Scandal

Elaine and Ray had not seen much of the Great White North since they had arrived at the Fraser cabin. They knew that it was vast and white but not much else. However, CBC North was providing them with some saucy pointers on the popular soap opera, As the Kayak Turns.
Still in their bedclothes and munching on Corn Puffs, they watched intently as Leila Argluk confronted Jean-Pierre Kamook about his hostile takeover of the Nanuk Oil Company.
"I never knew that being unemployed in Canada was compensated by such rivetting entertainment," Ray said still transfixed by Leila's fury.
"Neither did I," Elaine concurred and allowed Diefenbaker, a fellow soaps' buff, enjoy her Corn Puffs.
Constable Alexander Mackenzie Reynolds barged into the Fraser cabin, kicked the snow from his boots and leaned over the two.
"Greetings, my little couch potatoes. What are we watching?"
Ray changed the channel to an insipid daily talk show, Fred.
"We are watching a guy named Fred and why vegetarian sealhunters are a disgrace to the community," Ray answered.
"Yeah, I was wondering when they would do something about that lot," Alexander concurred. "Anyway, I thought it would be really great if we could actually go out and do something today instead of lounging about."
Elaine huffed.
"It's too cold, maybe tomorrow."
"No, today," Alexander took her by the hand and lifted her from the couch. "It's spring outside."
"The hell it is," Elaine guffawed. "If you're so anxious, why don't you go outside?"
"I don't have to go outside," Alexander justified to Elaine, "I work outside making this one-horse free from being a two-horse town. This town isn't big enough for two, you know."
"Aside from reading magazines and eating donuts, do you actually do any work?" Ray questioned him.
"I'll ignore that, Detective." Alexander crossed his arms. "Won't you go out?"
"No, tomorrow," Elaine countered and sat back down.
Alexander gave up. He sat next to her and watched the ire being built up on Fred.
"How can you two watch such insipid programs? I think you are a bad influence on Diefenbaker."
Diefenbaker lifted his head.
"Nah. He got us to be lazy in the first place," Ray pointed out.

They had fallen asleep on what was considered a warm spring day for Inuvik. The chinook spread its much wanted grace over the northern land. All was peaceful, quiet...
"Good afternoon, everyone!" Fraser exclaimed as he and his guest charged into the cabin. "Asleep on such a day as this! Alex, how could even you sleep? Arise! Let us quit this place at once for much happier climes!"
Ray plugged his ears.
"I think he is drunk," he whispered to Elaine.
"Is today the day?" he asked. "Are you two ready to actually leave the house?"
Ray buried his head under a pillow and Elaine pretended not to hear him.
"Of course, you are!" Fraser cried. "Ray, Elaine, I would like you to meet Constable Turnbull, Constable Turnbull's cousin."
The straw-haired man waved at them amiably.
"Everyone just calls me Joe."
"Hi, Joe," Elaine chirped.
Ray scrutinized the young man's face.
"Aren't you the one who's father had his brains sucked out by aliens?" Ray asked impertinently.
Joe's sunny complexion went pale and flaccid. He retained a stiff upper lip. Joe gazed out the front window. Somewhere in the distant past, he could see his father as he was before the ugly alien episode.
"Yeah," Joe sighed, "one day we'll have Dad back."
Fraser put his hand on his shoulder in order to console him.
"At any rate, Constable Turnbull has offered to take us somewhere today instead of staying in the cabin. Somewhere warm."
Ray and Elaine were suddenly attentive.
"Where?"
"The weather station."

The young man tugged at his sweater and led the little group throughout the CBC North studio. Fraser was enraptured by the man's explanation of how weather reports were relayed from the weather post in Aklavik to the studio. Joe was equally enthralled. His baby-blue eyes lit up like an infant's at every sight. Elaine and Ray, on the other hand, were bored to tears. Alexander couldn't blame them. Fraser was a good friend and officer but he wasn't exactly an exciting man. Nudging gently on Ray's shoulder, he told him that he would quit the "exciting" tour and find some coffee.
"Then, the final tally goes to the weatherman over there and he reports the findings to the public," the young tour guide illustrated.

Matt Grier, Inuvik's favourite and indeed only weatherman, leaned against the map of northern Canada smoking a cigarette and pondering the misery that was his life. He wondered why he wasn't reporting the weather for Barbados or even Toronto but Inuvik? Why? It was a cruel joke that he was exiled here. He spent his days, not as joyous as Ivan Denisovitch but as moody, dark and brooding like Rodion Raskolnikov, plotting the end to little old Inuit women who laughed at his inner pain, and incessantly whining about how cold and dark it was.

Matt was signalled that his time to go on camera was nigh. He stamped out his cigarette, flattened the blond cowlick at the back of his head and straightened his tie.
"You're on, Matt," the cameraman called out.
"Welcome Inuvik," Matt called out blandly, "and yes today is yet another chilly one. Despite having the tail end of the chinook, the Arctic air is still hovering above us and is producing grey skies and plenty of flurries."
Matt stopped.
"You know," he addressed the fine people of Inuvik, "I don't really want to do this. I'd rather be somewhere warmer."
The director slapped his head and ordered the cameraman to stop filming. Their weatherman was having a nervous breakdown on air and that wasn't allowed to happen. Especially on CBC.
"Dammit, Jerry!" Matt cried. "I can't do this anymore!"
Jerry tried desperately to coax him back to the set but it was useless. Matt swallowed two little white pills and raved about how he wanted to be away from Inuvik.

A tall silver-haired man leaned against his dressing table and threw a pile of papers to the floor. His harried assistant went down on her hands and knees to pick them up.
"Dammit!" the man cried. "I don't care about how the average Inuit cares about harmonized sales tax in the Maritimes. I want juice!"
The young woman cast her eyes from the floor. She pushed her red-framed glasses on the bridge of her nose and stood up.
"Fred," she explained softly, "we are in the middle of nowhere. Even if we could find the material you want, there's no way the execs would let us air it."
The man straightened his posture.
"I'm Fred Wilson, April, and no one, no one, upstages me! We'll find juice if we have to tear a hole in this territory. Tomorrow we air the show all over the North American continent and I want to make sure my show runs for the next millennium."
"Will we have enough Canadian content for that?" April asked.
"We'll dig around for it," Fred said over his shoulder.
The Mounties at the other end of the studio caught Fred's eye.
"Who are they?" he asked April.
"The blond one's Joe Turnbull, he works at the R.C.M.P. post here. I'm not quite sure who that one is there but he and his other Mountie friend are dishy."
Fred grimaced at her.
"Control yourself, April. I want to meet them."

