To kill time, I propped myself in bed and flipped open the book on mining. Though pumped about the exhumation, I could feel the effect of my recent lack of sleep. As a safeguard, I set my phone alarm to wake me at five-twenty.

On the book’s inside back cover was a map of Nunavut and the Northwest Territories.

All my life, I’ve been fascinated by atlases and globes. As a kid, I’d close my eyes and arrow into a random spot with one finger. Then I’d read the place-name and imagine the exotic people who lived in that town or island or desert.

I was hooked.

And shocked.

I thought Yellowknife sat at the top of the planet. Not even close. There was a whole lot of geography north of the 60th parallel.

Umingmaktok. Kugluktuk. Resolute. Fort Good Hope. The names were a tip-off to the clash of cultures that had taken place in the region. And we all know the final score on that one.

Again I thought of Snook’s bitterness over lingering prejudice toward aboriginal peoples. Wondered if she was right.

My room had two options for temperature control, neither dictated by the broken switch on the plastic thermostat half attached to the wall. The system’s current choice was Tropic of Cancer.

My lids grew heavy. My head dropped, snapping me awake.

I refocused on the map. I found the Ekati and Diavik diamond mines, practically hugging the border between Nunavat and NWT. To the southeast was Snap Lake and south of that, Gahcho Kué.

My thoughts drifted.

Gahcho Kué. Formerly Kennady Lake. The new mine proposed by De Beers.

My lids again sought each other.

An image of Horace Tyne floated up from somewhere.

Horace Tyne opposed the Gahcho Kué project. Claimed its existence would threaten the caribou.

I saw a herd.

A sign saying Wildlife Preserve.

A sticker from the Alberta Wilderness Association.

A pair of fish, one off-white, one gold.

Gold.

Horace Tyne. The Giant gold mine.

Church bells bonged.

My eyes flew open.

Five-twenty.

I threw on my sweatshirt and jacket, laced on my boots, and dropped my iPhone into my backpack.

Time to unearth Daryl Beck.

Chapter 31

ONE ADVANTAGE OF SUMMER IN THE FAR NORTH: TWENTY-plus hours of daylight. The sky was noon-bright as I drove the squiggle of road out to Lakeview.

Several cars and pickups were already parked in the lot. A kid sat behind the wheel of a hearse, playing a game on a handheld device. He did not look up as I pulled in beside him.

One disadvantage of summer in the far north: man-eater insects. Mosquitoes struck the instant I left the Camry, whining around me to telegraph the happy news of another food source.