He stalked off down the path and I let him go. I knew a few officers with an ego – Gaba for one – but Innaaq was off the charts. I glanced back at the boat, then followed him all the way to the farmhouse. He stopped me at the door with a shake of his head.
“It’s bad,” he said, as I tried to look around the door.
“What is?”
“Pannapa. He’s inside. See for yourself.”
Innaaq moved to one side, and I stepped inside, wrinkling my nose at the sharp musty smell of urine. I followed the smell into what was the living room, then stopped when I saw the man hanging from the rafters.
“It’s Pannapa,” Innaaq said, as he joined me.
Part 20
Pannapa Imaakka twisted from the rafters as the wind plucked at the broken roof, blowing through the splintered spars, turning the old man at the end of a very short rope. He was Joorsi’s age. Dressed for a boat ride on a cold fjord in May. He was prepared for cold weather, maybe even a dip in the water, judging by the all-in-one fishing suit he wore. It seemed a long way to come to commit suicide, and before I could stop myself, I said so.
“It’s your case, Constable. You drove him to this.”
“Me?”
“Ataata always had his suspicions about Pannapa. Just couldn’t prove it.”
“Prove what?”
Innaaq nodded at Pannapa. “That he killed Venus.”
“Why?”
“You’d have to ask him.” Innaaq lit a cigarette, puffing the first lungful of smoke towards Pannapa. “We’ll have to cut him down.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Are you all right, Constable? You look a little sick.”
“I feel sick,” I said. I gagged as I darted past Innaaq. “Need some air.”
“I’ll cut him down myself then, eh?”
I ignored him, heaved the last of Eqilana’s coffee into the grass outside the door, then ran for the path, sticking to the thicker, softer grasses, avoiding the noisier pebbles and grit.
I need answers, I thought, processing what little I knew, stuffing the pieces together, cursing the bad fit, knowing there was more to find, more to unlock, before the puzzle was complete.
I reached the beach and waved at Tornginnguaq. She stood in the stern of the boat, waved back. She asked after Innaaq as I splashed into the water.
“Just go,” I said.
“Go where?”
“Just get away from the beach.”
“What about Innaaq?”
“He’s staying here.”
“No,” she said, as I clambered over the gunwale. “He’s right there.” She pointed behind me. “On the path.”
I twisted to one side, saw Innaaq running down the path and onto the beach, and then scrambled over the thwart seat. I pushed Tornginnguaq to one side – off balance, onto the seat. I grabbed the steering arm of the outboard motor, cut the throttle and let the river’s energy push the stern into deeper water, before clicking it into reverse and throttling away from the beach and into the fjord.
“What’s going on?”
“You tell me, Tornginnguaq,” I said, as I throttled down, shifted into forward, and powered away from the beach, lifting the bow as we headed back to Ilua. Innaaq shouted from the beach. When I looked back, I saw him kick at the pebbles then pull his phone from his pocket and press it to his ear.
“He looks really pissed,” Tornginnguaq said.
“There’s a dead man in the farmhouse,” I said.
“Pannapa?”
I nodded. “What do you know?”
“Nothing.”
“How close are you to Innaaq?”
“What do you mean?”
“My first day – yesterday – I told Nikkuliit I wanted to hire a boat. She gave me your name. I told her where I wanted to go, and she told me to tell no one. I didn’t. But Innaaq knew about it. And he made sure he came with us. So,” I said, throttling down, trimming the boat. “I need to know. What’s your relationship to Innaaq?”
“I used to be his girlfriend.”
“And now?”
“He still thinks we’re together.”
“He comes around…”
“All the time.”
“Borrows your boat?”
Tornginnguaq pressed her lips together. She glanced back at the beach, then looked at me and nodded.
“Last night?”
Another nod.
“And where does Pannapa live?”
“In Narsarsuaq.”
“Okay,” I said, thinking.
