“Why would he?”
“Because Henrik was sleeping with Antje.”
“The dead woman.”
“Yes.”
“Because…” Nele bit her thumbnail. A thin line of blood flooded beneath the nail, swelling onto the skin beneath. “Because Dieter was jealous.”
Simonsen glanced at Danielsen. He looked at Nele, checked his notes, and then said, “I thought you were having an affair with Dieter?”
“I was.”
“And did you know about Dieter and Antje?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“But you didn’t kill them?”
“No,” she said, and lifted her chin.
Simonsen frowned and made a note. A rumble of bubbles from the air unit in the fish tank drifted into the office, and Nele flicked her head towards the door.
“It’s just the fish,” Danielsen said. “It always does that.”
Simonsen’s chair creaked as he leaned back and studied the woman sitting on the opposite side of the desk. She started to bite her nail again, and, together with the fidgeting, she fitted the textbook description of nervous, traumatised, victim. Except for her eyes. Simonsen scribbled a word in his notebook: predatory. Nele Schneider had the look of a predator.
“You were unconscious when David Maratse found you.”
“We were drugged.”
“How?”
Nele shrugged, and said, “The water? He must have spiked the drinks before we left the yacht.”
“Who?”
“Dieter.”
“But you said the captain was alone on the yacht.”
“Yes.” Nele lowered her hand to her lap, her shoulders sagged, and she twisted to look over her shoulder at Danielsen. Her mouth opened, and, Simonsen noted, her eyes softened. “It was the captain,” she said, “she drugged us.”
Simonsen said nothing. He put his pen on the desk beside his notebook, and folded his arms.
“You don’t think so?” Nele said. “I wouldn’t have thought it, if you hadn’t suggested it.”
“I didn’t suggest anything,” Simonsen said.
“But it makes sense, doesn’t it?” Nele reached forwards and placed her hand on the edge of her desk, steadying herself, as her soft eyes lost their predatory sheen, and she tumbled onto the floor. Danielsen ran across the room to help her as Simonsen stood up.
“Back to her room, Chief?” he said, in Danish.
“Yes.”
Simonsen watched as Danielsen helped the young German woman out of the office. He picked up his notebook and pen and followed them to the lift. Danielsen helped Nele with an arm around her slim waist. He nodded at Simonsen through the glass doors of the elevator, and sank from Simonsen’s view.
Something about those eyes teased at Simonsen’s mind as he processed the evidence, considered the angles, and wondered just how plausible it was that four of a six person crew were sexually involved, with more than one partner. Of course, they didn’t need to have sex to become jealous, and jealousy – a Greenlandic trait – thrived in isolated communities, and what could be more isolated than the cramped confines of an expedition yacht?
Simonsen walked back to the waiting lounge. He sat down on the red-cushioned sofa. Designed to appeal to kids, he dwarfed it, with his knees on the same level as his chin. It was quiet. The bubbling rumble of the air filter, a soothing antidote to the jumbled thoughts he tried to corral. He tapped the corner of his notebook against his knee, and studied the fish. They wouldn’t last very long in Arctic waters, and neither had Ophelia’s crew. There was more to this. Perhaps the mystery residue on Elena’s swab would provide more answers, that and an interview with the captain of the yacht. He wiped his hand across the stubble on his chin, thought about retirement, and thought once more of Maratse, pitching his tent somewhere on the ice. Perhaps it was time to discard what he didn’t know, and accept the idea of having a retired police constable in the area.
He allowed himself a few seconds of contemplation as he chewed on the idea that Maratse was somehow involved with the murders, and then tossed it out, recognising it for what it was – just another malicious thought. There was currently enough malice in Uummannaq without Simonsen contributing to it.
The arms of the children’s sofa crumpled beneath his weight as Simonsen pushed himself onto his feet. He took a last glance at the fish tank, and walked out of the waiting room.
