the bright light of day into the gloomy shed.
    â€œHello, Saul,” said Durrant.
    â€œHello, Durrant.” The man stepped up next to the Mountie and, without hesitation, extended his left hand. In his right hand he carried a small black leather satchel. Durrant took the man’s hand in his own and grasped it firmly.
    â€œNice to see a friendly face,” Durrant said, regarding the man. He was tall and thin and wore a pencil moustache that curled up at the corners above a narrow beard. The rest of his face was cleanly shaven and dark with a winter tan.
    â€œLikewise, I’m sure.” The man smiled broadly and turned to regard the corpse.
    â€œDewalt didn’t tell me it was you who was acting as physician in this God-forsaken wilderness.”
    â€œI