The Shaman's Knife (23 page)

Unless Davidee had taken it with him now out on the tundra where it might be found in ten years, or a century, or never. All the more reason for me to find Davidee wherever he was, or had been.

I wandered back over to the rec hall, getting there at the same time as Byron, whom Debbie had just relieved from looking after Julie. We stopped in the lobby before going in to where the crowd was.

“Byron,” I said. “I'm told that you went after Davidee with a gun on Sunday after he interrupted your Easter dinner. Were you really thinking you might shoot him?”

He let out a long breath, dropping his eyes and muttering, “I guess I was, but I didn't.” Then he raised his eyes defiantly to mine. “But if he ever did anything to hurt Julie or Debbie I
would
kill him! I'd shoot him down like a dog! So if that ever happens, you'll know where to look.”

 

When the knock sounded on my door early Wednesday morning, it came along with Margaret's voice, pitched low. “Matteesie!”

The east-facing window of my room had been full of the early sun most mornings. Now the wind had driven snow through cracks around the storm window, and some lay sticky and wet on the sill. When I hopped out of bed I landed in a wet patch on the floor. A glance beyond the window revealed no sun in sight, not even the jumbled building materials behind the hotel, nothing but a wall of snow. So much for Thomassie flying to meet me early, as I had hoped.

“Hey, you hear me?” Margaret said in the same low voice.

“Coming. Stay there.”

I grabbed my parka and held it around me as I opened the door, the parka coming to just above my knees, my legs bare from there down. She was fully dressed, the red dress again. In different circumstances I might have kidded that this early in the morning I might have hoped for her in a nightgown . . . but it just crossed my mind, I didn't say it, and she said, “Phone for you. Cambridge Bay.”

I padded along the hall and down the stairs, pulled on my boots (my feet were cold on the bare floor) and picked up the phone. Thomassie sounded disgusted. “Snowing there?” he asked.

“Heavy and wet,” I said. “How about you?”

“The same. Just got in ahead of the storm last night. Weather guy says it's all over the place. Not supposed to clear until middle or late afternoon.”

I swore, but only a little. It wasn't as if I had to waste a whole day, unless I just stayed here twiddling my thumbs. Wherever Davidee was, he wouldn't be moving much in this stuff, either.

“You got a map handy?”

“Right here,” Thomassie said. “But hell, I don't need a map to find Sanirarsipaaq.”

“Look on the map between there and here. See No Name Lake?”

Pause. “Got it.”

“Best guess is that the guys I'm looking for are out around there somewhere. What we'll do is check again at noon. When we're sure enough of the flying weather I'll head out by snowmobile. We can talk details later. Call you at twelve.”

Margaret went by and pointed, laughing, at my knobby bare knees above the boots and below the parka. She came back in seconds with a cup of tea. I called the detachment number and got an answer immediately, “RCMP, Bouvier.”

“You at Barker's or the detachment?”

“Detachment. Couldn't sleep. Dogs got me up.”

I told him about my air force being socked in at Cambridge, causing me to delay the search. Meanwhile, I had some time. “I'd like to see those three girls this morning.”

“I'll pick them up in the van. Might take an hour. They're probably not up yet.”

“See you at eight.”

I was first in to eat—eggs, bacon, sausages, toasted fresh bread, and gooseberry jam from a jar that read “Product of Poland.” The peanut butter jar said “Product of China.” Amazing world.

Outside the snow was as heavy and wet as before, but thicker. Bouvier must have knocked some off the van earlier, but the heavy new stuff on the roof looked like whipped cream a foot deep.

Beating my way through the smoke screen from Bouvier's postbreakfast cigar, I greeted Sarah Thrasher and got my first look at Leah Takolik and Agnes Aviugana. Since Bouvier's one-on-ones with them hadn't been fruitful, I thought that maybe getting them together would strike sparks.

Talk about Arctic contrasts. Of the three, Agnes and Sarah had the most cheerful Inuit qualities. Look at either of them and you'd think, “Game for anything!” From the standpoint of a young man on the make, which was stretching my memory a bit, none of the three would drive anyone away.

