Both now fully awake, we sat up and fixed our eyes on the TV screen.
“Damn,” Eric said, voicing my feelings exactly.
The camera panned across the front of the Montreal lab to a long shot of the ceremonial circle on the front lawn. Then it zoomed in to capture the worry on Claude’s cherub face.
“Less than four hours after receiving a petition from the Migiskan Algonquin for the repatriation of the eleven-thousandyear-old remains of the DeMontigny Lady,” the announcer said, “Dr. Claude Meilleur, lead archeologist on this project, was found dead of a stabbing in the parking lot behind the Montreal Forensic Science Laboratory.”
“Oh dear, I’m so sorry. He seemed like a nice guy. Certainly a lot nicer than Dr. Schmidt.”
“It’s gotta have something to do with the damn bones. Christ, if one of our people did it, I’ll kill them.” Eric slammed his fist down onto the fragile veneer of one of my aunt’s antique end tables.
I winced. “Calm down. You don’t know if his death is related. It could just be a coincidence,” I said, not really believing it myself. The timing was too close.
“The police have also discovered,” the announcer continued, “that the ancient bones sought by the Algonquin are missing. Apparently Dr. Meilleur was about to transport them to the Ministry of Culture and Communications in Quebec City.”
Shit.
The story ended with a close-up of Eric coldly facing down the petite and sweetly smiling Dr. LaForge.
“They’re already accusing us.”
“Eric, for what it’s worth, Dr. LaForge lied to you. She told you she no longer had the bones, but it looks as if they were still there. Maybe she’s lied about other things, too.”
“What are you saying? She did it?”
“No, of course not. I’m just pointing out an inconsistency. Perhaps there are others.”
Eric reached for the phone.
“Who are you calling?”
“I want to find out when everyone got back. At best, it’s a three and a half hour drive from Montreal. If we can establish that everyone was back at the rez within that time period after the guy was killed, we can prove we’re not involved.”
“Sounds like a good idea, but don’t forget that after the ceremony, several stayed to see some of the sights in Montreal.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m just hoping they all got back here within that window.”
“And if not?”
“We’ll at least know where everyone was, so when the police come calling, we’re prepared. Nothing like a bit of boy scout training, eh?” he said with a wry smile.
“Anything I can do?”
“Yeah, could you track down Tommy Whiteduck? I think we’ll need a lawyer on this.”
“Will do once you’re off the phone.”
He looked at my only phone in his hand. “Sorry, wasn’t thinking. I’ll make a few quick calls. Then the phone’s all yours. Any I don’t reach, I’ll go look for. I also need to call the police chief to give him a heads up.”
“Better yet, why don’t you get him to do the checking? That way, if there do turn out to be problems, it won’t look as if you’re interfering.”
“Good thinking. I always knew you had more going for you than just a pretty face.” He chuckled as I planted a gentle punch on his chest.
Eric called Will Decontie, chief of the Migiskan First Nation’s Police force. After he explained the situation, they agreed to meet in fifteen minutes at the police station.
“I’ll come with you.” I turned off the TV .
“Good. I’ll need help remembering who all went to Montreal.” Eric started towards the door, then stopped. “What about Jid? Should we be leaving him alone?”
“Whoops. Forgot. Not used to having kids around. I guess I’d better stay.”
“Before I go, help me put together a list to give to Decontie.”
Using the various vehicles as reference points, we managed to come up with a list of twenty. When we reviewed it, we realized we’d forgotten the big Lincoln, so we added the Paynes’ three passengers to the list, giving a total of twenty-three Migiskan who’d driven to Montreal to deliver the petition.
As the door clicked shut behind Eric, I dialed Tommy Whiteduck’s home number. Son of a friend of mine who’d come to a tragic end, he was an obvious choice for a lawyer. Although it was many years since he’d lived on the reserve, he hadn’t forgotten his roots. He had a small legal practice in Ottawa, which specialized in native cases. A year before he’d proved invaluable in helping out on a murder case involving one of the band’s misguided youths. I had no doubt that he would help his friends out now.
Except when I asked him, he said, “No.”
“Why not?”
“A little matter involving conflict of interest.”
“Over what?”
“I see Eric hasn’t told you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Let’s just say I’m working for the other side. I’ll let Eric tell you the rest.”
“But he’s your chief.”
“Sometimes you have go with whoever is paying the bills.”
“I’m disappointed in you, Tommy. I didn’t think you were that crass.”
“Yeah, well, we aren’t all rich. With all your millions, you can afford to get them a fancy lawyer.”
Before I could come back with a fitting reply, he hung up, leaving me feeling disheartened. I thought he’d buried his resentment over the symbiotic relationship our two families had had for over a hundred years. But even if it had been an employer-employee relation, friendship had been at the root. Also, his family had benefited from the money the Harrises had given them, over and above their wages. Tommy himself had been the last recipient of this largesse which, combined with his government funding, had enabled him to become a lawyer.
As for millions? Hardly. My great-aunt Aggie had left me enough to generate an income that covered the ongoing costs of Three Deer Point, with enough left over to live on without working, as long as my expenses remained within the bounds of country living. Nothing more. My only other source of income was the settlement I’d received from my divorce. And given slippery Gareth, who’d managed to hide most of his money offshore, it wasn’t much.
Nonetheless, I did take Tommy’s advice and left a message at the office of an Ottawa lawyer with whom I’d had dealings in the past, hoping he would know of a Quebec-based lawyer who would be able to help us. Thinking the Paynes might know who had returned, I next called the Forgotten Bay Hunting and Fishing Camp, where they were staying, only to discover they’d not yet arrived back themselves. It looked as if proving whereabouts at the time of the murder was going to be a lot more difficult than either of us had thought.
How difficult I discovered when Eric came back two hours later.
“Of the twenty-three on the list, only twelve arrived back here within the three and half hour window,” Eric said, not bothering to hide his discouragement. “Another six came later. Decontie’s collecting their statements now. That leaves five who are still not back. Probably spending the night in Montreal.”
“The Smiths and their son Gilbert were with the Paynes. Who else?”
“Robbie and my daughter.”
Not good news. Two of the most vocal opponents. They were bound to be prime suspects. “What about Robbie’s father?”
“No problem there. He came back with the McGregors’ immediately after the ceremony.”
“Any idea where Robbie and Teht’aa could be?”
Eric shook his head. “Montreal’s a big city. They could be anywhere.”
Worried about what the morning might bring, we headed upstairs to bed.
At three o’clock, the phone’s ring woke me out of a fitful sleep.
“Can I speak to my dad?” a female voice said without so much as a “Sorry to bother you.”
“It’s Teht’aa.” I passed the phone to Eric.
“Where are you?” he demanded. His grip on the receiver tightened as he listened. “I’ll get you one.” He hung up and turned towards me, his shoulders slumped with defeat. “She’s been arrested.”