The Winter Trap

by Christoffer Petersen

  “What the hell are you doing?” Innaaq spat as he rolled away from me.

  “Saving your career.”

  I let go of Innaaq and stood up, keeping an eye on him, watching and waiting for him to holster his pistol.

  “Happy?” he said, snapping the strap over the grip.

  “Yes,” I said. I turned to the woman standing behind Joorsi. “Are you all right?”

  “Aap.”

  “And Joorsi?”

  “He’ll be fine in a minute.” The woman glared at Innaaq, and said, “You know you shouldn’t come, shouldn’t get him worked up. You know he has a…”

  “Bad heart, bad lungs.” Innaaq shook his head. “Yeah, I know it.”

  “Then why come here?”

  “Not my choice.”

  I took a step forward as the woman scowled at Innaaq. “It’s my fault,” I said, crossing the last stretch of grass to join them. “I’m Constable Jensen. I wanted to come here. Innaaq came with me.”

  “You’re not local.”

  “I’m from Nuuk.”

  “Then what are you doing here?”

  “I work the missing persons desk,” I said, pausing as Joorsi coughed. “Is he all right? Does he need a doctor?”

  “Water,” Joorsi said, raising his hand.

  “I need to get him inside,” the woman said. “You’ll help?”

  I reached down to take Joorsi’s arm, curious at the strength in his grip as he took my hand. We helped him onto his feet and shuffled towards the farmhouse. The woman leaned the shotgun against the wall of the house as we guided Joorsi through the door. The kitchen was neat and clean, with a smell of fresh bread leaking out of the oven. I noticed flour on the woman’s hands and a light dusting in her grey hair. As soon as Joorsi was seated at the table, she held out her hand to greet me.

  “Eqilana Ukkujaaq,” she said.

  “Petra.”

  “My crazy husband,” she said, with a nod to Joorsi.

  “I’m not crazy.”

  “No?” Eqilana scoffed. “You just shot at a police officer – two police officers.”

  “It’s all right,” I said. “No harm done.”

  “We’ll see.” Eqilana pointed at the chair opposite Joorsi. “Sit. I’ll make coffee.”

  Joorsi flashed a guilty look at me, and I gave him a smile in return.

  “I aimed above your heads.”

  “I’m okay,” I said.

  “Yes, but my eyesight, and…” He lifted his hands. “The shakes.”

  “Then I guess I’m lucky too.”

  “What are you whispering about?” Eqilana said, as she collected three mugs, carrying them to the table along with a jar of coffee. “It’s old but warm,” she said.

  “It’s fine.”

  I took a mug, nodded when Eqilana filled it half full, then watched as she shared the rest between her and Joorsi.

  She caught my eye, and said, “You’re wondering about Innaaq?”

  “I…”

  “Don’t,” she said, slapping the empty jug onto the table. “He knows not to come inside. He should never have come.”

  “It’s my fault,” I said.

  “You said that already.”

  Joorsi placed a trembling hand over his wife’s. “Let her speak,” he said.

  I bit my lip, wondering how to proceed, and then settled for just blurting it out. “I’m looking for Venus Manumina. I think you might know her.”

  The colour in Joorsi’s face paled into ash. Eqilana stared at me for a second, then turned to her husband.

  “You still want her to speak?”

  “Yes,” he said, after a moment’s pause. “It’s time.”

  Part 17

  Innaaq’s shadow crossed the kitchen window as Joorsi finished his coffee. I slid my hands around my mug, felt soft pits and bumps in the table’s surface and imagined the many meals that had been served on it, projects completed, tools fixed, babies changed. Joorsi took a last sip, and I scanned the kitchen walls for family photos, found none and revised my image of kitchen activities in the Ukkujaaq farmhouse. Life was tough in the remote settlements, tougher still on a remote sheep farm, separated from other people and services by frigid fjord waters, mountains, and glaciers. Joorsi interrupted my thoughts with a soft cough and he began.

  “I was twenty-seven,” he said.

  “Twenty-eight.” Eqilana reached out to squeeze Joorsi’s hand. “What?” she said when he gave her a look. “If you’re going to tell it, you might as well tell it right.”