Chapter 6
The sun does not rise in December, but, for the hunters of Uummannaq, every day with good ice was a gift not to be wasted. Maratse sat on the deck of his house and watched three large teams sledge past the settlement of Inussuk, as he smoked and drank his first coffee of the morning. The full moon lit the ice, the three teams, and the sledge carrying a fishing boat to the edge of the ice. It wouldn’t be the last team to pass Inussuk, narwhal had been spotted south of Upernavik in the north, heading south. Small narwhal tusks could be sold for at least one thousand Danish kroner, but it was the meat the Greenlanders valued above all else, that and the mattak – the skin. Maratse swallowed at the thought of a spicy curry with soft squares of narwhal mattak, or a rich stew with large chunks of dark narwhal meat; the preferred meat dish for Christmas together with tiny Greenland potatoes from the south. Maratse pictured Buuti badgering Karl to sledge to the open sea in anticipation of the arrival of the whales. Of course, Berndt’s yacht was going to provide a delicious topic of conversation for the hunters camped at the edge of the ice, while they searched for thin spumes of mist from the pods of narwhal. Simonsen was going to have his hands full protecting the crime scene.
Karl staggered down the steps from his house with an armful of gear clutched to his chest and a thermos flask tucked under his chin. He grinned at Maratse as he crunched through the snow to his sledge. Maratse waved and watched as Edvard helped Karl with his gear and dogs. After half an hour, and a second cup of coffee, Karl climbed the steps and joined Maratse on his deck.
“You could come with us,” he said, and lit a cigarette.
“I might come later.”
“Have you decided what to do about the yacht?”
“Not yet.” Maratse flicked the dregs of his coffee onto the snow. “I thought I would go to Uummannaq, talk to Simonsen, and see if he needs me to write a statement.”
Karl nodded. “You can take my snowmobile. Buuti has the keys.”
“Thanks, but I think I’ll take the team.”
“Sure.” Karl finished his cigarette and shook hands with Maratse. “See you in a few days.”
“Good hunting.” Maratse waited until Karl and Edvard hooked the teams to their sledges and watched as the dogs pulled them up and over the ice foot. It really was a good year for ice, despite global warming. Everybody was happy, the settlements were connected, and the wind was light, the temperature a steady minus twenty degrees. The conditions were perfect.
Maratse kicked the snow from his boots and went inside his house. He left his boots at the door and dug deep in the pocket of his overalls to find his mobile. He wrinkled his nose at the battery icon flashing at the top of the screen, searched for Petra’s number, and called her on the landline.
“Hello, Piitalaat,” he said, as she answered.
“David.”
Maratse pictured her smile, and waited as she berated him for not calling for over a week. “I’ve been busy,” he said, “training the dogs.”
“Have you caught any fish?”
“Eeqqi.”
“Have you even put out a long line?”
“Eeqqi.”
“I thought that was the plan. To fish and hunt.”
“I have been training the dogs.”
“So you say, to fish and hunt.” Petra laughed. “You’re still struggling to adjust.”
“You laughed.”
“I’m sorry. I know it’s hard.”
“Iiji.” Maratse paused for a moment, and then said, “You heard about the yacht?”
“The double murder? Yes. They
are sending two police officers from Ilulissat, and a detective from Nuuk.”
“I called it in.”
“You were the one who found it? The report said it was a hunter from Uummannaq area.”
“Simonsen must have left my name out.”
“He really doesn’t like you, does he?”
“I suppose not.”
Maratse fiddled with the lead connecting the handset to the receiver. Petra waited, and then said, “David, why did you call?”
“To talk to you.”
“That’s nice, I’m glad, but that’s not all, is it?”
“The owner of the yacht called from Germany. He wants me to help speed up the investigation.”
“That sounds familiar.”
“It was different with Nivi, she was the First Minister.”
“She still is.”
“I know.”
“But you don’t want to get involved?”
“I’m trying not to.”
Maratse waited as Petra thought for a moment. He listened as she breathed and pictured her biting her bottom lip, or curling a loose strand of hair around her ear. When she spoke again, he could hear the change of tone in her voice, she had made a decision.