"Perhaps I can show the other areas of the studio," the young man suggested to Fraser.
"Yes, we would like that..." Fraser tugged on the man's name tag, "Neil."
"Well, over in the west wing they are shooting tomorrow's episode of As the Kayak Turns."
Ray's eyes brightened.
"Will they prove for once and for all that Ralph couldn't be he father of Claudia because he was away on a sealhunt at the time she was conceived but her father is actually the mysterious Alfred Westbrooke, the evil Mountie commissioner?" All eyes were diverted to Ray. He simply shrugged in his fallibly human way.
"This studio is trying to put its best foot forward because tomorrow CBC North goes international. We are trying to show everyone that Canadian television can be exciting."
"Why the hell would anyone want to watch Canadian television?" Ray asked.
"What an ignorant question, Ray!" Fraser snapped. "I won't even dignify that with a response."
"Aw, come on, Benny. What about that crazy guy who thought of teaming up a Canadian cop with an American cop? I mean-who thought that one up?"
"Hhmm, perhaps you are right, Ray."
Matt bumped into Ray.
"Oh, sorry," he muttered.
"Matt," Neil introduced, "these are visitors from the United States."
Matt's eyes widened.
"From the States?" He pulled on the lapels of Ray's jacket. "Are you from Florida? Oh please take me with you! Please!"
Ray began to sweat profusely.
"Somebody get him off of me. He'll try to steal my thoughts or something."
Fraser and Joe pulled Matt off of Ray and sent him away babbling on how he wanted out.
"Sorry," Neil apologized. "He has been altogether there for a while."
A sleek grey-haired man in a smart-looking business suit muddled between the group. He muttered orders to his harried assistant who wrote them in all haste. Neil approached him.
"Everyone, this is Fred Wilson. He has his own talkshow here in this studio."
Neil introduced everyone to Fred warmly. Fred became very suave and contained in a sinister sort of way.
"From Chicago, eh?" Fred queried as he kissed Elaine's hand. Elaine seemed charmed. "Tell me, what brings you here?"
"Well, I'm here on vacation," Elaine revealed.
"We're here on vacation," Ray corrected Elaine cautiously.
Fred noted Ray's remoteness.
"I really would love to stay and chat," Fred confided, "but I must get to work on tomorrow's show. Wolves and the women who love them."
Secretly, Fraser prayed that Elaine and Diefenbaker's names were not on the show's panel list.
"Tell me, Miss Besbriss, what is it that you do?"
"I'm a police officer," she admitted. "Ray and I work together in the same precinct."

"Well, now this is perfect!" Fred chimed, his eyes widened.
"What is perfect?" Fraser asked in his oblivious way.
"This, the whole situation. There are three of you, Canadian police officers, indeed, the very symbol of our nation." He directed his attention to Elaine and Ray. "You two are the epitome of the tough city cops, the Dirty Harrys' of our time."
"What are you proposing?" Fraser asked nervously.
"I am proposing that you five appear on tomorrow's program."
Fraser shook his head.
"I am afraid as members of the R.C.M.P. we cannot perform in that capacity."
"I assure you, it will be a dignified discussion of the differences between American and Canadian police."
Joe needed no further plodding.
"Where do I sign?"
"An X will stand up in a court of law," Fred said as he handed Joe a form which was signed immediately.
"Excellent!" Fred exclaimed. "Legal and binding! See you tomorrow at eight. The show begins at ten."
Elaine and Joe hugged one another. They were going to be on T.V. Fraser simply glared at the erring Mountie. Ray wrung his hands in anxiety.
"I just pray to God that Ma and Frannie don't watch."
Alexander returned with a cup of coffee.
"What is all the excitement about?" he asked.
"Joe over here has signed us for the Fred show," Ray explained.
Alexander turned to Fraser.
"You didn't stop him?"
"It was over before it began," Fraser explained with the hint of angry defeat in his voice.
"Great!" Alexander complained. "This is fan-bloody-tastic. We'll hear how everybody here feels about the harmonized sales tax in New Brunswick. Like I give a damn!"

"This is it!" Fred confided in his assistant. "This will put us on the map and get me the hell out of here."
Fred backed into a dark corner and dialled a few numbers on his cellular telephone.
"It's me. Yeah, look, I need some info on a few people, something spicy, something that the public can sink their teeth into. Pronto. By tomorrow, before eight if possible. I'm counting on you. It'll get you out of the rut you're in. I know you can do it. Great, you're a life saver."

The fire in the cabin roared. Everyone felt at ease that evening, with the exception of Joe.
Fraser glared at Joe. Ray had never seen his friend take on such a glare.
"Joseph," Fraser paced the living room of his cabin, "I would like for you to explain to me why you did what you did? Were you not aware of R.C.M.P. policy on such matters or did you feel that policy was not important enough to satisfy your lush delusions of grandeur on television?"
Joe pouted sadly, like a child rebuked.
"I was blinded by the lights of stardom," he sighed.
"Oh, don't be foolish, Joe. As R.C.M.P. officers, we are simply not allowed to bask, as it were, in the glow of swathing limelight."
"Yes," Alexander agreed leaving the kitchen with a sandwich. "We don't do that ourselves. We wait for some washed-up politician making wild accusations to do that for us."
Fraser cast an irritated glance at Alexander as he fled upstairs to his room. Elaine scowled at Fraser.
"Don't be mean to him!" she scolded Fraser. "I think I like the idea of us being on a talkshow. A dignified discussion of what goes on between Canadian and American police," she reiterated with dreamy inflection. "Besides, no one will watch it except for Lieutenant Walsh and Huey."
Ray became jittery.
"You told them?!"
Elaine nodded.
"I thought maybe they could give us an objective view of how we were on T.V."
Ray slapped his forehead.
"I'll never hear the end of how I looked like a dork and sounded funny."
"Oh, Ray, I'm sure the show will go well tomorrow and no one will say anything negative."
Fraser stared at her.
"Elaine, you are being rather naive about this."
Elaine put her hands on her hips and scowled at the Mountie once more.
"I don't want to hear any more complaints from you, Mountie," she shook her finger angrily at him, "you'll show up tomorrow and like it."
As Elaine left the room, Fraser kept silent. Joe smiled quietly to himself as did Ray.
"Your woman has you wrapped around her finger," Ray snickered.
"She does not!" Fraser cried. He was rather taken aback. "She's not my woman. She is simply a close associate."
"How close is close?" Ray asked rhetorically.
"We work together and simply collect stamps together on week-ends."
"Is stamp-collecting a metaphor for something else?"
"Don't be vulgar, Ray!" Fraser ordered.
"I'm not being vulgar!" Ray countered. "I'm simply suggesting..."
"Insinuating, more like it," Fraser huffed as he left the room.
"Have it your way!" Ray retorted and slumped back onto the couch for a nap.

