“Thank you. Every bit helps. Before you leave, perhaps you could do something for me.” I pulled two bills from my wallet. “I was about to give Lucy these twenties when you arrived. I’d really hate for her to spend it on booze, so do you mind ensuring it’s used on something she really needs, like new socks or shoes?”
“I wish it were that easy. I think the longest she has kept a pair of socks is a week. Shoes a tad longer. Personally, I don’t think she likes them. But thank you, I will ensure the money is put to good use.”
He slipped the bills into his pocket and, turning to leave, collided with Lucy, who’d crept up behind him.
She winced. “My foot!” She hopped around on her good one while she tried to hold the injured one, lost her balance, and collapsed onto the hard asphalt.
My head knocked against Father Harris’s as we both bent over to help her. Rubbing our respective heads, we apologized in unison. Fearing another collision, I deferred to him.
“Sorry, child,” he said to Lucy. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’ll help you up.” He held out his hand, but she ignored it.
“Dzìewà, Father,” she said, smiling. “Like the other one.”
The priest jerked away as if he’d been burned. “Dzìewà?”
I’d heard this word before.
“Dzìewà.” She held up a piece of moosehide covered in purple embroidery. It looked familiar.
“What are you doing with that?” he asked.
I reached inside my pocket and found it empty. “It’s mine. It must’ve fallen out.” I held out my hand for Lucy to give it to me, but she ignored me.
“Nice.” She rubbed the tufted petals against her cheek. “Soft. Home.”
“Do you recognize it?” I asked.
“Dzìewà.” Her lips creased into a gap-toothed smile.
“Do you know what she’s saying?” I asked Father Harris.
“Blueberry. It’s the Dene word for blueberry. May I look at it, Lucy?”
So the word Teht’aa had spoken as she fell asleep was blueberry. But what did blueberries have to do with a story?
Lucy continued caressing the petals. “My pretty flower.”
“Please, give it to me,” the priest persisted. “I won’t hurt it.”
She glanced up at him and smiled shyly. “You promise?”
“I do.”
She gave the petals a last kiss and passed it up to him.
He brushed his fingertips softly over the embroidery. “Beautiful work. Dene. These tufts are made from caribou hair.”
“I was told moosehair.”
“Older handicraft like this one are generally made from caribou, when caribou was the mainstay of Dene life. The skin is also caribou. See how soft and supple it is. You rarely see such fine workmanship anymore.” He sniffed it. “It still has a faint smell of smoke from the traditional tanning process. Such a shame that it’s ripped. Where did you get it?”
“It belongs to Teht’aa.”
“Ah, I see.”
“Someone found it over there after her attack.” I pointed to the parking lot behind us. A man walking away from his car waved at Father Harris, who waved back.
“You think it’s related to the attack,” he said.
“Maybe. See these brown spots. I think they might be blood. Maybe it fell out of her purse as she struggled to defend herself. But if she was attacked behind this motel, I don’t know how it ended up on the other side of the alley.”
“I suggest you hand it over to the police. They are in the best position to ascertain its importance. I could do it for you, if you like.”
“Mamàcho makes pretty purple flowers like this.” Lucy struggled unsteadily to her feet and tried to snatch the embroidery back from the priest, but he moved it beyond her reach.
“Does she mean her grandmother?” I asked.
“Yes. I know her,” the priest replied. “A wonderful woman.”
“When I was little, Mamàcho take me to see purple flowers,” Lucy continued. “Very pretty. They twinkle like stars. She showed me how to make pretty flowers. But I forget. It was a long time ago.”
Without another word, she turned to her friends standing protectively behind her. They’d crept out from their hideaway when she’d fallen. As one the three women turned their backs on us and shambled back to their garbage container.
“Lucy!” the priest called out. “Here.” He tossed her a partially filled package of cigarettes, which landed at her feet.
“Thanks.” Beaming, she bent over to retrieve it. After extracting a cigarette for herself, she passed the package on to her friends.
“Does she have a home?” I asked.
“There’s a women’s shelter she sometimes uses.”
“She must have a Dene community she can go to.”
“Digadeh, where her grandmother lives. But I doubt she ever visits. Her grandmother is a holy terror when it comes to alcohol. Well, I must be off. Nice meeting you. By the way, I’m sorry to hear about your husband. Not an easy time for you. If you want to talk about it, my door is open.”
“Thanks, but I’m okay. I don’t expect him to be in jail much longer.”
“They’re letting him out on bail, are they?”
“I’m hoping so. But what I really meant was that they will be dropping the charges. He’s innocent.”
“I know how difficult it is to accept that a loved one committed one of God’s ultimate sins. But if you can find it in your heart to forgive him, particularly since there seems to be just cause, it would make it easier for both of you. Now I really must be going.”
I felt my anger rise but held my tongue as I watched him slip the piece of caribou hide into his pocket. He started walking away.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” I called out. “Teht’aa’s embroidery. I’d like it back.”
“Yes, right. So sorry. Just my old brain not working. It really is a marvellous piece of workmanship.”
He gave it one last look before handing it over.
