by Carole Pitt
Jackie didn't want to prolong the argument in front of their guest. Morven's eyes were on her and she experienced an unfamiliar feeling. It wasn't an instant sexual attraction, her usual response to any good-looking man. This was different and slightly unnerving, as if he could read her mind. Jackie knew that at times she suffered from paranoia, which often caused odd symptoms. Dragging her gaze back to Wilson and Beresford, she smiled and said, ‘This is Jacob Morven who is here to enlighten us all on the Nisga’a culture.’
Keith Wilson moved forward and held out his hand. ‘Great to meet you, I’m one of the art teachers.’
Beresford also shook hands then hurried off. It was clear he wasn't keen on speaking to her today. Bloody hypocrite, she thought, only last week he'd suggested they go away for the weekend. Wilson, intent on monopolising Morven, guided him along the corridor towards the lecture hall. Jackie trailed behind and watched how the Canadian positioned the stick. With each step, he held the unusual walking aid at an angle. The carved faces moved up and down as if they were alive.
Morven's talk was due to last approximately two hours, including a short film on modern day Nisga'a people, followed by questions from the students. Afterwards staff and students would break for lunch.
The audience stood up as they entered the lecture hall. Jackie was suddenly proud; miraculously they'd heard no raucous noise echoing along the corridors. A raised area acted as a stage and Morven sat between Wilson and the other art teachers. Jackie gazed out at her pupils who were mostly responsible kids, all keen to get somewhere in life. Many of them were enthusiastic about a career in the art world and had a common goal, university followed by good jobs. The popular choices were fashion, graphics and media studies. Jackie noticed one lad who she knew wanted a career in photojournalism. The spectrum was wide and as always, she hoped they would succeed, but it was a crowded market and she knew some of them would end up disappointed and disillusioned.
After the preliminaries, she asked them to kick off with general questions about life in North Western British Columbia. One by one, they covered various topics. She watched Morven visibly relax and even Keith Wilson's attitude improved. He'd obviously decided to put aside his grievances for a couple of hours. The Canadian had brought with him examples of carving tools, some quite old and others more recent. He was cautious not to let anyone else handle them, warning his audience they were extremely sharp. While he held each one up, he explained its purpose. Jade Harper, a girl who'd risen to the top of the class, and a few others, left their seats to get a closer look. 'I went into the museum in Laxgalts'ap,' she said, standing as close as she could to Morven. 'I never found out what the name meant.'
Morven laid down one of the more ornate carving tools. 'It means village on village. One village built upon another on a site occupied for millennia. I don't live there all the time; I go back in the summer. I'm actually heading straight there when I leave the UK. Let me tell you all something important. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, many Nisga’a treasures were lost from the Nass Valley. During the struggle for our treaty, Nisga’a elders and leaders fought to ensure this scattered legacy would find its way back home. I help this process along as much as possible by following the trail of captured treasure.'
A tall lad sitting at the front stood up. 'Do you have much success, and how do you find out where these treasures are?'
'That's a good question because it isn't easy. So much passed into the hands of Europeans who held on to huge collections, which are now extremely valuable. For instance, last autumn at Sotheby's in New York, a priceless collection of northwest coast native artefacts went up for auction. From the seventeenth century, explorers and missionaries traded with the indigenous peoples of Northern Canada. One family were responsible for repatriating more than two dozen items, among them a wooden mask. These pieces were from a First Nation settlement near Prince Rupert; a Scottish clergyman named Robert Dundas acquired or stole them in 1863. Ironically, his great grandson put them up for auction and raised five million dollars for two dozen items. The mask set a new record for an individual piece of First Nation art when it sold for one point eight million dollars. So you see how important it is to find our heritage, bring it home and display it in museums for all to see.'
Keith Wilson moved towards him and pointed to a folder he was carrying. Morven flicked through and nodded.
'Before we carry on I just want to say how impressed I am with your project. Designing and carving masks was a difficult choice and those of you who decided to decorate them faced another challenge. Because of this, there will be three prizes, one for each category. Papier-mâché, simple woodcarving and plaster cast. I'll announce the winners after lunch.'
