Purple Palette for Murder

by R. J. Harlick

  “Looks like the perp used the handiest heavy object,” the sergeant said as she examined the dark-green stone sculpture. “I see several good fingerprints where the perp placed his hand to strike the victim. Let’s hope he’s in RAFIAS.” She dropped it into a large Ziploc bag.

  “How soon will you know?”

  “Likely in a few days, but forensics is a bit overwhelmed at the moment, so it could take longer.“ She passed the bag to another cop before continuing. “I would like you to go through the apartment and identify anything that is missing.”

  “I’ll see what I can do, but like I told you last time, I’m not familiar with Teht’aa’s things.”

  But it proved easy. Nothing had been disturbed in Teht’aa’s bedroom, and the kitchen was equally untouched. The living room looked exactly the way I’d left it before going on my walk, right down to the blanket bunched up on the sofa, Gloria’s pink, puffy jacket and matching pink scarf draped over the chair, and my empty mug on the coffee table — except, of course for the blank space where Teht’aa’s bear had once stood. I also realized there was another glaring emptiness.

  “It’s gone,” I said. “The embroidery is gone. He took it.”

  “I sense you know who,” the sergeant said.

  “Hans Walther.”

  I filled her in on as much as I was prepared to divulge about the two pieces of caribou hide with the embroid­ered purple flowers. I concentrated more on the theft of the first piece than their provenance. Reluctant to mention how’d they come into my possession until I learned more about them, I merely told her that they belonged to Teht’aa’s family. I didn’t hesitate, however, to tell her in great detail about Hans’s theft of the other piece.

  “So you see he has to be the person who took this one too.” I paused. “And tried to kill Gloria.”

  She nodded as she wrote furiously into her notebook. “We’ll bring him in for questioning. By the way, we’ve cleared him of your stepdaughter’s assault. He had an alibi.”

  “So he told me. But I understand Gloria’s sister, Lucy, was murdered last night. With the attack on Gloria this morning, don’t you think there is too much coincidence at play? You might want to look at him for the murder.”

  “It’s not my case, but I understand the evidence points to an altercation with one of her homeless buddies. It’s not the first time someone has been killed over a bottle of booze.” She resumed writing in her notebook.

  “Do you know if they found a piece of purple embroid­ery in her belongings?”

  “You mean like the two pieces you’re talking about?”

  “Yes. When I was in the alley yesterday, she talked about the purple flowers. And since she is a member of the same family, it’s possible she also has a piece. I believe there are at least three of them, and there could be more.”

  “I’ll mention it to my colleague handling the case, but it seems a pretty flimsy motive for murder.”

  “No flimsier than booze. Don’t forget Gloria was almost killed because of this embroidery.”

  “Yeah, I suppose.”

  She placed her pen into her shirt pocket and snapped her notebook shut. “If you can’t think of anything else, we’ll be on our way. I also recommend you change the locks. I don’t think you want any more unwanted visitors.”

  The door had barely closed on the RCMP when Uncle Joe pushed it open, panting. Without a word, he collapsed onto the sofa and stayed there while he struggled to regain his breath. His face was so scarlet that I feared he was about to have a heart attack. I brought the phone near in case I had to call for another ambulance.

  Finally, he gasped, “What going on? So many cops. You okay?”

  I told him about the intruder and Gloria’s attack.

  “You can’t stay here. Too dangerous. You stay with us.”

  The thought of being enveloped in the warmth of his family tempted me sorely and helped to allay the rising panic I’d been trying to ignore. Only now was it sinking in that if I had been sound asleep in Teht’aa’s bed, I could’ve ended up in the hospital with Gloria, or worse.

  No, I couldn’t stay here, alone. But I didn’t want to stay with Uncle Joe either. I liked my privacy. I didn’t do well staying with strangers.

  “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll go to a hotel.”

  “You need to change lock on the door.”

  “Yes, that’s what the cop said. Can you recommend anyone?”

  “Malcolm do it.”

  Before I could decline, he was calling his son, who said he would change it as soon as the hardware store opened.

  The old man’s breath was finally settling down to normal, but his face remained red.

  “Are you going to be okay, Uncle Joe?”

  He waved a dismissive hand. “Just an old man. Not used to so many stairs. But ticker good.” He slapped his chest. “Doctor say so. You got coffee? It do the trick.” He flashed a yellow-toothed grin.

  My coffee-making skills weren’t exactly stellar. In the early months of our relationship, Eric had patiently endured my hit-or-miss coffee, until finally he could abide it no longer and offered to take over the coffee-making duties. Over time I had learned a trick or two from watching him. I tried them now.

  While I waited for the coffee to finish, I made my breakfast: two pieces of toast with cream cheese lathered onto them and topped with a hefty dollop of strawberry jam. I offered the same to Uncle Joe, but he declined.

  I watched nervously as he grasped the full mug with two hands, both shaking. The hot coffee sloshed around the rim of the mug as he brought it to his lips. I was convinced more coffee would end up on him than in him.

