Purple Palette for Murder

by R. J. Harlick

  He pressed his foot down on the gas pedal, thundered over the bridge, and onto Teht’aa’s road. We whisked past the apartment so quickly, I barely had time to confirm that there was no black truck parked out front. Then it hit me. The colour of the truck I’d seen Hans fleeing in wasn’t black. It was a shiny metallic blue. Had I made a mistake? But maybe he owned two trucks.

  At one in the morning, the main road was free of traffic until we met up with an ambulance blocking the road by the post office. With legs twitching, fingers drumming, we waited for the paramedics to load the patient and take off with lights flashing. Malcolm stayed close behind until we reached a stop light. It was turning red. This time Malcolm didn’t hesitate. He followed the ambulance through the light.

  The ambulance veered to the right onto the familiar hospital turnoff. We whizzed past. A couple of streets later, Malcolm swerved onto a street lined with houses of varying shapes and sizes. He stopped in front of a nondescript bungalow, its windows dark. A barking husky strained on a chain at the house next door. The driveway was empty.

  Malcolm and I jumped out, rang the doorbell, and checked the windows to see if anyone was inside. The neighbour, alerted by her dog, told us she’d seen his black truck leave several hours ago. It had headed off in the direction Hans took to go to his office at the airport.

  Off we flew, narrowly missing a car backing onto the road. Malcolm’s expertise at the wheel and heavy foot on the pedal made me wonder if he had learned from his father. But maybe it was the other way around, since cars likely weren’t a part of Uncle Joe’s life until he was well into adulthood.

  For the first time, I noticed a full moon was lighting up the land with its silvery shimmer. It glinted off a lake bordering the highway. Another few minutes and the lights of the airport added to the brightness. We swerved onto the airport road and sped past the terminal along the road Uncle Joe and I had driven on our failed quest to see Eric.

  A few buildings beyond the RCMP hangar, Malcolm braked to a halt beside the black truck with a silver logo of a ram’s head on the tailgate. It was parked in front of a plain, flat-roofed building. The red lettering on the side panel spelled out “Walther Aerial Exploration International,” the name on Hans’s business card and the name on the sign beside the building’s single door.

  Malcolm banged on the door and tried to jiggle it open. With no windows facing us, it was difficult to know if anyone was inside. A chain-link fence prevented us from inspecting the sides and rear of the building.

  I tried the doors and peered through the windows of the truck. It was locked and empty except for a pink scarf lying on the front seat.

  “Gloria was in the truck,” I yelled. “Where do you think they’ve gone?”

  “They fly away.” Uncle Joe peered through the fence at the empty asphalt behind the building. “See, no plane.“

  In the distance, a passenger jet’s lights lit up the runway as the wheels touched down. It skidded along the tarmac and disappeared behind a building.

  “Can we find out where they’ve gone?” I asked.

  “Air traffic control will know,” Malcolm said, walking back to his truck. “Hopefully he filed a flight plan.”

  “They go to Digadeh,” Uncle Joe said, coming up behind us.

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  He pointed to a pickup truck parked on the other side of the black truck. When I initially noticed it, I gave it little thought. Now I realized its colour was the familiar metallic blue. “Who does it belong to?”

  “Reggie Mantla,” both men answered.

  “But it can’t be the same truck,” I shot back in disbelief. “Reggie wouldn’t risk his position as Tlicho Grand Chief or his position within the GCFN for the sake of a piece of embroidery.”

  “The man’s done stupider things,” Uncle Joe replied. “He don’t always stick to rules.”

  “But you guys elected him, so he must be trustworthy.”

  “It isn’t always about honesty,” Malcolm answered. “It’s about getting the job done. Reggie’s very good at that. He’s done more for our people since his election than any other chief, apart from the early ones.”

  “But if he was the man who broke into Teht’aa’s apartment, he’s the man who hit Gloria. And now they’re on the same plane.” I was still trying to get my head around the idea that it wasn’t Hans. “We need to alert the RCMP in Digadeh.”