“Hunting isn’t working out for you,” she said. “You miss police work too much. It’s not your fault you were given early retirement, David, but you can’t change that. I think this is what you have to do, I mean, if people are going to pay you to help solve crimes, to assist the police, then I think you should do it.”
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“Hm.” Maratse said, “I’ll think about it. Thank you, Piitalaat.”
“Promise me one thing.”
“Iiji?”
“If you have to go to Germany, take me with you.”
“I don’t speak German.”
“Exactly, but I do. You’ll need a translator.” Petra giggled and ended the call.
Maratse boiled the kettle and filled a thermos with fresh coffee. He changed clothes, tugged on his overalls, and pulled on his boots. He could feel the stiffness in his legs as he carried the thermos to his sledge. Sisse waved to him from the deck of her house.
“Are you going to the join the hunt?”
Maratse shook his head, and said, “I’m going to Uummannaq.” He nodded at his sledge. “Do you want to come?”
“Really?”
“Iiji.”
“I’ll check if Klara will look after Nanna.
“She can come too.”
“Oh, she’ll love that, thank you.” Sisse opened the door, then paused to knock the snow from her boots. “We’ll be five minutes,” she said, and disappeared inside the house. Maratse walked on, pulled the sledge down off the wooden box, and pushed it a short distance away from his dogs.
Nanna was the first to come out of the house. She bounded down the steps with her toy whip in one hand and a tiny backpack in the other. She raced across the snow to where Maratse sat on his sledge. She jerked the whip back and forth in front of her, giggling as the knot at the end of the string slapped against Maratse’s boots.
“Like this,” he said, and took the whip from Nanna’s hand. He showed her how to swish with her wrists, rather than snap with her arms. The string whip arced in front of him. “Now you.” Maratse crouched behind Nanna and guided her hand. She giggled, swishing the whip in small arcs as her mother arrived and helped her put her arms through the backpack.
“We must do what David says, Nanna. All right?”
Nanna nodded and coiled the whip, as Maratse pushed the sledge towards his dogs.
“You remember what I said, Nanna?”
“Yes.”
“Stay away from the dogs unless I’m with you.”
“Even Tinka?”
“Iiji,” he said, “even Tinka.”
Sisse wrapped her arms around Nanna, pulled her hat up for a second and kissed the top of her head. They watched as Maratse harnessed seven males and Tinka, and attached them to the sledge. He nodded for Sisse and Nanna to sit at the back, where they could lean against the sledge bag. Maratse held the uprights, growling as the dogs fidgeted at the end of the traces.
“This is Tinka’s first test as a lead dog,” he said, with a glance at Nanna.
“Okay,” she said, as Sisse clamped her arms around her daughter.
“Ready?”
“Yes.”
Maratse gave the command to go and leaped onto the front of the sledge, he tugged the whip out from under the cords stretched tight across the reindeer skin, and guided the team with commands and snaps of the whip to the left and right. Tinka hesitated at the ice foot, the tide was in, and Maratse leaped off the sledge to help push them up and over the ridge of ice and onto the frozen surface of the sea. As soon as they were clear of the ice foot, Tinka settled into her position at the head of the team. Maratse had given her the longest of the ganglines, and she raced across the ice, a dog’s length ahead of the males. Maratse grinned at Sisse and Nanna, tucked the handle of the whip under his thigh, and rested his palms in his lap. The moon was a creamy yellow in a deep polar blue sky, and the only sound beyond the shush and grate of the runners, was the soft panting of the dogs and the creak of the sledge as it flexed within its bindings.
“What do you think, Nanna?” Sisse said, as she teased the hair from Nanna’s brow and smoothed it under the lip of her hat.
“I like it.”
Three sledges with large dog teams of more than fifteen dogs each raced past, heading towards the mouth of the fjord, and the open sea. Nanna waved at all of them as Maratse snapped the whip on the ice to help Tinka focus and to avoid a collision.
“Do sledges ever crash?” Sisse asked, as the last team raced past them and they sledged across the fjord to the icy coastline of the island of Uummannaq.
