by Jude Pittman
“You did? This is important Amy. No one has seen Shannon since Monday night, so the man you saw her with may have been the killer, or at least the last person to see her alive.”
“No I saw her Tuesday morning. She snuck in to change her clothes and she asked me not to tell anyone.”
“When was this?”
“Just before lunch time, maybe 11:30. I had a cold so I skipped my morning class. I was lying in bed when someone knocked on my window.”
“Your window? Up here?”
“There’s a ladder at the back. If you climb to the first floor roof you can come right around to our bedroom window. We use it sometimes. You won’t tell Mrs. Lawrence?”
“That’s not very safe Amy. You might want to think about telling her yourself.”
“Okay. I guess I will,” she muttered unconvincingly.
“So Shannon knocked on the window and you let her in. What did she say?”
“She said she needed to change clothes and she didn’t want the Dragon—that’s what she called Mrs. Lawrence—to catch her.”
“I see,” Jesse stifled a chuckle. “I take it Shannon didn’t get along with your housemother.”
“Shannon didn’t like the way she stuck her nose into our business. I think she liked her okay, except for that.”
“Now about this man you say she met on Monday. Did you see him?”
“Yes. I wasn’t sure if she was really meeting someone or if she was making it up, so I followed her. She walked down Commercial to Hastings until a cab pulled up next to her and this Native guy got out. He opened the back door for Shannon and she jumped in. Shannon would kill me for telling this,” she muttered and then stopped as if remembering that Shannon wouldn’t be killing anyone.
“It’s okay Amy. Shannon would understand. What did he look like?”
“Hot.” She lifted her head and met Jesse’s eyes. “Shoulder length black hair, tall, sexy butt. He looked like somebody important.”
“How’s that?”
“The way he was dressed. Not a suit, but slacks, nice sweater, the kind of stuff my dad wears. Not like most of the guys around here.”
“Anything stand out about him?”
“Just that he was a hunk.”
Jesse grinned. “Okay. Thanks Amy. You’ve been very helpful.” He opened the door so she could precede him down the stairs. “Is it okay to call you if I have more questions?”
“Sure.” A smile playing across Amy’s lips as she rushed down the stairs to join her friends and tell them what she’d learned.
Chapter Three
Back in the Jeep, Jesse called Martine, got her voicemail and left a message that he was headed back to the Friendship Centre. Once there he left a note in Martine’s inbox that he was planning to drive out to Hope and visit Spirit Water if she wanted to come along.
At his desk, Jesse started on the paperwork that had piled up and moved a couple of appointments to the next week.
An hour had passed when Martine poked her head in his doorway. “Sorry it took me so long. I’d love to go with you to Spirit Water’s place.”
“Sounds good. Give me five and I’ll meet you out at the Jeep.”
* * *
“Spirit Water is kind of a loner,” Jesse said, breaking the silence they’d maintained while he manipulated Vancouver’s urban congestion and crossed the bridge to Highway 1 headed toward Hope. “He lives in a log cabin built about forty years ago and he doesn’t have a telephone. We’ll have to take our chances on finding him home.”
“Sounds intriguing.”
“Oh he is that.” Jesse’s voice held a hint of laughter.
As they sped along the highway, Jesse pointed out local landmarks and Martine kept her eyes peeled to the window. Finally, Jesse took a sharp right off the highway. “Better hang on,” he cautioned as he steered the Jeep onto what was little more than a trail meandering through the grasses. They bumped and jolted along a pair of ruts, hitting potholes that bounced them to the roof.
“The rest of us may be part of the twentieth century,” Jesse said, after a solid jolt had them both rubbing the top of their heads, “but Spirit Water still heats his cabin with wood and fetches his water from a well.”
“We have a few old timers like that around Montreal.” Martine smiled. “Who’s to say they aren’t living better than the rest of us.”
“That a fact?” Jesse agreed. “We’re in luck, there’s smoke coming from the chimney and that looks like Spirit Water sitting on the porch.”
Jesse braked in front of an old weathered cabin. “Here we are.” He opened the door and stepped out of the Jeep. Martine jumped out of her side and met him in front. “These steps are a bit rough,” he said, taking her hand and guiding her toward a stack of rough-hewn logs that served for a staircase.
“Thanks.” She followed him up, then freed her hand and ran her fingers along the bark railing circling the porch. Fashioned from willow and twisted into a braid, the wood had been aged by decades in the elements. Oversized chairs weaved from the same willows circled a metal fire pit.
A tall, straight-backed Native man rose from one of the chairs. Silver streaked black hair flowed over his shoulders and coal black eyes measured the young couple as they approached.
“Jesse Dancer. You have brought a friend?”
“This is Martine. She’s the Family Response Worker at the Friendship Centre.”
“Welcome.” Spirit Water took Martine’s hands and studied her face for several moments. She flushed, and he let go of her hands and turned to Jesse.
“It’s been several months. All is well with you?”
“Yes. Except for the problem that brings me here.”
“Good. You’ll sit.” He motioned to the chairs.
“Thanks.” Jesse and Martine settled in.
“Something very bad has happened.” Spirit Water studied Jesse’s face.
