Reserved For Murder

by Kevin Hopkins

  ‘Interesting concept. But I don’t know how well that would work back home.’ Millar wasn’t sure how he felt about this style of justice.

  ‘I’m not sure it would,’ Grant said. He checked his watch. ‘We should get a move on if we want to see the coffee house before the opening ceremonies.’

  Outside of the station, it was eerily quite. The drums that had been pounding all morning were silent. ‘Must be taking a break before the big event starts,’ Grant said. As they turned to walk down the street, a figure sitting on a bench next door raised a hand in greeting. A small dog lay at his feet. ‘Oh, great,’ said Grant. ‘This should be fun.’

  ‘Well, well, well. If it isn’t Constable I-can’t-play-cards-to-save-my-life Grant. Coming back asking for a rematch, are ya?’ the man called out with a thick Jamaican accent.

  Grant smiled and shook his head. ‘You know, I’m pretty sure you guys only won because Barry was dealing off the bottom of the deck. There’s no way the two of you are that good!’

  ‘Calling me a cheat? Outrage!’ the man said with a laugh. His little dog barked once at his raised voice.

  ‘Yeah, you can save your outrage,’ Grant said. ‘Travis, I want you to meet a couple of friends of mine from Ottawa, Detectives Millar and Penner.’

  Travis stood up, removing his straw gardening hat and revealing his freshly shaved head. ‘Well, it’s definitely a pleasure to meet you,’ he said, taking Penner’s hand, kissing the back of it. ‘And what is a pretty lady like you doing being friends with a man like Grant?’ he asked with a wink. Penner smiled. She couldn’t figure out how old Travis was. His beard was swept with streaks of grey, but the rest of his features made him look young. There were no wrinkles around his eyes, but when she looked into them, she could tell his eyes had seen a lifetime of adventures.

  ‘Alright, that’s enough,’ Grant said. ‘Travis manages the band office. He’s been working here for, what, five years?’

  ‘Thereabouts,’ Travis said.

  ‘So, you’re the band manager?’ Millar asked with surprise.

  ‘Yeah, I’m actually employed by the federal government, stationed here to help out. Kind of a middleman between the feds and the band. I help with getting funding for projects, running the day-to-day operations here. Lots of paperwork with not many results,’ Travis said, pulling a pipe out of his shirt pocket. Taking a pouch out of his pants pocket, he filled the pipe with tobacco and tamped it down. He struck a match on the bench, holding the flame to the pipe’s bowl.

  ‘Interesting that they would hire someone from outside to do the work,’ Penner said, leaning down to pet the dog, who had rolled over and was writhing around, exposing his belly.

  ‘Well, it didn’t used to be like that,’ Travis said. ‘Seems like Chewie likes you,’ he said, watching his dog roll around as Penner played with him.

  ‘He’s a little cutie,’ Penner said.

  ‘He can be a handful at times. Likes to get out of his collar and take off on me,’ Travis said, puffing on his pipe. He blew a cloud of smoke that wafted towards Millar. ‘Sorry, my friend.’

  ‘No worries,’ Millar said, waving his hand to disperse the smoke. He had never smoked, but the smell of a pipe always reminded him of his dad.

  ‘It used to be that the band ran their own affairs, but they complained to the feds that they weren’t getting the resources they needed. There was too much red tape, too many hurdles. So, the Minister of Indigenous and Northern Affairs decided that hiring an outsider who knew how the government worked would be a good thing, make everything work much smoother,’ Travis said, drawing on his pipe.

  ‘Did it?’ Penner asked.

  ‘Nope. All it did was give me a job. I try, don’t get me wrong. But bureaucracy works at its own pace. As long as the majority of voters aren’t affected, it doesn’t matter if a couple of thousand people can’t drink their water. It’s all about votes.’

  The boom of the drums started up, filling the humid air again. Grant looked at his watch. ‘If you want coffee, we’d better go. Things are going to start real soon.’

  ‘It was nice meeting you, Travis. Are you coming to the powwow?’ asked Penner.

  ‘Gonna try. Especially if you’re going to be there, my dear.’

  ‘Give it a rest, old man,’ Grant said. ‘Good seeing you.’