  “I am.”

  “You will,” she said, with another squeeze of his hand. “I’ll help you.”

  I took a sip of coffee, hiding my smile with the lip of the mug.

  “She was twenty-nine,” Joorsi said.

  “Who?”

  “Venus Manumina.”

  I felt the first shiver since the fjord run down my spine. The front door was open. Innaaq’s shadow criss-crossing the grass in front of the farmhouse, but I wasn’t cold. There was no draught, only…

  “Venus,” Eqilana said, “was like the first gust of winter wind. She blew in here at the start of winter, turning everyone’s heads – especially the men’s. She said she was going to be a model, that she wanted to model sweaters, that she came here to the source. Where the wool came from.”

  “I made the wool,” Joorsi said.

  “You and every other single man in the area.” Eqilana tutted, but I noticed she didn’t let go of Joorsi’s hand. She held him tighter, as if he might fly away with another winter gale. She turned to me, and said, “I was seventeen. I remember Venus. So pretty. So self-assured, confident. I wanted to be just like her.”

  “She met everybody?” I asked.

  “Everybody wanted to meet her.”

  “But it was my farm she wanted to visit,” Joorsi said, eyes twinkling, as if a spark of new-found energy had just ignited him.

  “You were showing off,” Eqilana said.

  “Aap.”

  It was the first Greenlandic word I heard Joorsi say, and I felt the frown pinching my forehead.

  “I had to beat the others to her,” he said. “If they talked to her too long, it made me worry they might say things about me, put her off me.” He lifted his chin and caught my eye. “Because they talked Greenlandic. I had to keep her with me, keep her interested.”

  “So, on her second day in Narsarsuaq, he kidnapped her,” Eqilana said, laughing as I spluttered a mouthful of coffee onto the table. She reached for a cloth and Joorsi’s cheeks turned a healthier colour than they had been at the first mention of Venus.

  “She came out to the farm,” he said, as I wiped the table. “I took her in my boat. I remember she sat in the bow, her hair streaming behind her.”

  “Yes, of course, that’s what you remember, you old goat.” Eqilana nudged Joorsi, and said, “Skip to the important parts, or we’ll be here all night.”

  “I have time,” I said, with another glance at Innaaq’s shadow.

  “Yes, but we don’t need to hear a sixty-eight-year-old man’s youthful lusts and fantasies. We can agree she was pretty, that she wanted to be a model, that all the men fancied her, but it was Joorsi who was the first to bring her home…”

  “To see the farm.”

  “One of the last things she saw…” Eqilana’s voice tailed off, and she excused herself, busying herself with plates in the sink as Joorsi continued his story.

  “I showed her the sheep, talked about wool,” he said, locking his rough fingers in front of him as he leaned on the table. “She wanted to know everything. That’s what she said. And I wanted to tell her it all, to keep her there. I was young and stupid. But by the late afternoon, she was tired of sheep talk. Not even the dogs could amuse her any longer.”

  I almost asked about the dogs, wondering where they might be, only to bite my tongue, as Joorsi swallowed several times, as if trying to clear his throat.

  “She said… She…”

  “Joorsi,” Eq
ilana whispered from the sink. “Take your time. Petra said there’s no hurry.”

  “I did,” I said. I reached out for Joorsi’s hand and he grasped mine, startling me once more with his powerful grip. “I don’t have to be anywhere.”

  “She did,” he said, recovering, eyes shining as they misted with tears. “She wanted to go places. She said the farm – my farm – was just the beginning. She asked if I had a camera. I didn’t. She wanted to know who did.” Joorsi squeezed my hand as he collected himself. “That’s when I told her about Pannapa. That’s when it all went wrong.”

  Part 18

  Eqilana left the dishes in the sink. She dried her hands on the way back to the table, brushed her fingers through Joorsi’s thin hair and bent down to kiss him. She took her seat, looked at my hand as Joorsi gripped it, then smiled before continuing the story.

  “Pannapa Imaakka is a photographer. Not a very good one if you ask me, but back then he was the only one to have what he called a good camera, one with big lenses you could screw on and off.”

  “I know the kind,” I said.