Eight o'clock the next day had dawned for the sullen quintet. They filed into the studio and prepared themselves for the show. Fraser swore to himself that he would try to maintain his calm, dignified persona and hopefully, God willing, he and the others would get through the day without incident.

Fraser and Elaine sat next together for the filming of the program. A nervous tension cut through the both of them. Joe was jittery and Ray constantly fidgeted in his seat. Only Alexander seemed cool as a cucumber.

It was one in the afternoon in Chicago. Huey could not think of a better way to spend his afternoon than to watch television. He set up a portable T.V. in Lieutenant Walsh's office.
"Are you sure we can pick this up alright, Detective Hughes?" Walsh asked before he bit into his Hoagie.
Huey toyed with the television.
"I'm pretty sure of it, sir," he replied. "Just think, in five minutes, we will see Elaine and Vecchio humiliate themselves on Canadian T.V."
"I'd be lying to you if I said that the mere thought of it did not tickle my fancy," Walsh mused and bit once more into his Hoagie.

Inspector Margaret Thatcher filed the rough edge on her red-painted nails. Things had been boring since Fraser left. She had only Turnbull to pester for reports. She liked to demand the impossible of Constable Fraser. He seemed more than willing to oblige her. Bored, she switched on the television to the CBC channel. CBC North had already started to run the celebrated talkshow, Fred.
"Oh my God!" Thatcher gasped.
Fraser and Diefenbaker sat comfortably, a man and his wolf, in the studio.

"Good morning!" Fred cried enthusiastically amid the polite clapping of the audience. "And a special greeting to our audience all over the continent. On today's program, it is North meets South. Police officers from Canada and the United States are here today to discuss their differences and their similarities. We turn first to Inuvik's finest, Constables Benton Fraser, currently working as a liaison officer at the Canadian consulate in Chicago, Joe Turnbull and Alexander Mackenzie Reynolds. Joining them from Chicago are Officer Elaine Besbriss and Detective Ray Vecchio members of the Violent Crime Division."
"I would like to begin by saying," Fraser began, "the very fact that we, Canadians and Americans, can work together to uphold the law eliminates all barriers between us. We become as one unit, to serve and uphold the law."
The audience politely clapped.
"That may be all very fine and dandy," Fred agreed, "but when you say you operate as one unit, I think you may mean that a little too literally. A little too close for comfort, some would say."
A hushed murmur of gasps and lurid comments filled the air. Fraser knew immediately he had been set up. He tried to remain cool.
"I don't know what you mean."
"Perhaps I should explain, Constable," Fred supplied, "I think your cute little counterpart, Miss Besbriss, is the one who always gets her man."
On the view screen, a grey photograph depicted Elaine and Fraser in a long passionate embrace at an opera which Fraser was supposed to be attending with Thatcher. Fraser covered his face in shame. Elaine turned pale.
"Hey, Benny!" Ray uttered in a loud whisper, "Your slip is showing!

Thatcher sucked in her breath. She recognized the two entwined in a passionate embrace at the performance of La Boheme two months ago. She clenched her fists.
"That son-of-a-bitch!"

Huey threw back his head and laughed.
"This is the wild life channel!"

Fred walked into the thick of the audience with microphone to a young woman.
"I have a comment for that lady," she pointed to Elaine, "right on!"
The audience was as a group of sharks at a feeding frenzy. Their appetite for blood had been whetted. Fred would provide that blood.
"And you, Constable Turnbull, I don't think it would be wise to subject the audience to the fated "jelly donut incident"!"
Joe became nervous and frightened.
"Oh no! I can explain..."

The screen went fuzzy. Huey slapped the sides of it. The picture came back.

"And that is what really happened!" Joe moaned and wept wretchedly for himself.
"Let's try to maintain some dignity, alright, Joe?" Alexander suggested.
A member of the audience stood up.
"What the hell is the matter with you?" he asked of the dejected young man.

Thatcher, as mad as a tormented muskox, picked up the telephone and dialled a few numbers.
"Yes, get me Constable Fraser on the phone."

Fred stood proudly amid the cheering crowd. His greed for scandal had not yet been satisfied. In fact, it was getting greater. He turned his devious attentions to Alexander.
"And isn't it true that you, Constable Reynolds, got more than your fair share of high grades from your college professor? You must have if you had an affair with her!"
Alexander covered his face in shame. The audience gasped in one sharp intake of breath.
"It wasn't like that..." Alexander tried to say.
"Oh, I'm sure it wasn't," Fred laughed. "Hardly maintaining the right for those studied with rather than under the professors' person."
The crowd became listless with the lush innuendoes Fred gave them on whim. Alexander, too ashamed to face the crowd, unhooked his microphone and left the stage. Fraser looked uneasily on his friend. Alexander had shown how vulnerable he could be. Fred, however, was insensitive to Alexander's shame. He swivelled his serpentine head to Ray.