Sarah and Agnes were dressed more or less alike, a mixture of jeans and store-bought padded parkas, the kind used in spring. It didn't feel like spring that morning, at minus five and snowing, but kids that age sometimes rush the season. Agnes told us, giggling nervously—Inuit teenage girls do tend to giggle a lot, some kind of defense mechanism—that her real Inuit first name was Atsainak, which she had shortened and anglicized. She had a round face, a mouth full of good white teeth, and breasts that stood out like melons. In normal circumstances she would be one of those merry Inuit who were natural photo opportunities at big events, visits of dignitaries, or even
News/North
's annual photo spread on the arrival of spring. In such shots it wouldn't be surprising to find the other girl, Sarah, as well, a bouncy item who also featured a nervous giggle. It rang out almost every time she was spoken to, or spoke.

Leah was different. No girlish giggles from her. I remembered what Maisie had said about both Dennissie and Davidee being hot on her trail. Strange, in a way, because although in white terms she was plainly a knockout this would not necessarily be the case among Inuit, who favor plump women. Her outer garment was a beautiful creamy white
amautik
, probably made from the soft skin of caribou calves. Versions of this garment's shape show up in Arctic drawings a century or more old: really a parka falling to the knees in half-oval flaps back and front, but cut upward on both sides to free the hips. Hers was heavily beaded, someone's loving work, across the front and at the shoulders and cuffs. Her legs were fragile-looking in wildly colorful tights and caribou-skin knee-highs. She had a fine-boned face unlike the more rounded features of the other two.

And all that to waste on two cops in beautiful downtown Sanirarsipaaq at eight o'clock on a snowy morning.

“You were all good friends of Dennissie,” I opened. “And you all occasionally went to his home with him late at night when Thelma was asleep, sometimes to make love.”

Again Leah did not react like the other two, who just shrugged. Leah looked somber, even sad. I wondered about that, but if cases could always be solved by facial expressions, police work would be a lot simpler.

“Did any of you see Dennissie the night he was killed?”

I couldn't believe it. They were all nodding.

“In his bedroom?” I asked.

They had misunderstood the first question. Agnes and Sarah said or signaled, “Oh, no!” Leah said, carefully, “There were some of us at the rec hall early in the evening.” The others nodded. “Dennissie also was there.”

“Who was he with, particularly?”

“He did some talking with Davidee,” Leah said. This was the first-ever reference to Davidee being at the rec hall, probably only briefly.

“Someone obviously went home with Dennissie that night,” I said. “Any of you?”

Two head-shakes, answering no. I noted that Leah did not answer so positively, but I left that, for now.

“Did he have enemies?”

More shaking of heads in the negative, this time Leah's included. I wondered how much they could know about Dennissie's loan-sharking, which had been taking place that night as well.

Now I had to get down to it, apply some pressure in the way of a threat. “From all the blood left around after the murders we have footprints that are being examined by experts in Yellowknife and probably Edmonton.”

At the mention of blood Leah had gone very pale.

“Some of the footprints were big, like a man's, but at least one was quite small, maybe a girl's, so if one of you was there and could tell us what happened, it would help.”

They looked at me. Nothing. What I'd said so far they could have expected, if they'd thought about it. Now I was ready for heavier artillery. Get 'em out of the foxholes.

“I should also say that whoever was there, and knows what happened, is almost certainly in danger now. Someone who is already a murderer and who knows that identification is possible will not mind murdering again to get rid of the witness.”

To an extent, that worked. Now their expressions were all the same: scared. Looking from one face to another I had one of my insights, that all three knew or could guess who had been there, one by being there and the other two by knowing something I did not. I watched carefully. All stared at me. None looked at the others at all.

“I will be finding out,” I said.

“You always find out, so the people say,” Leah said, with a dismissive sarcastic edge I ignored. “This time too late.”

I went on, “If any of you know something that you're not telling me now because you're afraid to . . . I want you to think of a way to tell me. Even without letting me know who is telling me, if you're that scared. A note, a message, anything.”

Three pairs of black eyes were doing no more than paying attention. I was getting nowhere with this reasonable shit. But I didn't really put much planning into what came next.

“The two people who were killed and the one who later died, my own
amaamak
, had harmed no one . . .” Then suddenly I was hearing myself. So goddamn removed, civilized, on the very edge of pleading! Invoking my mother, for god's sake! Trying to make them so sorry for me that they'd spill their guts. I couldn't stand it! I stood up and shouted into their startled faces. “If any of you three silly bitches know and don't tell me now, when I do find out I'll see that you are in trouble.”

