The Bone Seeker (20 page)

Derek cleared away the whisky bottle, ate two packs of ramen noodles and went to bed, relieved to be on his own. He was bilious from the booze and in desperate need of sleep, but even as his head hit the pillow and the light streamed in through his closed eyelids his mind began to spiral and after a few minutes he realized it was hopeless. The incessant light didn't help. He got up and attempted to close the gaps in the blinds but moving one rung simply opened up space further down. They needed replacing but he hadn't got around to it. One more thing to do. He tried to focus on his latest lemming observations but as he climbed back into bed his mind resumed its restless spooling so he got up again, moved to the bathroom, turned on the cold water in the shower and got in. The cold hit him like a punch.

The truth was, he felt dumb and humiliated. Dumb because he hadn't seen the situation coming and humiliated because he hadn't done anything to stop it. His first thought was that Gutierrez had somehow panicked the colonel into taking action. But, as he understood it, Klinsman's authority began and ended at Camp Nanook. The colonel had already gone out of his way to distance himself from the department. Which must mean that whoever had taken this latest decision was working above Klinsman's pay grade.

He stepped out of the shower and began working the towel over his damp skin. Was it possible that he'd uncovered some inconvenient truth the department didn't want made public, something that had nothing to do with Namagoose and Saxby? What if all this time he'd been looking in the wrong place?

Slinging the towel back on its hook, he padded through to the bedroom and clambered into bed. He had found himself at a crossroads with no signposts. An approach to Klinsman to put pressure on the department to give him back the case seemed unlikely to have any impact, though it was worth a try. A more complicated solution might be to throw in his lot with Sonia Gutierrez and openly challenge the department's decision. He could even carry on with the investigation in his own time, though he'd need to keep that fact from Klinsman. Or he could just let the whole thing go.

Reaching for the pad he kept in the drawer of his nightstand, he drew three columns. At the head of one he wrote ‘Give up', at the head of the second ‘Fight', the third ‘Secret'. He began to write, filling first one column then another. By the time he was done, he'd convinced himself that giving up the case would only serve to destroy what little was left of his reputation in Kuujuaq. They already saw him as weak and a stooge for the south. It would look as though he'd caved in at the first sign of pressure. Which wouldn't be so far from the truth. He would probably be able to swing a transfer to Yellowknife – he was still well thought of over that way – but his career in the Ellesmere Police would effectively be over and he would have a hard time living with himself. He picked up his pen and put a strike through the first column. The next two columns weren't so easy. The ‘Fight' option had the advantage of Sonia Gutierrez's backing, but it was also likely to get strung out in legal wrangling. And there was something alarming about Gutierrez, which, despite her reputation, made him reluctant to risk both the case and his career on an alliance with her.

Two roads left to go down. He could try to persuade Klinsman or his puppetmasters to change their minds. He could carry on with the investigation in secret. He thought about this for a moment and decided that these two roads weren't mutually exclusive. A path from one led to the other. He checked the clock on his nightstand. It was a little after 4 a.m. In another four hours Klinsman would be at his desk. Until then he'd try to catch a little shut-eye.

He woke to spokes of sunlight spilling out across the bed. Rising, he headed for the shower again, then dressed and fed his lemmings. He went to the kitchenette and made himself coffee. Then he dialled Klinsman's voicemail and left a message for him to call. Going back into the kitchen to refill his mug he told himself he really should be eating more. These last few days he'd been pretty much existing on coffee and cigarettes, with the odd pack of ramen noodles and anything Edie happened to have prepared. Bachelor habits. He went towards the refrigerator then remembered the walrus head he'd cleared away yesterday evening and decided, what the hell, breakfast could wait. Returning to his desk with his coffee, he sat down and checked his emails. After an hour it came to him that Klinsman wasn't going to return his call, so he crossed the room, dialled the switchboard from Stevie Killik's desk and told the operator his name was ‘Doctor Sanger' and he needed to speak urgently to Colonel Klinsman on a family matter.