  “Of course, you do, but back then it was a big thing. Everyone thought he was crazy, spending all that money on his camera. But then, when Venus arrived, every man in the area wanted a camera, and they hated Pannapa. They say women are jealous, and jealousy can make them do stupid things. But when it comes to attracting the attention of a woman, men are just stupid – plain and simple.” She stopped to brush a tear from Joorsi’s cheek, and he shrugged.

  “I was stupid.”

  “Yes,” she said, softer now. “I know.”

  “And Pannapa?” I asked.

  “Came in a boat. Joorsi didn’t have a phone. Pannapa must have been on his way.”

  “And there was no one else here?”

  Eqilana shook her head. “Joorsi’s mother died when he was born. His father died on the farm. He’s buried out back.”

  “I buried him,” Joorsi said.

  “Joorsi was twenty-one when his father died.”

  I let go of Joorsi’s hand as he leaned back in his chair. Twenty-one was a young age to inherit a farm.

  “The whole farm came to Joorsi – two hundred sheep, a tractor that barely ran, and more debt than he could possibly repay. Not in one lifetime. Not alone.”

  “But I forgot all about that when Venus came.”

  Joorsi smiled, just for a second, until Eqilana mentioned Pannapa.

  “When he arrived, he took over.”

  “I hid in the kitchen.” Joorsi pointed over his shoulder at the sink. “I watched them from that window. He told her to pose, leaning against the gate.”

  “He was making it all up,” Eqilana said. “Pannapa didn’t know anything.”

  “I didn’t know that. And I didn’t know any better.”

  I tugged my notebook from my pocket, opened it to a fresh page, and pressed my pen to the paper. “So,” I said. “It was just the three of you?”

  Joorsi hesitated, and Eqilana said, “Just the three of them.”

  Joorsi looked down at the table. “That’s not right,” he whispered.

  “We agreed…”

  “I know, but it’s not right.” Joorsi looked up and stared right at me. “She needs to know.”

  “We promised each other…” Eqilana’s next words caught in her throat, and she turned, looking over her shoulder.

  “It’s okay,” I said, lowering my voice. “It’s just me. My investigation. You don’t have to worry about Innaaq.”

  “Yes, we do,” Joorsi said.

  I felt another shiver, just as Innaaq’s voice broke the silence, answering a call on his mobile. I tucked a strand of loose hair behind my ear, concerned that the moment was in danger of being lost, that Joorsi had something critical to say, something he had agreed never to tell, and now…

  “Constable Jensen,” Innaaq called out from the farmhouse door. “We have to go.”

  “I’m in the middle of something,” I said, raising my voice.

  “This is urgent. We have to leave.” He paused, and then, “It’s about Pannapa Imaakka. He’s been seen. We have to go now if we’re going to catch him.”

  “Catch him?” Eqilana said.

  I shook my head. “It’s not what you think.” Although, I had no idea what she might be thinking, or why we had to leave so suddenly. I looked out of the window, frowning at the deep blue skies, the distant clouds, and just a light wind sifting through the grass.

  “Now, Constable!”

  “Okay,” I said, rising from my chair. “Let me find out what’s going on.”

  Joorsi reached out and grabbed my hand. “Don’t leave with him.”

  “What?”

  “The third man…”

  “Constable.” Innaaq leaned around the kitchen door.

  “Get out,” Joorsi said. He let go of me and stood up, knocking his chair over as he started towards Innaaq. Eqilana caught his arm, held him back.

  “Innaaq?” I said. “What’s going on?”

  “I’ll tell you in the boat. Let’s go.” He retreated from the kitchen, out of the house, and I moved to follow him, collecting my notepad and stuffing it into my pocket.

  “Petra,” Eqilana whispered as I headed for the door.

  “Yes?”

  “The third man…”

  “Was Paniula,” Joorsi said.

  “What?”

  The curious frown creasing my forehead was deeper now, not just a pinch of skin above my nose. I looked at Joorsi, waiting for more, only to stumble towards the door as Innaaq grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the house.

  Part 19

  “Innaaq,” I said, tugging my arm free of his grip. “Slow down.”