" Don't think you're getting out of this easy, Detective Vecchio..."
Ray squirmed in his seat. He could not bear to look at the screen and the very familiar woman in it. Fraser knew all too who it was and he was quite sure that Bess, wherever she was, felt utterly mortified. He turned his head angrily toward Ray.
Ray, I know you can hear me.
Ray faced Fraser. He could hear his voice inside of his head.
How did you do that?
It's in the water, but never mind that. I know you and my sister had a little dalliance and I want to say that after the show, your ass is mine....
Ray tugged at his tie. The world was against him.

The picture left the screen again. Walsh swore. Huey slapped the side of the television in an effort to bring the signal back. In one fuzzy blur, a clear picture was relayed to the screen. Ray, curled in a fetal ball, wept like a woman.
"I want my Mommy!" he cried helplessly.
Fred laughed. He felt that his victims had enough for the day.
"Tune in tomorrow..."

Once off the stage, Fred clapped his hands and kissed April on the cheek.
"The highest ratings yet!" he cried.
Alexander waited for him. Standing dejectedly in the wings, his turquoise eyes peered angrily at the man who had so brutally betrayed his secret. His solid hands clenched themselves into fists. Fred quietly approached him.
"Job well done," Alexander scowled at him.
Fred smiled slightly.
"I thought so."
"What the hell do you think you've proved by revealing something that happened so long ago, something you know nothing about?"
"Don't blame me for your rotten love life, Constable," Fred slurred.
"You bastard! How could you!"
Alexander let fly a punch on the man's face. Fred recoiled into the throng of staff. Joe and Fraser grabbed Alexander and held him back. Alexander struggled to free himself.
"I'll see you in hell!"
Fred wiped the blood from his lip.
"I'll have you talk to my attorney tomorrow."
Fred walked away wounded. Alexander, again feeling the pervading shame that rendered him vulnerable on the set, turned his back on his friends and left the studio.
Fraser leaned against the wall.
"I do not think I have ever been so humiliated."
Joe concurred with silent bowing of his head.
"I will never live down the shame of this day. When I go to work this evening I will wallow in the pools of shame."
"At the risk of sounding insensitive, Joe," Fraser cut in, "I don't care."
A young woman, a member of Fred's staff, tugged on Fraser's tunic.
"There's an Inspector Thatcher on the telephone."
Fraser quivered in fear.
"Have you no fear of God? Tell her I'm not here, that I've left the studio and I can't be reached."
Fraser knew that he would not get away with that bald-faced lie and certainly would not get away with his little affair with Elaine. In the distance, he could see Elaine console Ray. Too worried to be angry, Fraser planned the thrashing for another day.
Ray and Elaine approached Fraser. Ray had a blanket draped around his shoulders and a cup of coffee in his quivering hands.
"Benny, I cried like a woman. I wished to hell you'd shot me."
Elaine neared Fraser.
"I don't feel bad about what we had done," she whispered, "I'm just sorry we got caught."
Fraser wished somehow that he could concede with her but the damage was too great.

The night sky that had blanketed Inuvik early brought with it the cold, high winds that scoured the tundra. Fred reviewed the panel list for tomorrow. He smiled when he thought of the day's turn-out. The job that had been thrust upon him from some ill-gotten favours would be tossed back from whence it came. The creak at his office door cause him to look up.
"What the hell do you want?" Fred asked tersely. "I thought I told you to go away?"
Having received no response, he asked again, with a little less courtesy he had received the stranger. Suddenly, Fred gaped. His hands were held up in meek defence of surrender. Several lashings later, Fred was face-down on the floor, a pool of scarlet blood encircling his head.

"My, my," Sergeant Hillock clucked, "what do we have here?"
Chief Inspector Alexander J. Forbes crouched over Fred's corpse. He touched Fred's head slightly with a gloved hand.
"What we have, Sergeant," Forbes commented, "is death by extreme fracturing of parietal and occipital parts of the skull precipitating massive cerebral haemorrhage. In short order, someone beat this man's head in."
"Pretty nasty business," Hillock huffed.
Hillock's plainness was lost on Forbes.
"Murder is never the opposite, Sergeant. Has the staff been interviewed?" Forbes asked.
Hillock became slacked jawed.
"But it's two in the morning."
Forbes glared at Hillock. He was not interested in delays or excuses.
"I am aware of the time, sergeant, but I am insensible to it. Gather the staff, the janitor who found the victim, and everyone else who may or may not have had a reason to kill this man. Leave no stone unturned, Sergeant. I want a thorough investigation."

Hillock, empty-handed and slack-jawed, sighed heavily and began the drudged process of gathering suspects.

Alexander staggered tiredly out of his bed downstairs where the equally tired Fraser, Elaine and Ray waited. A pot of steaming coffee and a constable at the outpost were waiting for him. Slumping over the table, he grumbled greetings to everyone and proceeded to sleep.
"May I ask why we have been disturbed of our sleep?" Fraser asked the alert constable.
"I am here to take statements from everyone as to your whereabouts this evening between the hours of twelve midnight to two in the morning. Further inquiries will be made."
Fraser shook his head.
"Perhaps you can be a little more clear than that, constable."
"It was too vague for my taste," Ray muttered and closed his eyes.
"One Fred Wilson has been found murdered in the CBC studio."
His explanation awoke everyone.
"He's dead?" Elaine repeated.
"Yes, ma'am," the constable echoed, "now I must ask you where you were between midnight and two AM."
Elaine sighed.
"Where do you think I was?" she asked sarcastically.
"Elaine, don't answer that," Fraser cautioned, "there is no reason to think we have had anything whatsoever to do with Mr.Wilson's death. Now, I can vouch for everyone. Detective Vecchio was the first to go to bed at 10:30, Constable Reynolds went to bed an hour later and Officer Besbriss and myself were the last to go to bed at midnight. All the doors and windows were latched shut as you can see. They have not been tampered with. You may tell the investigating officer that."
The constable shrugged.
"Well, Inspector Forbes won't like it."
Fraser's eyes widened.
"Chief Inspector Forbes?"
"Yeah," the constable nodded, "good night."
As though punched in the stomach, Fraser slumped down and groaned.
"Do you think he will remember me?" Alexander asked as he slurped his coffee.