Nothing. They had stamina. Then I thought, maybe they really don't know . . . kids, schoolgirls. Except Leah. She was older and much more composed.

I got myself under control and went on quietly, paddling up a few other channels. “Hard Hat was not at Davidee's home all that night, as he had claimed. We now are sure of that. We don't know where Davidee was.”

Now all three looked somewhat scared, Sarah and Agnes glancing at one another, Leah staring straight at me, but pale.

“Also, we know there is money around with bloodstains on it, Dennissie's money, taken from him probably after the murder. When we find some of that money we will be on the track of the murderer, or at least someone who got to Dennissie before we did.”

That gave me an idea. “Let me see what money you have.” Just in case. “Hand over your maniusiqpik.”

They gave me their purses and I emptied all three. No blood-stained money.

“Also, I'm going to your parents and find out where each of you was when the murders took place.”

At this, finally, a reaction. Inuit kids are like kids anywhere, when they have something to hide. They could get hurt by some parent. Had been hurt before. Had their asses kicked and their money cut off and other things just made generally difficult. Had even maybe been locked up at home when a big party was coming up, like the drum dance. Depended on the parent, but cop questions were bad enough.

“Who gave you our names?” Leah asked.

“I won't tell you that.”

She made a derogatory sound, her lips briefly blown outward, a letting out of air.

“What's that for?” I asked her.

“I think that Maisie told you our names. She and Dennissie were”—Leah dropped her eyes and made a small face—“very friendly.”

What I was hearing from her, I sensed, was the edge of jealousy and something deeper. Oh, hell, I thought, how long will so many of our people be like that? As attractive, even beautiful, as Leah was, even mentioning Maisie's name, her rival, she felt inferior.

“Maisie didn't tell me your names.”

“Then why isn't she here?”

“I talked to her last night—”

Leah made the same derogatory sound. “Not with other girls listening, I'm sure.”

“With her mother listening,” I said. “Which hasn't happened to you yet, so don't be so goddamn superior.”

I was sorry I said that, when it wasn't feeling superior that was her problem.

Could I goad her into saying more? I spoke to Leah directly.

“The one thing Maisie did tell me was that you were the one Davidee wanted. Not her.”

Finally, her aplomb was shattered. Her lips came down at the corners. She burst into tears. “Dennissie told me that! I didn't believe some of the things he said . . .”

Agnes passed her some slightly used Kleenex.

When Leah composed herself she asked, “When will you talk to my mother?” She didn't say, our parents.

“Soon,” I said. “But not this minute. I'm hoping that one or all of you will decide to come and tell me more before I have to do that.”

They left together but soon separated, Sarah and Agnes going one way, talking and sometimes looking back, Leah going another, without looking back.

I sat and thought for a few minutes. I planned to see Leah again, preferably with her parents, check the couple of times she'd answered either not at all or at least less positively than the others. But while I was chasing Davidee and whoever was with him, giving her a day or two to go back over her answers, maybe worry a little or a lot, wouldn't hurt. Might even help. She hadn't struck me as being a worry-free liar, if she had indeed been lying here and there.

Meanwhile, snow was still falling heavily and there were two of the earlier interrogations that hadn't really satisfied me. I walked up past Annie's house and knocked on the door of number 4. And knocked. And knocked.

I knocked so hard that the huge white woman in number 5 came out and glared at me, said nothing, then slammed her door. I kept knocking.

Finally the door opened. The old man had just skulked in the background during my earlier visit, letting others do the talking. Now he waved me to come in. “A lot of snow,” I said in Inuktituk, for openers. Turned out to be for closers, as well.

He grinned but said nothing. A woman, also very old, came partway down the stairs. I spoke to the man again. “I want to ask you again if you've remembered more . . .”

Then I caught an imperative arm movement from the old lady. She was pointing to her ear, and then at the man. When that didn't register on me, she came the rest of the way down and reached into the man's pocket and produced a small hearing aid and handed it to him. He put it in his left ear. He explained that the earpiece was uncomfortable so when the TV was on, they turned the sound up full volume and that night had heard nothing else.