“Iiji,” Maratse said. “I know of a qallunaaq, an Englishman, who crashed when a larger team enveloped his.” Maratse slapped his palms together like crocodile jaws. “The hunter had to cut the lines to free the sledges. Just out there,” he said, and pointed into the distance as he guided Tinka into the frozen harbour of Uummannaq, with a snap of the whip on the ice to her right. They sledged between the fishing trawlers and boats locked in the ice until Maratse slowed the team with soft commands and they approached a ramp of ice leading up to the road. A taxi waited for them to pass before driving down onto the ice.
“It’s so busy,” Sisse said, as Maratse secured his team to a metal loop sticking out of a rock between the fishing crates, pallets, and wooden boxes marking the winter storage areas for the hunters and fishermen. The dogs tethered here were in the older and younger brackets of the teams. More dogs were tethered to the ice, but the fastest dogs were racing for the sea, and Uummannaq bustled with the purchase of last-minute supplies. The majority of men and women that Maratse saw held a mobile to their ear, and the radios in the private cars and taxis were tuned to the local channel.
Nanna took a step closer to Tinka, only to be stopped by Maratse as he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“What did we say, Nanna?”
“That I should stay away from the dogs.”
“That’s right.”
“Even Tinka?” she asked, and looked up at Maratse.
“Iiji,” he said, and pointed at the sledge. “Can you coil my whip?”
“Yes,” she said, and ran to the sledge.
Nanna stumbled and fell over a clump of ice just as a snowmobile roared up the ice ramp and swerved to avoid her. The driver, a grizzled Dane with a bloody bandage wrapped around his hand, braked and yelled at Nanna. Maratse walked over to him.
“Hey,” he said, “you’re scaring the girl.”
“She got in my way.”
“You should have looked.” Maratse waved his hand at the dogs and the people walking on the street. “You should be more careful.”
The man let the snowmobile idle as he pulled the goggles from his face. He let them hang around his neck as h
e stared at Maratse; the whites of his eyes were red, flecked with venom.
“Do I know you?” the Dane said.
“My name is Maratse.”
“The Constable from Inussuk? Hah. I’ve heard of you.” He beckoned Maratse closer with a bloody finger. “The Chief doesn’t like you much, eh?”
Maratse wrinkled his nose in the wake of the man’s breath, and said, “That’s not your concern.” He looked at the man’s hand. “What happened to you?”
“Enthusiastic butchery,” he said, and sneered. “Some of us have to work for a living.”
“You’re a hunter?”
“I hunt lots of things.”
“David,” Sisse called out, waving as he turned. She nodded at Nanna whose face was buried in her mother’s jacket. “Perhaps we can go to the store?”
“I have to go,” Maratse said. “What’s your name?”
The man revved the engine and grinned. “That’s for you to find out, Constable.” He let go of the brake and spat before accelerating along the road to the right, past the café in the direction of the hospital. Maratse watched him all the way to the door, where the man parked and disappeared inside the hospital.
“He wasn’t very nice,” Sisse said, as she peeled Nanna from her body.
Maratse nodded. He looked at Nanna and forced a smile. “Shall we say hello to Tinka?”
“I thought you said I wasn’t allowed?”
“When you’re with me, you can,” Maratse said, as he walked across to his team, and unclipped Tinka from the gangline. He held the dog by the harness and walked her over to Nanna. “Tinka is still young,” he said, as Nanna stroked the fur around Tinka’s ears. “The problem is,” Maratse said to Sisse, “that children have the same height as the dogs. They look the dogs straight in the eye, and they don’t back down. Sledge dogs are not pets; they’re the closest thing to the wolf. They spend their life jockeying for position in the pack. They sometimes interpret a child’s actions as a challenge, and when dogs are challenged, they either submit…”
“Or they fight,” said Sisse. She nodded in the direction of the hospital, and said, “not unlike men.”
“Maybe,” he said, and grinned.
Tinka strained within Maratse’s grasp, and he pulled her back, as Nanna withdrew her hand, and Sisse helped her with her mittens. Maratse walked Tinka back to the team and clipped the line into the loop at the back of the harness.
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