Fraser put his Stetson on the coathook and entered Forbes' office.
"You wanted to see me first thing in the morning," Forbes said without looking at him, "it must be important. What is it?"
"You are the investigating officer, yes?"
Forbes looked at him with dull amazement.
"What a stupid question to ask, Constable Fraser. Of course, I am."
Chief Inspector Forbes, like a monolith of divine vengeance, proclaimed his right.
"I will be investigating this case. I could not trust either of you to even be still." Forbes threw a variety of ugly tabloids on the desk in front of Fraser. STUDLY-DO-RIGHT GETS HIS WOMAN GOD HELP THE JELLY DONUT MAN TEACHER'S PET OEDIPUS YANKEE.
Fraser hung his head.
"Are we to be suspects then?"
Forbes sat back.
"Yes," he answered plainly.
"But sir," Fraser pleaded, "we have alibis..."
"And you have motives," Forbes added. "The humiliation brought onto you by that horrid talkshow and the subsequent media coverage would be enough to drive anyone to the brink of murder, wouldn't you think, Constable?"
Fraser bit on his lip.
"Not me, sir."
"Where were you that evening, Constable?"
Fraser kept his composure.
"I was in bed, sir. My only alibi is Elaine Besbriss who went to bed at the same time I did. It may not be much of an alibi, sir, but that is what I give you."
Forbes stood.
"Is that all?"
"Permission to speak candidly, sir?" Fraser requested.
"Granted."
"The very idea that I would murder is absurd. I nor either of my guests are capable of such a heinous act, sir."
"You may go, Constable." Forbes sat down again. "But I am investigating this case and if you lie to me, I shall be most put out."
Fraser closed the door with as much restraint as he could muster at the moment. Forbes was nothing if not irritating. Even his threatening countenance could not distance Fraser from wanting to strike him. Nevertheless, Forbes was his commanding officer and the investigating officer. In quiet resignation, Fraser left the post.

Fraser entered his cabin silently. Ray lifted his head up.
"Well?"
"Well, we are suspects. All of us with the exception of Joe who was on duty that evening."
"So we should sit back and let Forbes find us guilty?" Ray huffed.
"Officially," Fraser answered.
"I like the sound of that 'officially'," Ray grinned. "What will we do unofficially?"
"We, Ray, have to think who would want to kill Fred Wilson and why."
"I wouldn't have minded driving a nine-iron across that wheeling-dealing son-of-a-bitch's cranium myself, Benny," Ray swore.
"That might not be too far off," Fraser rubbed his temples.

Alexander stomped into Forbes' office.
"I am a suspect?!"
Forbes lifted his head from his work.
"Rather rash, aren't we, Constable Reynolds?"
Alexander tried to control his anger.
"I will give you one good reason why I wouldn't kill that man," he slurred, "he's not worth going to prison over."
"And I will give you one as well, Constable," Forbes countered, "he humiliated you. You subsequently struck him and, according to accounts, said 'I'll see you in hell'. Like it or not, Constable, that alone makes you our prime suspect."

"Did the constable you sent over last night see anything in the Fraser cabin out of the ordinary, sir?"
"What are you driving at, Constable Reynolds?"
"If I had ventured out that evening, the constable would have noticed winter garb just used, demarcations on the skin where wind and frostbite have attacked it, locks on the doors just opened, footprints outside and a missing fire stoker, sir."
Alexander threw the preliminary report on Forbes' desk on his way out. Forbes swallowed the urge to lash out at the deviant constable.

Fraser and Joe waited quietly in the studio. Matt fumbled nervously in his pockets for a cigarette. Once he had one, he noticed Fraser staring down on him.
"Jeez, constable, you scared me."
"I'm sorry," Fraser apologized, "I'm here, rather on an unofficial capacity, really, to ask you a few questions."
"Yeah, sure," Matt nodded. "Alright. What?"
"Where were you last night between midnight and two in the morning?"
Matt lit his cigarette.
"At home. I left at about eight. Then, I went to bed."
"You did not go anywhere else? Make any telephone calls?"
"Look, Constable Fraser, I've been sleeping, you know. I take these pills to calm my nerves and they make me sleep."
"Do you have the prescription with you?"
Matt shook his head nervously.
"Alright then. Thank you kindly for your time."
Matt walked away in quick steps.
"I don't know if he is at all well," Joe whispered.
Fraser did not acknowledge Joe. Instead, he made note of the nervous man's movements.
"Fraser," Joe whispered clandestinely, "could I undergo a covert operation to liberate certain medicinal capsules from the suspect's possession for investigative reasons with the purpose of removing said suspect from the proverbial list?"
"You want to sneak into Matt's office, take a look at the prescription and examine the pills so that we can eliminate him from our investigation?" Fraser asked.
"Yes."
"And I am not supposed to have knowledge let alone give approval of this- officially?"
"That's right."
Fraser pondered this for a second. Not only would this activity be against the force's policy but against his own rigid moral code. He would have to think about it. He would do it.
"Go west, young man," Fraser ordered.
"What was that?"
"Do it," Fraser ordered, "I will turn my back for a few seconds."
Joe smiled and went into the east wing where Matt's office was. Picking up a telephone, he rang Matt's extension and in a false voice requested his presence on the news set. Matt left for the set and Joe went rummaging around his desk. Joe found a dated pill container. The Wednesday compartment was still full of two white ovular pills. Slicing one in half, Joe tasted it and spat it out. Replacing the remaining single pill back, he returned the pill container and snuck out of Matt's office.
Fraser finally turned his back.
"The eagle has landed," Joe whispered and tapped the bridge of his nose.
"What?"
"I found Matt's pill container," Joe illustrated, "the drug he takes is a Demoral-based pill and he takes two every day. Except, yesterday's pills were not consumed."
Fraser's brow furrowed. In his mind's eye, he could see a list and Matt's name was now underlined repeatedly in red.