I pushed on to Ilua, chewing over what I now knew about Innaaq, but wondering how it fit into the bigger picture, and why Pannapa Imaakka would kill himself, even though I was pretty sure he didn’t.
I slowed as we reached the beach at Ilua, switching places with Tornginnguaq, letting her bump her own boat onto the beach. I moved to the bow, ready to leap over the side and hold the boat as she cut the motor and lifted the propeller out of the water.
“Don’t go back for him,” I said, as Tornginnguaq grabbed the painter and secured it around a large boulder. “Promise me.”
“He’ll be angry.”
“I’ll protect you.”
“How? You don’t even have a gun.”
I pulled my smartphone from my pocket. “With this,” I said, swiping my thumb across the screen. I did it again, then opened my jacket, sheltering my phone in the shadows to look at the battery charge icon, only to curse as it showed zero power.
“Do you have a phone, Tornginnguaq?”
“Not on me. It’s charging. Innaaq pulled me out of the house before I could get it.”
“Okay,” I said, slipping my phone into my pocket.
I bit my lip as I considered my options, confident that Innaaq would arrange transport, that he might spin all kinds of stories in anticipation of whatever I might say. The best action, then, was to get everyone out of Ilua. I looked at Tornginnguaq, at her boat, and then nodded.
“We’re going to be okay. Stay here. Don’t leave. I’ll be back.”
I ran up the beach, onto the path, slowing as I reached the stone sheep pen, curious that I felt a shiver as I passed it. I put it down to sweat, a brisk wind getting stronger, and a sudden need to get everyone safely back to Narsarsuaq.
“It’s going to be okay.”
Part 21
Eqilana stood in the doorway, watching me as I ran down from the lip of granite, obscuring her view of the beach from the farmhouse. She started to speak as I slowed to a stop, but the words died on her lips as I reached for the shotgun still leaning against the side of the house where she had left it.
“Is Joorsi inside?”
“Yes,” she said.
“We need to leave.”
“What? We’re not leaving.”
I brushed past Eqilana and entered the kitchen, sliding the shotgun onto the table as Joorsi entered from the living room.
“Petra?”
“Okay,” I said, as they stared at me. “We don’t have much time. We have to leave. But,” I said, raising my hand as a question formed on Joorsi’s lips, “I need answers, and quickly.”
“We’ve told you everything already,” Eqilana said.
“I don’t think you have. Just as I left, you said a name – Paniula.”
“Yes,” Joorsi said.
“You don’t mean Innaaq Paniula, do you?”
“I was talking about his father.”
I tugged my notepad from my pocket, and said, “Tell me more.”
Joorsi took a step back and leaned against the kitchen counter. Eqilana sat down on a chair at the table, her hand pressed to her mouth, her eyes fixed on Joorsi.
“Aksili came out here on the same day I showed Venus around the farm.”
“Sergeant Paniula? The same day as Pannapa?”
“Yes. Aksili arrived just after he did. He came to the farmhouse first.”
“Looking for you?”
“Looking for Venus.”
“Why?
”
Joorsi glanced at Eqilana. She folded her hands in her lap and dipped her head, briefly, encouraging Joorsi to keep going, to finish the story.
“He said…” Joorsi waved his hand, pointing at my notepad. “What Eqilana said before – that I kidnapped Venus. That’s what people said. Aksili told me people were worried. Everyone had seen Venus arrive. Everyone noticed her. I was in Narsarsuaq, picking something up from the store. I was one of the first to talk to Venus. I was young. She showed an interest in me – my farm. You know the rest.”
“So, you brought her out here…”
“Before anyone else took her to their farm.” Joorsi glanced down at the floor, and then back at me, repeating, “I was young.”
“But Pannapa…”
“Must have talked to people back in Narsarsuaq. Everyone thought she was a model already. He must have thought this was his big break.”
“And Aksili?”
“Sergeant Paniula said people were worried about Venus, a young woman, just arrived – alone.”
“Like father, like son,” Eqilana said.
“What’s that?”
