Twenty—One

I followed the woman’s swaying gait down the hall to an office across from Claire’s that identified itself as belonging to Paulette Coon Come, Nanabush Youth Program Co-ordinator. Like Claire’s office, hers was long and narrow but with only one desk, which was cluttered with stacks of files and assorted papers. Museum posters of various aboriginal artifacts filled the white walls, while a myriad of flourishing plants crowded the deep sill of the sun-filled window. Unlike Claire’s office, which had been cold and uninviting, Paulette’s office spoke of warmth and sympathy, as she herself did.

Troubled youth should have no problems connecting with her, I thought as I sat down in a surprisingly comfortable captain-style wooden chair in a seating area next to the desk.

“Can I get you some tea or coffee?” she asked.

In the sunlight of her office, her unlined, beaming face suggested she was younger than her grey hair would indicate, while the jagged scar that pulled her smile into an awkward grin spoke of a life that had had its difficult moments.

I felt my stomach growl with hunger and thought a bit of food was what I really needed, but instead I answered, “I’m fine, nothing, thank you. I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”

“No problem.” Her black eyes twinkled. “It won’t take a second, the kettle is right over there. Besides, my next appointment isn’t until three. So we have a good hour for a chat.”

Although I thought my business wouldn’t take long, I acquiesced. “Tea would be perfect. Thank you.”

She plugged in the electric kettle standing on the same narrow table as a jar containing tea bags, a bottle of instant coffee, a teapot, an assortment of souvenir mugs, and a box of Tim Hortons donuts.

She must’ve noticed my intense gaze on the box, for she immediately passed it to me. “Please, help yourself.”

Muttering my thanks, I helped myself to my favourite, a cream-filled chocolate one, and plunged my teeth into the ecstasy. Just what my stomach needed.

After pouring the boiling water into the teapot, she eased her chunky frame into the chair beside me. In an attempt to hide her expanding stomach, she tugged at her red felt vest with its aboriginal renditions of killer whales in black appliqué, and failed.

Shaking her head, she sighed. “Too many donuts, but I love ’em and I see you do too.” She grinned, then continued. “Like I said, we have a lot of missing kids, sadly, too many of them. They get bored with life on the rez. They see what they think is the good life on TV and come to Ottawa to find it. Only trouble is most of them don’t. That’s what the Nanabush Youth Program’s all about. To help them adjust to life in the big city.”

“Do you see many kids?”

“Enough to keep me plus two other counsellors busy. But we’re short one at the moment.” She got up to pour the tea. “Creamer? Sugar?”

“Just black,” I said, preferring to have it black than polluted with whatever chemicals the creamer was made of.

I noticed a number of framed photos on a bookshelf beside her desk, one of a beaming bride resplendent in white, a couple of pictures of young women and men wearing graduation togs, and several with young children and their smiling mothers.

“Your children and grandchildren?” I asked.

She laughed and glanced at them fondly. “In a way, but I’m afraid they aren’t of my blood. These are some of my successes, young people I was fortunate enough to help.”

“That must make you feel good.”

“It does, but it’s the faces of the ones I couldn’t help that haunt my dreams. My lost souls, I call them.”

“Yes, that would be discouraging. Did you ever deal with Fleur Lightbody?”

“That’s the girl you mentioned, eh? Isn’t she’s the one from Migiskan the police were looking for a few months back?”

“Yes, she disappeared in mid-July.”

“What does she have to do with you, if you don’t mind my asking?” She passed me the mug of tea and offered another donut.

“I’m doing this for her mother. We’re friends. She couldn’t come to town, so she asked me to see what I could do to try and find her.”

“So I take it the girl hasn’t been found?” She sat back down in the chair beside me.

“Nope, and more worrisome, the girl she was last seen with was found murdered a couple of weeks ago.”

“That’s gotta be Becky. Real tragedy that, though I’m not surprised.”

“Why do you say that?”

“She was one angry girl. Mad at the world and at life. I started working with her not long after she came to Ottawa, fresh off her James Bay rez. I’m afraid her story is one we see far too often. Both parents drank. At fifteen, she was raped by a male relative and ended up having a kid who died when he wasn’t quite three.”

“I’m so sorry to hear this. Were you able to help her?”

She shook her head sadly. “I really tried. I thought we were connecting. She was doing well in her computer course. She even participated in a couple of healing ceremonies and seemed to be learning how to deal with her anger. Then one day she stopped coming. I thought maybe it was me, so I tried to get her to see another counselor, but she wanted nothing to do with that woman either.”

“Was that Claire?”

“Yeah, how’d you know that?”

“Just a lucky guess. So what happened with Becky?”

“What I was trying to prevent. She started hanging around with the wrong crowd. Got into drugs and was soon hooking to pay for them. I’m afraid it happens to a lot of young native women who’ve got big dreams but aren’t equipped to fulfill them.”

“I’m sorry about Becky. I guess she was one of your lost souls.”