Alexander stretched back on his bed and shut his eyes. He had been dismissed from duty because of his conduct and was not allowed even contact with Joe. He hardly spoken to anyone. He remained in his room, barricading himself from the outside world. The revelation of the affair was not simply an embarrassing incident but a reminder of him and a declaration to the rest of the world of his bare, tender emotions. All the world could see what he had wanted it to see all along- that he was a proud, angry officer who got the job done. Now, it saw he was, at least once, a naive and foolish person who fell into the arms of a woman he trusted. When the affair ended badly, he ran from the world like a wave of the angry sea lashing the coast with a merciless fury. But now, he felt a need to run back.
Sneaking out of his room, he went downstairs and dialled a few numbers on the telephone.
"Hello, University of Edmonton, Main Office. How may I help you?"
Alexander struggled to speak.
"I would like to speak to Doctor Bride Callaghan, please?" he asked in a small voice.
"I'm sorry. She's no longer with us. I have the number of where is currently residing."
"No thank you."
Alexander hung up. Steeling his proud resolve once more, he left for his room to keep his shoulder to the world again.

"I'm not answering any more of your questions!"
Hillock groaned at the reluctant American.
"I didn't kill Fred," Ray stated, "I was in bed by 10:30 and I don't even like going outside here. It's too damn cold."
"But it's spring!"
"I don't give a rat's ass!"
"Now, such a rodent would find it difficult if not impossible to live here."
Ray sucked in his breath and pulled his touque over his head.

"I'm leaving now, Sergeant Hillock, and I won't be available for further comment."
Hillock observed Ray as he walked out of his office. If he were the murderer, Hillock promised, he would station him on the remotest island further north. Then he would know what real cold was.

Elaine threw her sweaters into her suitcase. She knew it was definitely not police procedure to leave during a murder investigation and that the Mounties would hound her down to the ends of the earth but she had too much revealed during the week and did not want to reveal more. A gentle knock on her door interrupted her packing.
"Who is it?"
Fraser came in. He stared at her progress.
"You can't leave, Elaine, " he noted, "we are suspects in a brutal murder. What are you thinking?"
She glared at the man for being so naive.
"I'm thinking that I am sick and tired of people prying into my life." Elaine frustratedly slumped on her bed. "Sergeant Hillock wants me in for questioning. You know I didn't do it and I certainly know I didn't do it but how can I tell that to Hillock without looking like some kind of tramp?"
Fraser sat down next to her and put his arm around her shoulder.
"You have to go in for questioning," he put out, "there is no avoiding that. But you are not a tramp and if Hillock thinks so, then..." Fraser paused. Elaine sensed he was going to say something uncharitable about his commanding officer. She liked it when he took on a wicked streak. "Never mind about Hillock, Elaine. You were with me, end of story."
He kissed her on the forehead.
"I think I feel better," she admitted, "but I still want to leave for Bolivia."

Hillock stared into Elaine's eyes.
"Where were you on the night of Fred Wilson's murder?"
"I thought I already answered that," she replied tartly.
"In bed isn't a good enough alibi."
Elaine despised Hillock's insinuation.
"Alright," she rasped, "I was with Constable Fraser and if you need a diagram, well then, I suggest you go to hell."
"Would Fraser not cover for you, Officer Besbriss?" Forbes asked.
Elaine looked surprised at the cold man.
"If you think that either I or Constable Fraser would commit a cold-blooded murder and lie about it, then you are insane."
Forbes crouched to the seated woman.
"What is insane, Officer Besbriss, is that a man whom you and Constable Fraser disliked with a passion, as they say, is lying cold on the slab in my morgue."
Elaine looked into his iceberg eyes.
"Well, as they say, I am innocent."

Forbes paced the interrogation room listlessly. Hillock seemed oblivious to the serious man's frustration.
"The troubling thing is, Sergeant Hillock," Forbes admitted, "is that I think none of them did it. Constable Turnbull was on duty at the time with three other officers and, as we all know, does not have the competence to pull off a premeditated murder."
"Sir," Hillock interrupted, "are we sure that the murder was premeditated? I mean, the wounds inflicted were sharp and brutish. Almost as if this were a spur-of-the-moment thing."
"Spurs-of-the moment are fictional, Hillock," Forbes huffed.
"Sir, if you'll only give me a moment," Hillock asked, "we know that Turnbull could not have committed the crime because he has an all-night alibi but the other four do not. Assume for a moment the Yankee did this. He claims he went to bed at 10:30 PM. What if he didn't? What if he pretended to sleep, slipped out of the cabin, made his way to the studio and confronted Wilson? We both know that this man is capable of extreme irrationality, being a Yankee and all. He could have confronted Wilson, picked up a stoker, for example, and hit Wilson on the head."
"But Constable Fraser would have noticed if Vecchio had slipped out of the house," Forbes countered, "apparently the man constantly complained of how cold it was in his room. And Wilson did not have a fireplace in his office."
"But that was the weapon, sir. Wasn't it?"
Forbes nodded.
"The abrasions and grooves on Wilson's head were consistent with that type of object. If Vecchio had taken one from the cabin, why would he replace it? He is not a stupid man. He would have disposed of it. The stoker in the Fraser cabin was intact."
Hillock heaved.
"Alright, Constable Reynolds. Made a threat to the deceased, left the studio at approximately 11:15 AM and returned to the cabin later that afternoon at about 3PM. He went to bed an hour after the Yank. He, too, could have pretended to sleep and confronted Wilson in likewise manner."
"Wait, Sergeant," Forbes put his finger to his lips, "the manner of death was extreme fracturing of the skull with a blunt object believed to be a fire stoker. The time of death would be rounded off to midnight for certain. Constable Reynolds might have done as you surmise but..."
Hillock's eyes widened.
"You don't think Constable Fraser and that Besbriss woman might have done it? She has admitted to being with Fraser long after the first two went to sleep."

"No," Forbes shook his head, "none of them left the cabin that night. We are missing something...."

"We are missing something, Ray," Fraser said finally.
"Like what?"
"Like who else might have wanted Fred dead?"
"Just about anybody, I suppose."
"We are the obvious suspects, Ray. We may have the motives but we also have the alibis. Unshakeable alibis."
"Yeah, so what's your point?"
"My point is- who would we not suspect was missing? Everyone was where they said they were but someone was not and we would never be any wiser. We would just overlook it."
"The assistant," Ray surmised and put on his coat.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm going to see the assistant," Ray said, "if she didn't kill Fred, which I doubt, she knows something."
"Ray, you're going about it all wrong!" Fraser cried out.
Ray did not hear him.

