The office held a desk and chair, a few file cabinets, and little else. The desk was occupied by a corporal whose name tag said Schultz.

Schultz looked up when we entered but said nothing. He was in his late twenties, short and stocky, with chipmunk cheeks that made him look soft.

Since Schultz was locked on Ryan and ignoring me, I let the captain do the talking.

“Good afternoon, Corporal.” Removing his sunglasses.

“Good afternoon.” If Schultz was surprised to see us, he didn’t let on.

“We’re looking for Friends of the Tundra.”

Schultz tipped his head and scratched the back of his neck.

“Horace Tyne?”

“Right. Brain freeze.” Schultz pointed four fingers toward the door at our backs. “Go to the end of the main road. Turn left at the blue house with the green shed. Four doors down is a red number with a white door and a fence. That’s the one.”

“You acquainted with Tyne?’

“I see him around.”

We waited, but Schultz offered nothing further. We turned to leave.

“You up from Yellowknife?”

“Yes.”

“Family?” I recognized the “casual cop” tone.

“Nope.”

“You Greenpeacers?”

“You know anything about Tyne’s organization?”

“Not really. Guess it keeps him busy.”

“Meaning?”

“The guy’s been underemployed since the gold mines shut down.”

“When was that?” I asked.

“Early nineties. Before my time.”

“He seem pretty solid?”

Schultz shrugged one shoulder. “Doesn’t get drunk and start throwing punches.”

“What more could you ask?” Ryan slipped on his shades. “Thanks for your help.”

The corporal’s directions were good. We found the house without difficulty. It was small, with cranberry siding and a pair of metal pipes jutting from the roof. The fence was made of unfinished boards nailed vertically with two-inch gaps in between. A scraggly birch threw fingers of shadow across the dirt yard. A gray pickup sat in the drive.

“Not quite the panache of Trump Tower.” Ryan was eyeballing the property.

“Maybe all Tyne needs is a computer.”

“Keeps the overhead low.”

“Leaving more for the caribou.”

Ryan pulled open the gate. We crossed to the stoop, and he knocked on the door.

Nothing.

He knocked again. Harder.

A voice barked, then the door swung in.

I searched my memory archives.

Nope. It was a first.

Chapter 22

TYNE WAS WEARING A LEOPARD-SKIN LOINCLOTH, BEADS, AND an elastic hair binder. That’s it.

His bald pate gleamed like copper. His ponytail, which contained perhaps twelve hairs, was long and black and started from fringe wrapping the south end of his head. Both fringe and pony glistened with either grease or moisture. I wasn’t sure whether the guy was honoring the ancestors or just out of the shower.

“How are you, Mr. Tyne?” Ryan extended a hand. “I hope we aren’t intruding.”

“I never buy nothing I don’t go looking for. If you’re not looking, you probably don’t need it.”

“We’re not salesmen.”

“Church?”

“No, sir.”