A Green Place for Dying

by R. J. Harlick

  More effort had been made to finish the interior. Wendy led us into a rambling country kitchen, complete with pristine white melamine cupboards, faux marble counter tops, and steel appliances, gleaming with recent polishing. My mouth watered at the sight and aroma of the bannock cooling on the counter.

  The three of us sat around the birch table while Wendy poured each of us a mug of coffee. Not exactly latte, but very tasty all the same.

  After a few minutes of chatting about Wendy’s winnings at last night’s bingo game, Teht’aa and I encouraged the young policewoman to begin her questioning.

  “Mrs. Whiteduck, I believe you have some beer glasses with a green parrot on them.”

  As Wendy squeezed her eyes in bewilderment, Teht’aa set the one she’d brought with us on the table in front of the chunky woman.

  “Oh, those. Yeah, we have a couple like that.” She picked up the glass and ran her finger over the parrot. “Kinda cute, ain’t he?” She got up to retrieve two from a cupboard and set them beside Eric’s. They were an exact match, except for a nick in the rim of one of hers.

  “Do you know where you got them from?” Sarah continued.

  “I think George brought them home.” Wendy cast the cop an anxious look. “He didn’t steal them, did he?”

  Sarah laughed. “Maybe he did, but I don’t care. We believe they came from a bar your husband might have frequented. There appears to be a link between this bar and the disappearance of Chief Eric and Fleur Lightbody. Unfortunately, we don’t know where it is.”

  “Oh, such a terrible thing.” Wendy turned her amber-eyed sympathy to Eric’s daughter. “I’m so sorry, Teht’aa. Gloria told me about your dad last night. And you have no idea where he is?”

  Teht’aa shook her head. “We’re hoping this bar will lead us to him. We think the bar is in a fishing camp, but we don’t know which one. Now I know George is a guide at a couple of remote camps. Is he around so we can ask him?”

  “Oh, I’m afraid he’s off on one of his trips. He took a client in a week ago to one of his secret lakes no one else knows about. A rich American, I think. They’re the only ones that can afford the float plane charter.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to know the names of the fishing camps or their locations?” Teht’aa asked.

  “Oh, gosh. I’m really sorry. I don’t know. I’m afraid I’m not very good with names. They kinda go in one ear and out the other. I just know they’re way up north. He has to fly in.”

  “How many camps does he work at?” Sarah asked.

  “Just the two of them, although he likes one better than the other. He doesn’t like all the young girls at the one camp. He thinks more is going on than just fishing.”

  A dropped penny wouldn’t have disturbed the tense silence that followed.

  Sarah sat up straighter and pulled out her notebook. “Did George say what he thought was happening?”

  “Well, you know … I guess it’s mostly men that go there, rich men, and well … you know men….”

  “So George thinks these women are being used for unlawful purposes?”

  Wendy screwed up her eyes. “If you mean are they being screwed, whoops sorry, I mean being used for sex, yeah. George couldn’t see any other reason for having so many pretty girls on staff. He also didn’t like it that many were native.”

  More silence except for the scratching of Sarah’s pen.

  Wendy suddenly lifted her hand to her mouth. “Oh … my God … you don’t mean that’s where Fleur is?”

  “And you’re sure that you don’t know the name of this camp or its location,” Sarah asked.

  When we had entered the kitchen, I’d noticed bits of paper stuck to the fridge door. Most were lists, but two were photographs. In one photo I’d recognized the verandah in front of which George and a beaming client were standing. The client was clutching a very large and obviously heavy fish.

  I retrieved the photo from the fridge and placed it in the centre of the table. “Is this one of the camps George works at?”

  She nodded. “He says it’s a lovely old log building, probably over a hundred years old and has that terrific verandah.” She glanced over at me. “Kind of like yours, eh?”

  “That’s what I thought when I first saw it in another photo.” I turned to Sarah. “A woman at the Anishinabeg Welcome Centre in Ottawa had a photo with this same verandah. She should be able to tell us where this camp is. Only problem is she’s away from work at the moment. But you could probably get a hold of her or have the Ottawa police do it.”

