‘Maybe you should come up here, help me get some more.’
The woman’s voice again, louder this time.
‘Uh, look, Son, I gotta go. Call me if you get any closer to something . . .’
‘Concrete?’ she offered, but he’d already put down the phone.
• • •
Back in her bedroom she flicked through the documents once more. It made sense to go back to the beginning and take a look at the site plans. There were two sets, as it turned out, the ones she’d worked from and a much earlier version from before she’d taken on the case. The early drawings dated from 1960, not long after the site had been built. She’d never had cause to look at this set before, partly because the clean-up negotiations had always worked from drawings dating from 1974, and partly because the earlier documents were hidden away in an obscure addendum which had been drawn up before she’d taken on the case. These days the site no longer much resembled either set of plans. The Defence Department had torn down some of the structures after they’d abandoned the place in the mid-1990s. A few of the remaining buildings had got frost damage and crumbled and a few more had succumbed to the 180-kilometre-per-hour winds that regularly swept down from the Arctic Ocean.
Nonetheless, the plans showed that during the fourteen years between 1960 and 1974 there had been considerable additions to the permanent structures on the site. In itself this was no big deal. Many of the radar stations on the Distant Early Warning line had been remodelled over their thirty-five-year lives, as monitoring technology became more sophisticated and strategic needs changed. What seemed peculiar about Glacier Ridge was the extent and type of enlargement. The 1960 plans showed the classic radar main station format, buildings arranged in an H and built into the prevailing northwesterlies. By 1974 the site had more than doubled in size. The basic H shape remained, but the area had been filled in by a more random-looking cluster of buildings, none of which were facing northwest. This kind of expansion could only have resulted from a change in function. In which case, what had the station become – and why, in the decade she’d been involved in negotiations, had no one ever mentioned the change?
Sonia stared into the middle distance for a moment, trying to recalibrate her thoughts. Her head told her she was on to something.
But what?
12
For the third time in thirty-six hours Derek and Edie found themselves at the sentry gate at Camp Nanook. This time Klinsman kept them waiting for a few minutes, and apologized with his usual formality, but he seemed if anything more distracted and for the first time, Edie thought, wary.
‘Private Saxby was on exercise in Alert. We flew him down as soon as it was practical.’ The joint military and weather station lay seven hundred kilometres to the north, not far from the Pole. It was a desolate spot, a death zone, and Edie had to wonder what soldiers would do up there. ‘You should know that we allow the men here to carry their own knives to use in training. Each soldier begins exercise with a kit inventory. Private Saxby flew out here with a SOG Seal Team brand hunting blade. That knife is currently missing from his locker. He’s not yet aware that we know.’
‘We appreciate your cooperation,’ Derek said, ‘though it seems that message didn’t get through to your men who went down to the nursing station. I had to find out about them from the nurse.’
They had reached the iron-grey dome of the command office. Klinsman hesitated at the door. ‘I apologize. I asked them to call ahead.’
‘I’m assuming they were plain-clothes investigators? But perhaps you could tell us exactly why they were taking photographs of the victim’s body?’
Klinsman’s hand hovered over the door handle.
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to take that up directly with the Defence Department.’ There was a squeal of metal as the door swung open. He directed them along the corridor. ‘As I understand it, the visit was routine protocol. The department can be protective of their sites, even the abandoned ones.’
‘The site belongs to the people of Kuujuaq,’ Derek said firmly. ‘And as I’ve said before, I’d be glad in future if you’d leave procedural matters to me.’
Klinsman nodded. His body gave off a relaxed vibe but his voice was rattled. ‘Of course. An oversight. But unfortunately the men have already left. If they’d had any problems, I’m sure they would have let you know.’
They were standing outside door number 3 now.
‘Shall we focus our attentions on Private Saxby?’ Klinsman said.
• • •
The missing knife’s owner was in the same chair that Jacob Namagoose had occupied only hours before, but there any similarity between the two men ended. Skeeter Saxby was a wan-faced man-boy, slim-built with freckled skin and dirty-blond hair. One long piss to look at, just as Tom Silliq had said. He was cracking his knuckles and seemed edgy and ill at ease.