  ‘Likewise,’ Travis said, having another puff on his pipe. ‘Cards next week! Your turn to bring the snacks.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ Grant said, starting to lead Penner and Millar down the street.

  ‘Hope you don’t suck as bad as last time!’ Travis called out, laughing to himself.

  ‘He seems nice,’ Penner said as they crossed the street.

  ‘Yeah, he is. Bit of a handful at times, but he’s pretty harmless. Likes to have fun, but he really does try to get the best for the band. When he started here, he couldn’t believe the water wasn’t drinkable. He said one of the reasons his family moved to Canada was because they always heard how great a country it was. He came from a very poor part of Jamaica, and they didn’t have running water. They had to walk to the neighbouring village to fill jugs twice a day,’ Grant said. ‘Imagine leaving a poor country to come to a first world country, only to find out people here are living with the same types of issues.’

  ‘I didn’t realize it was that bad here,’ Millar said. ‘So, you can’t drink the water at all?’

  ‘You can, but it’s not advisable,’ Grant said. ‘Sometimes it just smells really bad, but it isn’t actually unsafe to drink. Other times it smells really bad and it’s unsafe. Problem is, you never know what you’re going to get. Plus, if the water smells like dirt, are you going to want to drink it, whether it’s safe or not?’

  ‘Probably not,’ said Millar, thinking how lucky they were at home. He never gave something like water quality a second thought.

  The smell of freshly roasting coffee hit Penner as they turned a corner. ‘Oh man, that smells good!’

  ‘Sure does. Wait ‘til you go inside,’ Grant said, opening the shop door. The smell was amazing. It was like the strongest, freshest pot of coffee one could imagine. Penner was in heaven.

  ‘Mino kigijebawan,’ a young girl greeted them, looking up as she took a scoop of coffee beans out of the roaster in the centre of the room.

  ‘Mino kigijebawan,’ Grant said. ‘That means good morning in Algonquin,’ he said to Penner and Millar.

  ‘Mino kigijebawan,’ Millar said, struggling with the pronunciation. The girl smiled.

  ‘Welcome to Makadewamik Gaapii. That’s Black Beaver Coffee. We just finished roasting a test batch. We’re experimenting—trying out a new combination of three different beans. They’re all from Peru, but they’re from different locations, which gives them each a slightly different flavour.’

  ‘Sure smells good. How often do you roast?’ Penner asked, moving closer to the fresh beans.

  ‘We’ve been roasting once a week, but I think we’re going to need to add another day. We’re having a hard time keeping up with demand,’ the young girl said.

  ‘I can see why,’ said Penner. ‘We had a pot of it earlier—it’s delicious.’

  ‘Meegwetch,’ the young girl said. ‘That’s thank you.’

  ‘How do you say you’re welcome?’ Penner asked.

  ‘Ka’n nigodizinon,’ the young girl said.

  Penner tried to repeat the words but wasn’t even close to successful, breaking into laughter. ‘Sorry about that.’

  ‘At least you tried,’ the young girl said, giggling. ‘Would you like to try a cup of the new blend? I have a pot just finished.’

  ‘You don’t have to ask her twice,’ Grant said, seeing Penner’s eyes light up.

  The young girl poured three small cups of coffee and passed them out.

  ‘It almost has a sweet smell,’ Millar said, sniffing the steam coming out of his cup.

  ‘That’s the bean from high up in the mountains, it has a very distinctive taste and aroma. On its own, w
e found that it was a bit too different for most people. We’re hoping it will be more popular, mixed with the other two beans. Please, enjoy,’ the young girl said.

  ‘Wow, now that’s a cup of coffee!’ Penner said, finishing her cup.

  ‘No kidding. I could go for a pot of that,’ Grant said. ‘Is this one ready to be sold yet?’

  ‘Not quite. The beans have to cool before we can package them—otherwise they’ll continue to cook in the bag and get too bitter,’ the young girl said. ‘If you’re going to the powwow, I’ll be there later this afternoon. I can bring some then if you want.’

  ‘Definitely. That would be great,’ said Grant. ‘I’ll take a pound.’

  ‘Me too,’ Millar said.

  ‘Put me down for two pounds,’ said Penner.

