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A week later they were heading back south, Walker sitting beside Dan in the wheelhouse while they watched Dean Channel open up in front of them. It was almost December, the slopes of the mountains covered with snow and the jagged summits brilliant white against a cold blue sky. They had spent three days on Porcher Island and had found not only more traditional regalia but also walls completely covered with paintings of Voudou loa and their vèvès, numerous rattles, drums, fetishes, and incense sticks, plus other paraphernalia they could not identify.
“So you were right all along,” Walker said, watching an eagle snatch a fish from the water and carry it, gripped in its talons, towards the shore. “It was all about Voudou.”
“Right and wrong,” Dan said. “That expert they brought in from the university figures it’s only loosely about Voudou. Everybody in Chauvet’s group certainly comes from a Voudou culture, and a lot of the things we saw there in those houses were related to the practice of Voudou, but they were perverting it to try and get revenge on people they felt had wronged them. That’s why they wanted the regalia. They believed it had some intrinsic power, some kind of magic they could use to punish the people who had bullied or shunned them because of the way they look.”
Walker was still watching the eagle. “Seems kinda crazy,” he said, his eyes following the flight of the bird. “If they’d really studied our culture they would have known that wasn’t what it was about—and all that stuff in those houses was really weird. All those dolls and skulls and cigars. And what about those dark glasses we saw with only one lens, and the bottles of rum?”
They had spent their time on Porcher Island searching the various buildings. The largest had obviously served as a meeting place and every available surface had been covered in candles. There were closets full of elaborate white dresses and long black coats, shelves full of tall black hats, most with skulls painted on the hatbands, and racks stacked with bottles of rum. Drawers were filled with sunglasses, most missing the left lens, or with boxes of herbs and powders, or with stacks of recipes hand-written on parchment, labelled with somewhat unimaginative names such as UnHexing, Enemy be Gone, and Develop Psychic Powers. Each was sealed with wax and stamped with the vèvè of one of the loas.
Bedrooms in the houses contained shelves of fetishes and crude fabric dolls, many with faces drawn in marker pen. Walls were hung with white-painted skull masks and rows of ebony-handled walking sticks.
“All part of Voudou,” Dan answered. “I can’t remember all the information I read, but it seems each loa has certain powers and certain things they like. Papa Legba is one of them. He can grant wishes and supposedly is able to make souls suffer and he likes cigars, so I guess those cigars were to keep him happy.”
“Which is the one who likes those sunglasses? What’s he supposed to do?”
“That’s Baron Samedi. He’s an interesting fellow. No one can die unless he grants permission, but he’s also noted for disruption, obscenity, and debauchery. Like Papa Legba and Kalfu, he likes tobacco and rum and he always wears dark glasses.”
Dan checked the screen and made a course alteration before he continued.
“The missing lens can symbolize one of two things. Either he simultaneously sees the realms of both the living and the dead or—and you’ll love this—because a penis has only one eye and the phallus is his symbol. Remember those phallus-like things we saw planted on a mound in front of each of the houses?”
“Yeah.” Walker grinned. “I figured maybe they were all into some kind of kinky sex. So those were for him?”
“They were indeed. He’s important. He’s the power behind the kind of magic that can kill, and my guess is he’s the one they called on most to help with their plans for revenge. Him and Kalfu. Kalfu, as you might expect, is the grand master of black magic and sorcery and he controls the evil spirits of the night. He prefers his rum laced with gunpowder.”
Walker raised his eyebrows. “Gunpowder? And here I used to think rum and coke was pretty fancy. So how many of these gods are there?”
“Well technically they’re not gods,” Dan answered. “Bondeye is the god. The loa are spirits that have certain powers and there’s over a thousand of them.”
***
THEY HAD FOUND SAMENTHA Chauvet’s bedroom in the house Dan had come to on his previous visit. It had a closet full of long, flowing dresses in every possible shade of pink and drawers full of expensive jewelry. Mirrors hung on every wall, and there were enough bottles of perfume to completely cover two shelves. Make-up and hairbrushes littered the bathroom. This was the home of a woman obsessed with her looks, and it fitted all the descriptions Dan had read about the loa, Erzulie, from her love of the colour pink to her passion for perfume.
It was all somehow grotesque, and more than a little disturbing, but it wasn’t until they entered one of the smallest bedrooms that they found what they were looking for. As they opened the door they saw a long dresser, and sitting on top was a line of Styrofoam wig forms each holding a wig with long hair threaded with strands of grass and moss and twists of string. Behind it, mounted on the wall, was a rack holding a number of Kris knives. One of the slots was empty.
“Certainly a strange group of people,” Dan said. “I don’t think any of them could be called normal, either mentally or physically. But it’s also sad in a way.”
They were coming up on the entrance to the channel leading to Tsatsquot and Dan slowed the engine.
“Sad for who?” Walker asked. “For Jimmie and Leonard? For their families? And what the hell is normal anyway? Are you normal? Am I?”