  “Can’t. We have to go now, before he gets away.”

  “Away from where?”

  Innaaq stopped halfway between the farmhouse and the beach.

  “You know,” he said, planting his hands on his hips as he looked at me. “I called Nuuk.”

  I stopped, a good two metres away, curious that he should stop here, out of sight of the farmhouse and Tornginnguaq waiting on the beach. “Yes?”

  “I talked to Sergeant Duneq, your supervisor.”

  “I know who he is, Innaaq.”

  “It’s funny.” Innaaq snorted. “According to Sergeant Duneq, you shouldn’t even be here.”

  “I came to the conference.”

  “Only because your commissioner likes you.”

  “He’s your commissioner too.”

  “That’s right, but is he going to take my weekend shift? Or do I have to look like you to make that happen, eh?”

  “You’re wrong, Innaaq.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Either way, you’re out of your jurisdiction. You’re in my Greenland now, Jensen. From now on you go where I tell you. So…” He pointed at the boat. “Get in the damned boat. Keep your mouth shut. And maybe, if we’re not too late, we can ask Pannapa what he was doing in your room last night, while you were flirting with the nerds at the conference. What?” Innaaq laughed as I glared at him. “You don’t want that in your report?”

  “There’s nothing to report.”

  “That’s right, because there’s no case, Constable.” He started walking. “Come on. We have to get going.”

  I fell in step behind him, keeping the same two metres between us, until we got to the beach. Tornginnguaq, still silent, shoved the stern of the boat into the water. She caught my eye, avoided Innaaq’s, then took my hand to help me over the side of the boat and onto a thwart seat in the middle. Innaaq pushed the boat further into the water, then climbed over the side as Tornginnguaq dropped the propeller shaft into the water and started the motor. Innaaq caught another yawn before lighting a cigarette, pointing with it, further south, along the coast.

  He smoked as Tornginnguaq steered the boat along the coastline. I spent the time glaring at his back, keeping my thoughts to myself, for fear of blurting something out that would send him over the edge. He had drawn his
pistol on Joorsi, all but threatened to report me in a quiet spot on the path, and the hold he had over Tornginnguaq was strong enough to prevent her from talking.

  And yet, Joorsi’s last word, his last warning, had been a name: Paniula.

  Nikkuliit had warned me to be careful around Constable Innaaq Paniula, just like she had warned me not to visit Ilua. She never mentioned what would happen if I mixed the two. But then, I hadn’t thought to ask.

  Innaaq held up his hand for Tornginnguaq to slow down. He flicked his cigarette over the side and pointed to a shallow V where a fast-running stream spilled its energy into the fjord. Tornginnguaq steered into the mouth of the tiny mountain river, keeping the bow level with the beach with a steady twist of the throttle.

  “Out, Constable,” Innaaq said, as he leapt over the side and splashed into the shallow water.

  “You’ll wait?” I whispered, looking at Tornginnguaq.

  She dipped her head, once, then glanced at Innaaq.

  I climbed over the gunwale and splashed through the water to join Innaaq on the beach.

  “There’s no boat,” I said, scanning both sides of the river.

  “It’s this way.”

  “Innaaq. Stop.”

  “What?”

  “How did he get here?”

  Innaaq glared at me, then jabbed his finger to his right. “There’s an old farmhouse, abandoned, up this path. You want to talk to Pannapa? That’s where he is.” He turned and walked along the path.

  “What’s going on, Innaaq?” I jogged to catch up, forgetting my earlier two-metre rule. “You think Pannapa is hiding here because I want to talk to him?”

  “He’s here,” Innaaq said.

  “And who told you?” I reached out and grabbed Innaaq’s arm. “Tell me.”

  Innaaq stopped and jerked his arm free. “I’m doing this for you. Don’t you see? You called me after midnight. You said I had to come, because someone had been in your room, been through your things. And you know what? I came. Just like that. Because that’s what colleagues do. Never mind that you never told me what you were really doing here. I had to figure all that out for myself. And now?” He spat on the path. “Now I’ve got a lead on the man who went through your room, you’re asking questions. Just accept it, Constable – I know a thing or two, and round here I know everything.”