Morven asked Wilson the time before continuing. His tone changed as he outlined the serious historical, cultural and educational aspects of his talk. He began with the great tragedy in the mid eighteenth century. 'First I want to tell you a story.
'Volcano Woman is perhaps one of the oldest and most revered legends about the fate of we mortals should we not treat sacred objects or creatures with respect. To defend her beloved wild creatures, she controls the powerful volcanoes. The story tells of the tragedy that followed the killing of a frog and how Volcano Woman destroyed an entire village. Volcano Woman had supernatural powers, as did her son. He often changed from his human form into a frog. Many, many years ago, a Prince and his two friends went fishing. When they'd cooked their meal, they laid it down on a bed of leaves. The frog was mischievous and jumped on their food and the young Prince threw the frog into the shrubs but it jumped back out. The third time he threw the frog into the fire and deliberately killed an innocent creature. A few nights later, the villagers heard a woman crying and wailing. "Come forward and I will spare your village." This warning went unheeded until one of the female Elders travelled to the village outskirts to see her. Volcano Woman instructed her to send forth the three young men and she would spare the village from volcanic destruction, but again the people ignored her warning. On the night of the eruption, Volcano Woman was heard saying, "I asked for those responsible to take heed and now you will know my vengeance." The village shook. A volcano erupted, destroying the village and all who lived there.'
He told them about The Tseax Cone volcano, the source of the volcanic eruption. How the poisonous gases killed many people and how legends told of the aftermath, a prolonged period of disruption. Villagers dug pits hoping to shelter from the lava flow and gas, but approximately two thousand people had died. The Nisga'a story, he explained was Canada's worst known geophysical disaster and as for my connection to the lava beds,' he concluded, ‘my ancestors are buried there.'
From the silence, Jackie could see his story had moved them. Jade, the girl responsible for suggesting Morven's visit used the bottom of her shirt to wipe away tears. Morven was about to continue but hesitated. Jade, realising he was staring at her stood up. 'That's such a sad story.' She glanced around at her fellow students. 'Our generation is so lucky. I think we forget that sometimes.'
Jackie knew Jade liked attention. The girl had confidence as well as looks and talent. Unfortunately, her popularity wasn't as great as she imagined. The crying scenario had worked. She had achieved her goal and got Morven's undivided attention. Jackie hoped he didn't have a thing about eighteen year old girls. Plenty of rumours had circulated about Jade; the most worrying one was that older men fascinated her.
Morven took off his wolf head covering and removed his blanket. Underneath, he had short black hair and wore a dark t-shirt and jeans. 'What's the definition of culture?' He asked walking to the edge of the stage.
Several voices answered. 'Way of life.'
Another student suggested traditions, customs and ethnicity.
'Good answers,' he replied and held up the blanket.
'This is the Chieftain's blanket, worn mainly by Head Chiefs. I'm a Wolf Chief. It might not look like
a very cool garment to wear, but where I'm from it can get mighty cold. Does anyone happen to know how far north my village is?'
'Nearly a thousand miles from Vancouver,' Jade said. 'I know because I visited there.'
'Thank you...' he said. 'I'm sorry I forgot to ask your name.'
'I'm Jade,' she said smiling.
Jackie observed the subtle sexual vibes oozing from her precocious student's pores.
'Summers are short but warm. The winter is cold. Who would like to try on the Royal Chilkat Robe? When it's on your back you have authority.'
Rory got to his feet again. 'Does that mean you can do as you please?'
Morven laughed. 'It depends. What were you thinking of?'
Rory focused on a group to the left of him, a slight smirk on his face. 'Like, you know, getting rid of your enemies.'
Morven's expression changed. His friendly openness had disappeared. 'I don't think so,' he said coldly. He turned away from Rory and stared at Jade.
