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twenty-two

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I followed a familiar SQ police cruiser into the reserve and watched it stop beside the MPD cruisers parked at the police station. There was only one reason why Sergeant LaFramboise would be here. John-Joe had been caught or was about to be. Praying I wasn’t too late, I floored it past the flood-lit building and headed towards Ajidàmo’s house.

All was quiet. Only the deathly stillness of a sub-zero night greeted me as I stepped onto the path to their cabin. And the undisturbed snow told me that if the police had been there, it was before the storm. A thin spiral of smoke reached upwards from the chimney to stars, made more brilliant by the frigid air, while from inside the faint glow of an oil lamp shone through the one unboarded window.

When I knocked on the door, I heard an exclamation of surprise through the thin wood and some shuffling, which started me wondering. Then Ajidàmo called out, “Who’s there?”

“It’s me, Meg,” I answered. “I’d like to talk to you. Could you let me in, please?”

More shuffling, and finally Ajidàmo opened the door. His grandmother stood behind him. Neither smiled. Neither said a word. Steam generated by the room’s escaping warmth billowed around them.

“Please, it’s about John-Joe.”

No response.

“Look, I’m worried. He could freeze to death if he spends another night in the bush.” As if on cue, the crack of a branch contracting from the cold pierced the stillness behind me. “And I’m afraid the police might know where he’s hiding.”

Fear flashed across Ajidàmo’s face. He rattled off something in Algonquin to his grandmother.

“Could you please let me in?” The cold was beginning to penetrate the double layer of fleece I’d worn.

More hurried discussion between the old woman and her grandson. Then finally both stepped back into the hot room to let me in. Contrary to my growing suspicions, I saw no indication that John-Joe had been in this room seconds before. The room was little changed from my last visit. A halffinished moccasin lay at one end of the table, while at the other end a child’s school workbook sprawled open at one of the lessons. The doors to the two back rooms were closed, but they’d been closed last time too.

However, I couldn’t help but sense the boy’s nervousness. I was fairly certain he’d been in touch with his nìtàwis, might even know his hiding place. The challenge was to get him to tell me. I decided the truth was the only way.

I explained how I’d found his cousin at his hunting camp after the murder, how I’d sheltered John-Joe following his first escape and how I’d promised to help him. I ended by saying that I still believed in his nìtàwis’s innocence and would do all I could to find the real killer.

While I spoke, Ajidàmo remained silent. Only his eyes responded, and they grew larger and larger until they seemed to occupy most of his thin face.

Finally I said, “Ajidàmo, I think you know where John-Joe is hiding. Could you either take me to him or tell him to come to Three Deer Point? I promise I won’t tell the police.”

His eyes darted to the closed doors behind me, then back to me. Before I had a chance to walk over and check out the rooms for myself, one of the doors opened and out stepped John-Joe.

“It’s good you’re here,” he said.

He looked more drawn than when I’d last seen him. His cheeks were now sunken hollows with dark bags under his eyes. At least on one side of his face. The other was purple and swollen, blotting out the scratches he’d received on his first escape. His eye was a puffy slit. Somewhere on his long journey, he’d rid himself of his prison clothes. Jeans, sweatshirt and a lumberman’s wool shirt now draped his lanky frame.

“And I’m very glad you’re safe,” I said.

He smiled his movie star smile, but with a slight alteration, a gap from a missing front tooth. Thumping his chest, he said, “Takes more than a little cold to kill me.”

“Maybe so, but it’ll certainly make you sicker.”

“Ah, what’s a cough or two. Besides, my cold’s pretty well gone.” And he gave his chest another resounding thump.

“We’ll see. So why did you run again? It’ll only make your defense that much harder for Tommy.”

“Couldn’t take any more shit. See this?” He pointed to his face, then lifted up his sweatshirt to reveal more bruises. “This is what the fuckin’ pigs do to Indians.”

“But Tommy said you’d been in a fight with other prisoners.”

He grunted. “Cops good at telling fairy tales, ain’t they? Two of ’em buggers jumped me when I was coming out of the shower. One held my arms while the other pounded the shit out of me.”

“Good God, why?”