Klinsman picked up on the second ring, answering in his usual abrupt manner, but this time there was a hint of anxiety in his tone.

‘Good morning, colonel,' Derek said.

There was a pause. ‘Was that really necessary, sergeant?'

‘You could try returning my calls.' Derek sounded less modulated than he'd hoped. ‘Then it wouldn't have been.'

Klinsman cleared his throat. ‘I really don't have anything to say. This isn't my decision.' He lowered his voice. ‘It comes right from the top.'

‘You planning on arresting Namagoose and Saxby?'

Klinsman went quiet.

‘You really need to give me something here. For the family's sake.'

Klinsman already had that one covered. ‘We'll deal with the family.'

Derek pulled the handset from his ear and stared at it a moment, the bile in his belly bubbling up. He swallowed it down. Did Klinsman really think he was going to walk away from this? That he was just going to tramp on the Ellesmere Island Police? He took a deep breath.

‘I'm not sure you and whoever it is you take your orders from
understand how it is up here, colonel.' He'd rehearsed his lines and he had nothing to lose in saying them. ‘So let me tell you. You remove the case from local jurisdiction it's gonna be interpreted as
qalunaat
interference. Go down that route and you can forget cooperation from the family. Nobody in the Inuit community is gonna give you the time of day.' He felt strong and purposeful, absolutely confident of being in the right. ‘You put us up here, Klinsman, you and your people, and now you're gonna have to deal with us.'

Klinsman coughed. ‘What you're not hearing, sergeant, is that this decision has nothing to do with me. The only decision I'm directly responsible for is banning Camp Nanook personnel from making visits to Kuujuaq, so you won't be seeing any more of us – how do you say,
unataqti
, is it? – around town. I can assure you that none of this is any reflection on your police work. If you come up with some fresh information about the death of Martha Salliaq I'll be glad to pass it on to the relevant parties, but understand this: the case is no longer in your jurisdiction and the military authorities won't look kindly on you continuing to investigate it.'

Derek's heart sank. He'd thrown down his flush only to discover the opposition was holding aces.

‘At least have the courtesy to tell me if you intend to go ahead with the clean-up at Glacier Ridge,' he said. A moment ago he'd been sure of himself but he hated how he sounded now: keening, almost desperate.

‘It was you who insisted on us postponing it, if you recall. I've already told Ms Gutierrez, I don't have any more information on that.' Klinsman spoke with an air of finality.

For a while after the call Derek sat in his chair smarting. He hadn't just lost the battle, he'd been nuked. He lit a cigarette. The smoke curling into his lungs made him feel a little better. He thought back to his training all those years ago in Yellowknife. He'd been an excellent student, a good rookie cop. Then somewhere along the line he'd lost his moral courage. How that had happened he still had no idea. He'd only
become aware of it last year, investigating the deaths of the
qalunaat
hunter and Edie Kiglatuk's stepson, Joe Inukpuk. The successful prosecution of that case had given him back his self-respect. He'd felt renewed. As though he'd rediscovered his purpose in life. That moral compass of his once again found its true north. And he wasn't about to lose it this time.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Tom Silliq stepped inside and looked nervously about the room.

Derek felt his new heroic mood shrink back a little. ‘What brings you here, Tom?'

Silliq shifted his weight. His face looked troubled. ‘See, here's what it is. There weren't no
unataqti
in the bar last night, nor in the Shack neither.'

‘A lot of people in this town'll happy about that,' Derek said.

‘Well, I ain't one of 'em.' Silliq lifted up his baseball cap, scratched underneath, then replaced it. ‘Thought as you'd know something about it is all.'

Derek explained that Camp Nanook was on lockdown until the Martha Salliaq case had been resolved. So here he was once more, he thought, sweating the small stuff for folk who laughed at him behind his back and called him the Lemming Police.

‘Ah,' said Tom. ‘Well, that answers it.' He took off his hat again and turned it around in his hands. ‘The other thing don't matter any more then.'

‘Well good,' Derek said. He waited for Silliq to show some signs of leaving and when he didn't he said, ‘Was there something else?'