TWENTY-eight
While Lucy and her friends focused on smoking the cigarettes the priest had given them, they continued to cast furtive glances in my direction. When another cigarette butt was flicked onto the wedge of filthy asphalt where Teht’aa had lain dying, I shivered. It felt too much like a desecration.
Their differences were so great, I found it hard to believe that Lucy and Teht’aa had grown up in the same small community. Though close in age, Lucy’s ravaged face suggested that she was a good twenty years older. Without a mother and effectively no father, Teht’aa would’ve had just as difficult a time in her early years. But she’d had Uncle Joe to help guide her and, from what he said, a loving grandmother. Like Lucy, Teht’aa had had her battle with addictions, both drug and alcohol, but she’d overcome them to establish herself as a top broadcaster.
There was likely one aspect that differentiated the two women: their mothers. Eric had said that from the moment Charmaine had learned she was pregnant, she stopped drinking. She wanted her baby to start life as healthy as possible. If Father Harris was correct in his FAS diagnosis, then Lucy’s mother hadn’t stopped drinking. So from the second she was born, Lucy had been ill-equipped to handle the curveballs life would throw at her.
Since this was Lucy’s regular hangout, the odds were good that she had been here when my stepdaughter was attacked. The trick was to get her to remember. But even if she couldn’t, I wondered about her two friends. I bet they spent just as much time at this dreary location. Maybe one of them would be better at remembering.
As I walked toward them, one of the woman broke away and started running down the alley.
“Give ’em back,” Lucy shouted and sped after her. She caught up, grabbed the woman’s jacket, and pulled with more strength than I’d have thought possible. The woman fell backward onto
the ground. Lucy pounced, pulling her hair and punching her. The woman fought back. With arms and feet flying, the two of them tussled on the hard ground while the third woman stood back and watched, sucking on the remnant of her cigarette.
I was about to intervene when Lucy jumped up, holding the cigarette package over her head in triumph. Within seconds she was taking off in the direction of the liquor store with her friends fast on her heels.
Deciding it was pointless to chase after them, I walked over to where I’d parked Teht’aa’s car. I would come back later. My phone rang as I was putting the gearshift into drive. When I realized it was Sergeant Ryan, I stopped the car on the odd chance she had X-ray eyes or ears.
Not bothering with opening niceties, she said, “We have finished processing your husband’s room at the Explorer Hotel. You can now remove his effects. The management would like you to do it today.”
I’d totally forgotten about his hotel room. “Okay, I’ll come now.”
“The manager will let you into the room. You’ll need to show him some ID to confirm your identity. You’ll also have to settle the bill.” I could hear a voice in the background. She covered the phone for a few seconds before returning. “I’m afraid I’ve got to go.”
“Wait, I’d like to ask you how the case is going?”
“Sorry, I can’t speak about it to you.”
“No, I’m asking about Teht’aa’s assault. Your call found me at the place where she was attacked.”
“That’s fine by us. We’ve finished processing the crime scene.”
“I was wondering if you had talked to the homeless women who hang out here. They might’ve seen something.”
“We interviewed three women.”
“Was one of them Lucy?”
“I don’t have my notes with me, but the name sounds about right. I’m afraid none of them are credible witnesses. They were drunk and pretty hazy on their activities that night. We’re not even certain if they were in the alley when the attack took place, though one of them thought she remembered seeing your stepdaughter. Unfortunately, she was mistaken about the clothing Teht’aa was wearing that night. If you don’t mind, I have to go.”
Though I’d never stayed in the hotel before, I felt as if I knew it. Invariably, while we were on the phone, Eric would make a comment about the spectacular view he had from his room. Sometimes it was the glow of the setting sun on the two small lakes across the street, or the air being so crystal-clear he could see across an arm of Great Slave Lake to the distant wooded shore. Finding it perched on a rocky knoll high above the main road, I could see why it had such views.
Though I was anxious to get his belongings, I made one quick stop before seeking out the manager. Eric had jokingly taken a selfie of himself in front of the giant polar bear who ruled the lobby, saying it was the closest he’d ever get to the North’s most dangerous predator. In the photo his head seemed to be on the verge of being devoured by this mammoth stuffed bear. And mammoth it was, towering a good six or more feet above me. Of course, I had to take a selfie of myself about to be consumed by this beast.
But the mirth stopped the second I crossed the threshold of Eric’s room. Though it was a typical, impersonal hotel room, it spoke of my husband’s presence. His belongings were scattered over the room, as if he’d left it only a few hours ago, instead of three days ago. Since it was messier than his normal tidy standards, I assumed the cops were the guilty party. Even the bed was unmade. The police had likely kept hotel cleaning staff away.
I lay down on the bed he’d slept in and buried my face in the pillow, hoping to breathe in his smell. But I smelled only stale air and a slightly chemical odour, doubtless from the products the cops used in their forensic analysis. I wrapped myself in the blanket and tried to imagine him lying beside me. But all I could picture was him trying to keep warm under a thin blanket on a cold, hard prison bunk.