John-Joe’s eyes flashed in anger. “One of ’em bastards asked if I had a sister. Said he liked fuckin’ squaw meat, so I spit on him.”

Unfortunately it would be their word against John-Joe’s. “Kind of makes it tricky going back, doesn’t it?”

“That’s what I figure.”

“You’ll need some place to stay where the cops aren’t likely to look. And it isn’t here. In fact, I’m worried they might be on their way now.”

John-Joe grinned. “Guess I’d better get going, eh? Got my gear ready. I was gonna leave tonight, anyway, and hide out in the bush.”

“Do that, and you’ll never be able to clear yourself. I have a better idea. Stay at my place, where there are more than enough hiding places if the cops do come sniffing around, and you can work with me to find Chantal’s killer.”

“Okay,” he said without hesitation and spoke a few words to his grandmother, who turned her solemn glance towards me and said, “Goood. Friend.”

“Before we leave, though, there are a few things I’d like you to clear up for me. One has to do with the money the police found on you. Did that come from Chantal?

He leaned back on his heels and crossed his arms over his chest. His shuttered face told me he was not about to answer.

“Look, I know you probably got it from Chantal. Her father’s reporting a large sum missing. I just want to know how it ended up in your possession.”

His face remained stubbornly impassive. “I will only help you if you’re are totally honest and open with me. Did she give the money to you, or did you steal it?” He continued his silence.

“Okay, that’s it. You’re on your own. I won’t help you any more.” I turned to leave.

“She gave me the money. She’s into drugs big time. She wanted me to get them for her.”

“Did you sell them to her? Is that why you didn’t tell the police where you got the money?”

Ajidàmo blurted out, “I didn’t tell her, Nìtàwis, honest, I didn’t.”

“Didn’t tell her what, Adjidàmo?” John-Joe asked.

“It was your friend. He brung us the stuff. You know, the guy you told me to be nice to.”

“Shit, that bastard. Wait till I get a hold of him.”

“Does he mean Pierre?” I asked.

“That bastard,” John-Joe replied with finality.

“And he was the source of the marijuana you and Chantal smoked at your hunting camp,” I said more as a statement than a question.

“Yeah.”

“And you bought it using Chantal’s money.”

He nodded, albeit with reluctance.

“So why did you tell me before that Chantal brought the grass with her?”

“I was afraid you were gonna turn me into the cops if you found out I bought the stuff.”

“Okay. I understand. At least you’ve told me the truth now. But please, don’t hide anything more from me, okay?”

The last of his resistance vanished. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Just is everythin’s gone crazy since Chantal died. Dunno who to trust any more.”

“You can trust me.”

“Yeah, I know. I won’t do it again. I’ll tell ya whatever ya wanta know.”

“Good. Let’s get back to the money. You still had a lot of money on you when the police arrested you. What was that for?”

“It was supposed to go for some coke. Pierre didn’t have it but knew where he could get some. Shit, I didn’t want anything to do with the stuff. OD ’ed on it four years ago. Don’t want to get hooked again. But she insisted, said she needed it to—” He glanced anxiously towards Ajidàmo, then back to me. “To enjoy you-know-what.”

At this point, Ajidàmo was all eyes and ears. John-Joe ruffled his hair, then covered his young cousin’s ears. “While Chantal was smokin’ up, felt I had to join her. Wow, some stuff. Got real high. Hey, maybe that was what put me out?”

“Nope, it was definitely the scotch,” I said. Ajidàmo squirmed loose from his grasp. “You were doing drugs, weren’t you, Nìtàwis? If you can do it, why not me, eh?”

“Sure, if you want to find yourself in the same kind of shit I’m in now.”

That stopped Ajidàmo. His grandmother meanwhile continued to cast her blind eyes from one grandson to the other. Although it was difficult to tell if she understood any of our conversation, I felt from the occasional angry frown she cast at the eldest that she must have comprehended at least some of it.

I continued, “Why didn’t Chantal deal directly with Pierre, since I gather she knew him better than you did?”

“She thought the guy should do the buyin’. You know, like payin’ for a girl’s drinks. She was kinda funny that way.”

