The Bone Seeker (16 page)

She read the sentence a couple of times before the words sank in. Willa. On Friday night. If it was true, why hadn't he mentioned it? And if it wasn't, why was someone trying to set him up?

She rubbed the note between her fingers. The elaborate script seemed vaguely familiar, the fine blue lines and off-white slubby texture of the paper suggesting it had been torn from a notebook.

‘You didn't see who dropped this off?'

Markoosie shook his head. ‘Like I said, it was under my door when I arrived this morning.'

She thanked him and waited till he'd gone before dialling the Rangers' contact number, introducing herself and explaining that she needed to speak with Willa Inukpuk. The voice on the other end asked her to hold for a moment, then came back on.

‘Ranger Inukpuk's still out at rappel camp. Is it an emergency? We can get a message to him.'

Her mind was on the slip of paper. ‘Ask him to call Edie at the Kuujuaq police detachment? Tell him there's nothing wrong but it's kinda urgent.'

As she put the phone down she remembered where she'd seen the writing before. It belonged to Lisa Tuliq. The girl had submitted an essay in exactly the same fancy handwriting. She stood up from the desk and grabbed her parka.

As she got closer to the Tuliqs' camp, the ground rose in ragged increments, as though it had risen up, leaving ledges and slabs of rock behind. In every crack and on every slab some small plant or lichen flourished. She paused briefly to register the unique generosity of the Arctic summer. Where else in the world could be so welcoming to the sudden arrival of so much new life? She wondered what demons had stalked Martha Salliaq that she would ever have wanted to quit this place. Then she drove on until she reached the spot where the low
basalt cliffs met the sea and the Tuliq family tents sat like knucklebones on the willow carpet.

At the sound of the ATV Lisa emerged from the communal tent, still clutching the glove she was mending. Her father followed behind, his hands gripping her shoulders. Lisa made eye contact with her for a second then looked away. Edie greeted them both and asked to speak to the girl in private for a moment. Lisa glanced at her father, perhaps hoping he would question this, but when he didn't she led Edie around the back of the tent. As soon as they were out of earshot, Edie produced the slip of paper from her pocket.

‘Exactly why did you put this under the door at the radio station?'

Lisa's face hardened but she said nothing. The question had come out more aggressively than Edie had intended.

‘We're going to keep talking until you tell me. At the detachment if you prefer.'

The girl grimaced and squirmed a little, her eyes flashing from side to side, searching for a way out. Edie moved to block her path.

‘What have you got against Willa Inukpuk?'

Lisa flinched and Edie saw she was trying her best to fend off tears.

‘Martha told me,' she said. ‘I went round there on Saturday morning and she was in a state. She told me she'd seen Willa Inukpuk the night before. She said Willa wouldn't listen to her. She seemed pretty cut up about it.'

Edie felt her jaw clench. Just then Lisa's father appeared, making his way towards them. ‘What's this about?'

Lisa went poker-faced. ‘It's OK, Dad.'

They waited until his footsteps crunched away along the shingle.

‘Why didn't you tell me this before?' Edie asked.

‘Because I knew you'd be like this about it.'

Edie stepped away from the girl and shook her head. ‘You're right.' Her reaction said more about her own relationship with Willa than Lisa. The truth was, she and Willa didn't trust one another. It hurt like hell but there it was. ‘I'm sorry, I'm just trying to understand what happened. Did Martha mention anyone else when you saw her? Say
anything about what she and Willa talked about? Where they met? Anything, Lisa, anything at all.'

The girl shook her head.

‘I've told you all I know. Martha was feeling sick and she wanted me to go away. And now I'd like you to do the same.'

•   •   •

By the time Edie spotted Willa, he was already heading in her direction. The rappelling camp was in the middle of lunch, the men sitting about on the rocks, spooning up eggs from plastic platters. He didn't look too pleased to see her.

‘You got a nerve coming here after what you tried to do to Lizzie.' His mouth was set in a thin line. ‘She came over to see me this morning.'

‘I messed up.'

‘You
are
messed up.'

‘Yes,' she said, hoping to win him over. ‘And stupid sometimes, but right now, I'm upset. Why didn't you tell me you saw Martha on Friday night?'

For a moment he looked floored. She saw him run his eyes across the rocky scree where his fellow Rangers were finishing up their meal. A throb appeared under his left eye.

‘Where d'you hear that?' he scowled, all the old resentment just under the surface, like a fish lure under the ice.

‘Does it matter?'