It was time to wrap it up Jackie thought. Exams were looming and that brought all kinds of problems. Petty squabbles often got out of hand. Allegiances changed on a daily or weekly basis resulting in plenty of animosity. By now, she should be used to the machinations but Jade's blatant behaviour needed to stop before it got her into trouble. She looked over at Morven and felt the same earlier sensations. The sooner he was off the premises the better.
CHAPTER THREE
Throughout lunch, Jackie stayed clear of Wilson and Beresford. Instead, she wandered around chatting to her students asking them their thoughts on the morning's lecture. The consensus was that they had really enjoyed it and learned more than they'd expected. An hour and a half later, Jackie began the process of getting them back to work. Some of the students had already drifted away but others decided this was more fun than the remaining afternoon's lessons. The agreement prior to the buffet was that staff members could drink wine but not students, even though many were over eighteen. Those that hung about were waiting for a relaxation of the rules.
Morven and Keith Wilson were having a lengthy conversation. Jackie had checked her watch and realised they must've been talking for more than twenty minutes. Eager to find out what the topic was she walked over and deliberately interrupted. 'Can anyone join in or is this private?'
Morven flashed a genuine smile. 'Not at all, Keith was telling me he has a keen interest in collecting First Nations Art and wants me to take a look at his latest acquisition.'
Wilson looked annoyed at her sudden appearance. ‘What do you want?’
'I actually came over to find out when Jacob wanted to leave.' She turned to Morven. 'I'd intended to drive you back to your hotel but my car's in the garage. I'll arrange for a taxi if you let me know what time.'
'Jacob would like me to show him the art department's gallery. I'll drive him myself.'
Jackie tried to conceal her annoyance. Her plan was to ask Morven out for a drink, now thanks to Wilson's interference she'd lost the opportunity.
'I won't be long. Before I leave, I'd like to say goodbye. Where will I find you?'
'In my office, Keith knows where it is.' Jackie wasn't about to give up that easily. 'Tell me Keith, what's this latest piece of artwork you've bought?'
'I'd rather not say. Jacob's offered to help me with the provenance and I'm very grateful to him.'
He's becoming even more pompous, Jackie thought. She decided to stay for a few minutes and follow them to the gallery. As for his new art treasure, she'd find out what it was soon enough.
Wilson checked his watch. 'Excuse us.'
As Morven moved off Wilson made certain everyone heard what he said. 'Not every bloke finds you irresistible Jackie.'
As she backed away, Jackie felt her face burning with anger and embarrassment. Wilson had obviously assumed she fancied Morven and was determined to keep him busy. Knowing Wilson's frustration with women and sex, he was determined to spoil her chances with Morven. Well to hell with both of them, she thought. As it was after one thirty and she had no further lessons she would bugger off home. She wasn't that interested in his stupid piece of art anyway. The prospect of picking up a bottle of gin at the supermarket cheered her up. No need for tonic, there was plenty in the fridge. Jackie stood at the door and watched in case anyone was watching her. When she was sure no one was, she left the dining room and hurried along the corridor.
CHAPTER FOUR
May 10th. Seven-thirty pm.
Janet felt weary. She opened the storeroom and pushed the vacuum cleaner inside. Only three weeks left before she retired from the Grasmere Academy. Seven years she'd worked here and on many occasions had almost left, until her friend Libby needed an evening job and she'd recommended her to Mr Beresford. After barely tolerating the previous cleaner, she'd found Libby a joy to work with. Now she looked forward to her shifts, especially the tea breaks when they always had a laugh.
Because of the buffet in honour of the important guest, Janet had offered to work extra 3time. She'd arrived just after five and made her way to the dining room to tidy up. Then she'd loaded the large dishwasher and mopped the floors while Libby cleaned the science rooms.
As she locked the storeroom door, Janet heard a noise. When she'd first started the job there were occasions when she'd felt scared. The Academy was a big building with several exits and entrances vulnerable to anyone determined to break in. They'd had a few attempted burglaries, but so did most big schools. Back then she'd worried about someone walking in undetected and attacking her. She was used to the noises Libby made and it definitely wasn't her. If a member of staff intended to stay late, they always informed her when she started her shift. Janet had felt safer after the school employed a security guard but cuts in the budget meant he had to go. Thanks to the parents raising a substantial amount of cash, Mr Beresford had a sophisticated alarm system installed.