“Where was Pierre to deliver this cocaine? At your camp?” John-Joe nodded. “And did he deliver it?”

“Nope, not as far as I know. Unless he came when Chantal and I were out cold.” John-Joe’s eyes lit up as he said these last words. “Do you think…?”

“I think it’s a strong possibility that Pierre did murder her and framed you for her death.”

“But why? It don’t make sense. We was good buddies. And I thought he kinda liked Chantal. They knew each other a long time.”

“Did Pierre resent your relationship with her?”

“Nope. Never let on if he did. He even introduced us.”

“We’ll have to let the police worry about the motive. In the meantime, we’ve got to get you out of here without alerting the neighbours, which rules out the front door.”

I turned to Ajidàmo. “Is there a way out back?”

Nodding vigorously, the boy ran to one of the closed doors and flung it open. Frigid air poured from the darkened room. “Nìtàwis used that before,” he shouted, pointing to a narrow sash window that looked barely wide enough for a man to crawl through.

“Okay, you leave that way,” I said to John-Joe. “We need to set up a meeting place where I can pick you up. Some place isolated.”

“The dump. Though, if any my people sees me, they won’t squeal.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” I mentioned Eric’s reaction after he was identified as the drug dealer.

“Jeez, what’s with the chief? I thought he was my friend.”

“And he is. Let’s just say the evidence is just a little too stacked against you right now. But enough talk, we’ve got to get going. Can you get to the dump without going on the main road?”

“Yeah, there’s a back trail. Shouldn’t take me more than fifteen minutes.”

“Okay, off you go,” I said, watching him pull on a bulky pair of Sorels, guaranteed to keep your feet warm at minus forty. I knew, because I was wearing the same kind. He opened the window and clambered over the sill. As he dropped into the deep snow, I suddenly realized. “Oh no, you’re going to leave tracks.”

“No problem. Ajidàmo, you there?” John-Joe whispered up from below.

“Yeah,” came the high-pitched voice.

“Remember how I taught you to disguise a track so no one can tell what it is or which way it’s going in. You do that with my track, okay?”

“You bet, Nìtàwis.”

Then as John-Joe started to move away, I remembered something else. “Wait! Are you leaving anything behind that will alert the police?”

“Jeez, my prison clothes.”

Thank God I had asked. “Anything else?”

“Nope.”

“Okay, go and I’ll meet you at the dump in fifteen minutes.”

Yelling at the young boy to collect his cousin’s prison clothes, I searched the room to ensure there was nothing incriminating, then searched the rest of the house. Fortunately, the bright orange garb was the only evidence of John-Joe’s visit. Intending to turf it at the dump, I hastily bundled the clothing into a plastic bag provided by Kòkomis, then I turned to Ajidàmo.

“You are very good at keeping secrets, aren’t you?”

He nodded solemnly.

“You won’t tell anyone, even your good friends, the whereabouts of your cousin, will you?”

He nodded again.

“You can’t even tell them that you’ve seen him.”

“Seen who?” he answered and grinned, while his grandmother hugged him to her bosom. She spoke to him in a soft but authoritative voice that suggested she’d fully understood what I’d been saying. Ajidàmo grimaced.

“What did she say?” I asked.

“The windigo will eat me if I tell.”

I ran to my truck and shoved the plastic bag containing John-Joe’s prison clothes under the seat. I drove down their road, turned onto the main road and ran smack into the police. I braced myself. Patrolman Luke Smith, sitting in a parked MPD cruiser, motioned me to stop. He sauntered towards my truck, while I desperately tried to shove the plastic bag further under my seat.

Then I jumped outside to forestall any search of the vehicle and gave him an innocent, “What’s up, Luke?”

“Hi, Miss Harris. I’m looking for John-Joe. Don’t know if you know he’s escaped. I was just wondering if you’ve seen him or know his whereabouts.”

“That crazy guy. Why would he do that?” I asked, hoping Luke couldn’t hear my pounding heart. “What do you want me to do if I see him?”

He shone a flashlight into the interior of my truck. I tensed, waiting for him to spy the plastic bag. But he straightened up and started walking back to his cruiser, “Call the station. And best you don’t approach him, he could be dangerous.”