  ‘Two pounds? That’s a lot of coffee. Are you sure?’ the young girl asked with surprise.

  ‘Trust me, that’s not a lot of coffee for her—might not even last a week,’ said Grant. He checked the time. ‘We should go. We’ll see you later?’

  ‘For sure. Thank you for coming in,’ the young girl said. An order for four pounds of coffee was a great start to the day.

  ‘Meegwetch,’ Penner said, making the young girl smile again. ‘Say,’ she added, ‘any chance of getting a cup to go?’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  By the time they arrived at the fairgrounds, there were already hundreds of people milling around. Millar looked around, taking in the sights and sounds. Under a pop-up canopy, eight men sat around a drum that was almost three feet in diameter, singing and pounding the drum in unison, causing a thunderous sound. Outside of the canopy, some young kids had gathered, dancing to the beat. Along the perimeter of the grounds, at least two dozen vendors had set up tables, each with an assortment of artwork and crafts for sale. There were half a dozen food trucks, selling everything from fresh walleye and bannock tacos to french fries and cotton candy.

  ‘Do we have time to check out some of the vendors?’ asked Penner.

  Grant checked his watch. ‘Sure. The official Arrival of the Clans should be starting soon, but we’ll still be able to see from over at the tables.’

  They walked through the crowd, mingling with people in traditional dress and some wearing their everyday street clothes.

  ‘They’re so colourful!’ Penner said, admiring the women wearing brightly coloured garments adorned with beadwork and silver-coloured cones.

  ‘Those are jingle dresses. When they dance, the sound of the jingling cones really adds to the experience,’ Grant said as they approached the first table. A young woman stood behind it, greeting them with a big smile.

  ‘Welcome!’ she said.

  ‘These are beautiful! Did you make them?’ asked Penner, looking at the assortment of earrings that were spread across the table. She picked up a pair made of small beads woven into blue, red and yellow chevrons.

  ‘Thank you,’ the young woman said. ‘I made them all by hand. That pair you have there are some of my favourites. I love how the colours work together.’

  ‘I can see why they’re your favourites,’ Penner said, scanning the rest of the table. ‘I’m going to take these and these ones here.’ She picked up another pair with long, fringes of black and turquoise beads.

  ‘Fantastic!’ said the young woman. She took the two pairs of earrings from Penner and put them in a small paper bag. ‘That will be forty dollars.’

  Penner reached into her purse and pulled out two twenty dollar bills, handing them to the young woman in exchange for the bag. ‘Thank you so much. I’m looking forward to wearing them.’ She tucked the paper bag into her purse.

  They walked past a table of tanned hides and Millar stopped to admire a pair of beaded gauntlet mitts. As they continued walking, a voice called out from behind them.

  ‘Hey, City Boy! You made it!’ Sarah said. Grant turned to look at her. She was wearing a yellow dress that fell just below her knees and tall, fur-covered mukluks. Her dress jingled as she approached.

  ‘Hi, Sarah—love the dress. This the one your mom made?’ Grant asked.

  ‘Yup, she did a good job, eh? Better than the one she made for me last year,’ Sarah said, spinning around. ‘Should look good when I’m dancing.’

  ‘You’ll steal the spotlight for sure,’ said Grant. ‘I want you to meet two of my friends from back home. Sarah, this is Detective Sue Penner and Detective Terry Millar.’

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ said Millar, holding out his hand.

  ‘Likewise,’ Sarah said, shaking his hand.

  Penner looked at her in awe. ‘Your hair is so long! How long have you been growing it?’

  ‘About this long,’ Sarah said with a smile, indicating where her hair ended around her waist. ‘Kidding. I haven’t actually cut it since I was really young. Four or five, I think.’ She gestured at Grant. ‘So, you guys work with City Boy? Must be fun.’

  ‘It has its moments,’ Millar said. ‘City Boy. I like that.’

  Grant sighed. ‘Just what I need, another nickname from you,’ he said looking at Millar. ‘Did you get a chance to talk to your brother about Jonny?’ he asked, turning back to Sarah.

  ‘Yeah, I saw him before I headed over here,’ Sarah said. ‘He was really surprised. Took it kinda hard.’

