Reserved For Murder

by Kevin Hopkins

  ‘Thanks,’ Millar said, sitting at a desk Barry was motioning too. He pulled a sheet of paper out from his wallet to look up the Captain’s phone number. ‘Really should know these numbers by now,’ he said to Barry, shaking his head. It was like his home phone number. He almost never called it, so he could never remember what it was when he needed it. He dialled the number and waited while it rang. ‘Hi, Captain? It’s Millar,’ he said when the Captain finally picked up.

  ‘Terry, how are you? Didn’t expect to hear from you so soon. Don’t tell me you got into it with Constable Grant already?’

  ‘No, nothing like that. Things are good. Got a favour to ask.’

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Well, we have two samples of handwriting that we want to have compared—see if they came from the same person. I was wondering if we could fax them over to you so McGee could have a look and we could get his opinion.’

  ‘I don’t see an issue with that. Pretty sure McGee’s working nights this week, so he should be in the office in a couple of hours. I can send them down to his office and get him to look into it when he gets a chance. Already working a case out there? That didn’t take long.’

  ‘Well, we’re not too sure right now if we have a case to investigate or not.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yeah. Young lad was found hanging from a tree. There was a suicide note, but his mom is adamant that he didn’t write it. We want to try and do a comparison with a known sample of his writing.’

  ‘That’s gotta be tough on her. Right. Send them over. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Anything else?’

  ‘No, that’s it,’ Millar said, knowing the Captain’s cue that a conversation was done. ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘No problem.’ The Captain hung up.

  ‘Right, we’re good to send them over,’ Millar said, hanging up the phone. ‘Here’s the fax number.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Penner and Grant were sitting on the sofa, having a cup of coffee, when Millar finally arrived.

  ‘Any trouble finding your way back?’ Grant asked. ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Millar, pulling out a kitchen chair and sitting down across from the sofa. ‘Got here more or less okay. Only took two wrong turns.’

  ‘Really?’ Grant said, getting up to grab a coffee for Millar. ‘How’s that even possible? It’s almost a straight line.’

  ‘You’ll learn that Millar can get lost walking from his office to the washroom,’ Penner said, chuckling. ‘Some would say he’s a little directionally challenged.’

  ‘True, true, but I made it and that’s all that matters. Thanks,’ Millar said as Grant passed him a cup of coffee. ‘So, we faxed off the note and the book report. Captain said that McGee’s working tonight, so he would send it right down. Hopefully he gets a chance to look at them tonight, but apparently he’s working a case right now, so no guarantees. Barry and I dusted the suicide note for prints, but we didn’t find any.’ He took a sip of coffee before continuing. ‘Which is really strange, when you think about it. Why aren’t Jonny’s prints on the note?’

  ‘Do you really think someone here would kill a teenager and cover it up like a suicide?’ Penner asked, finishing her coffee. She put the cup down with a rattle to get Grant’s attention.

  ‘Want another one?’ Grant asked, grabbing the cup and standing back up before Penner could answer. ‘To be honest, I don’t know what to think about the whole situation. On the one hand, hiding a murder as a suicide is a pretty good idea,’ he said, pouring a coffee and passing the cup back to Penner.

  ‘Cheers,’ said Penner.

  ‘But, on the other hand, I just can’t see why anyone here would kill him. From what I’ve heard, he was a good kid with no cares in the world. Didn’t seem to have a problem with anyone,’ Grant said, sitting down on the edge of the sofa.

  ‘Could it have been someone off of the reserve? How are relations with the closest communities?’ Millar asked.

  ‘You know, that could be a possibility,’ Grant said. ‘Some of the kids have said they’ve been harassed when they go into town. Unfortunately, racism’s all too real out here.’ There was a knock at the door and Grant stood up again to answer it. ‘I guess we’ll just have to wait and see what McGee has to say,’ Grant said as he opened the door. ‘Oh, Chief Ravenclaw, come in. Can I get you a coffee?’

  ‘No, thanks. I can’t stay. I have to head right over to the Great Hall to see how everything’s coming for the feast,’ the Chief said, entering the room. ‘I just wanted to bring these clothes for Detective Penner. Hopefully they’re the right size. They’re my wife’s,’ he said, handing Penner a bag.