She stood up and walked to Joorsi’s side, taking his hand. “My husband was foolish, but enthusiastic. Pannapa was excited about finally being a photographer – a real one. But Aksili…” She took a breath, and said, “Everyone knows what he was like. This was his area. You’d see him in a boat, going between the farms. But he had his favourites.”
“Farmers?”
Eqilana laughed, but with a steel glint in her eye. “Their wives and daughters,” she said. “People knew what he did, what he was like. So, imagine how he felt when Joorsi – young, naïve…” She squeezed his hand again. “When Joorsi was the one to take the pretty girl home. He couldn’t have that. So he came out here.”
“The snow was creeping down the mountain,” Joorsi said, picking up where Eqilana left off. “Winter was here, but it would be a week before the ground was covered. Back then, the temperatures were lower, the winters harder. The ice started to form in the fjord – earlier then than now. Once it started to freeze, you had to keep a channel open, until you couldn’t. Then you were trapped, for the winter. No dogs down here,” he said. “I didn’t have a snowmobile at the time. Aksili said I had evil intentions, that I knew the fjord would freeze, and that I planned to keep Venus over the winter.”
“That’s the kind of thing he would say.” Eqilana sneered as she spoke. “He twisted things. He scared people. He scared Joorsi.”
“I was stupid,” Joorsi said.
“You were young. You didn’t know better. Aksili made you feel guilty.”
“You talked,” I said, making another note. “What happened after that?”
“He went looking for Venus.”
“You didn’t go with him?”
“He told me to stay in the house, and to stay away from her.”
I took a second to think, concerned about the time, about Innaaq. But I wanted to get the rest of the story, to find out what happened to Venus.
“What happened next?”
“I watched from the kitchen.” Joorsi turned to point out of the window. “I had a few sheep in a pen up there. Usually they roam free, but one of the dogs – a young one – had bitten one of the sheep, and I kept it there with a couple of others for company. Pannapa must have thought it made a good photo. He had Venus pose there, and that’s where Aksili found them.”
“Tell her,” Eqilana said, as Joorsi fell silent.
“You didn’t want me to.”
“That was before. I do now. You have to.”
Joorsi took a breath and said, “Aksili shouted at Pannapa. I didn’t hear what he said, and they talked in Greenlandic. I only ever learned Danish – I was sent to Denmark as a child.”
“Against his parents’ will,” Eqilana said.
Joorsi shrugged. “That’s a different story,” he said.
The sound of soft thumps in the air turned all our heads.
“The generator?” I asked.
Joorsi shook his head. “Something else.”
“Then we’re running out of time. Tell me what happened with Pannapa.”
“He came to the house.” Joorsi pointed again. “He jogged a bit, then stopped, but Aksili shouted at him again. Then he ran all the way. He came in here.” Joorsi turned. “Sat there, at the table.”
“Did he say anything?”
“Nothing. He just looked at the door. I think he was waiting for Aksili to come back. We both were. We thought he would bring Venus with him.”
“But he didn’t?”
“We never saw her again.”
“What?”
“She ran away,” Eqilana said. “She saw Aksili coming towards her, and she ran.”
“Why?”
“Because he was a bad man,” she said.
“But Venus didn’t know that.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Eqilana said. “A policeman just scared her photographer into the farmhouse where Joorsi is already hiding.”
“I wasn’t hiding.”
“But you didn’t go outside.”
“No.”
“Because Aksili told you to stay where you were.”
Joorsi looked down at the floor, nodding. He kept his eyes down, his chin pressed into his chest, and I glimpsed his younger self – chastened and embarrassed. The thumping sound grew louder, more distinctive.
I walked to the door, looked up at the sky, then went back into the kitchen. “Where would she go?”
“There’s a path that leads through the fields and up into the mountains. If she went that way,” Eqilana said.
“It was getting colder,” Joorsi said, lifting his head. “If she took that path, it gets steeper, narrower. She was wearing rubber rain boots.”