Klinsman showed the two visitors to the same plastic seats, called in Marty Fielding, repeated the terms on which the interview would take place and asked Saxby if he understood. Without lifting his eyes, Saxby said he did, and returned to his knuckles.
Derek leaned forward and placed a hand on the table.
‘Nervous?’
Saxby stilled his hands. His right leg began to jiggle. He pushed it down and returned his arms to the table, and as he did so his sleeve travelled up his arm and a killer whale tattoo appeared. Edie glanced at Derek and saw that he had spotted it too.
‘Got no reason to be,’ Saxby said.
Derek scrutinized his face for a moment. ‘That so?’ He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. ‘Then why do you think you’re here?’
Saxby reddened, a tic appeared under his right eye, but he said nothing.
‘I see you and Private Namagoose got matching ink,’ Derek went on.
Saxby blinked and glanced at the spot on his arm. Edie saw him fight back a grin. Dumb ass had no idea how much trouble he was in. ‘What you do, nail a few Taliban?’ Derek said.
Saxby was smirking now. ‘Something like that.’
‘That why killing Martha came so easy?’
Saxby’s face fell. He turned to look at Klinsman but neither the colonel nor the counsel appeared to be willing to come to his rescue.
‘We didn’t touch that girl.’ Saxby’s eyes glistened. His voice was trembly. Easy to break, Edie thought. Give up his friend too, most like.
Evidently, Derek had the same thought. He went on.
‘You owe Namagoose something? Is that why you’re covering for him? You should know he’s not returning the favour. Your buddy already told us that you had sex with Martha Salliaq at her house.’ A stretch, but not an unreasonable one. Neither Derek nor Edie believed Namagoose’s story that he and Martha were alone in her house. Edie figured he was trying to keep Saxby out of it to protect him, or more likely because he knew the kid was plenty stupid enough to blow it for both of them.
Saxby’s eyes widened. His breath quickened. ‘I didn’t touch that girl.’
‘You’re lying. When the forensic team comes and checks Martha’s room they’re gonna find your DNA, aren’t they, Private Saxby?’
Saxby sat up indignant, then he sighed and fell back. His forehead folded like dough. ‘I was sorry that girl died, sir; she was a nice girl and all. But me and the Goose didn’t have nothing to do with killing her. We only went back with her on Friday night because she asked us to. I didn’t even . . .’ He fell silent.
Edie caught Derek’s eye. They were seconds from the truth.
‘You didn’t even what?’ Edie said.
Saxby reddened. ‘I just looked on.’ Clearly he thought that this excused him. Even dumber than she thought.
‘Is that why you went back on Saturday and killed her, because she wouldn’t have sex with you?’ Edie went on.
Marty Fielding took a deep breath but made no attempt to
intervene.
‘You explain why your knife is missing, Private Saxby?’ Derek’s tone was mild.
Saxby’s face drained of colour. He leaned his elbows on his legs and put his head in his hands. For the first time he realized what a mess he was in.
‘I can explain the knife.’ His voice was quiet and there were beads of sweat on his forehead.
‘Saturday I met the Goose in that place.’
‘The Anchor Bar?’ Derek cut in, to throw him.
Saxby hesitated then frowned. ‘No, the other one.’
‘We coming to the knife?’
Saxby took a sidelong glance at Klinsman. ‘The Goose said he’d set a snare near where he’d seen some jack rabbits, wanted us to go back up there, see if there was anything in it.’
‘We don’t allow weapons off-base unless they’ve been authorized,’ Klinsman interjected.
‘Seemed like a long way to go for jack rabbits to me. We took a couple half-sacks to pass the journey. There was this big old buck in the snare, so we killed it and I skinned it with my knife while the Goose made up a fire.’ Saxby explained that the two men left when the rain began to come down and walked directly back to camp. ‘We was soaked so bad, you can ask anyone in barrack,’ Saxby said. He didn’t notice that his knife wasn’t on him till Sunday, when he was due out on exercises.