  ‘This is beautiful,’ Penner exclaimed, pulling out a bright blue dress that had colourful flowers embroidered down the front. ‘Is this done by hand?’ she asked, looking closer at the fine thread work.

  ‘It is,’ the Chief said. ‘Took my wife quite some time to do, but it was a good winter project. Better sitting on the sofa sewing than being outside during an Ontario winter, eh?’

  ‘I’ve got to try this on,’ Penner said, getting up and heading to the washroom. ‘My new earrings will go perfect with this.’

  ‘I stopped by Jonny’s mom’s place on my way over here,’ the Chief said, taking a seat at the kitchen table next to Millar. ‘She was saying she didn’t think Jonny killed himself. Something about a note that Barry brought over. You know anything about that?’

  ‘Yeah, the coroner in town found a note in Jonny’s pocket that he couriered to the office,’ Grant said. ‘Barry brought it to her, but she doesn’t think he wrote it.’

  ‘Really?’ said the Chief. His attention turned to Penner as she walked out of the washroom. ‘Well, that fits like it was made for you.’

  ‘I know, right?’ Penner said, admiring the dress hanging just so from her body. ‘It’s so comfortable, too. I can’t thank you enough for letting me borrow this. You’ll have to thank your wife for me.’

  ‘She’ll be there tonight, so you can thank her yourself.’ The Chief turned his attention back to Grant and asked, ‘Did you see the note?’

  ‘We did. Jonny’s mom also gave Barry a book report he had written,’ Grant said. ‘Gotta say, there were definitely differences between the penmanship. I’m not an expert, but I would say someone else wrote the note.’

  ‘We faxed a copy of both back to Ottawa to have one of the detectives there have a look, see what he thinks,’ Millar said. ‘He has a lot more experience with handwriting than we do. Hopefully we’ll find out soon.’

  ‘Right,’ the Chief said, standing up and walking towards the door. ‘Until we find out for sure, let’s try and keep this under wraps. People like to talk. If we’re not careful, before we know it, everyone will be talking about how Jonny was murdered. We really don’t need that type of gossip going around. Keep me in the loop.’

  ‘Will do, Chief,’ Grant said. ‘We’ll see you at the feast in about an hour or so.’

  ‘Perfect. Make sure you bring your appetites. Ever have roast moose before, Detectives?’ the Chief asked. Both Millar and Penner shook their heads no. ‘You’re in for a real treat then. See you soon,’ he said, closing the door behind him.

  ‘That dress really does look nice on you,’ Millar said as Penner twirled around the living room, the ribbon bands on the skirt rippling as she moved. ‘Going to make me look like a right old bum!’

  ‘Not too hard, really,’ Penner said, reaching into her purse and putting on the earrings she had bought earlier at the powwow. ‘Grant, do you have your nice, baby blue suit here?’ she asked with a laugh.

  ‘No, I got rid of that and bought a new one. Dark grey,’ he said. ‘Much more up-to-date that the blue one.’

  ‘I think anything would be more up-to-date than that was,’ Millar said. ‘Well, if we’re going to head over in the next hour, I think I’ll have a shower, if that’s okay.’

  ‘No problem,’ Grant said. ‘There’s an extra towel on the shel
f over the toilet. Don’t be too alarmed by the smell of the water. Or the colour. It might be a bit brown—you never really know what you’re going to get.’

  ‘Still blows my mind that the water can be so bad here,’ Penner said. ‘The coffee tastes fine. Do you use tap water when you make it?’

  ‘Depends. Sometimes I’ll use bottled water, but I usually boil a big pot of water as soon as I get here and keep it in the fridge,’ Grant said. ‘I’ll use that for coffee and I keep the bottled water for drinking. Even after boiling the water, it still has a bit of a taste. And the colour’s always going to be there. It may be safe to drink, but it’s not the most appetizing. At least the coffee masks it. It’s really noticeable when you just have a glass of water.’

  ‘Crazy. Okay, I think I’ll go to my room and freshen up, too,’ Penner said. ‘I’ll be back in about, say, half an hour?’

  ‘Sounds good. It only takes about ten minutes to walk over to the Great Hall from here,’ Grant said. ‘Want another coffee ready for when you come back?’