  “Yeah, I’ll call the Chief the minute I get back to the station. Wendy, is this the camp where the girls are?”

  “I dunno. It might be.”

  While we talked, Teht’aa brought the photo closer and was leaning over it, peering intently. “Is that what I think it is?”

  She pointed to a greenish smudge half-hidden by one of the verandah pillars. There seemed to be something yellowish protruding from it. The more I stared at it, the more the smudge took shape. I could even make out the wooden bar it was sitting on.

  I sat back. “Yup, you’re right. It’s a parrot, a very green parrot.”

  “I’d say so too,” added Sarah. “It’s got to be the place. Canadian woods aren’t exactly filled with parrots. Can I take this photo, Wendy?”

  Before Wendy nodded, she’d already slipped it into her notebook. “We need to speak to George. Can he be reached?”

  “He’ll have his satellite phone with him. But I don’t think he’ll have it on. It’s too expensive. He only turns it on when he has to make a call. But he’s supposed to be back tonight. You can talk to him then.”

  I had a better idea. “Give me the name of the charter airline he uses to fly into the fishing camp. They can tell us its location.”

  She shook her head. “He uses the camp’s plane to get there.”

  Chapter

  Thirty—Nine

  After Wendy promised to contact the policewoman as soon as she heard from her husband, we three went our separate ways. Sarah returned to the police station to follow up with her chief while Teht’aa drove me back to Eric’s to pick up Sergei and then on to my house, where she left me to my own devices.

  We both felt there was nothing more that could be done until the fishing guide provided the name and location of the camp and Will was fully in the loop. We were confident that once the police chief knew its location, a contingent of police would be flown in to investigate, and if our suspicions proved correct, rescue Eric and Fleur, hopefully both very much alive.

  But we hadn’t counted on the slow machinations of the law and on Marie-Claude.

  She arrived at my front door not long after Teht’aa dropped me off. I was rocking back and forth in the screened porch with Sergei fast asleep at my feet. While the rain had stopped, it continued to drip from the trees. I was sipping another mug of coffee while trying to decide how best to distract myself to keep from being overwhelmed by my worry over Eric, when I heard a car crunch to a stop in front of the house. I knew the minute I saw the tears streaking down her face that Marie-Claude had been told about her brother’s death. I also noticed that the right side of her face was puffy with the beginnings of a bruise.

  “He’s dead,” she cried out. “My little brother is dead.”

  “I know. I found him. I’m so sorry.” The Lightbodys’ van, not her Honda Civic, was parked behind my truck. Normally her husband wouldn’t let her drive the bigger vehicle.

  I tried to explain how I’d come to find him, but the distressed woman was too upset to listen.

  “What am I going to do?” she wailed. “First Fleur and now J.P. Who else will die because of me?”

  “You don’t know that Fleur is dead. And you had nothing to do with J.P.’s death.”

  “But I did. I told him to find Fleur. And Fleur might as well be dead, given what she is going through.”

  Uh-oh. J.P. must’ve told her.

  “Come inside. I’ll get you some coff
ee,” I said, wishing I had bought some vodka in Somerset. She needed it. “By the way, where’s your car?”

  “Jeff took away the keys. But I knew where he kept a duplicate set for the van. Besides, I’ve left him.”

  A double uh-oh.

  “He said if Fleur has become une putain, he wasn’t going to let her back in his house.”

  Marie-Claude’s hands were trembling so much, I had to carry her mug outside to the porch. I wasn’t sure how she was going to get it up to her mouth without spilling half the steaming liquid onto herself, but there wasn’t much I could do short of holding the mug for her. I didn’t think she’d want me to do that. But she surprised me and only dribbled a small amount onto her crumpled blouse.

  I waited for her to settle down before asking my questions. Sergei, recognizing her pain, placed his muzzle on her lap. Patting him seemed to calm her.

