A Green Place for Dying

by R. J. Harlick

  At that point, Will Decontie arrived in his police vehicle with Jeff sitting beside him in the front and Marie-Claude sitting forlornly by herself in the back seat.

  Chapter

  Seven

  A short while later, Teht’aa and I found ourselves in a line of nine people strung out in front of an impossibly dense section of forest. The underbrush was so thick, I could barely see my trail shoes, let alone the surrounding ground. Little wonder Will had been so angry at the minimal time the SQ had spent combing these woods.

  Through the trees behind us, I could just make out a distant flicker of yellow police tape marking where Becky’s body had been found. But none of us had been allowed near the crime scene. In fact, the search and rescue organization had strung another line of tape further out to dissuade the more curious, including myself, from being tempted to check it out.

  At Will’s instigation, their more experienced volunteers were going to redo this area allegedly searched by the Quebec police, including the shore of the beaver pond where Becky had been killed. Statistically this area closest to the crime scene was supposed to have the greatest likelihood of containing evidence. Will wanted to use proven skills to find whatever the SQ might have missed. For the same reason, he’d also insisted that the SAR people bring some divers to dredge the beaver pond, which the SQ also claimed had been done.

  We amateurs had been split into ten teams that were assigned specific areas of bush radiating out from the crime scene. Our section started in a low, muddy area a good couple of hundred metres’ walk from the parking lot and seemed to stretch up an incline through a forest of mostly spruce and poplar.

  We each held the long stick we’d been asked to bring, in my case a ski pole. Tehta’aa had brought the smooth maple branch once used by her grandfather as a walking stick. We were waiting for the search to begin, while our leader, Francine, an SAR volunteer, who appeared more flustered than in control, carried on an intense conversation on her walkie-talkie.

  I could see Wendy chatting away with her husband in the neighbouring line. I hadn’t seen Marie-Claude or her husband on any of the teams. Just as well, in case they discovered what none of us wanted to find, their daughter’s body. But I did see her brother J.P. join Wendy’s group at the last minute amidst nervous stares and raised eyebrows at his biker leathers. However, when he’d identified himself as Fleur’s uncle, everyone relaxed. I did wonder what would happen when his brother-in-law discovered his presence.

  “All right, people,” yelled our leader, replacing her walkie-talkie in her backpack. “I want you to keep your line. Walk very slowly and look only at the ground in front of you. Use your stick to move aside anything blocking your view of the ground.”

  “What about them trees? I don’t got my chainsaw to cut ’em down,” someone shouted amidst nervous laughter from other members of our line.

  “As you’ve already been told, walk around them and resume your place in the line,” Francine replied rather testily. “But if it’s an evergreen, carefully check the ground under the branches. I want to remind you that the second you see anything suspicious, stop and call out to let me know. And everyone else, the minute you hear the shout, you stop too. I don’t want anyone going ahead, okay?” She ran her eyes along the line as if daring us to challenge her, then yelled, “Okay, let’s go.”

  As one, we started advancing slowly forward, using our sticks to move the underbrush aside. But within seconds our line became an undulating wave. The many trees and saplings made it impossible to maintain the same pace. At one point I found myself held up by a fallen branch that refused to move when I jabbed at it with my pole. When I finally dislodged it and looked up, Teht’aa and my other neighbour were a metre or more ahead.

  “Okay, everyone,” Francine shouted. “Those in front stop and wait for the others to catch up.”

  I inched my way forward, slashing aside a leafy clump of saplings in an attempt to see the ground.

  “Hey, I think I found something,” a woman called out.

  I tensed as everyone else fell silent.

  “Stop,” Francine shouted as she raced to where a heavy-set woman with thick braids flopping onto her large bosom reached under a spruce bough to pick something up.

  “Don’t touch it!” shrieked Francine. “Just leave it where you found it.”

  The woman froze as a greyish-white object fell from her hands.

  Francine knelt and examined the object and surrounding ground closely. Finally she stood up and without bothering to hide her irritation, said, “It’s a rabbit’s skull. Okay everyone. Let’s start up again.”

