BooksBarbecue
Back The Trickster
Chapters (74)
  1. The Trickster
  2. Copyright
  3. Dedication
  4. Contents
  5. Preface to the 20th anniversary edition
  6. Introduction
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. Keep Reading
  70. FURNACE
  71. Acknowledgements
  72. About the Author
  73. ALSO BY THE AUTHOR
  74. About the Publisher

Daniel drove on in silence but he was still thinking. Craig could practically hear the wheels turning in there.

‘What? There’s something. Isn’t there?’

Hawk shook his head. ‘Nah. It’s nothing about Joe. It’s the cultural bit that made me think of something.’

‘Tell me.’ Craig was hungry for it. Whatever it was.

Daniel looked grim, fighting to analyse whatever it was he’d conjured up.

‘Okay, like I say, it’s probably nothing. In fact, given the time involved it’s absolutely, definitely, nothing. But the way Joe died. It made me think of something else. That’s all.’

Craig turned his body towards Daniel. ‘Go on.’

‘I saw something like it. While I was policing on Redhorn. But it happened around twenty years ago.’

Craig tried to work it out. Daniel Hawk was only thirty-five years old, tops. How could he have presided over a murder at the tender age of fifteen? They were recruiting young into the Mounties, but not that young.

‘I don’t understand, Hawk. What do you mean you saw it?’

‘I said the murder happened over twenty years ago. That’s what the forensics guys came up with. We only found the mutilated remains of the body six years ago. It got dug up by some white construction guys who were pile-driving for the new rodeo centre. Course if it’d been found by Indians it would never have been reported. That’s the Kinchuinick way. Keeps the reserve a tight community. Makes police work almost impossible. The person, whoever it was, hadn’t even been reported missing.’

Craig tried to work this out. ‘So you uncovered an old body killed over two decades ago that was similar in its disfigurement to Joe’s injuries?’

‘Not similar. Identical.’

‘Indian?’

‘They couldn’t say for sure. No dental records or nothing.’ He looked across at Craig. ‘Contrary to popular white Canadian myth, we’re kinda the same as you under the skin.’

Craig ran a hand over his mouth, ignoring the dig. ‘Why didn’t you mention this?’

‘I only thought of it recently. I’ve been wondering if it’s relevant.’

Craig exhaled. ‘Fuck.’

‘Sorry. It just didn’t seem that important.’

‘Where are the Native Police files kept, Hawk? At Redhorn?’

‘Yeah. The Tribal Administrator keeps them, but since the Mounties from Stoke were called in they got them too.’

‘Remember the year?’

‘Sure. Larry was born that year. 1987.’

Craig drummed the dash impatiently, his desire to have that file on his knee right now, eating at him like a hunger. The traffic was as terrible as the snow. The tailback behind the plough stretched for at least a quarter of a mile, every vehicle apart from theirs revealing by their ski racks that they contained humans in the search for fun and thrills in this white stuff. Daniel looked across at him and read his discomfort.

‘You still want me to head for the site?’