She held his gaze. ‘I'm trying to protect you.'

He sighed and scrunched his eyes. He was tired of being thought the bad one. She was tired of thinking it.

‘Look, I had the evening off. Me and Lizzie agreed to hook up by the trout lake in the valley past the headland.' He gave the Inuktitut name. ‘I went to the Anchor Bar, drank a beer. You can ask Joe Oolik – we shot some pool together. When I came out to go up to the lake, Martha was there.' He bit his lip. His cheek pulsed again.

Edie knew Willa well enough to know there was something he wasn't saying. ‘You need to tell me what else you've got hiding in that head of yours. Did you and Martha have a thing? Is that it?'

‘It wasn't even a thing.' He closed his eyes. His forehead buckled. ‘Earlier in the year. It was nothing.'

‘You ever take her picture?'

His eyes widened. ‘No, fuck. Why you asking me that?' He slapped his fist against his chest and shook a dead mosquito from his hand. Fear came over his face, shortly followed by anger. ‘That fucking excuse of a policeman got me on some list, hasn't he? I thought he was about to arrest those two
unataqti
.' He flung his arms in the air. ‘This is why I left Autisaq, Edie, this is exactly why.'

‘You got form, Willa. But you're not on any list.'

In almost the same instant as it began his relief turned to resentment. ‘
Because I didn't do it.
Jesus, Edie.'

‘Help me find out who did.' A beat. ‘Tell me exactly how it went between you two. I mean
exactly
.'

He rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. She forgot sometimes how young he was, in his head. In his heart too, maybe.

‘She was upset about something. Her face was all puffy. I guess that's why she wanted to talk to me. I'm honest, I didn't want to hear whatever it was. I told her I had to get going.' He softened. ‘Martha could be really intense, you know? But don't think I don't feel bad about it now, because I do, OK?'

‘That why you came to see me?'

‘I guess.'

Something tender and painful passed between them.

‘You remember when we used to sit and watch
Liberty
?' Edie said. Revisiting old Laurel and Hardy movies had been one of their greatest shared pleasures.

Willa smiled. ‘Sometimes I still dream about being in that getaway car.'

‘Who doesn't?' Edie said.

There was a pause. The atmosphere between them was a little melancholy now.

‘Listen, you're not gonna tell Palliser. About me and Martha.'

She bit her lip. ‘No, though I don't think it would make any
difference if I did. He seems pretty certain Namagoose and Saxby are the killers.'

From over on the scree, someone shouted Willa's name. He wheeled round and signalled an acknowledgement, then, pulling on his hat, turned back to her:

‘Look, man, I gotta go.'

•   •   •

On the return journey she took a detour to Lake Turngaluk in the hopes of catching the forensics team at work. Where the bloody pool had sat, there was now nothing but a rapidly crusting ooze. Even the odour had gone. But a dark, sinister air still hung over the mudflats and open pools and she thought about what Joe Oolik had said about the birds keeping away. She clambered from the ATV, ducked under the crime tape and walked up to the spot where they'd found Martha's body. The edge of the pool was cracked and brown, but in the centre, where the mud was thickest, she caught a nub of something standing slightly proud of the surface. Her curiosity piqued, she stretched out her right leg, testing the holding strength of the mud. Even here, where the surface had contracted and cracked as it dried, it still felt slimy and soft underneath. She launched herself out carefully onto the crater, keeping her weight low. She saw now how Joseph Oolik had missed the item. Where the mud had begun to desiccate it had separated into octagonal plates, leaving spaces between the plates shimmering with slime. The object had ridden up in one of these gaps.

Leaning in, she pulled what she saw now was a wooden handle. The object resisted, then lifted clean of the mud. She turned it in her hand. Eight inches of stainless steel knife blade, honed smooth on the downside and part serrated, a blood groove running the length of the blade itself. The kind of weapon you might use to butcher a caribou. Or to kill a girl.

Sonia Gutierrez edged her way around the back of the Salliaqs' house and tiptoed towards the shed where Charlie Salliaq had archived the Glacier Ridge files from way back in an old packing crate, before she'd taken the case on. There was no doubt in her mind now that some combination of the Defence Department, the military and the police were up to something and she was keen to make sure no one knew she was on to them until she'd figured out what it was. Others might think that was paranoid, but they could go to hell. She'd had enough dealings over the years with the military and law enforcement to know that, whatever their public face, in private they were about as trustworthy as a pack of hungry wolves.