Ray walked into the studio and to April's office. He could see that she was packing up the last of Fred's things. Ray sat on the edge of her desk.
April gave him a stern look.
"What do you want?" she asked him brusquely.
"I need to ask you a few questions. That's all."
"Well, I don't feel like answering any questions right now," she admitted, "the police have asked me so many and I've told them everything I know."
"Everything?!" Ray quizzed.
April glared at Ray in disbelief.
"You don't think I killed him, do you?"
"I never said you did," Ray defended himself. He scrutinized her closely. "What would make you say that?"
April fumed.
"I didn't kill him!" she shot back. "I had no need to. He never blackmailed me or promised me anything he could not live up to. If there is anyone you should be asking, it's that Mountie Reynolds. He hit Fred and said he'd see him in hell."
"And what if I said he didn't kill Fred but that it was you?" Ray paced around her. "Sure, why not? Bet he double-crossed you and walked over you so many times that you decided you'd had enough."
April threw a book at Ray.
"I want you to get the hell out of my office! If you want Fred's murderer, then you're looking in the wrong place."
"That's what everyone's been telling me," Ray shrugged as he rubbed the bruise on his shoulder.

Elaine tugged her sweater around her body. She disliked Forbes intensely now. Steeling herself against the harsh memories of the interrogation, she put her parka on and placed her headwrap snugly around her head. She was on her way out when she ran into Matt. He was trying to light his cigarette but the wind-driven snow kept blowing his matches out. She cupped her hands around his last match and allowed to him to light his cigarette.
"Mind if I walk with you?" she asked amiably.
"Sure."
Matt did not look at her. He stared at the footprints his boots made in the snow.
"So, where were you on the night of the murder?" Elaine asked.
Matt shot up, his bloodshot eyes bulged out of their sockets.
"I thought I already told everyone. I was at home...I..."
Elaine tried to calm the nervous man down.
"I'm just asking. I'm not serious. It's just that we've been asked that so much it is almost a novelty. Like a game of Clue."
Matt chuckled a little.
"In the conservatory with the candlestick at midnight."
"Or in the ballroom with the rope long after evening tea."
Nostalgia did not seem funny anymore. It was drained of its wistfulness.
"Long after evening tea," Matt puffed the end of his cigarette and threw it into a snowbank.
"Those things will kill you," Elaine commented.
"Ten million and one things will kill you, Miss Besbriss," Matt said flatly without the nervous trill as before. "You just have to rise above it, I guess."
Elaine nodded. Matt coughed and bade her good-bye. She regarded him from a distance. He walked home, his shoulders hunched over and coughs escaped his lips. But there was something else. Elaine, unable to decide what it was, left for the cabin.

Elaine settled down with her cup of coffee.
"So, April threw a book at you, did she?"
"I told you twice, Elaine," Ray snapped.
Elaine smiled.
"I've thought about doing that to you a few times. That's all."
"Oh, hah-hah-hah, Elaine. I tell you she was nuts."
Fraser nodded.
"In what way, Ray."
"Well, I said that she had been walked over and double-crossed so many times and she screamed out that I was all wrong, that Fred wouldn't have promised her anything he couldn't live up to and blah, blah, blah. I really think she did it myself."
"Ray, you are not thinking objectively," Fraser corrected him. "If she has an airtight and utterly plausible alibi, she may be cleared. She did not even have a motive to kill him."
"Of course she did, Benny. Fred walked all over her. She probably decided she'd had enough so she whacked him."
"Was that before or after she went home?"
"If she has an alibi, what is it?" Elaine interjected.
"I do not know, Elaine," Fraser confessed, "I have not questioned her. But I have questioned Matt. He claims to have been at home asleep due to the medication he had taken. But further investigation has shown that he did not take that medication."

Elaine's face went flaccid and her eyes blank.
"He takes medication?" she asked.
"Yeah," Ray threw in, "he's got bad nerves. He's kind of spacey."
Elaine put her mug on the coffee table.
"I'm going for a walk," she said, her eyes still vacant.
Fraser and Ray had not expected her to say that.
"I think she's the one who's nuts," Ray scoffed.
Fraser let her leave. Vexing intuition gripped his intellect. She had cracked something, he thought.

Elaine knocked on the door of Matt's cabin. She waited for a few minutes then knocked again. She heard the shuffling of feet across the floor. Matt unlatched the bolt and allowed her in. He sniffled miserably.
"What would you like, Officer Besbriss?" he asked. "No one around here comes to visit a sick man."
"I think I know what is making you sick," she answered.
Matt sat down on the corner of his couch.
"Oh, really?"
Elaine nodded.
"You didn't take your medication that Wednesday," she revealed. "But now everything is worse. You are more sick than before. Isn't that true?"
Matt remembered their earlier conversation. He felt weak. He wrapped his bedclothes around him. He shivered incessantly from the cold. Elaine put her hand on his knee.
"I know you were there, Matt. You must have been but I don't know why. You have to tell me what happened. Can't you see it's tearing you apart?"
"I can't say it," he said softly. He nervously put a cigarette in the corner of his mouth.
Elaine shook her head.
"I don't understand."
Matt sweat profusely. He lit the dangling cigarette in his mouth.
"I..I think I killed him..." he stuttered.
Elaine's eyes widened. The circle had been closed.

Elaine rested the telephone receiver on her shoulder.
"Hi, Benton. It's me. You're not going to believe this but I know who killed Fred."
"It's Matt, isn't it?"
"Yes," she conceded. "How did you know?"
"I have the who, Elaine, but not why," he admitted. "How did you know?"
"Just a clue," she joined, her answer to Fraser carrying a hidden meaning. "You have to come down right away. Inform Hillock and Forbes."
"I'll do that Elaine," Fraser said, "will you be alright?"
"I'll be fine," she smiled.
Fraser hung up. Ray awaited an answer.
"That was Elaine. She is at Matt's cabin. He killed Fred."
Ray grabbed his coat.
"Where are you going?" Fraser asked.
"Stall Forbes," he demanded, "whether you believe it or not, there is somebody else in this equation."
"The assistant?"
"You got it, Benny," Ray affirmed. "See ya later."
Ray charged out into the cold. Alexander, having released himself from his refuge, wondered what all the fuss was about.
"We've found Fred's murderer," Fraser told Alexander.
Alexander smiled.
"Lead on, good buddy."
Alexander donned his coat and left with Fraser.