  The chatter resumed. I even heard laughter, no doubt from the relief of knowing that the item had nothing to do with Fleur.

  And so it continued for the next couple of hours. Whenever there was a sighting, everyone grew very quiet. We shuffled nervously while Francine checked it out and smiled with relief when she declared it of no interest. I felt like we were dodging bullets and prayed that none would point at Fleur.

  As lunchtime approached, my hands were numb from the cold and my aching back and feet were seeking a much-needed rest. I could tell others were also feeling sore and tired. But though we’d so far found nothing, the mood wasn’t one of dejection or disappointment. Instead I felt a growing sense of hopeful optimism.

  One of the grandmothers, who’d held us up on several occasions, sat down on a rock and declared she wasn’t going any further until she had some food in her. Before Francine could intercede, others also sat down. When the frazzled woman muttered, “I guess it’s lunchtime,” the rest of us joined them. “Don’t lose your place in the line,” Francine admonished. But few paid attention. We clumped around the few outcroppings of rocks to avoid sitting on the wet ground.

  I found myself sharing a somewhat flattened but very hard piece of granite with Teht’aa and a woman I didn’t know who’d joined our line late.

  “Jeez,” the stranger said, brushing a strand of henna-dyed hair from her deeply seamed face. “I didn’t know we were supposed to bring food.”

  “Here, have some of mine.” I thrust the plastic bag I’d just removed from my pack towards her. “I made an extra sandwich.”

  Her leopard-spotted fleece jacket hung loosely on her bony frame, and her jeans were soaked a good way up from her ankles. She shivered. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.” I held up another bag. “I’ve got plenty.”

  “Thanks.” Without further comment, she delved into the sandwich and was finished before Teht’aa and I had started ours.

  “Here, have a cookie, I’ve got lots.” I thrust another bag towards her. “By the way, my name is Meg Harris, and this is my friend Teht’aa Tootootis.”

  I waited for her to introduce herself, and when she didn’t, I asked, “What brings you to the search? Did you know Fleur?”

  Ignoring my question, she looked at Teht’aa and said, “Dené, eh? I’m Gwich’in. Name’s Claire. Guess we come from the same neck of the woods, eh?”

  “I suppose, if you can call a thousand kilometres close,” Teht’aa replied. “I’m from Fort Simpson in the Northwest Territories. You must be from somewhere in the Yukon?”

  The woman lit up a cigarette before replying. “Yup, Old Crow. I guess a job brought you south, eh? Like me. That or a man.” Her chortling was quickly cut off by a bout of hoarse coughing.

  “A man, actually,” Teht’aa replied. “My father. He’s band chief of the Migiskan Anishinabeg.”

  “Oh.” The woman blew out a stream of smoke and eyed Eric’s daughter thoughtfully. “That’s the same reserve as the missing girl, eh?”

  She reached inside her purse and brought out a slim plastic bottle containing a clear liquid. The glint in her eyes suggested it was more than water. I tensed as she uncapped the bottle and took a long swig, but I couldn’t stop my mouth from watering in hope.

  “Keeps the old bod warm, eh? Want some?” She offered the bottle to Teht’aa but not to me. Teht’aa d
eclined, while I cleared my throat and said, “Ah, if you …”

  She jerked her head around and gave me a long perusal before handing the bottle over. I knew I shouldn’t. I’d been good since my fall from grace in the Arctic, but I was cold too, and tired.

  I didn’t dare glance at Teht’aa as I brought the bottle to my lips. I knew she’d be angry. Since Eric was no longer a part of my life, she’d taken over his role as my watchdog. She never ordered alcohol when we went out or served it when I visited, even though I knew she liked her beer. She’d even gone so far as to check my cupboards when she thought I wasn’t looking to ensure I wasn’t harbouring a stray bottle of liquor.

  But I didn’t care. The burning liquid warming up my insides felt good, very good. Vodka, my old standby, along with a bit of 7Up, a sweetness I usually didn’t like. But hey, beggars couldn’t be choosers. Just what I needed to get me through the afternoon. I took another swig and passed the bottle back to the woman.