As a rush of relief washed over me, I gave him a friendlier than usual goodbye and continued driving along the main road to the dump. But when I reached the turn-off, I noticed he still had me in full view, so I kept going until I was out of sight. I pulled into the empty lot of the Rec Centre to rethink the plan and realized this would look even more suspicious. I drove to the General Store, which was more in keeping with my usual behaviour. To continue the pretense, I bought a bag of milk and a dozen eggs. But when I returned to the truck, I was still faced with the same dilemma. How to pick John-Joe up at the dump without the cop seeing me? I knew of no other access route. I also wasn’t sure if I could wait until Luke left his checkpoint. The cold might force John-Joe to come searching for me, which needless to say would increase his risk of getting caught exponentially.

Fortunately, before I had to come up with an alternative solution, the MPD cruiser sped past, lights flashing. Without hesitation, I drove my truck out of the parking lot and nipped down the road to the dump. Although the dump was unlit, the snow’s luminescence provided a soft twilight in the moonless night. Many shadows defined the mounds of snow-covered garbage, but none were large enough to be John-Joe.

Worried he’d already gone looking for me, I whistled. A shadow defining a particularly large mound of garbage grew taller, and out he walked. “Hurry,” I whispered. “The police are looking for you.” He crammed his long body as best he could into the footwell of the passenger side. I covered him with an old blanket used to protect the seat from a muddy Sergei and sped off. However, partway down the dump road, I remembered the plastic bag. At that point, a set of headlights rounded the bend in front of me. Too late. I’d have to dump his prison clothes elsewhere. Worried it was the police, I drove cautiously forward, trying to quell my nervousness. As the lights drew closer, I sighed with relief at the sight of Eric’s Jeep. He slowed down, but afraid he’d see the blanket-covered mound, I kept my foot on the gas. With a nonchalance I didn’t feel, I smiled and waved to his opening window as I drove past, but not fast enough to miss the second head in the car, a smaller one next to Eric’s. Damn him. He couldn’t even go to the dump alone.

I rammed the gas pedal to the floor. In my rearview mirror, I saw the Jeep stop for a few seconds, then continue forward. I let out my breath. John-Joe struggled to get up.

“Christ, this is uncomfortable.”

“Sorry, you’re going to have to stay there until we’re off the reserve.” I turned onto the main road and promptly drove into the glare of oncoming headlights.

“Down further,” I ordered. The car whisked past. Clutching the wheel as if my life depended on it, I drove my truck on the only road leading out of the reserve, directly in and out of the busiest section. I didn’t dare drive one kilometre over the exact speed limit. The last thing I needed was to be pulled over for speeding. Then I saw them. Two police cars, their lights flashing, parked at the entrance to the reserve. One an SQ cruiser, the other the Migiskan police. Damn. I slowed down. A van was stopped behind the provincial police cruiser. The driver draped the side of the van with his arms reaching up and over its roof. Several cartons of beer and alcohol lay on the ground. A Migiskan police officer was searching the van, while another guarded the driver. Sergeant LaFramboise stepped out of his cruiser as I approached. He signalled me to stop.

“Don’t even breathe,” I whispered to John-Joe. Trying to act as calmly as I could, I rolled down my window a couple of inches. Any further and LaFramboise might see the blanket. Not only would John-Joe end up slammed against my truck, but I would too, for helping an escaped prisoner. One of the Migiskan police walked away from the van. It was Luke.

“Sergeant, no need to check Miss Harris’s truck,” he shouted, “I’ve already done it.” Barely hiding his annoyance, Rotten Raspberry waved me on. I stayed silent until the flashing lights disappeared into the night, then I let out a war whoop.

“We did it. We’re home free. But I can’t say the same for your local bootlegger. The cops were stripping him of his booze as we passed.” John-Joe sat on the passenger seat, rubbing his legs.

“Christ, I can’t feel them.”

“Don’t get too comfortable,” I warned. But we encountered no other cars before the turn-off to Three Deer Point. Feeling the relief I’d once felt after surviving a close encounter with a bear, I headed home.

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