A silence fell. Klinsman glanced first at Derek, then at Edie.
‘You’d be able to show us this place?’ Derek said.
‘I reckon so.’
13
Klinsman, Fielding and Saxby rode in a jeep while Edie and Derek brought up the rear on their ATVs. At Lake Turngaluk they waved briefly to Joe Oolik then turned off towards Glacier Ridge and up onto the bird cliffs. To the south, the waters of Jones Sound shimmered silver in the summer sun and in the far, far distance, where the earth curved, heat trembled the craggy coastline of Devon Island. The journey, which Saxby said had taken him and Namagoose an hour and a half to complete on foot, lasted less than fifteen minutes.
Saxby led them towards a sheltered area, surrounded by low rock, where there was a fire ring and a number of beer cans. Burnt remains of a small animal lay scattered over the site, but there was no sign of Saxby’s knife.
‘Maybe someone took it?’ Saxby offered, scoping about.
‘You say you left here and went back directly to camp?’ Derek said. A raven wheeled overhead and landed on a bank of rotting snow a short distance away. Saxby nodded a yes.
‘Show us the route.’
Saxby pointed out a path in the willow with his hand.
Derek eyeballed the soldier. ‘We’re going to walk that route, soldier, and you better hope we find that knife.’
Anxious to get on, Klinsman asked if the interview was done and moments later Edie and Derek watched the three men disappear down the track back towards the camp.
After they had gone Derek and Edie walked the route. They did not find the knife.
• • •
By the time they got back they were both hungry. Edie made tea and nibbled on a caribou ear while Derek chowed down on a bowl of ramen noodles.
‘You think they did it together?’ she said.
‘Could be. Saxby didn’t ship out to Alert till Monday so they had Sunday to work up a consistent story.’
‘You seem real sure Namagoose is the one,’ Edie said. She hadn’t yet been able to ditch the version of events in her head that had Martha with a secret boyfriend or that something had happened to her on Friday afternoon between leaving school and the time Silliq saw her crying on the wall.
‘You got any better ideas?’ Derek said. ‘You saw how Namagoose is. A blowhard. He admitted to having sex with Martha the evening before her death and he was seen arguing with her the day she died. He said himself he was trying to fix up another date with her. When she refused he got mad and killed her. Man has a violent temper. What cost him a place in the special forces. Oh, and by the way, I checked out that special forces training. Turns out it includes an intensive course in Eskrima, Filipino martial art. Hand-to-hand knife combat. Namagoose knows his blades.
‘You saw the view from their fire ring. Right over the bird cliffs. They could have spotted Martha collecting eggs and invited her to come cook them, share a beer maybe. Kind of kiss-and-make-up for Namagoose’s shitty behaviour outside the store. They even had the knife on them. Maybe Saxby participated, maybe he just watched. We lean on him a little more, I think we’ll get to the truth.’
This all made sense. So why, in Edie’s reckoning, didn’t it tell the whole story?
‘What about the photograph?’ she asked.
‘One of them is obviously lying about the camera.’
Edie’s throat tightened. ‘The picture was taken before the unataqti even arrived.’
‘Forget the photograph, Edie. It doesn’t prove anything either way.’ He raised his bowl to his lips and finished off his noodles.
Edie watched him with a growing sense of alarm. Was the pressure on him to close the case getting too much, she wondered? Wasn’t the first rule of a police investigation to keep an open mind?
‘Her purse was full of make-up. She was meeting someone. Then Silliq sees her a couple of hours later crying on a wall. And Namagoose mentioned a boyfriend.’
‘Well, he would, wouldn’t he? Look, it’s been a long day. I’ve still got prep for the arrival of the supply ship to do, plus I’ll need to check with Luc that we’re all set for Anna and the forensics guy tomorrow.’ He went over to his desk and started shuffling some papers. ‘You could check with that takeout place next to the Shoreline Bar, see if anyone remembers Namagoose and Saxby coming in with Martha on Friday night? After that, why don’t you take the evening off? There’s not much else we can do till tomorrow. I’ll come find you if anything happens.’
