LITMIR.BIZ

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from view.

      Perhaps LaFramboise did have a spot of human kindness in him after all, for he told me to wait in the shelter of the shack as long as I didn’t get in the way of his men.

      “What about John-Joe?” I asked, looking over to where the young man stood shivering in his wet clothes, with his bare hands handcuffed to the tree. “He’s got a bad cold. Let him wait in the shack too.”

      LaFramboise sneered. “Bah, he is made for such weather.”

      “Much like Québécois, eh?” I shot back, no longer able to contain my anger. “I’ll wait outside with John-Joe.”

      I walked over with the spare pair of mitts I carried in my backpack, but was stopped short by his SQ guard, who snatched them from my hand and tossed them to John-Joe, who of course couldn’t catch them.

      “Put them on him,” I said, “or I’ll have you cited for mistreating a prisoner.”

      The SQ cop glared at me, while the MPD cop picked them off the snow and shoved them onto the prisoner’s trembling hands. John-Joe flashed me one of his infamous Tom Cruise smiles, which was immediately erased by another bout of coughing.

      Eric and Chief Decontie returned within a half hour, but not along the route they’d taken. They came back via the main trail to John-Joe’s hunting camp.

      “Snowshoe track, all right,” Eric said. “Found a couple of clear ones made from a bear paw style of snowshoe.”

      “Exactly like the pair I saw. Where’d he go?”

      “Afraid we lost him,” Chief Decontie replied. “Track took us to the new ski marathon trail, where it got wiped out by snowmobile tracks and fresh snow.”

      “Could he have had a skidoo waiting?” I asked. I tried to remember if I’d seen one on that stretch as we’d whisked by on our way here, but only had the image of snow and trees.

      “Possible, but too hard to tell.”

      “So, now that you have another suspect, does this mean you can let John-Joe go?” I asked.

      Joining us, Sergeant LaFramboise interjected, “Impossible, madame. Perhaps this man is here when you arrive, but there is no evidence to tell us he is here when this young Québécoise is killed. Non, madame, there are only two persons here, Mademoiselle Chantal and the Indian. And he has the knife that analysis will prove he kills her.”

      “He has a name,” Eric said, no longer bothering to conceal his anger. “It is John-Joe MacGregor.”

      This last interaction finally rammed home to me the difficult task that would be facing us in proving John-Joe’s innocence. Not only would we have to disprove the overwhelming evidence against the ill-fated young man, but we’d also have to overcome the contaminating bias of Sergeant LaFramboise.

      We could do nothing more for John-Joe, so Eric and I headed back to Three Deer Point determined to find him a good lawyer.

      As we approached an intersection of two snowmobile trails, one to the Fishing Camp, the other to the Migiskan Village, I suddenly remembered something. “We forgot to give our statements to Corporal Whiteduck.” I yelled into Eric’s ear.

      With a nod, he swerved the skidoo onto the trail to village.

      twelve

      Although I felt a good stiff measure of vodka would be better medicine for settling the residual flutters from finding Chantal’s body and facing John-Joe’s gun, I settled for the compensatory effects of tea. Besides, the vodka was long gone from my house.

      The last of the day’s brightness was turning twilight grey as I poured the boiling water into the ancient Brown Betty teapot my great-aunt had passed on to me. And like her, despite its cracked and stained appearance, I preferred it to the sterling silver fixture that flaunted itself along with the rest of the ornate Victorian tea service kept out of respect for Aunt Aggie on top of the buffet in the dining room. The old stoneware pot made the perfect cup of tea.

      Eric had just finished building up the fire in the living room fireplace when I walked in with the tea tray. Sergei lay where he’d probably lain for most of the day, spread out on my spot on the chesterfield. He moved with a disgruntled growl, but only after I had to resort to shoving him, all thirty-five kilograms of him, to his part of the sofa. Then, as if realizing life wasn’t so tough, he turned around and nestled his muzzle on my lap. I patted his soft, springy poodle curls.

      “Maybe I should’ve been born a dog,” Eric said, grinning as he sat down on one of the two wing-backed chairs flanking the massive fireplace.

      Much preferring Eric’s warm body nestling next to mine, I started to push the dog aside.

      “Please, don’t disturb the noble beast. I can’t stay long.”

      “Oh? I was hoping you’d stay for dinner.” With the images of Chantal’s mutilated body still fresh in my mind, I had only one desire, not to be alone tonight.

      “Love to, but duty calls. I’ve got to inform the band council about the murder and John-Joe’s arrest.”

      “Come afterwards. We can have a late dinner.”

      He shook his head. “Sorry, tied up.”

      I raised my eyebrows, but ignoring my unspoken query, he continued, “Before I leave, though, I want to get John-Joe’s lawyer lined up.”

      “Already done,” I answered, feeling somewhat pleased with my forethought.

      Now it was Eric’s turn to raise his eyebrows.

      But I didn’t ignore his query. “Did it while I was making the tea.”

      “I would’ve appreciated being consulted,” Eric replied stiffly. “John-Joe is, after all, one of my people.”

      “Afraid whitey is taking over?” I answered, feeling put out. I’d promised John-Joe I’d do all I could to help him, and the first thing he needed was a good lawyer.

      For a second, anger flashed in his eyes, then he shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose you’re right. But in a situation like this, it’s best to be defended by your own kind.”

      “And who’s to say I didn’t think of that myself?”

      “Okay, I give up. Who’d you get?”

      “Tommy Whiteduck.”

      “Okay, I’m sorry. I should’ve trusted your judgement.”

      Although Tommy had been practicing law for only a couple of years, he was beginning to make a name for himself as an up and coming young native lawyer. And since he had grown up on the Migiskan Reserve and knew John-Joe well, I felt he would do all within his power to defend his friend against Sergeant LaFramboise’s prejudice. He also happened to be the son of one of the first friends I’d made in this northern wilderness. Although two years had passed since his mother had tragically died, I still felt the loss of her friendship.

      “No, I should be the one apologizing,” I said. “As usual, I jumped without thinking. I should’ve talked it over with you first. If you know of someone better, I’m sure Tommy would understand.”

      “It’s okay. He was my choice too,” Eric paused to sip his tea. “I hope he can make it from Ottawa to Somerset by the time LaFramboise gets John-Joe to the police station.”

      “Tommy said he was leaving the minute he hung up. By the way, who’s supposed to contact Chantal’s parents? Us?”

      “Police. I know nothing about her. John-Joe brought her in.”

      “Has he known her for long?”

      “A few months. He couldn’t stop talking about what he called his movie star since meeting her at some bar in Somerset.” Eric stood up. “As much as I’d like to stay, I’ve got to be on my way.”

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