  “Hot.” He blew on it before taking a sip. He smacked his lips. “Good.”

  Imagine that.

  He took another sip before placing the mug on the coffee table. “Do you think this man is same who hurt our poor Teht’aa?” He brushed away the drops splattered over the front of his jacket.

  “I do. Hans. But unfortunately he has an alibi for Teht’aa’s attack, which the police have already confirmed.”

  I munched on the toast. Not exactly healthy, but tasty and it would fill me up.

  “Maybe he do it. Maybe not. He like a bull moose. He make lots of noise and like to charge, but he no killer.”

  “But he could’ve killed Gloria with the carving.”

  “You tell the RCMP?”

  “I did.”

  “Good.” He brought the shaking mug back up to his lips, this time with less spillage.

  “Uncle Joe, three women from your sister’s family have been attacked within days of each other. Do you have any idea why?”

  “Nope.”

  “Could it have something to do with the purple embroidery?”

  He slurped his coffee before shaking his head. “Lots of old Dene handiwork. Some with red flowers, some with yellow ones and some with purple ones.” He let his nylon jacket fall open to reveal the front of a hide vest covered in red and yellow flowers. “My mother made this.”

  “This piece with the purple flowers seems to be specific to your family. Both Gloria and Lucy know about it. Gloria said it was made by their great-great-grandmother many years ago. A piece of it was found where Teht’aa was attacked.”

  “It women things. I know nothing about women things.”

  “Eric had another piece. I found it in his hotel room.”

  “Show it to me.”

  “I told you, Hans stole it from me yesterday. He took the other one this morning. Do you know why he wants them?”

  He continued slurping his coffee. “Is good, but maybe next time you add more coffee.”

  So much for improving my prowess in coffee-making. “Gloria says your sister Florence knows about it.”

  “Maybe.”

  “If she has other pieces, she could be
in danger too.”

  He put his mug down. “Hans gonna hurt my sister?” At last I had his full attention.

  “Possibly. You need to warn her. Does she live in Digadeh?”

  “She stay at the family camp.”

  “Is that near Digadeh?”

  “A day and a half by boat.”

  “You should call the RCMP in Digadeh and alert them.”

  “Hans don’t know where camp is.”

  “What if he finds out?”

  “My grandson protect her. He good hunter.” He placed his empty mug back on the coffee table. “Now we go. Gloria need us.”

  Thirty-four

  We drove to the hospital in separate vehicles so I could drive straight to the Correction Centre afterward. But if his wistful glance at me stepping into the BMW were anything to go by, Uncle Joe would’ve much preferred leaving his daughter-in-law’s Ford Focus behind and coming with me. As it was, he set out to prove her car was equally speedy by squealing away from me at the outset. Though I didn’t rise to the challenge, I maintained a steady pace behind him with only a slight increase of pressure on the gas pedal. I managed to beat him to a parking spot only because he turned into a row that was completely full.

  While the old man shuffled down the hall to emergency, where Gloria had been taken by the paramedics, I grabbed the elevator to ICU and was stopped short by an empty bed. For a heart-stopping moment I thought the worst until the nurse informed me that Teht’aa had improved enough to be transferred to a regular bed.

  I found her in a crowded ward, sandwiched between two beds, one empty, the other occupied by a plump middle-aged woman who turned out to be a big fan. Teht’aa was awkwardly autographing the woman’s breakfast menu when I entered the room. I say awkwardly, for with her broken right arm she was forced to use her left hand, which could only manage a jagged sprawl of a signature.

  “I guess I’m going to have to practise writing with this hand. The doctor says it’ll be six weeks before the cast can be removed. Thank God for computers, eh? Speaking of which, have you found it yet?”

  “And a good morning to you too. You look wonderful.”

  She did, despite her face and head still being swathed in bandages, though the one on her face had decreased in size, allowing her smile to blossom. She no longer moved with the lassitude of near death but had the life and energy of renewed health. I leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.

  “Not yet,” I admitted somewhat sheepishly. But I didn’t admit that I’d been too focused on her and her father to put any effort into the search. “Speaking of break-ins, your apartment was broken into again this morning.”

  I pulled the hard-back chair closer to the bed and brought her up to date. Though she was upset by the attack on Gloria, she was more sanguine about it than I was.

  “It’s her lifestyle,” she said. “I keep trying to convince her to leave it. I found her a part-time job in the video library at the APTN station, but she didn’t last more than a couple of months. Too boring, she said.”

  She pressed her fingers gingerly over the bandage covering her cheek. “God, I feel like a wreck. How bad does it look? No, don’t tell me. So far I’ve managed to avoid the mirror when I’ve gone to the can.”

  “The key thing is you are alive and acting like the Teht’aa we love. And apart from memory loss, you seem to have your brain intact.”

  “If I have to do one more stupid cognitive test, I’ll scream.”

  I squeezed her hand and was surprised by the strength of her answering squeeze.

  “You think the break-ins were directed against Gloria and not you?”