  ‘You know, I wouldn’t say no,’ Penner said.

  ‘Figured as much. See ya in a bit,’ Grant said, heading into the kitchen to start a fresh pot.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ‘Wow! This is beautiful,’ said Penner as they entered the great hall, admiring the artwork that adorned the walls.

  ‘The majority of the pieces are by local artists,’ Grant explained. ‘But there are a few pieces from artists across Canada. They’re mostly gifts given to the different chiefs over the years by other chiefs. A few times a year, the different chiefs get together for a weekend retreat where they discuss the various issues they’re each facing in their region. Sometimes there are representatives from the Federal Government there, too. But most of the time they don’t show up. Or they’re not invited. Some of the chiefs feel it’s easier to discuss topics among themselves first before presenting them to the government.’

  ‘I love the masks,’ Millar said, pointing to six masks hanging on the wall. ‘Are they carved from wood?’

  ‘They are,’ Grant said, walking over to the wall of masks. ‘Each one is carved from a single piece of softwood, usually cedar, and then painted. They were originally for ceremonial use, or to be used by a shaman. Now, the majority of masks are carved for decoration, but they still have a lot of meaning and symbolism.’

  ‘Are there any carvers still working in the reserve? I would love to see how they’re done,’ Penner said, admiring the craftsmanship.

  ‘There’s at least one that I know of. This one here was done by the Chief’s nephew, Les,’ Grant said, pointing to a large mask of a stylized human face—mouth open, so you could see its teeth. The wood was largely natural and unpainted, but accents of red and black had been painted around the eyes, cheeks, mouth and hair. ‘Most of the local masks are painted using only red and black. Some of the artists will use a turquoise colour, but it’s less common. Red and black are traditional colours that were used hundreds of years ago when paints were made from different plants and insects. Tradition is very important.’

  ‘You’ll have to introduce us to Les. Maybe we can check out where he works,’ Penner said. She looked around the rest of the Great Hall, which was filling up quickly. Round tables, each seating ten people, had been set up around the room. Along the back wall, a dozen chairs had been placed behind a long table decorated with different flowers and plaited reed decorations. Across from where they were standing, several long tables holding plates and cutlery lined the side of the Hall. ‘Do we just sit anywhere?’

  ‘You sit up front with us,’ a deep voice spoke from behind Penner and caused her to jump. ‘I told you that you were my guests, and guests sit at the head table.’

  ‘Chief Ravenclaw,’ Penner said, turning around. The Chief was wearing a long-sleeved shirt covering his tattoos. The shirt had flowers embroidered down the length of the sleeves, in the same style as the dress he had lent Penner. Over top of the shirt, he wore a green suede vest that had an embroidered bison on each of the breast panels. ‘Love your outfit!’ she said.

  ‘Thank you, Detective.’ The Chief grinned. ‘I’d like to introduce you to the designer, my wife, Sooleawa,’ the Chief said, signalling to the woman standing beside him.

  ‘Such a pleasure to meet you,’ Penner said, shaking the woman’s hand. The two were so similar in stature that, from behind, the only way to tell them apart was the hair. Penner’s vibrant red hair, which owed its colour more to a box than to nature, was tied in a tight bun on the top of her head. Sooleawa’s long black hair, with the slightest hint of grey, was worn in a sleek, single braid hanging half way down her back. ‘I have to thank you for lending me this dress for tonight,’ she added. ‘It is absolutely lovely. And it fits better than anything I’ve ever bought at a store.’

  ‘Ka’n nigodizinon,’ Sooleawa said.

  ‘That’s you’re welcome, right?’ Penner said with a smile.

  ‘Wow, I’m impressed,’ the Chief said. ‘Seems like you are learning about our culture.’

  ‘Trying,’ said Penner. ‘Now, whether I would have remembered the word if I had to say it instead of hearing it is another story.’

  ‘Either way, it’s still impressive,’ Sooleawa said. ‘I’m glad you like the dress. It was one of my first attempts at embroidering such a large piece, and I’m pretty happy with how it turned out. Since then, I don’t know if I’ve made any piece of clothing without a bit of embroidery. It’s kind of my signature now.’