Alexander waited in Matt's living room. Elaine had her arm around the distraught Matt. Fraser tried to question him further. For Alexander, a sense of relief had lifted the weight he had carried for the past few days. Everything had begun to make sense and he could at last pick up his life where he had left off.
"He promised to get me out of here," Matt ranted, "I just wanted to leave and he lied! I didn't mean to kill him. It..it just happened. I said I would make him pay. I ran home..."
"No one would think of you," Fraser joined, "after all, the weatherman always left at eight o' clock and took his medication to make him sleep."
"Not an utter plausible alibi, was it?" Matt rhetorized.
"Guilt is a great revealer of mens' souls, Matt," Fraser said.
Matt understood.
Forbes and Hillock pushed past Alexander.
"Has he made a confession?" Forbes queried.
Elaine approached him. Fraser stood beside her.
"Inspector Forbes, Matt Grier isn't what most people call mentally sound. He's extremely confused and he's suffering from a nervous breakdown."
"Mentally sound or not, he's coming with us," Forbes stated.
"Sir, he needs help."
"Officer Besbriss, his mental condition is no excuse for murder."
"We are aware of that, sir, but..." Fraser tried to finish. "I don't even think he'll stand trial. He is not mentally sound and we believe that there may be an accomplice."
"Mentally sound or unsound, he is still guilty of a crime and he will be punished for it," Forbes vowed. "As for this accomplice, we will determine if there indeed is one and apprehend them." Forbes summoned a constable and ordered Matt to be taken away.
"Sir," Fraser protested, "the suspect needs help."
"I am sure he will receive it when he is incarcerated," Forbes answered.
Alexander bit on his lip. He could not contain his fury.
"Can't you see that he is mentally unstable?"
Forbes simply looked at Alexander.
"I think that is irrelevant, Constable."
Alexander's brow furrowed. He could contain his anger no longer.
"I think you're a son-of-a-bitch. Sir."
Alexander turned to leave. Forbes' nostrils flared. He followed the man out of the cabin. Fraser could see precisely what was going on. Alexander had let his pride and anger get in the way of discipline and Forbes, in his wrath, would have him suffer for it. He charged out of the cabin after them.

Forbes grabbed Alexander's shoulder and spun him around. Alexander, a fist already formed, struck the goliath squarely in the jaw. Fraser ran to Alexander and pulled him away. Forbes touched his tender jaw. The skin had not been broken but a bruise was forming. His eyes fell on the deviant Mountie. Fraser, holding Alexander back, felt the inevitable tide of retribution heading his way. Not saying anything, Forbes left Fraser and Alexander.

Ray, grasping April firmly in his grasp, threw her into a snowbank. The constable at the post looked at the fatigued woman.
"Place her under arrest," Ray requested, "one, for being an accomplice to murder. Two, for resisting arrest. Three, for calling a police officer a very bad name."
Ray knelt by April.
"So close yet so far away, April," he uttered.
Ray turned to leave.
"I'm going home," he called after the constable, "make sure she doesn't sign any book deals or approve of any movie scripts."
Puzzled, the constable lifted April from the snow and placed her in a cell.

Ray smiled. He felt a warmth reminiscent of the warmth he felt when somebody like Huey, or Hillock, was wrong.
"So Miss Travis convinced Mr. Grier to not take his medication that evening so that he may return to the studio secretly in order to murder Mr. Wilson. She telephoned him at 11:30 PM, told him that Fred had reneged their deal, she let him at midnight and he in a fury killed the victim. Is that it, Detective Vecchio?"
"That's right," Ray affirmed.
Ray waited. Hillock could not, would not admit what Ray would have liked him to. Nevertheless, he gave in.
"You were right and we were wrong," Hillock covered his face in shame.
"That's all I wanted to hear," Ray grinned.

Forbes stood in judgment of Alexander. Alexander knew what to expect. He had shown disrespect to Forbes so many times and the fact that he had been implicated in the murder investigation only made matters worse. Last night's incident, however, gave the crowning effect for Forbes' revenge. Alexander stood ramrod straight like a proud man on the eve of execution.
"Your indiscretion has left quite a mar on your career, Constable Reynolds. Your conduction, not withstanding, is also terrible."
Alexander's lip trembled slightly.
"And for my indiscretion you will ruin my career?" Alexander's face was void of feeling.
"No," Forbes replied, "you ruined your career, Constable"
"Sir, if I may be frank, I believe this act of discipline is no more than a means to rebuke me for last night's actions and is no respect a catalyst for your personal dislike of me."
Forbes disregarded Alexander's simple truth.
"You are hereby assigned to the post in Grise Fjord. Dismissed."
Alexander went pale. Conquered and stripped of his dignity, he left the office.

Fraser and Ray sat adjacent to one another on the airplane home. Fraser did not feel like talking. This annoyed Ray. Fraser looked quietly out of the window, occasionally casting a glance on the sleeping Elaine.
"I will never, ever again appear on a talkshow," Ray uttered, just to break the silence.
"I think neither of us will make that same error again, Ray."
"I mean, I wouldn't want everyone to know I was banging a civilian aide or my friend's sister, would you?"
"I suppose not," Fraser answered without feeling.
"You know, you can put a little emotion into your conversation, Benny. It wouldn't hurt."
Fraser faced Ray.
"I'm sorry, Ray. I don't feel like talking now."
"After humbling experience, Benny, I find it helps."
Fraser laughed glumly, a hallow, pensive chuckle.
"Some have been more humbled than others."
"You mean Alex?"
"Yes."
"Well, Benny, he called Forbes a son-of-a-bitch right to his face. He even hit him. I wouldn't even have the guts to think I could do that."
"Alex's lack of decorum was not what damned him, Ray. I think it never does. It's in ourselves. We are damned for ourselves."
"I'd rather be damned for myself than for somebody else," Ray said finally, "I've practised my whole life to be me and I'd hate to be upstaged."
Fraser burst into laughter. It was somehow funny.