  Finally I asked, “What did J.P. tell you about your daughter?”

  “He said Fleur had been taken by some men he knew.”

  “Were they members of his biker gang?”

  “I don’t know if they were Les Diables Noirs. He just called them other bikers. He was really mad at them. Said he was going to kill them once he rescued Fleur.”

  “Did he mention where Fleur had been taken?”

  “No, just that it was some place far away. A place that can only be reached by plane. He called it … he called it un bordel. I think it is brothel in English. He said Fleur had been forced to be une putain for rich men …” Her voice faded to a whisper as her tears overflowed.

  I waited for her to quiet down before asking, “Did he mention the words oiseau vert in connection with this brothel?”

  “Non, no I don’t think so. What does a green bird have to do with this place?”

  I told her about our suspicions of a remote fishing camp with a bar by that name and finished by saying, “We think this might be where Fleur has also been taken.”

  She grabbed my hands. “Oh mon dieu, you give me hope she will be saved.”

  “Did your brother mention anything else?”

  “I thought I heard him say she was une esclave. But when I asked him what he meant, he told me I hadn’t heard right. But I’m sure he said une esclave. What do you think it means?”

  Esclave. Yes, that could be the other word I’d heard on his dying breath. “He probably meant that Fleur is being held as a slave against her will.”

  “Mon dieu, ma pauvre petite chérie. What are they doing to you?” She buried her face in her hands.

  Rubbing my hand up and down her shaking back, I tried to give her as much reassurance as I could, not entirely believing it myself. “I’m sure she’s okay. It’s probably just an expression your brother was using.”

  After a few minutes, she sat up. Brushing the tears from her face, she said, “I was so upset, I told Jeff. I thought he would get angry and call the police. I did not think …” She stopped talking as emotion overwhelmed her once again.

  I pulled her out of the chair and hugged her. For several long minutes she poured out her anguish onto my shoulder, while I mumbled comforting words.

  Finally, she raised her head and stepped back. “He said she was no longer his daughter. He called her a dirty whore and said she can never come home again. How can he do this? He’s her father.”

  His response so infuriated me, I spat out without thinking, “Because he’s probably one those bastards that thinks they own us and can dictate who we can and can’t have sex with. And when we’re raped, they consider it our fault and disown us.”

  “But this isn’t Fleur’s fault. Surely he can understand that?”

  “Is this why you’re leaving him?”

  “I don’t know if I will ever see Fleur again, but if she is rescued from this bordel, this camp with l’oiseau vert, she will need me. For once I am going to be a mother, something I haven’t been very good at.”

  “Don’t even think that way. Of course you’ve been a good mother.”

  She smiled wanly. “Cher amie, you don’t know how bad I’ve been.”

  Figuring she wasn’t in the right frame of mind to be convinced otherwise, I said instead, “You’re welcome to stay here until you find a place on your own.”

  “Merci, but my brother in Ottawa said he’d look after us.”

  “Us?”

  “Yes, Neige and Moineau. I’m going to pick them up after school.”

  Her husband was going to be one very angry man. “Where is Jeff now?”

  “At work. He doesn’t know I’ve left.”

  “I’m wondering if you shouldn’t pick up the girls now, in case he does find out. He might prevent you from taking them.”

  “But he can’t. I won’t let him.” She stared at me in horror. “They are my girls. I would never leave them alone with him.”

  “Why don’t I go with you?”

  She touched the redness of her face. “Sometimes he gets angry. But it’s not his fault. I’ve usually done something wrong.”

  “Marie-Claude, you haven’t done anything wrong. You have every right to leave him. Does he hit the girls too?”

  She raised startled eyes to me then dropped them again. “But only when we’ve done something wrong. He’s so forgiving and loving afterwards.”

  This endless cycle of abuse and paternalistic love was sounding far too familiar. I’d been there myself, before I’d been jolted into leaving Gareth. It might also help explain the wariness I’d seen in the two older girls’ eyes.