She nodded sadly.

“Fleur, however, isn’t from the same background,” I continued. “She comes from a good home. As far as I know, she isn’t into drugs and certainly is too well brought up to get into prostitution. She has no need to. Her family would give her money if she needed it. She even has an uncle in town she could stay with.”

Except she didn’t, I thought. Moreover, Claire had intimated that Fleur had become a prostitute.

“You sure she and Becky were friends?” Paulette asked before biting into a sugar-coated donut.

“That’s what Claire told the police. It’s why I want to talk to her. You don’t happen to know her home number, do you?”

“I can give you her cell. But like I said, she’s probably off seeing to one of her cases. I don’t remember Fleur Lightbody being one of hers, but let me check just to make sure, okay?”

While she went through the files, I helped myself to another donut. Amongst the photos of her successful cases, I spied a photo of Paulette surrounded by several men decked out in their traditional chief’s attire. All wore big smiles of congratulations. One of them I recognized with a start.

“I see you know Eric Odjik,” I said.

She whirled around. “Why, yes I do. How do you … oh of course, the photo with me accepting the Turtle Island Award for contributions to the aboriginal community. I was so pleased to get it. Eric has been one of the Centre’s biggest supporters. He was invaluable in helping us get extra funding.” She raised her eyebrows in query. “Where do you know him from?”

I wasn’t about to tell her that I was his former girlfriend, so instead I said, “My property borders the Migiskan Reserve. Eric and I have joined forces on a number of issues that have affected our area.”

“A wonderful man, isn’t he? You know there’s talk of him being a real contender for National Chief of the Grand Council of First Nations when the current chief’s term is up.”

“Really. I didn’t know he’d put his name forth for election.” I was surprised his daughter hadn’t mentioned it, but then perhaps she didn’t know either. It would, however, explain the amount of travelling he’d been doing lately. “I’m sure he’d be very good in the job, although the reserve would hate to lose their band chief.”

She nodded absentmindedly then said, “Nope, I don’t see any file on Fleur, so she was never one of our clients.”

“I really wasn’t expecting it. She has a good future ahead of her. She was supposed to be starting a nursing program at a CEGEP in Montreal this fall, something she was very much looking forward to.”

“Well, I’m sorry, dear, I can’t help you. Here’s Claire’s number. Hopefully she can help you.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t have a cell, so do you mind if I use your phone? I’d like to see her before I leave Ottawa.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

But all I heard was Claire’s voice mail greeting, so I left a message for her to call me at home.

However, I didn’t want to leave Ottawa empty-handed. “Is there anyone else here at the Centre that might be able to help me?”

“Me and Claire are probably your best bets. But anyone could’ve seen her, if she came to the Centre. I’d start with Doris at the reception desk. If you’ve got a picture, I’d show that around.”

Damn, I hadn’t thought to bring a photo — but I could use the poster on the downstairs bulletin board. “Thanks, I will.”

“You know, you mentioned Eric Odjik. I remember him asking about a girl from his reserve, probably the same one.”

“Most likely. Do you know when he was asking about her?”

“It was a while back, sometime in July, I think, towards the end of the month. I believe I told him to ask Claire.”

Another reason to speak to Claire.

“I gather Fleur was also seen at Becky’s apartment. You don’t happen to have her address, do you? I’d like to go there to see if I can find the witness who saw her.”

“I guess now that she’s dead, I won’t be breaking any confidentiality rules, but the address I’ve got is at least a year old. Chances are she moved.”

After writing the address down and thanking Paulette for all her help, I wandered back downstairs, where I extracted Fleur’s missing person poster and ran it by a number of people while I waited for Doris to return to her reception desk. But apart from “pretty girl” comments, no one remembered seeing her at the Centre or anywhere else in Ottawa.

Doris, however, immediately raised my hopes when she said, “Sure, I remember Fleur. She helped out at last year’s pow-wow. A great gal. Quite the looker. The young bucks couldn’t keep their eyes off her.” She laughed shrilly.

But when I asked whether she’d seen Fleur this past summer, her answer was a brusque “Nope,” which made me wonder about Claire’s statement placing her here at the Centre with Becky. But then again, Doris could’ve been off on a break when Becky and Fleur came through the front door.

As I turned to leave, a woman, tears streaming down her cheeks, came running up to the desk. “Oh Doris, the police have just called wanting to know where Claire is. Apparently her car went off the MacDonald/Cartier Bridge.”

“Oh my God, was she in her car?”

“They haven’t been able to look inside it yet, it’s so far down. But the divers were able to identify the car from her licence plate. Dear God, I pray by some miracle she escaped,” the woman replied.

I thought back to the gap in the bridge’s railing and shivered. “I was supposed to meet Claire for lunch,” I said. “But she didn’t show up.”

“Oh, are you the one who wants to know about Fleur Lightbody?”

“Yes, I am. Do you know anything about her?”

“She came to me looking for a job.”