  Malcolm raised his eyebrows at his father, who shook his head in answer.

  “We’d rather not,” Malcolm replied. “This is better settled amongst ourselves. I’ll have Jimmy, our chief, look out for Gloria when the plane lands.”

  “How long is the flight?”

  “About an hour and a half.”

  “The plane will have already landed. She left the hospital more than seven hours ago.”

  “It’s a small community of less than three hundred people. There are only so many places she can go. Jimmy will find her,” Malcolm said.

  “Say they didn’t go to Digadeh? Where else would they go?”

  “South to Hay River or Fort Smith, but not likely. I suppose one of the other fly-in communities. But Reggie and Gloria’s ties are to Digadeh. Plus, Hans has interests there too.”

  “Oh? What’s his connection?”

  “His company is doing some mining exploration for my company, Nord Diamond, and is running it out of Digadeh. He also has a daughter living there.”

  “A daughter? I didn’t know he was married.”

  “He’s not. His daughter’s about six. He visits her whenever he’s in Digadeh, isn’t that right, Dad?”

  Uncle Joe grunted in agreement but chose to add nothing more.

  Since Malcolm wasn’t making any effort to use his phone, I pulled out mine. “What’s Jimmy’s number?”

  “I’ll call.” He unclipped his from his belt, pressed a speed dial number, and immediately started talking. “Jimmy, give me a call. It’s about Gloria. I need you to find her.”

  Putting his phone aside, he said, “Since it went straight to voicemail, I suspect the system is down. The service at Digadeh isn’t the most reliable. I’ll call someone else in case it’s a problem with Jimmy’s phone.”

  He hit another speed dial number, then shook his head.

  “We’d better try the cops,” I said, beginning to lose patience.

  He glanced at his father again. “We really don’t need to bring them in.”

  “I don’t understand you guys. An hour ago you were certain Gloria was in danger. Now you aren’t.”

  Uncle Joe gazed at the empty asphalt where Hans’s plane should be parked before saying, “You right. We do it.”

  Malcolm pressed another speed dial number, but again without connection.

  I didn’t know if Gloria was truly in danger. But I didn’t want to chance it. Nor did I care if I upset Malcolm or his father. I dialled the number Sergeant Ryan had given me and connected with her on the first ring, albeit somewhat sleepily. After explaining the situation, she agreed to contact the Digadeh detachment through their own satellite connection and alert them about Gloria.

  After disconnecting, I said, “Sergeant Ryan will give us an update. She’s also going to follow up on Hans’s flight plan to ensure that Digadeh was the destination.”

  Though few words were spoken on the drive back to the house, I sensed their anger, particularly from the back seat where Uncle Joe slumped. But I didn’t care. Gloria’s life was more important than their distrust of the police.

  Malcolm was parking the truck beside his wife’s Focus when my phone rang.

  “The Walther Exploration plane is at Digadeh,” Sergeant Ryan reported. “It landed four and a half hours ago and four people disembarked, three men and one woman who was identified as Gloria Bluegoose. So far we haven’t been able to locate Gloria or the men. My colleagues have d
one an initial check of Reggie’s house, Gloria’s friends, and the house where the child lives. But no one has seen her or the men.”

  “They can’t vanish into thin air. They have to be there somewhere. The officers need to check every single house and building.”

  “They are doing so as we speak. I’ll get back to you when I know more. By the way …”

  After she’d finished, I hung up feeling confused.

  forty-three

  I tramped up the stairs to the deck where the two men waited. Uncle Joe was resting in a Muskoka chair, his eyes closed. In the moonlight, his face appeared drawn and tired, mirroring my own exhaustion.

  Leaning against the railing, his son gazed out at the lights of Yellowknife flickering on the shifting waters of the bay. On the opposite shore, the moon cast a silvery sheen on the buildings peeking out of the forest darkness.

  “Gorgeous, eh?” Malcolm said as I drew up beside him. “I could’ve picked a site around the corner with flatter ground, but Shelagh and I decided it was all about the view. So tell us, what did the fair sergeant have to say?”