  “Why me? I wasn’t there, and I’ve got nothing that anyone would want to steal. No, it has to be one of the many johns in Gloria’s life.”

  “Don’t forget it was your computer that was taken and nothing of hers.”

  “Probably a cheap bastard. Didn’t want to buy one.”

  “And your great-grandmother’s deerskin dress.”

  “Oh no. That’s missing too? Dad’s going to be upset. But who would want it, other than a museum? The museum in Ottawa once offered me five hundred bucks for it, nothing more. Hardly worth the effort to steal it.”

  “The same could apply to another item that was stolen this morning. A ripped piece of caribou hide with tufts of purple-dyed caribou hair made into flowers.”

  “What was it doing at my place?”

  “Your colleague, Josh, gave it to me. He found it behind the Gold Range Motel where you were attacked. He thought it belonged to you. Does it?”

  “What colour was the bird?”

  “Yellow.”

  “Why did he think it was mine?”

  “He said he saw it in your purse last time you had a drink together.”

  Instead of acknowledging that, she turned her focus to the glass of water on her side table. She brought it to her lips and sipped slowly from the straw.

  “I found a similar piece in your father’s hotel room. It had a red bird. What do you know about it?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I don’t believe you. You know about the birds.”

  She glanced over at her roommate, who dropped her eyes guiltily to the magazine she had been reading. “Can’t tell you.”

  “So maybe you can tell me why your friend Hans is so interested in them. He stole the red bird piece from me last night and the other one this morning.”

  “How’s Dad doing?”

  “No, you’re not going to change the subject.” I was starting to lose my patience. “Tell me what’s so damn important about these embroideries.”

  “Meg, please, just let it be. It’s nothing to do with you.”

  “But it is. I think these embroideries are behind your assault, and that concerns me.”

  She laughed. “Ridiculous. A sex pervert raped me …”

  There was that word. She said it so easily. I could barely think it, let alone say it.

  “And tried to smash my head in so I couldn’t identify him. It had nothing to do with a piece of embroidery.”

  “Good. You remember the attack.”

  “Not exactly. It’s still a big black hole. But that’s the only thing that makes sense to me.”

  “I don’t suppose anyone’s told you about your cousin Lucy.”

  “Lucy? What about her? Has she been tossed into jail again?”

  “No. Sadly, she’s dead. Murdered.”

  She sighed. “I can’t say that I’m surprised. I’ve been expecting it. She led such a miserable life. I tried helping her, but apart from a few bucks for booze and cigarettes, she wouldn’t take anything else from me. When I first came to Yellowknife, I made the mistake of enrolling her in an addiction program, but she never showed. I tried it a couple more times and then gave up. Do the cops know who did it?”

  “Not that I know of, but the interesting part is she was killed where you were attacked, behind the Gold Range Motel. Maybe it’s the same guy.”

  “It’s possible, but like I told you, I have no idea who the bastard was. And if he raped Lucy, he is one sick bastard. She wasn’t exactly pin-up girl of the month. Whoops, sorry, shouldn’t have said that.”

  There. She’d said that word again. “Maybe sex wasn’t the motive. She knew about these purple flowers too. Might have even had her own piece. So maybe the embroidery got her killed.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Gloria said your great-great-grandmother made it.”

  “How does she know?”

  “She also said that Frank had a piece that he found in his mother’s house.”

  “Look, I’m not feeling so hot. Do you mind going?”

  From the way she refused to look me in the eye, I sensed ill health was the least of her concerns. “Do you want me to call the nurse?”

  “No, I’ll b
e okay.”

  “Will you let me stay if I promise not to talk about the embroidery?” I’d leave it for the moment. I was hoping her father would know enough to fill me in.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “I appreciate your understanding. It just is … I promised Mamàcho that I would never talk about it.”

  “So it’s a family secret?” Perhaps it was, but I felt more was at play, like fear.

  “Yes. So please can we talk about something else?”

  I patted her hand. “It’s all right. I won’t—”

  I was interrupted by the sound of footsteps stopping at the door. The rumpled figure of Father Harris stood leaning partway into the room.

  “Sorry to bother you, Teht’aa, but I see you have a visitor. I’ll come back later.”

  Before she could reply, he backed out and was gone.

  “Should I call him back?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “A sad old man. I met him behind the motel last night. He was checking on his lost souls.”

  “Yeah, his rounds. I call it his guilt trip. I figure he’s trying to make up for all the abuse that happened at Saint Anne’s.”

  “Are you saying he was involved?”

  “I have no idea. No one ever talks about it. But just teaching at the school and doing nothing about the shit makes him guilty in my books. I can’t for the life of me understand why he doesn’t go back to England or wherever he’s from. No one wants him here.”

  “He left so many years ago, he probably thinks of Yellowknife as his home.”

  “Yeah, but I heard he went to a parish in Edmonton after the school closed. So why come back north? But, hey, who gives a shit? I don’t. Have you seen Dad yet?”

  “I’m seeing him this afternoon. Why don’t I take a photo of you so he can see how well you are doing,” I said, remembering the phone in my pocket.