“Good point,” Dan answered, nudging Dreamspeaker into the same cove he had anchored in before. “And yes, it’s certainly sad for Jimmie and Leonard, and for Ngarra over there in Australia, and for their families too, but it’s also kind of sad for that group on Porcher. It looks like every one of them has some kind of physical problem. Vitiligo, Melasma, Xeroderma Pigmentosum were a few of the terms I heard. I don’t really know what any of those mean, but apparently they involve various skin problems as well as some actual deformities: skin discolouration and patches and blisters. Even red eyes and poor coordination. A couple of them are deaf and then there was one who suffers from dwarfism—and that’s in addition to the guy on Snake Island who is apparently Chauvet’s uncle. Certainly enough to make them the target of bullies and get them shunned. It’s probably why Chauvet was able to recruit them to her cause, and certainly both she and the housekeeper had issues.”
He had released the anchor and he looked at the man standing beside him as the boat swung on the chain. The sun’s rays streaming in through the window caught Walker’s face and lit the lines that led from his eyes. Walker had suffered at least as much pain and prejudice as any of the people on Porcher Island, but unlike them he had found the inner strength to rise above both. What had made the difference? How did one man develop pride and courage while another turned to hate and revenge?
“The Bureau told me the woman who was seen on the boat at Dawson’s Landing is albino, which would explain both the clothing and the hairs that were found at Tsatsquot. She also pilots the helicopter her uncle—the guy who lives in Whistler—keeps in Bella Coola for when he wants to go bear hunting although it looks like the uncle probably had no idea what was going on.”
Dan checked the sounder. “But you’re right about those problems not giving them an excuse,” he said. “And they certainly don’t explain Martin de los Santos. From what I’ve been told, he not only created his own problems, he also embraced them. The shrinks have got him talking and it sounds like he’s actually proud of what he’s done. Told them how clever he was to get in and out of the villages without being caught, how he glued moss and grass over himself, and how the people on Porcher needed his skill to—and I quote—'heal the wounds they had suffered.’ Said all he was doing was ‘balancing things out’ whatever that means.”
“Hell of a way to go about it—and how did he get in and out without being caught?”
“You were right there too,” Dan replied. “He went in by helicopter a couple of days early—those pushpins with the drop of paint on the head? It was fluorescent. He landed well away and then went in to scout the village. He stuck the pins into trees so he could find his way back to the chopper. He listened to them talk, saw when they went inside for the night. Certainly in Leonard’s village he knew exactly where the masks were located because he’d been there before. He wouldn’t have had to search for them.”
Dan paused as he remembered being told Kalfu had crewed on Leonard’s boat. “Come to think of it, that may have been true for Jimmie’s village too. Could be working on fishboats was part of his planning process. It’s another thing Bishop will have to follow up on—although maybe you and I can ask them when we get there.”
He switched off the computer and the engine and a silence he could almost feel filled the wheelhouse. It was broken only by the lapping of water against the hull and the cry of birds and he felt himself relax.
“We’re going to take the canoe in, right?” Walker asked. “I’m getting tired of your lousy cooking. Time to get back out there to find some real food.”
“Better to take the Zodiac. It’s faster and there’s more room to stow the mask.”
Commander Bishop had been busy during the three days Dan and Walker were on Porcher Island. He had flown in not only the woman from the anthology department at the University, but also Vivien, from the U’Mista museum in Alert Bay. The two of them had documented the regalia, starting with the masks from both Leonard and Jimmie’s village. Photographs had been taken, measurements had been made, styles and shapes and markings identified, and while they couldn’t identify the specific artist—even the villagers may not have been able to do that—they had been able to estimate the age and attribute the work to a particular nation or clan. It had been enough to convince the authorities that there was sufficient evidence to support the charges without actually having the items themselves physically present, and they in turn gave permission to return them to the villages.
Dan and Walker had stopped into Ahas’wit to return the two Crooked Beaks of Heaven masks, and had watched them being welcomed home with drums and songs and dancing before they were put back on the walls of Leonard’s house. Now Walker carefully lifted Charlie’s Thunderbird mask from the bunk where it had been resting, wrapped in blankets and wedged in with pillows, and carried it out to the Zodiac where Dan made a cushion of lifejackets for it to rest on before carefully sliding it under a seat.
“We’ll take our time. Don’t want to bounce too hard. We have some precious cargo aboard and we’re not in any rush.”
Walker smiled. “Nice to see you’re finally learning patience.”
***
THEY WERE BOTH QUIET as they made their way along the steep shores. The scent of cedar mingled with the salt tang of the ocean, and once in a while there was a flash of silver as a fish leapt out of the water.
“My grandmother came from a village near here.” Walker’s voice was soft, but it carried above the sound of the motor as the Zodiac nosed its way towards the village.
Dan looked at him in surprise. He had never heard Walker talk about his family before.
“She’s long gone now, but she remembered when they took my mother away. She told me about it. She said they came in a boat and she could hear the children screaming. Gran ran along the beach, crying, screaming, calling, trying to reach her daughter. She said she stretched her arms out as wide as she could, hoping to be able to touch her and get her back. Her feet were bare and the rocks were sharp so she kept falling. Cut her hands and knees—she still had the scars—and when she ran out of beach she went into the water, but it was too deep and someone pulled her back so all she could do was stand there and watch her daughter disappear.”
