style="font-size:15px;"> “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