I dropped his suitcase onto the bed and spread it open. I pulled his brown corduroy slacks out of the closet and was about to toss them into the suitcase when I realized he would be needing them. My poor husband had likely been wearing the same clothes since his arrest, unless they’d made him wear one of those orange prison uniforms you see on TV, a thought that had me cringing.
I folded the slacks up neatly, set them aside, and added a shirt still wrapped in the hotel laundry packaging. I placed a couple of pairs of unworn socks and underpants on top. I would give them to him tomorrow. The rest of his clothes, mostly dirty, I threw into the suitcase, intending to wash them at Teht’aa’s. He would need clean clothes when he was released.
As they had done with his clothes, the police had left his toiletries scattered over the bathroom counter, along with patches of a dark-grey fingerprint powder, which left me confused. Since Eric had every right to be in this room, I had no idea why they would be dusting for his fingerprints. A hunt for his toilette kit eventually found it buried under a pile of towels in the bathtub. I threw everything into it and headed back to the main room.
I collected the rest of his belongings — keys, some loose change, a collection of receipts, the book he was currently reading, Thomas King’s latest, several jam-packed file folders, and a number of loose documents — and crammed everything into his briefcase. Though his wallet was missing, along with his cellphone, I assumed they’d gone with him to Digadeh. I didn’t think the same assumption could be made of his computer, also missing. But I could see the police wanting to check its contents in search of more evidence.
The last item I almost missed. It was tucked away in the top drawer. When I spied the wedge of pale-gold hide peeking out from under the Gideon Bible, I wasn’t even certain it belonged to Eric until I pulled it free. It was a match to the fragment of caribou hide that Josh had passed on to me, purple tufted petals and all.
I extracted that one from my purse and laid the two of them side by side on the desk. They fit together perfectly. On Eric’s piece the four complete purple tufted petals, along with a single green leaf, matched the three purple petals and green leaf on Teht’aa’s piece to form a complete flower with a sparkling beaded centre. Eric’s slightly larger fragment had two fully intact purple flowers with a couple of green leaves and a stem that I thought might belong to another flower, which suggested there was at least one more missing piece of hide. The main distinguishing feature of each piece was the tiny bird embroidered on one corner. On Teht’aa’s piece it was yellow. On Eric’s it was red.
It appeared that the police hadn’t been as thorough as they should’ve been. I knew I should hand the two fragments over, but at this point I would have had too much explaining to do, something I didn’t want to get into until I knew more. I was hoping Teht’aa and Eric would tell me. Besides, I had no idea whether these purple flower fragments had any bearing on the case.
TWENTY-nine
Eric’s hotel bill was a hefty one. I didn’t mind paying for the days he used the room, but it rankled to have to pay for the three days it took the police to carry out their investigation. I was tempted to send them their portion of the bill.
With my stomach growling that it was past dinnertime, I decided to try the hotel’s restaurant. Eric had praised its variety of northern game dishes. But a perusal of the menu dissuaded me. Though the descriptions of the items had my mouth watering, they suggested that the dishes would be more substantial than I felt like eating now. I was also feeling poor after handing over a fair chunk of money to the hotel. Knowing that there would be an even heftier lawyers’ bill to come, I decided to return to Uncle Joe’s cheap noodle house.
As I was leaving, I almost collided with Hans, who was coming in to the hotel. Garbed in a camel-hair coat and grey flannels, he looked more like a prosperous businessman than a prospector.
“Meg, I have heard the good news about Teht’aa.” He beamed. “I am so happy. Do you think they will let me visit her?”
I backed
out of reach, worried his exuberance would include a hug. “Not as long as she’s in ICU, but the nurse said she will be moved to a regular hospital room. Since she’s still very weak, I could check to see if she will be allowed visitors.”
“Please do. She will be so happy to see me.”
Though I wanted to retort “not likely,” I bit my tongue.
“I am coming in for a drink at the Trapline. Please join me.”
“Is that the bar? I don’t drink, but if they serve food, I’ll have something to eat.” Though I wasn’t keen on the man, I couldn’t pass up this opportunity to learn more about him.
Rather than choosing one of the empty tables near the stone fireplace with its inviting fire, Hans steered me toward the bar tucked against the back wall. The way he greeted the buxom bartender and strode without hesitation toward the second bar stool from the end told me that he’d adopted this bar as his own. He pulled out the adjacent high-backed wooden chair for me.
I wasn’t a fan of bar stools. I usually struggled to climb onto them. I could never drag them close enough to the counter, so I ended up leaning over farther than my back liked. Invariably, my feet dangled as if they were a couple of lost puppies in search of a home.
But this time, with an extra lift and a forceful shove of the chair from Hans, I found myself comfortably seated within easy reach of the granite counter. I was tempted to order the poutine with cheese curds and minced bison smothered in gravy but could feel Eric’s disapproval from his jail cell, so I ordered the seafood chowder and a small Caesar salad.
Hans swirled the olive around in his glass and nodded in the direction of the bartender. “Jill makes the best martinis in the north. I miss them when I’m in the bush, so I make up for it when I’m back in Yellowknife. Are you certain you won’t have one?”
Purple Palette for Murder Page 14