She pulled the packing crate out from under a pile of old engine parts and prised off the lid. It was easy to forget just how much paperwork the case had generated over the more than a decade of its progress before most files were digitized. Frost had crept in and stained the paper and some of the older files had become as brittle as frazil ice. Charlie hadn't kept the papers in any discernible order but neither had he ever thrown anything away. Here it all was in physical form. Years and years of struggle.

The irony of working on Inuit land claims wasn't lost on Sonia. At some fundamental level, like most indigenous people, Inuit didn't believe in owning land. To the Inuit way of thinking, the land owned itself. It had its own integrity. It answered only to nature. Property law was just one more thing
qalunaat
had brought up from the south, along
with microwaves and measles. Inuit had learned to play along because history had taught them what would happen if they didn't.

She sat on the floor and bedded in. This was going to take some time.

The questions she wanted answering were why had the Department of Defence faked an environmental impact report, and what were they trying to hide by doing so? In order to answer those she needed to know how and why Glacier Ridge had been expanded between 1960 and the early seventies, and to what end. The job would have been a lot easier if Charlie Salliaq had been more forthcoming about his stint at the site. She'd tried quizzing him again but got no further. Whether that was through forgetfulness, guile or genuine ignorance it was hard to know. For some months now she'd noticed him becoming vague and distracted. He said himself that his brain was growing as soft as early summer ice. Sometimes, he said, he felt like a bear afloat on the pan, conscious that the ice would not carry his weight much longer. And yet still he refused to see the nurse. Laughed the idea off. He said there was nothing
qalunaat
medicine could do for him. He was an old man getting older. Not even the
qalunaat
had discovered a cure for time.

She ploughed on. A couple of hours into her search something interesting came to light. It was a faint carbon copy of a requisition order dating from May 1972 drawn up by a Major Fournier of the Royal Canadian Engineers and addressed to a requisitions officer in the Department of Defence, requesting a shipment of cement and sand, along with steel reinforcement sheets for a ‘secure underground bunker and associated buildings, as discussed'. Interesting because no such bunker existed on the plans from 1974. And odd, too, that the requisition was addressed to the Defence Department when the responsibility for maintaining Distant Early Warning radar stations was shared between the Canadian and US Air Forces. Officially, the Defence Department didn't have anything to do with management or maintenance of the site.

Sonia pulled up on her laptop her own copy of the recent schedule of decontamination works she'd agreed with the department. Again,
no mention of any underground structure. It was possible that the bunker had never been built, but it seemed unlikely since supplies were only requisitioned once a construction had already been green-lit. A more plausible scenario was that the bunker had been built during the summer of 1972 and possibly also 1973 but that by 1974, when the revised plans were drawn up, it had disappeared. There
was
, however, an area in the revised plans, set a little off to the side from the main site and designated ‘waste landfill'. It seemed at least possible that this was the site of the short-lived underground bunker.

She slid the document into her bag, then got up from the floor and tidied the papers back into two stacks, the smaller, those she had already inspected, the larger, those she hadn't, then cracked open the door and peered out. A forensics guy had been working most of the day in the main house and she was anxious not to be seen, but the blinds were part drawn and there was no one in sight. She crept out onto the steps then went back down the path.

Charlie was asleep in Toolik Pitoq's La-Z-Boy, Toolik having vacated it in favour of taking his afternoon nap in his bed. The others had gone out to the store. She fixed a mug of hot sweet tea then went back into the living room and shook Charlie gently until his eyes opened and a frail smile of recognition appeared on his face. Talk to him now, she thought, while his defences are down.

‘Charlie, you remember an underground structure, maybe a bunker, down at the old Glacier Ridge station?'

The old man took a few sips of tea. Alarming red welts had appeared on his neck and face during the past twenty-four hours but she knew it was hopeless to try to get him to do anything about them.

‘You're right,' he said, thinking back, ‘there
was
a bunker, yeah. I remember because I helped fill it in after the fire. Why?'

She'd never heard about a fire. Then again, why would she? Sitting herself at his feet, she asked him about it now.

‘Oh yeah, a big one,' he said. ‘Me and Toolik, some others gone into the spirit world now, we helped clean up.'

‘Did the fire originate in the bunker?'

Charlie's forehead folded up like a blind. ‘I don't recall, but it was pretty burned up. I remember that.'

‘You ever see what was in that bunker, Charlie? I mean, before the fire?'

The old man shrugged. ‘Uh nuh. Us Inuit fellas weren't allowed in there.' A scowl came over his face. ‘That Lemming Police arrested anyone yet?'