She listened carefully but didn't hear the sound again. Confident everything was okay she headed off to a small room allocated to the cleaning staff. Libby had cleaned the lecture hall earlier and afterwards had talked excitedly about the foreign visitor. Janet paid little attention to the internal workings of the Academy. She knew all the members of staff but hardly spoke to them unless she had to. Libby's teenage boys attended Grasmere. If she wanted to hear the latest gossip, Libby provided it via her sons. Janet's children were grown up; her own son lived in London, her daughter and children directly opposite in the same square.
Janet took off her overall and ran the brush through her hair. She was about to put her coat on when she heard the noise again. This time she feared it was an intruder. After all the years at the school, she knew every sound, yet the prospect of investigating the source scared her. As soon as Libby finished, she decided, they would go together. Opening her handbag, she checked she had enough change for the bus, it was at that moment she heard the first scream, followed by a series of high pitched screeches that sent a massive jolt through her body. For several seconds she couldn't move until adrenaline propelled her forward into the corridor where she saw Libby stumbling along with her hands outstretched. Janet rushed towards her and it was then she saw the blood. 'Come,' Libby gasped, holding out a bloodied hand. 'Come quickly.'
Janet's legs shook so badly she thought they'd give way. 'I don't understand Libby. Stand still for a moment, take a few deep breaths.'
Libby nodded and slumped to the garound. Janet helped her up trying to avoid the blood. 'Show me what's happened,' Janet pleaded.
Seconds later Libby turned around and headed back the way she had come. Janet followed until they came to the largest art studio. Janet could see blood on the door handle as Libby moved towards it.
'Don't touch the handle,' Janet shouted. She'd read enough murder mysteries to know about crime scenes. She inched closer, the door was very slightly ajar and she pushed it open with her toe. Inside it was obvious there had b
een a struggle. Half finished canvases lay across the floor. Someone had deliberately knocked them from the wall and trodden on them. Red stains pooled on the floor.
'He's in there,' Libby said pointing to a partitioned office.
At first, Janet felt confused, wondering what Libby meant. Then she saw the body. Even though she was familiar with the office, her brain didn't connect the dots. Janet moved forward carefully amongst the debris. None of this makes any sense, she thought. I'm just a cleaner who leads a very ordinary life. Why should this happen to me? She turned to face Libby who was shivering and realised she was in shock. 'Let's go back to our cubbyhole and have a cup of tea,' she said.
Libby started to cry and suddenly Janet felt very strong. Stronger then she'd felt for a long time. They walked slowly and Janet felt no urgency to contact the emergency services. She wanted to sort Libby out first, because she knew they'd be stuck here for hours. When Libby settled down, she'd keep herself busy until the police arrived and try to forget about the knife sticking out of Keith Wilson's chest.
CHAPTER FIVE
Detective Constable Wayne Eldridge propped his feet on the table and balanced his laptop on his stomach. Apart from a couple of junior detectives huddled together in the far corner, the incident room was empty. He looked up at the wall clock and saw that it was nearly eight o'clock. The two rookies would be off home soon and he would have the place to himself. Thank God, he thought, as he clicked on "The Portal of Fate" icon on his desktop. His Uncle Frank had bought him the fantasy role-play game for his birthday at the end of April. Initially Eldridge assumed it was a kid's game and had thrown it into a drawer and forgotten all about it until a few days ago. While he waited for the game to load Eldridge thought about the short romance he'd enjoyed with his colleague Katie Gardiner. It had come to an abrupt end after he had turned up drunk at her mother's house. Afterwards, much to his surprise, depression had set in. On the second night of his new single status, he'd needed a distraction other than alcohol and remembered the game. Now he was addicted, to the point where he'd started to play at work. In a relatively short space of time, he had reached level fifty-three thanks to Park Road HQ experiencing a quiet spell.