  ‘He was surprised?’ asked Grant.

  ‘Yeah. I guess Jonny never seemed like he was depressed or anything,’ Sarah answered. ‘He was looking forward to heading out on a moose hunt this week. Been doing good at school—no problems at all. Sammy said it really didn’t make any sense.’ Her head tilted as she heard the rhythm of the drumming change. Looking over Grant’s shoulder, she saw the dancers lining up to enter the Ceremonial Circle. ‘Gotta go. See you later? It was nice meeting you two,’ she said as she ran off to join the other dancers, her dress ringing out with every step.

  ‘Have fun,’ Grant called out. He turned to his guests. ‘We should probably find somewhere to stand so we can see.’

  ‘So, who’s Jonny?’ asked Millar as they walked to the edge of the circle, trying to find a spot amongst the crowd.

  ‘Young local guy. Sarah found him last night. Hanged himself from a tree in the woods,’ Grant said.

  ‘That’s awful!’ Penner exclaimed. ‘She doesn’t seem too phased by it.’

  ‘No, she doesn’t. Not sure if it’s an act or if she’s really okay,’ Grant said, surging forward as he spotted an opening in the crowd. ‘We’re going to get a counsellor in to talk to anyone who wants to talk.’

  ‘Probably a good idea,’ Penner agreed. The dancers began to enter the circle, each of the women wearing a different coloured dress, the men in colourful shirts and pants. Their regalia were covered in silver-coloured cones, beads, feathers and porcupine quills—sometimes all at once. Several of the men wore necklaces with a large medallion hanging around their neck. Each medallion had a different symbol beaded into the design. A raven, a crow, a bear, a wolf. Each represented the clan they belonged to.

  ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the annual harvest powwow,’ a voice came over the speaker system. ‘We would ask each of you at this time to remove your hat, unless it has an eagle feather in it.’

  Millar looked around the crowd as people, young and old, removed their hats. Several of the older men wearing cowboy hats with a feather in the hatband kept their hats on.

  ‘It’s a sign of respect,’ Grant explained. ‘The eagle feather is a sacred item.’

  Millar noticed a young man in the crowd still wearing a baseball cap. He either didn’t hear the message or didn’t care. One of the dancers, a very large man, almost as tall as Millar but probably eighty pounds heavier, arms covered with Indigenous tattoos, pointed at the young man and motioned for him to remove his hat, which he did rather quickly.

  As the last dancer entered into the circle, the drumming and singing stopped and the crowd applauded. The voice came over the speakers again.

  ‘Thank you, dancers, for the grand entrance. We will be sta
rting the individual dances in a minute, starting with the under sixteen girls, then the boys, and we will be ending with the over sixteens and the group dances. But first, I would like to call on Chief Ravenclaw to come up and say a few words.’

  There was another round of applause as the large, tattooed dancer walked up to the podium, taking the microphone in his hand. Penner noticed he had matching tattoos on his forearms. A skull wearing a traditional headdress, with long, flowing feathers.

  ‘Thank you, Noah,’ the Chief said. ‘I would like to personally welcome you all to our event today. This is an event that helps bring our communities together, and, hopefully, strengthens the bond between those of us who live here and those who have come to visit from outside of the reserve. Before we start, we have some sad, troubling news. Last night, we lost a member of our community. Jonny Two Bears was found dead.’ There was an audible gasp from several people in the crowd. ‘I would like each of you to take a moment to think about Jonny and remember him for the young man he was. Dancers, I would ask that you channel your memories of Jonny while you dance. Remember Jonny’s joy and how he shared it with us as he danced.’ Chief Ravenclaw paused for a moment in silence, his eyes closed. Then he opened them and gestured to the circle. ‘Drummers and singers, please welcome the first dancer.’ The drummers started pounding the drum a little harder than before, singing louder and with more meaning as the first young girl started dancing.

  ‘She’s so cute,’ Penner said. The girl was probably eight years old, her green dress hanging around her ankles. She was stomping her feet the best she could to the beat of the drum, trying to keep her oversized headband from falling over her eyes.

  ‘That’s my daughter,’ a voice said from behind them. Grant turned to see who was talking.