  “Let’s go now. We’ll take my truck, in case he spots the van. Better yet, why don’t I go alone and get the girls. You can write a note to the principal giving me permission to take them out of school.”

  Ten minutes later, I was heading down my drive with Marie-Claude’s note in hand, praying that her resolve wouldn’t leave her. The principal didn’t hesitate in accepting the note, although both girls eyed me curiously as they approached me in the school hallway. I felt it best that their mother explain what was happening. I only told them that something had come up and that they would be joining their mother at my place.

  Neither made any comment. Neige only asked if it was about Fleur, to which I could honestly respond, “Yes.”

  Perhaps the two girls had guessed, for they both ran into their mother’s arms and hugged her longer than a casual greeting would warrant. I gave Marie-Claude several minutes alone with her daughters then interrupted. “I think you should go now.”

  Moineau stepped back, her lips firm with determination. “Yes, maman. We should go. Papa might come and stop us.” She certainly had the measure of her father.

  We were filing out my front door when Marie-Claude’s blue car slid to a stop behind the van.

  Jeff, his face twisted in rage, jumped out and yelled, “Get in the car!”

  I shoved the three of them back into my house and closed the door. “Lock it,” I ordered, then turned to Jeff. “They aren’t going with you.”

  I stood in front of the door with Sergei standing threateningly beside me.

  “Who the hell do you think you are? Stay out of my affairs!” He walked towards me, fists balled. Sergei growled.

  Behind me I could hear Moineau pleading with her mother not to open the door.

  “If you come any nearer, I’m going to call the police.”

  I pretended I had a cell phone in my pocket. I was hoping that in his fury he would lose sight of the fact that we had no cell coverage in the area.

  “It’ll take them an hour to get here. By then we’re gone,” he spat out.

  He continued advancing towards the stairs as Sergei’s low guttural growl turned to a snarl. My dog might be a coward at heart, but he sure could put on a good act.

  “Maybe, but I can destroy your standing in the band, and you would lose your cushy job. You know what Eric thinks about wife and kid beaters. In fact, I bet you’re the reason Fleur left home.”

  The second the guilt flashed over his face, I knew I’d hit
the bullseye. That bastard! He’d let his wife think she was to blame.

  “So what,” he yelled back. “I can get another job elsewhere.”

  “Not with another First Nations community. And without a reference from Eric, I doubt you’d get a decent job anywhere else.”

  “Marie-Claude,” he shouted. “It’s okay. I forgive you. Just come home with me and the girls, and everything will be fine. I’ll let Fleur come back home.”

  I tensed, expecting to hear the door open and see Marie-Claude rush out into his deceitful arms, her tears filled with apologies for causing so much trouble. But she didn’t. There was only silence.

  Jeff tried again and again, becoming smarmier each time, but the door remained firmly closed.

  Finally he spat on the ground. “Okay, if this is how you want it, don’t expect a cent from me. And if you take that van, I’m going to have you charged with stealing.”

  He stomped back to the Civic, slammed the door shut and sped back down the road, swerving from side to side. I hoped he’d slam into a tree.

  After the sound of the car faded, I let out a deep sigh. The door opened behind me, and the three came crowding out onto the verandah. We held each other in a long, tearful collective hug.

  Finally I extricated myself. “I don’t think we should hang around here any longer. I don’t trust him. I’ll drive you into town.”

  “There’s no need to,” Marie-Claude said, wiping the tears from her face. Some of the tension had gone. She seemed more at peace than she’d been in a very long while. “My brother’s coming to get us. Moineau called.”

  “I’d just as soon not wait the two hours. How about we meet him in Somerset?”

  A smiling Moineau rushed back inside to call, while Neige remained glued to her mother’s side. She seemed less certain about this sudden change in her life.

  “I’m also going to get the Migiskan police to come and pick up the van. I don’t want him accusing me of theft.”

  Although her lower lip quivered ever so slightly, she smiled. “Merci, merci beaucoup for your strength. I couldn’t have done it without you.”