– what was
his name - Wagoner? - but the case didn't have any of the right ingredients to
qualify as high-profile. It wasn't as though Wagoner had been a movie star or
some big-time politician. Besides, the council of Elders had made it clear that
they wouldn't welcome him opening up the case. He'd read the report and knew
perfectly well that the chances of a man being killed by his own bullet
ricocheting off a rock were about as slim as a slice of ice in a hot kettle,
but he also knew how dependent Autisaq was on its hunting and guiding business
and he'd taken the decision not to interfere. A fudging of the facts only
became a cover-up when someone challenged it, and no one had.
The
only guaranteed way to get himself back on Misha's radar in the foreseeable
future was to follow the second option and persuade the editor of one of the
big scientific Journals, Nature, maybe, to publish his lemming research.
'To do that, he needed to be wasting less of his time mediating centuries old
feuds and more of it in the field.
Derek
Palliser finished his cigarette. The time had come to assert himself. He let
himself be pushed around too often. He'd been too passive, too keen not to
ruffle any feathers. Now was his chance to change all that. The place to start
was right here, right now, by putting a stop to this ridiculous fight between
the Toolik and Silliq clans. Drawing himself up to his full height, which was
considerably higher than Jono Toolik, he expressed regret about the sealskins
but explained that next time he expected the Tooliks and the Silliqs to resolve
their petty disputes themselves, without involving the police.
Stunned
by this new, less pliant, Palliser, Toolik took a pace back and blinked. His
mouth pumped like a beached fish. For a moment Derek thought the man was going
to punch him out. But he'd expended so much energy over the years playing along
with small town politics, to absolve himself now felt nothing short of
revelatory. The two men eyed one another for a minute or two, Jono Toolik's
face a smear of disgust. Then, spitting on the ice path beside him, the hunter
turned and went back into his house, banging the door to the snow porch behind
him.
Derek
shoved his hands in his pockets and trudged back to his little office in the
prefabricated A frame that served as the Kuujuaq detachment. It was at times
like these that he wished he'd taken up that job offer he'd had from a visiting
Russian geologist, cleaning oil derricks in Novosibirsk. 'Plenty money for a
man who don't mind the cold!' the geologist had said.
Grabbing
a mug of tea, he slumped down in his chair and stared into the middle distance.
He was not quick to anger, but the midget-sized problems of small-town life
seemed intolerable all of a sudden. He felt horribly stuck. Picking up his mug
he downed the last of the tea and rehearsed in his mind his resolve to act. At
that moment the door yawned open and Constable Stevie Killik burst in, bringing
with him a savage blast of icy air.
'That
Toolik fellow is a walrus dick,' Stevie said, stamping the cold out of his
feet. Derek's sidekick was by nature a mild-mannered man. If he called anyone a
walrus dick it was because they were.
'Let
me guess, Tom Silliq's had a word with you.'
'Right.'
Stevie pulled off his glove liners and went to put the kettle on. 'Want some
tea?'
Derek
stared into his mug. The emptiness unsettled him. 'Sure thing,' he said
finally.
While
they waited for the water to boil, the two men swapped stories. Tom Silliq had
approached Stevie on the ice road by the cemetery, in a very agitated state,
claiming Jono Toolik had sent two of his half-starved huskies to raid his meat
store. The dogs had gnawed through most of a haunch of caribou and several
seals, torn open sacks of the dog biscuits Silliq kept for his own dogs, and
pissed up against a stack of walrus heads, ruining hundreds of dollars'
his name - Wagoner? - but the case didn't have any of the right ingredients to
qualify as high-profile. It wasn't as though Wagoner had been a movie star or
some big-time politician. Besides, the council of Elders had made it clear that
they wouldn't welcome him opening up the case. He'd read the report and knew
perfectly well that the chances of a man being killed by his own bullet
ricocheting off a rock were about as slim as a slice of ice in a hot kettle,
but he also knew how dependent Autisaq was on its hunting and guiding business
and he'd taken the decision not to interfere. A fudging of the facts only
became a cover-up when someone challenged it, and no one had.
The
only guaranteed way to get himself back on Misha's radar in the foreseeable
future was to follow the second option and persuade the editor of one of the
big scientific Journals, Nature, maybe, to publish his lemming research.
'To do that, he needed to be wasting less of his time mediating centuries old
feuds and more of it in the field.
Derek
Palliser finished his cigarette. The time had come to assert himself. He let
himself be pushed around too often. He'd been too passive, too keen not to
ruffle any feathers. Now was his chance to change all that. The place to start
was right here, right now, by putting a stop to this ridiculous fight between
the Toolik and Silliq clans. Drawing himself up to his full height, which was
considerably higher than Jono Toolik, he expressed regret about the sealskins
but explained that next time he expected the Tooliks and the Silliqs to resolve
their petty disputes themselves, without involving the police.
Stunned
by this new, less pliant, Palliser, Toolik took a pace back and blinked. His
mouth pumped like a beached fish. For a moment Derek thought the man was going
to punch him out. But he'd expended so much energy over the years playing along
with small town politics, to absolve himself now felt nothing short of
revelatory. The two men eyed one another for a minute or two, Jono Toolik's
face a smear of disgust. Then, spitting on the ice path beside him, the hunter
turned and went back into his house, banging the door to the snow porch behind
him.
Derek
shoved his hands in his pockets and trudged back to his little office in the
prefabricated A frame that served as the Kuujuaq detachment. It was at times
like these that he wished he'd taken up that job offer he'd had from a visiting
Russian geologist, cleaning oil derricks in Novosibirsk. 'Plenty money for a
man who don't mind the cold!' the geologist had said.
Grabbing
a mug of tea, he slumped down in his chair and stared into the middle distance.
He was not quick to anger, but the midget-sized problems of small-town life
seemed intolerable all of a sudden. He felt horribly stuck. Picking up his mug
he downed the last of the tea and rehearsed in his mind his resolve to act. At
that moment the door yawned open and Constable Stevie Killik burst in, bringing
with him a savage blast of icy air.
'That
Toolik fellow is a walrus dick,' Stevie said, stamping the cold out of his
feet. Derek's sidekick was by nature a mild-mannered man. If he called anyone a
walrus dick it was because they were.
'Let
me guess, Tom Silliq's had a word with you.'
'Right.'
Stevie pulled off his glove liners and went to put the kettle on. 'Want some
tea?'
Derek
stared into his mug. The emptiness unsettled him. 'Sure thing,' he said
finally.
While
they waited for the water to boil, the two men swapped stories. Tom Silliq had
approached Stevie on the ice road by the cemetery, in a very agitated state,
claiming Jono Toolik had sent two of his half-starved huskies to raid his meat
store. The dogs had gnawed through most of a haunch of caribou and several
seals, torn open sacks of the dog biscuits Silliq kept for his own dogs, and
pissed up against a stack of walrus heads, ruining hundreds of dollars'
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