“The cops found a Native girl raped and murdered in Stanley Park. They think she was killed by one of our brothers.”
“And you do not believe this?”
“No. My gut tells me the killer is a white man posing as an Indian. I’ve convinced Mark Hanson to let me explore that theory. He doesn’t agree, but he wants to catch the killer before there’s another murder so he’s willing to consider any possibility.”
“You think there will be more of these killings?”
“Hanson thinks they’re the work of a psychopath. If he’s right, then we’re dealing with a predator. Once he’s tasted blood he won’t stop until someone makes him.”
“Are you sure it isn’t a brother? You know the drugs have turned a lot of our people into animals.”
“I know, but this girl wasn’t just raped and murdered, she was defiled. The killer strangled her and then he spread eagled her and stabbed a Medicine Card to her breast.”
“Not a Brother then.” Spirit Water’s eyes flashed. “To rape and kill the girl, this I could believe, but to anger the spirits, no. Even an Indian turned jackal would fear the spirit world.”
Jesse nodded and reached in his pocket. “Here’s a copy of the Medicine Card they found with the body.”
Spirit Water studied the picture. “The snake
[2]. Someone has angered a powerful spirit.”
“Can you help us?”
“Wait while I get my case. We’ll go up the mountain.”
* * *
They climbed high, to an old burial ground where centuries ago Native men and women buried their dead. Abandoned by a new generation the grasses grew tall and brittle, gravestones crumbled into the earth. At the entrance Spirit Water motioned them to stop while he stepped up to the gate. Removing a pipe from his bag, he chanted an ancient language as he lifted the pipe stem to each of the four sacred directions. Then he motioned for Jesse and Martine to join him inside.
“I have asked the ancestors to gather. We will light our smudge and wait.”
A white mist drifted up from the river below and clouds
caught by gusts of wind danced in the clearing. Seated Indian style, facing Spirit Water, Jesse and Martine watched twigs catch fire and curl into smoke.
Jesse bent to the fire, scooped a handful of smoke and washed it down his arms and legs. He spoke a warning to uninvited spirits. “Unclean ones, leave us now, you are not welcome inside this circle.”
Jesse sat back and Martine reached in to cleanse herself.
“The Spirits are close.” Spirit Water passed the stem of his pipe to Jesse. The medicine man stood and raised his hands. “Thank you Great Spirit. We come to ask for guidance from the spirit world.”
Time passed. They shared the pipe and took their turns offering prayers. The white mist filling the circle turned to grey and then to black. Darkness filled the graveyard.
“What’s happening?” Martine whispered.
Light flooded the circle and a skittering sound broke the silence. A white rabbit hopped into the circle and Spirit Water started a chant. The rabbit froze as if mesmerized. The light spilled over the rabbit’s fur giving it a translucent glow, like angel wings. The animal glowed for several minutes before it darted out of the clearing.
Spirit Water continued his chant.
An owl swooped down into the circle and snatched a mouse. Rodent blood dripped from its beak. The bird flew away. Jesse nudged Martine and pointed to where a coyote with blood red eyes crouched behind a gravestone
The light faded and plunged the circle into darkness.
Spirit Water ceased his chant.
“Did you see the same thing I did?” Martine asked Jesse.
“I think so.” He turned to Spirit Water. “Do you know what all that meant?”
Spirit Water paused in the act of packing his case. “It is to you that the Spirits have given a message. It is you who must seek their meaning.”
* * *
“What did you make of that scene with the rabbit?” Martine asked when they were back in the truck.
“I’ve been thinking back to what the grandfathers say about the spirit world. The way the rabbit glowed, it could be a message telling us our petitions at the pipe ceremony were honored and Shannon has crossed into the spirit world.
“The rabbit did remind me of an angel the way it glowed.” Martine nodded agreement with his theory, then turned to him with another question, “what about the owl and the mouse?”
“I think I know what that means but you might not want to hear my theory.”
“Why?”
“That the owl with the bloody mouse in its beak is a warning that there’s going to be another killing.”
“Oh God, I hope not. It makes me sick to think about another girl being killed.”
“I feel the same, but it’s the only thing I can come up with that makes sense of that vision. You have to admit it makes a kind of sick sense, especially if the killer’s a psychopath.”
“What about the coyote?”
“Coyote is known as the trickster—the dual sided one, so following that analogy, the killer could be someone we know or someone we meet who is not what he, or she, seems.”
Martine, who had been watching him with widened eyes, shuddered. “That would fit the profile of a psychopath, they’re seldom what they seem, you know. Remember Ted Bundy?”
“Who doesn’t? He’s one of Seattle’s most infamous sons.”
“And yet, everyone who knew him swore they’d never met a nicer guy.”
“Excluding those girls who tried to help him. Sick bastard.”
“I know. It’s sad really, he’s become kind of a legend. I hate to think there might be someone like that targeting our Native girls.”
“I hate it too, but at this point it’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“Where will you even start to look for that kind of killer?”
“Probably with Shannon, I need to do some digging into her background.”
“Alex said Shannon liked to hang around at a coffee house with a bunch of kids her age.”