  I repeated my question. “Why are you here? Do you know Fleur?”

  She turned her bloodshot gaze back to me, except she didn’t quite look me in the eye. “Yeah, she came to the Centre a couple of times.”

  I was trying to figure out which centre, then I realized. “You’re talking about the Anishinabeg Welcome Centre in Ottawa, aren’t you?”

  “Yup. Police already talked to me, so I can’t tell you much more than I already told them.” She passed me back the bottle.

  Ignoring Teht’aa’s angry scowl, I deliberately took a long, lingering sip. “So you’re the one who saw her with Becky?”

  “Yup, I saw her with that slut, but that’s gotta be a couple of months ago. That how long she been gone?”

  “More or less,” Teht’aa replied. “Why did you call Becky a slut?”

  “That’s what she was,” the woman snorted before taking another drag on her cigarette. “Turned tricks in the Market. Some john musta killed her.”

  Teht’aa and I exchanged startled glances.

  “Surely you’re not suggesting that Fleur was a prostitute, too?” I asked, not bothering to hide the incredulity in my voice. It certainly didn’t fit with my fresh-faced, girl-next-door image of Fleur.

  “I dunno if she was in the game or not. Just saw her hanging out with that hooker, that’s all. But ya know what they say about birds of a feather hanging out together.”

  As she passed me back the almost empty bottle, she gave me a knowing look, which left me wondering whether she was referring to the two young women, or us.

  “Princess. She thought she was a goddamn princess,” Claire continued. “Had no time for the likes of us.”

  She tipped up the bottle and drained it, leaving Teht’aa and me completely mystified by her strange comment.

  Chapter

  Eight

  The woman’s vodka had warmed me up nicely. I was ready to take on whatever the afternoon’s tramp through the woods would bring. Even the drizzle starting up again didn’t bother me.

  As we returned to our places in the line, Teht’aa cast me a reproving frown. “Why did you drink that booze? You know what it does to you.”

  “Yeah, it makes me feel really good, that’s what

  it does,” I shot back and stomped forward but was immediately chastised by Francine for starting before the others.

  I grudgingly returned to my spot beside my watchdog, but as I did so I couldn’t help but notice the woman from the Welcome Centre uncapping another plastic bottle. This one appeared to be full. I was tempted, really tempted to change places with the man standing beside her, but I resisted. Teht’aa was right. I’d had enough vodka. I didn’t need any more.

  We trudged forward, slashing the dense underbrush with our sticks. Within minutes mine bumped against something that glimmered gold when I bent down to investigate. I was about to push the weeds aside to get a better look, when Francine shrieked, “Don’t touch!”

  I’d forgotten.

  She rushed over and almost toppled me in her haste to move me away from the object. I felt my head spin as I raised myself upright. Boy, I sure couldn’t drink like I used to.

  She carefully moved the foliage aside to reveal a shoe with a spike heel and crisscrossed straps made from gold leather. Although the shoe was covered in dirt, the leather still had the sheen of newness.

  I heard her catch her breath at the same time as I caught mine.

  “Do you think it belongs to Fleur?” I asked.

  “I have no idea,” she said, “but it certainly doesn’t belong here. And the condition of the leather suggests it’s only been here a few months at the most. It certainly hasn’t overwintered.”

  She took out a camera and snapped several pictures before picking up the shoe with her latex gloves and inserting it into a large Ziploc bag. She marked the location with a red marker.

  All eyes were glued to the bag as Francine slipped it into her pack. The hopeful optimism I’d sensed earlier had gone, as were the smiles and chatter.

  Another wave of dizziness caused me to bump against Teht’aa as I resumed my place in the line.

  “See, I told you not to drink,” she said. “You can’t handle it.”

  “Yes, I can,” I snapped back. “I don’t need you to tell me what to do.”

  “Of course you do. You have a drinking problem. You shouldn’t be drinking anything, not even a sip.”

  “Look, I’ve got it under control. A couple of sips won’t hurt me.”

  “Yeah, sure. Look at what those few sips have done to you. You can’t even stand up straight.”