It took Dan a long time before he could force words out of a throat closed by emotion. “Did your mother come back?”
“Yeah, but she didn’t stay long. She went back to the city. The nuns threw her out of the residential school when she was sixteen. Told her her family didn’t want her and dumped her in Edmonton. She married some guy from the same school. Gran said she never met him and my mum was already lost to drugs and alcohol when she came home.” He shrugged. “Guess it didn’t matter. She’d already lost everything else: her family, her culture, her pride. I guess she stayed just long enough to dump me.”
Dan still found it hard to speak. “One of the Stolen Generation,” he finally said, closing his eyes against the almost painful surge of sadness. He had lost his own mother when he was young, and that had been hard, but it was nothing like this. This was agony.
“Yeah,” Walker said staring out over the water. “One of many.”
What did you say to that, Dan asked himself, keeping his eyes fixed on the water ahead. What could you say? Sorry?
Time passed. Five minutes. Ten. And still he couldn’t speak.
“Kinda puts Samantha Chauvet’s problems in a different perspective doesn’t it?” Walker’s grin was suddenly back. “I’m sure she had a tough time growing up, but I guess that’s what money and the easy life does for you. Makes you think you’re more important than anyone else.”
A sudden surge of anger brought Dan’s voice back.
“How the hell can you even put your grandmother and mother in the same sentence as Chauvet and her lot?” he asked. He found Walker’s words offensive. It was as if Walker’s story had become his. The sorrow and the loss now his own sorrow and loss. “And how can you laugh about it? That has to be the saddest damn story I’ve ever heard.”
Walker laughed. “Ahh, but it has a happy ending. Just look at me!”
Dan couldn’t help himself. He had to laugh too, but it was with admiration rather than humour.
“Yeah, right. Just look at you.”
***
THEY ARRIVED AT CHARLIE’S village not long after noon. A fishboat and a couple of small powerboats were tied to the float, but everything looked deserted and it wasn’t until after they had pulled the Zodiac up onto the shore that two men appeared.
“Walker? Didn’t expect to see you back here for a while. Good to see you. You too Mr. . . Detective . . .”
“Just Dan is fine.” Dan said, and he smiled and stretched out his hand. “Good to see again too. Any chance Charlie is around? We’ve got something for him.”
***
IT WAS ALMOST DUSK by the time they got back to Dreamspeaker, the last rays of the sun sliding through the trees and glinting off the waves, turning them into liquid gold. The air was cold and ahead Dan could see a bank of clouds forming in the west. It would be raining again by morning.
“You sure you want to leave tonight?” he asked as he slid Walker’s canoe into the water. “You know you’re welcome to stay.”
“Nah. Thanks anyway, but it’s time to get going. Been too long.” Walker settled himself in the canoe and released the line. “Thanks for everything.”
He lifted a paddle in salute, spun the canoe and headed across the inlet. As if to echo his words, a pod of orcas leapt high out of the ocean beside him, water streaming off their muscular bodies as they arched and twisted in the air, the droplets catching the fading light. Dan watched until it was too dark to see and then went into the wheelhouse and called Claire.
“So all the villages will get their regalia back?” she asked.
“Yes. The Waglisla detachment is handling most of it, but they let me and Walker return the masks from Tsatsquot and Ahas’wit.”
“Walker must be happy. Is he there with you now?”
Dan laughed. “No. As soon as we got back here he climbed into his canoe. Last I saw of him was ten minutes ago when he was disappearing down the inlet.”
“He left now? But it’s dark!” she exclaimed. “Couldn’t he have waited until morning?”
“I suggested that, but he refused,” Dan answered. “Turns out this is where he grew up, so I guess he’s comfortable here. Back where he belongs in a way, although I think Walker belongs anywhere and everywhere on the coast.”
“Has he even got anything to eat?”
“Oh yes, he certainly does. The folks in the villages really loaded us up. His canoe is damn near overflowing with salmon and herring roe and kelp and god knows what else. Even got a couple of big chunks of halibut in there. I thought for a while it might sink, but what he couldn’t carry he left in my galley. You and I can eat for a week or more on that. And I gave him a can of coffee. Seems he’s developed a bit of a coffee habit from being on board with me. I think he’ll be fine.”
She laughed. “And what about you? When are you going to be back where you belong?”
Dan reached for the key. He had been planning on leaving in the morning, but why wait? It was a beautiful night and Claire was waiting for him.
“Should be there by noon tomorrow. I’ll be the boat with the fancy carved trail-boards on the bow: Raven on one side and Thunderbird on the other. They’re gifts from Charlie’s village and they look pretty amazing. Dreamspeaker might have to get a new name—although that’s supposed to be unlucky, so maybe not.”
Twenty minutes later he stowed the anchor and left the cove. A three-quarter moon dodged between the scudding clouds and laid a path of silver along the water to lead him home.
***