  I conveyed all I had learned and ended with the sergeant’s last bit of news. “Ryan doesn’t think Gloria is in any danger. Apparently she was seen laughing with the men as they walked away from the plane. So did we get it wrong?”

  “Dad, what do you think? You were the one who said she was in trouble.”

  The old man continued to breathe heavily while he summoned up the energy to answer. “The priest. I no trust him. Hans, I don’t know. Reggie okay.”

  “I don’t know what to think,” I said. “Maybe she was in trouble, but it looks like not anymore. But why did she go off with them? Either of you hazard a guess?”

  “Let’s talk in the morning.” Malcolm pushed himself away from the view. “There’s nothing more we can do tonight, and it looks like the police have everything in hand, thanks to Meg.” The icy tone of his voice expressed the full extent of his disapproval.

  “What do you have against the cops? When you couldn’t reach anyone at Digadeh, it was the only thing to do.”

  Uncle Joe sighed. “Gloria is problem. She no go to court when supposed to. RCMP catch her, throw her in jail. She cost me thousand bucks.”

  “Dad, you didn’t. Not again. You don’t have that kind of money to throw around.”

  “Family comes first.” Uncle Joe clamped his lips shut and crossed his arms to stop further rebuke.

  “They removed the guard at the hospital, so they can’t think it all that important,” I countered, trying to suppress a yawn. “I’m dead tired. Time for bed. Where would you like me to sleep?”

  Malcolm showed me to a narrow room tucked under a gable on the second floor with a single bed covered by a thick, fluffy duvet. I was so exhausted, I barely spared the view of the moonlit bay more than a second before sinking into the soft mattress.

  I slept the sleep of the exhausted. Nothing woke me up, not even the daylight seeping into the room, until the drumming cacophony of Eric’s phone shattered my sleep.

  It took me several seconds of bleary-eyed scrambling to locate and answer the phone.

  I managed a garbled, “Hello.”

  “Sorry, I thought you’d be awake. Sergeant Ryan here.”

  I was amazed to discover that it was after ten. “Has Gloria been located?”

  “No, nor any of the other passengers. But we believe we know where they went. The detachment learned this morning that she and the men were seen getting into Reggie’s boat shortly after their arrival.”

  “But it was nighttime. Surely people don’t take off on a boat trip when it’s dark, especially in the wilderness.”

  “At the hour they purportedly left, there would’ve been sufficient daylight. Remember, you’re in the north. At this time of year, it never gets pitch black. Besides, Reggie would be navigating. I imagine he could navigate those waters blindfolded.”

  “There can’t be any nearby communities, so where would they be going?”

  “Apparently the boat set out in the direction of one of the ancestors’ trails, where the Mantla family has a camp. We assume that was the destination.”

  “Has anyone followed up to ensure Gloria is safe?”

  “I’m afraid it’s not possible. With only two officers at the detachment, we can’t leave the community undermanned for a non-emergency situation.”

  “But this is an emergency.”

  “The officers don’t believe so. Nothing points to Gloria being taken against her will.”

  “But they have an arrest warrant out for her.”

  “True, but she can only leave the area by plane from Digadeh. They’ll take her into custody then. I’ve got to go. My apologies for waking you up.”

  I nestled back under the duvet, reluctant to leave its warmth. I had to assume that we’d read more into the situation than was warranted. Gloria was no longer in danger from any of these men. But did I really believe this? My gut told me no. Something fishy was going on, but what, I had no idea.

  Despite a good eight hours’ sleep, I was still tired and would’ve loved to linger longer, but knew Uncle Joe and Malcolm needed to be updated.

  “You late, missy,” were the words that greeted me when I entered the kitchen. “Malcolm no wait. He go.”

  Uncle Joe sat hunched at the kitchen table sipping his coffee. A trail of crumbs led from an empty plate beside a jar of jam to where he sat.