  I glanced over at Claire. There was no way I wanted to spend the rest of the afternoon listening to Teht’aa’s harping. I ran over to the man, a stranger, standing beside her.

  “Do you mind changing places with me?” I asked.

  For a second he appeared about to refuse, but then his eyes widened with interest at the sight of the gorgeous woman he’d be walking beside. Brandishing his version of a lady-killer grin, he swaggered over to Teht’aa, while the Welcome Centre woman snorted, “Ain’t that just like a man.” She passed me her bottle.

  To hell with Teht’aa. I can drink as much as I want to. I knew what I was thinking was wrong, but I was too far gone by that point. I took a long swig and passed it back. “Thanks, but that’s probably enough. I’d hate to drink up your supply.”

  “No problem. I came prepared.” She winked conspiratorially, one drinker to another, which annoyed me. I wasn’t a drinker, not any more.

  At a yell from Francine, our line plodded forward.

  I stumbled but caught myself with my ski pole. “Damn rock,” I muttered. “Shouldn’t get in my way.” I kicked at it and almost lost my balance again.

  Claire snorted and passed me the bottle. “Here, have another.”

  I hesitated. I didn’t need any more. But the rain had started back up, and I could do with a little warmth. I tipped the bottle up and took a long, searing sip. I could almost feel Teht’aa’s disapproval boring into my back, but I refused to turn around and look at her.

  We continued trudging forward in our ragged line. For the umpteenth time, I slashed at a miniature spruce then another, then at several poplar saplings, at a clump of purple flowers followed by more weeds. I played footsie with a maple tree that refused to budge and a few metres later did it again with another. This was getting boring, very boring. I drained another good measure of Claire’s vodka.

  Rain trickled down my neck. My hands were numb, my feet soggy. I brushed away drops dribbling from my nose. I tried to figure out how much further we had to walk, but I couldn’t see beyond the barrier of trunks.

  My foot suddenly caught on a rock, and I went sprawling onto the wet ground. It felt good to lie down and rest.

  “You okay, Meg?” Claire asked.

  “Hmmm … hmm. Guess I better get up, eh?” I laughed as I thrashed around in the wet leaves trying to get a purchase.

  “Here, let me help.” Claire grabbed my arm but lost her bal
ance too and fell next to me.

  Both of us lay giggling on the ground amidst cries of “Stop!” from our exasperated leader.

  I heard footsteps thrashing through the vegetation towards me. They stopped next to my head.

  “Get up! You’re making a fool of yourself,” Teht’aa hissed.

  Her hands reached under my armpits. She yanked me upwards. I tried to resist, but she was stronger and pulled me to my feet. She whirled me around, and I found myself teetering back and forth in front of her glare.

  “We’re leaving now.” She grabbed my arm and started pulling me away from the line.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you,” I muttered through clenched teeth as I tried to free my hand from her grip.

  We struggled until I finally broke free. I rubbed my arm. Behind me I could hear Claire’s drunken laughter.

  “Leave me alone,” I said. “You’re not my mother or my sister.”

  “But I’m your friend and I’m worried about you.”

  Her anger had vanished. Instead she looked at me with the same caring compassion that I used to see reflected in her father’s eyes, a reminder I couldn’t deal with right now.

  “I didn’t ask you to worry about me. So please, leave me alone.”

  I spun around and almost lost my balance. But I hung in, pretending everything was okay. Once the whirlies settled, I stomped off. As much as I wanted to help find Fleur, my need to get away from Eric’s daughter took over. With as much concentration as I could muster, I managed to weave my way through the trees without a collision or tripping over deadfall. I didn’t stop until I could no longer hear Claire’s hoarse laughter.

  I’d reached the top of a deep river gorge that cut a precipitous swath through the grey granite. I dropped my pack to the ground and sat down on a rock ledge overlooking a fast-moving river. I waited for Teht’aa to arrive. I figured there was no way she would leave me alone. Her father wouldn’t have. He had viewed curing my drinking as one of his missions in life. And he had succeeded, but now he was no longer around. So it didn’t matter any more, did it?