Silliq kept staring at his hands. ‘Nothing to me, but my wife will go crazy I don't mention it. The Arab boy works for her.' He watched Derek trying to summon the man to mind.

‘The meteorologist?'

‘Right, that fella. He didn't show up for his last two shifts. Says he had a headache of some kind on Saturday, then he just stops showing up. I been round his house and there's no one there.'

‘Maybe he got sick of the job,' Derek said. He was struggling to sound interested. Last thing he needed was this kind of distraction. ‘You go talk to any of his friends?'

‘Fella don't have no friends.' Silliq rubbed his head. ‘He don't drink neither. One of the reasons Susie took him on. Muslim.' He pronounced the word ‘Moose-leem' as though it was some elk-like property.

Derek said he would look into it and meantime, if Silliq heard anything, to let him know. All of which meant he had no intention of doing anything. As he watched Silliq lumber towards the door he felt an overwhelming sense of loathing. For the situation. For himself. It gave him the urge to thump something.

The table came to hand.

His index finger landed on something sharp. Blood began to spiral down. He reckoned he deserved it. He sat back in his chair, welcoming the pain, noticing as he did so that his notebook was lying on the floor. It must have fallen off when he banged the table. As he picked it up, his eyes lit upon the right-hand column he'd written a few hours before. He stared at it awhile, his focus moving in and out on the word ‘Secret', unable to remove his gaze. He felt the pain in his shoulder and arm drain away, as though some blockage had finally dislodged itself. There it was, his decision, staring him in the face. The answer to all the doubt, the humiliation and self-loathing. There
was
no crossroads. There never had been. There was only one direction of travel and that was forward. He would carry on investigating the Martha Salliaq murder until he had the perpetrator or perpetrators on the hook. Even if that meant defying Klinsman and exposing whatever the department was trying to keep from becoming public. Even if it meant becoming a whistleblower, with all the dangers that would accrue. He had to do it. For Martha's sake and for his own, he had to keep going until he'd found the truth. Feeling lighter than he had in days, he tore the page from his notebook, screwed it up and threw it in the bin.

The door swung open again. This time it was Edie. Just as she opened her mouth to say something the phone rang. ‘You mind?' he
said, lifting his finger, which was bleeding more profusely now. ‘I should go put this under some water.'

When he came back out to the office, she was just finishing.

‘Who was it?'

‘Sammy. It's my fault, D. I sneaked in while you were having your shower and left a message for him to call.'

Derek sucked his teeth.

‘I know, I know, it's fucked up.' She gestured to his finger. ‘You hurt yourself?'

‘It's nothing.'

She held up a plastic bag. ‘I brought seal liver so how's about we have breakfast? Then you can disapprove of me on a full stomach.'

•   •   •

A while later she came out of the kitchen carrying two plates of fried meat. As they were eating, he outlined his plan to carry on with the investigation. She seemed glad at his decision.

‘You realize there's a risk here, though, Edie,' he went on. ‘We're not dealing with a bunch of kids in the playground.'

‘You're not dealing with a lemming right here either,' she said. ‘D, I can handle myself.'

She was right. He could be a condescending asshole sometimes. They sat for a while, feeling the atmosphere between them thicken. He hoped she was gearing herself up to tell him whatever it was she'd been keeping from him.

‘I went over to Chip Muloon's place last night,' she said finally.

He raised his eyebrows and smiled to himself. Here it was.

‘He already knew about the Defence Department taking back Glacier Ridge.'

Derek felt himself contract. ‘Town gossip,' he said, unimpressed.

‘I don't think so. I think Klinsman told him before us.'

‘Why would he do that?' He felt himself quicken. Maybe this was something after all.

‘Sam Oolik saw them together.'

‘So what?'

‘I think Chip's got something to do with the military.'

Derek frowned. It seemed unlikely. He'd seen Muloon's credentials. The man worked for the University of Calgary.

Edie went on. ‘All that time me and Chip spent together, he never once mentioned the university. No colleagues, no department, nothing.'