“Hard to run in,” I said.
“There are boulders and crags along the path. If she got tired, she would have been…”
“Trapped,” I said, as the thumping sound grew louder, closer, and instantly recognisable.
Part 22
Tornginnguaq, clutching her hat, her blonde hair trailing behind her, appeared over the rise, running, pointing behind her, shouting, “Innaaq! He’s coming.”
I saw the small black helicopter come in low over the fjord. It wasn’t one of Air Greenland’s. More likely, it belonged to a small fleet of helicopters run by a Danish or Canadian logistics company, supporting geological surveys in the Arctic. It didn’t matter whose helicopter it was, only that it was headed towards Ilua.
“Get inside,” I said, as Tornginnguaq reached the farmhouse. I pushed her into the kitchen, telling them all to, “Lock the doors and stay down, below the windows.”
“Where are you going?” Joorsi said, as I grabbed the shotgun.
“To talk to Innaaq.”
Joorsi fumbled with the lip of the bib pocket of his overalls, then pulled out two more shotgun shells, dumping them into my hand as Eqilana clutched at my arm.
“Stay here.”
“I can’t,” I said. My lips trembled as the helicopter slowed to land, the wash from its rotors pressing the grass flat around the farmhouse, thunder rumbling through the wooden walls.
“He’s like his father,” she said.
I forced my lips into a smile, and said, “I hope so.” I managed to laugh as Eqilana frowned. “Didn’t you say the men were all stupid?”
“I didn’t mean…”
“It’s okay. Stay here. Lock the doors. Then leave when you can.”
I took a breath, checked the safety on the single-barrelled shotgun, and walked out of the kitchen. I glanced at the door as the helicopter landed, hoping there was a lock – few people locked their doors in Greenland – and then stepped out of the farmhouse. The pilot shut down the engines. Innaaq climbed out of the helicopter, staring at me, at the shotgun in my hands, waiting as the rotors slowed and the pilot applied the brake.
He walked towards me, and I raised the shotgun.
He s
topped. “What are you doing, Petra?”
“My name is Constable Jensen,” I said.
“I know who you are.” Innaaq smoothed his hand over his moustache and then pointed. “What are you going to do with that?”
The pilot opened his door, and Innaaq turned. We both shouted at once.
“Stay there.”
Innaaq turned and grinned at me. “We agree on that, at least.” He took a step forward.
“No,” I said, jerking the barrel towards the path Eqilana said led into the mountains. “That way.”
“You trying to get me away from the farmhouse?”
“Yes,” I said. There was no point lying. I just had to hope the pilot wouldn’t try to stop Tornginnguaq getting Joorsi and Eqilana into her boat.
“Is that wise, Constable?”
I took a breath, resisting the urge to shake my head as I nodded at the path. “That way.”
“Or I could just pull my gun.”
“Innaaq…”
“What?” he said, curling his hand around the snap that secured his pistol in the holster. “You going to stop me?”
“You took Tornginnguaq’s boat last night,” I said. Innaaq froze, then looked at the farmhouse. “You’ve been yawning all day.”
“Because you called me after midnight.”
“No,” I said. “It’s because you went looking for Pannapa.”
Innaaq laughed. “Really?”
“You took him in Tornginnguaq’s boat.”
“To do what? You think I killed him?”
I had no proof. I hadn’t even talked to Pannapa, but I pictured his younger self cowering in the farmhouse kitchen while Paniula senior chased Venus into the mountains.
“You can’t prove it, can you, Constable?”
“No.”
Innaaq spread his arms, gesturing at the farm and fields. “Then what are we doing?”
“Going for a walk,” I said. I clicked the safety off the shotgun. “Toss your gun on the ground.”
“That would be stupid.”
“It would make me feel better. Then I can tell you what I know.”
“Huh.” Innaaq snorted, then unsnapped the holster, tossing his pistol into the long grass. “Lead on, Constable.”
The Winter Trap Page 7