  “You could’ve woken me up.” I pulled a mug out of the cupboard, this one wrapped in a stylized Haida red-and-black eagle, and poured myself what was left of the coffee, barely enough to cover the bottom of the mug.

  “Where do you keep the coffee?”

  “Sit down.” Uncle Joe ordered as he pushed himself out of the chair. “Your coffee okay, but I make better.”

  While the old man made the coffee, I told him about Sergeant Ryan’s call. I finished by asking, “Do you know why Gloria would be going with these three men to Reggie’s camp?”

  “They don’t go to his camp. They go to our family camp.”

  “Why?”

  “Too early. Mantla camp not set up. Reggie don’t harvest much anymore. Use it like summer cottage. But Florence and Angus already move to Bluegoose camp. Good fishing. Anita with them too.”

  “I believe Angus is your grandson, but who’s Anita?”

  “Gloria’s daughter. She live with Florence.”

  “Do you think Gloria went with these men because she wants to see her daughter?”

  “Yup. You hungry? I make bannock.”

  He poured batter from a bowl into a sizzling hot frying pan. Within minutes I was spreading strawberry jam over a piece of fluffy white perfection, which, I hated to say, was the best bannock I’d ever eaten. Sorry, Eric.

  “You seem pretty calm about this now.” I savoured another bite. “Why don’t you think Gloria’s in danger from the priest anymore?”

  “She with the other two. They make sure he do nothing. Beside, he old man. Not easy to get it up.” He chuckled to himself and tore off a chunk from my piece of bannock and smothered it with jam.

  “So what do we do now? Nothing?”

  “Go see Teht’aa. Tell her Gloria okay. She go see her daughter.”

  “You believe the police. You really don’t think Gloria is in trouble anymore.” Given his distrust of them, I was finding it difficult to accept.

  He grunted a yes.

  “Fine. But can you tell me what reason these three men have for travelling all that distance to your family camp? Or why they are even together, since they don’t seem to have much in common, particularly Father Harris?”

  He shooed me away with his hands. “Go.”

  I knew he wanted to get rid of me. But since I couldn’t come up with a plausible reason for his sudden about-face, I left.

 
Two hours later, I returned.

  forty-four

  I frantically rang the doorbell and hammered on the door, but it remained firmly shut. I walked along the deck to the kitchen windows and found it as dark and empty as the rest of Malcolm’s house.

  I wasn’t surprised.

  After Teht’aa had finally divulged the full story, I knew Uncle Joe would be on his way to Digadeh. I’d raced back to Malcolm’s hoping he had more sense than to make this desperate trip. At least he wasn’t alone. With the truck gone from the driveway, I knew he was with his son.

  The second I told Teht’aa about Gloria, I saw from the fear in her eyes that she didn’t believe her cousin was safe. It took her another hour to reveal the reason.

  Before the attack, she’d been working on a story about the relationship between mining companies and First Nations communities. She wanted to highlight the challenge small communities like Digadeh faced in balancing the interests of older members who wanted to preserve traditional lands and the old ways with those of younger members who wanted to make the community more economically viable.

  “What I found was far more troubling,” she said, eyeing the two women in the beds across from her. One was sleeping, the other watching TV. Neither seemed interested in our conversation. Fortunately, the bed beside her, the one with her nosy fan, was empty.

  “I stumbled across emails between two mining officials suggesting that a senior member of the Digadeh community would help pave the way for community approval if appropriately rewarded. He wasn’t named, but I have my suspicions.”

  “His initials don’t happen to be R.M.?”

  She laughed. “Let’s just say there’s a fancy new house in one of the most expensive neighbourhoods in Yellowknife. With all my documentation gone, I can’t go any further with this. But it’s not only the story I’m worried about. If I tried to take it to the Digadeh council without concrete proof, no one would believe me.”

  “I take it this was on your computer.”

  “That and other material just as damning. Hans is also involved. I found two of the emails on his computer. They were forwarded to him by someone with the email address purpledream@gmail.com.”