  ‘Sooleawa is getting a bit of a following online for her clothing designs. Last year, the Prime Minister’s wife wore one of her scarves at a big to-do,’ the Chief said, smiling with pride. ‘How many orders did you get as a result?’

  ‘More than I could keep up with,’ said Sooleawa. ‘I still get requests for pieces because of that event.’

  ‘So, you sell your clothing?’ Penner asked.

  ‘I do. I have a little shop I run out of our living room. I used to work as a computer animator, but it was time for a change. I got tired of commuting to work, sitting in an office all day. I felt like a trapped animal and knew something needed to change,’ Sooleawa said. ‘You should stop by and have a look while you’re here. If that dress fits, then I’ve got lots of pieces in your size. I’m good at making things that fit me, but I find it harder making things that fit other people,’ she said with a smile.

  ‘Probably took you, what, five attempts at making a shirt that would fit me?’ the Chief said.

  ‘Well, Machk, you’re not exactly a typical off-the-rack size, are you? No matter what pattern I bought it needed to be adjusted.’

  ‘Machk?’ asked Millar. ‘What’s that mean?’

  ‘That’s my name,’ the Chief said. ‘It’s Algonquin for Bear. Well, when it’s used as a boy’s name. An actual bear is makwa. Most people just call me Mac.’

  ‘And what does Sooleawa mean, if you don’t mind us asking?’ asked Grant.

  ‘Not at all. It means silver,’ Sooleawa said. ‘The day I was born, the light was shining off of the frozen lake, making it shimmer like silver. My father thought it was a sign.’

  ‘Did your parents see a bear the day you were born?’ Grant asked the Chief.

  ‘Well…not exactly,’ the Chief said, his wife giggling.

  ‘No, he was such a chubby baby when he was born. And apparently he snored so loudly when he slept, it sounded like a bear. Or a hippo, but his parents didn’t think Sibi Kokosh was a good name, so Machk it was,’ explained Sooleawa, between fits of giggles.

  ‘Pretty sure it was for my power more than anything,’ the Chief added, mildly embarrassed.

  ‘Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, dear. Oh! Looks like they’re bringing out the food. We should probably take our seats. You have to do your welcoming speech, too,’ Sooleawa reminded her husband.

  ‘Right. Well, the three of you can join us at the main table. Take the seats to the left of Sooleawa in the centre. I’ll be up in a minute—I just
have to see if I can find Travis.’

  As the Chief wandered into the crowd of people, a heavenly scent wafted over towards Millar. ‘What is that smell?’ he asked, his stomach rumbling.

  ‘Ah, that’s the moose,’ Sooleawa said. ‘Have you ever had it before?’ she asked as they walked towards the head table.

  ‘Never,’ Millar said, looking over at the table along the wall where the food was being set up.

  ‘Well, you are in for a real treat then,’ she said as they got to the table. ‘Please, have a seat.’

  Millar took the chair between Grant and Penner, who was sitting next to Sooleawa. ‘I can’t get over how many people are here,’ Millar said, looking around the room. ‘Is there going to be enough food?’

  ‘Have you ever seen a moose?’ Grant asked, leaning in to make sure Millar could hear over the din of conversations. ‘A single bull moose, depending on its size, is going to give around three to four hundred pounds of boneless meat. I think they’re expecting around a hundred and fifty or a hundred and seventy-five people, so should be plenty. Not everyone is going to eat a couple of pounds of meat, not with everything else they usually serve.’

  ‘How on earth do they cook four hundred pounds of meat?’ Millar asked, his stomach rumbling louder than before.

  ‘It turns into a very communal affair,’ said Grant. ‘Probably a third of the people here have been helping out cooking for the last two days. People will take home portions of the moose and cook them different ways, either in their ovens or barbeques. I think one family took an entire half of the moose and cooked it in a traditional fire pit.’

  ‘How’s that done?’ Penner asked, joining the conversation.

  ‘Well, they dig a big pit, big enough to fit in the moose meat, and about three feet deep,’ Grant said. ‘They line the pit with large rocks, which helps to regulate the heat. Then the fun begins. Several large fires are set so they can get a really good amount of coals, they need to make a bed in the pit that’s about a foot thick.’