The sky was now a matt-grey sheet. On the corner by the store and the school building, Edie stopped to think. Derek’s haste to close the investigation bothered her. She’d seen that he was a brilliant investigator when he wanted to be but she’d also noticed that he sometimes had to be reminded not to take the easy road. It hadn’t helped that Klinsman seemed to be encouraging him to tie the case up quickly. The colonel was obviously eager to resolve the investigation as quietly and painlessly as possible so that he could get back to the main event. Maybe Namagoose and Saxby were the killers but, in the absence of conclusive evidence, the Ellesmere Island Police owed it to Martha to investigate every possible scenario with equal vigour. You didn’t fix on a hunting ground until you’d explored all the terrain.
• • •
The eatery Derek liked to refer to as the ‘takeout place’ – and most locals knew as the Shack – was a summer business Tom Silliq’s wife Susie had set up in an old fishing shed behind the Shoreline Bar. Edie had been there a couple of times when she’d first arrived and was living in the cabin. She and Susie had got chatting once or twice. Susie was a straight talker, unusual among Inuit, and Edie guessed she’d seen a thing or two, being married to Tom. Susie explained that in past summers the Shack had catered mostly to the scientific expeditions passing through the settlement and to men coming into town to pick up supplies, but this year she’d expanded the operation in the hope of attracting unataqti from Camp Nanook. Mostly, Susie managed the Shack on her own, with the help of her and Tom’s grown-up daughter, Louisa. This summer she’d taken on another pair of hands for the weekend evening shift, a young southerner by the name of Rashid Alfasi, who worked a day job taking weather readings at the meteorological station.
‘Some folk are a bit sniffy I gave the job to an outsider,’ she said to Edie one time. ‘Say he can’t be trusted.’ Then she’d roared with laughter and added, ‘They say the same about you too.’
Straightening herself up now, she said, ‘You need to ask Rashid about last Friday. I was too busy in the kitchen.’ She slapp
ed her thighs, keen to get on with her work. ‘He’s renting the doctor’s old cabin, you wanna find him.’
• • •
Rashid Alfasi’s house was an announcement that he hadn’t lived long in the north. None of the usual mess of dog kennels, hunting equipment, drying fish or sealskins stretched on racks, no old and rusted equipment, homebuilt storm shutters, vehicles cannibalized for their parts. She walked up the steps and knocked on the door, figuring that Rashid, being qalunaat, wouldn’t appreciate her just walking in. When there was no answer, she let herself into the snow porch, opened the inner door and stood on the doormat.
The living room was more homely and colourful than she’d anticipated. On the floor there were richly woven rugs of a kind Edie had never seen before. The surfaces were covered with tiles and ornate glasses, reminders, she supposed, of home. There was a powerful smell, part floral, part spicy.
A door at the back opened and Rashid emerged, looking dishevelled and still half asleep. He wrapped himself more tightly in his robe, embarrassed to have been caught napping.
‘Migraine,’ he said, by way of explanation. He was a slight, thin young man, in his mid-twenties, the fuzzy down of youth still on him. From the yellow tan of his face and hands and his dark, straight hair you might at first mistake him for an Inuk, but the bony angularity of his form and his slender, beaked nose marked him out as an outsider. A pair of searching eyes suggested the penetrating intelligence beneath.
‘You’re the teacher,’ he said. He pointed to her feet. ‘Please take off your boots.’ His manner was polite and tentative. Something moved across his face when she told him why she’d come.
‘Please sit down while I get dressed,’ he said. Edie took a seat at the table while Rashid disappeared behind the door. A few minutes later he reappeared dressed in a tracksuit, asking if she’d like to try some Moroccan tea. When she said yes he went over to the kitchenette and put on some water to boil. She watched him opening a cupboard and reaching for two tiny, elaborately decorated glasses and a small, bulbous teapot in what looked like brass. She imagined his long, slender fingers handling the meteorological instruments. The orderly type then, meticulous.
The Bone Seeker Page 12