“That’s right, I remember that now, the Java Hut, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. That’s the place. It’s over on Commercial Drive, not far from our place.”
“Good maybe I’ll drop in there after I’ve had a talk with Hanson.”
“Why don’t you let me handle that? It’s been awhile, but with some makeup magic and the right wardrobe I think I could pass for a teenager.”
Jesse opened his mouth to speak, and then wisely closed it again. Martine would not appreciate any protectiveness.
* * *
Martine studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror and pouted her lips to apply a coat of dark red lipstick. Her black hair hung straight, and with an iron she’d fashioned a pair of horns like spikes at her temples. She’d coated her face with white pancake, lined her eyes with black kohl, and sprinkled silver sparkles over her gaudy purple lashes.
“My God,” she groaned, “I look like Morticia Addams.”
Makeup finished, she pulled on a pair of fishnet stockings, zipped up her black leather mini and laced her feet into combat boots.
Giving herself a last minute once-over in the mirror, Martine picked up her bag and let herself out of the apartment.
At the Java Hut she pulled open the door and stood inside, getting her bearings. There were a few couples seated at tables and two people seated at the bar. Martine walked up to a young girl and pulled out a stool. “You a regular?” She asked.
The girl, thin with orange blonde hair, tilted her head to meet Martine’s eyes. “Why?” Her bright red lips parted to show a double row of metal braces.
“I’m looking for my cousin. Her brother said she hangs out here.”
“What’s her name?”
“Shannon. Shannon Perrault.”
“Sure, I know Shannon. Haven’t seen her for a while. What’s your name?”
“Martine. You?”
“Diana. You from around here?”
“The Island. I’m at a reunion thing— bo-r-ring. I figured to find Shannon and hang out.”
“Les. Over here.” Diana called out to a skinny boy with green hair who’d just walked in the front door. “If anyone knows where to find Shannon it’s Les,” she said when the young man joined them at the bar.
“Hi.” He stopped in front of Martine and looked her up and down.
“Hi yourself.” Martine met the young man’s gaze and held it for several seconds.
“Shannon’s been holding out on us.” Les leaned against the bar beside Martine.
“Do you know Shannon?”
“We’re what you might call friends.”
Diana tossed her head and laughed. “They’re a bit more than friends. Where have you been all week?” She turned back to Les.
“The Island. Why? What’s it to you?”
“Don’t be touchy. Martine’s a cousin of Shannon’s. I figured since the two of you were such a hot item you’d know where to find her.”
“Nope. Haven’t seen her.” He turned to Martine and smiled again. “Diana’s got too much mouth. Shannon and I called it quits a couple weeks ago —by mutual agreement. I’ve been on the Island—trying to save the environment from a bunch of parasite developers.”
“Any idea where Shannon’s been staying? Her brother hasn’t seen her since Monday.”
“Sorry. I’ve no idea.” Les shrugged. “She’ll turn up. Maybe you’d like to come to a project meeting tomorrow night. Shannon’s a supporter. She’ll probably show.”
“Where are you meeting?”
“We have a house behind the Britannia Recreation Centre. Tell the receptionist at Britannia you’re part of Eugene Guthrie’s group. She’ll point you in the right direction.”
“Thanks. I’ll see how it goes. Nice meeting you Diana.” Martine slid off her stool and waved at the couple as she headed out the door.
“Nice meeting you.” Diana called back.
Chapter Four
Once inside her condo Martine went straight to the shower. After
scrubbing all the paint off her face and changing into jeans she grabbed a loose knit sweater, tossed it over her shoulder and headed for Jesse’s place.
She knocked softly and waited until she heard a muffled, “come in.”
She opened the door and heard water running. The sound came from the vicinity of the bedroom and good sense told Martine she should wait in the kitchen.
What the heck. She tossed her head as if to toss away good sense and started toward the sound.
“Are you decent?” She poked her head through the doorway and scanned the dimly lit room.
“Depends.” Jesse stepped out of the bathroom sporting a towel wrapped loosely around his waist and lots of bare brown skin. Water drops glistened on his flat belly and strands of jet-black hair clung to his shoulders.
A sizzling current zipped through Martine’s belly. “Sorry, I’ll wait outside.”
“No don’t go. Hand me those pants on the bed. I want to hear about your trip to Java House.”
Martine shut off her internal alarm and grabbed the pair of well-worn Levis off the bed.
“Here.” She stepped to the bathroom and held them out. “I’m turning my back.”
“If you insist.” Jesse’s fingers covered hers and she let go of the jeans, jerking her hand back as if she’d been scalded.
“You can turn around now.” His voice whispered against her earlobe. “Why don’t we sit?”
Martine shook her head. “You know how I feel about personal relationships between co-workers. I’ll wait outside.”
“I’m sorry, she said, when Jesse joined her on the porch. “I love my job and I don’t want anything to change.”
“I understand. Speaking of the job, want to take a ride?”
“Have you found out something?”
“I’m not sure, but there are a couple of curiosities I want to check out.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out Ed Parker’s check. “This is one of them.”
Martine took the check and read the signature “That’s Shannon’s foster father. I wonder why he would give her a check. From what Alex said they were barely on speaking terms.”
