Thanks for your comments on earlier chapters, Steel! I'm glad you're enjoying it!

This one's long because we bookend-ed it with segments from yesterday. Hope it's all of interest. ~Ray K.

Chapter Forty-two: Red Tape

March 4, 2018

Netflix is a wonderful thing. We like to watch stuff while we eat dinner, and sometimes breakfast. So last night we started a movie called Turner And Hooch, starring Tom Hanks and a big, slobbering French mastiff (anyone with a fear and/or hatred of pit bull and mastiff-type dogs needs to see this movie; you will never be the same). We were finishing it over breakfast this morning. Ray Vecchio has been popping in and out the last couple of days, and we've been engaging in some friendly banter (we had to hardcore talk Fraser down this morning, because he was afraid we were real-fighting when we were only play-fighting). Anyway, since it's a cop movie about a guy in a little one-horse town, wanting to go to Sacramento where stuff actually happens, we've unavoidably been making comparisons, both of us wanting to relate to Tom Hanks.

Well, with the other Ray and I vying for "front" position, something weird was bound to happen, and it did when I said, "He's a combination of me and Benny." It slipped out that way unintentionally.

Well, of course RayV blew up because Benny is his pet name for Fraser. Even now, it's hard not to laugh out loud at that. Pet name. I let him have it for that. He protested, "Shut up. You know what I mean."

Sure, but that's why it's so funny.

"And he's a combination of me and Benny."

"The glasses!" I said, pointing. Turner, aka Tom Hanks, was sitting in a car with the dog, nerd glasses in place, because he needs them for distance. "If he dances, I win!"

RayV was not ready to accept this "game point" suggestion, but he let it go for the time being. (As it turned out, the character didn't do any dancing in the movie, darn it.) A little later I zoned into a conversation he was having with Fraser and gathered that he wanted to go to work with us.

"I've had a double shot of espresso and three biscotti. I am ready for action," he said.

So, it looks like he's going to work with us. It's gonna be a fun day.

1990's

We stopped a couple of places that Fraser thought were "likely locations" to give us shelter, but no one seemed interested in letting us camp out in their space, even for decent compensation. I thought I could see an igloo in my future for sure. My fears were reinforced when Fraser suggested we try the local general store.

"If nothing else, they'll have handsaws, machetes and the like."

I knew what that meant: cutting snow blocks.

Fraser anchored the sled outside the store and we went inside. It wasn't super warm in there, but when you're going from fifteen degrees outside to fifty degrees inside, you take what you can get. It felt great to me.

Fraser struck up a conversation with the man behind the counter, and to my great relief, it seemed we wouldn't be snowbound after all. When Fraser revealed that he was a Mountie, the shopkeeper, whose name was Hendricks, said he was willing to put us up himself. He even said the dogs could sleep inside, as long as they stayed in the store room with us and didn't get into anything. All the dogs were very well house-broken, so that was no problem. Hendricks and his wife and son lived upstairs, above the shop. He told us that he kept a gun in case of burglars, but that he had a license for it. I felt a little guilty about the gun in my bag... I decided if I ever planned another trip to Canada, I would at least attempt to get the proper permit to carry it. It's Canada; it can't be that hard.

I was still sleeping on a hard floor, but it wasn't below the freezing point. Fraser got permission to use some empty sacks he found to make the floor a little less uncomfortable. He laid down a thick wool blanket and made a pile of sacks for me first. I think he used more of the available sacks on mine because of my shoulder. He really didn't need to baby me like that, but I decided not to mention it.

There were still a few hours of daylight after we ate some supper, so we went to check out the local RCMP station. There was just one guy there. He was Cpl. James Martin, a Mountie we had met on our last trip to Gjoa Haven.

"I wish you were here in official capacity, Constable," Martin told Fraser. "Constable Jones and I are obliged for the way you helped keep the peace during your last visit. When I heard you were heading back this way, I thought I should see if I could persuade you to stay on."

I took a sudden dislike to Cpl. Martin.

"I'm afraid this visit will be briefer than the last," Fraser said. "Have you heard from the Department of Culture and Heritage?"

Martin nodded. "They said you want to exhume the 'Grave Of the Unknown Inuit Woman.' Is that true?"

"Yes, sir. I have reason to believe it's not the grave of a woman at'all. In fact, it may not even be an Inuit."

"It's an intriguing theory, but what evidence do you have?"

Fraser told Martin about the headstone being at the wrong end of the grave. It sounded pretty thin even to me, but Martin agreed that something was off about it.

"Has permission been granted?" Fraser asked.

"Nunavut is leaving it to the Hamlet Council to bring to a vote. They don't normally convene at such short notice, but if they understand time to be an issue, I think they'll make an exception for you. And the Council is very interested in the Franklin expedition. I recall that was the purpose of your previous visit."

He wasn't missing anything. Probably knew we were thinking Franklin was in the grave.

"Will they, uh... 'convene' tomorrow, you think?" I asked.

"That's very short notice, and it's the weekend, but it's possible. I can tell you who to talk to... in fact, I could make some calls for you if you'd do something for me."

"Certainly," Fraser said, as usual offering assistance without knowing what he was getting into.

"At some point during your stay at Gjoa Haven, I'd appreciate it if you could man the station for a night. My constable and I are run rather ragged with all the complaints we..."

The phone on his desk rang.

"Excuse me," Martin said, going to answer the call. His half of the conversation sounded like he was dealing with someone in distress. When he hung up, he told us, "Someone's reported what sounds like a domestic dispute. I've got to go."

"We'll walk out with you," said Fraser. "And, I believe Detective Kowalski and I can make time to assist you."

Thanks for volunteering me, too, I thought. I was supposed to be on vacation. Well... vacation/suspension... whatever.

We headed back to the general store. I pulled my ski mask back down over my face once we were outside. It was still light out. It didn't feel like ten o'clock at night. I wondered if the crime rate in Gjoa Haven went up more in the winter, since it was dark so much of the time.

I let my mind wander back to our trip so far, and then I started thinking about Innusiq. I wondered if he had been in my spot once—wondering if Fraser would leave someday and not come back. He seemed OK, even though Fraser had left and not gone back to him for a long time, but then again, he'd had June.

Innusiq had all but said that June had a crush on Fraser. There was something about that name that I remembered, and it hit me all of a sudden. "Benny and Joon!" I exclaimed.

"What?" Fraser asked, pausing to look at me.

"Oh, my gosh... It's a Johnny Depp movie. Benny and Joon. They're brother and sister. And Joon pretty much can't boil water. Well, maybe she could, but she and her boyfriend are making grilled cheese sandwiches with an iron at the end of the movie..."

"An iron?"

"You know, like you iron clothes with."

"That's what I thought." He frowned for a second or two, then said, "Hm," and walked on.

I should have known he wouldn't appreciate the reference. I wondered if there was any point in trying to get him to watch the movie when we got back to Chicago. Probably not.

We got back to the general store and took the dogs out again before getting ready for bed. It was around eleven o'clock, but I wasn't very sleepy yet.

"What time we getting up?" I asked, zipping myself into my sleeping bag.

"Seven, I think."

"Mm... okay, but we'd better find some coffee somewhere. How come I'm not getting sleepy yet?"

"It's only ten o'clock in Inuvik."

I groaned. My internal clock had just started adjusting to time in Maggie's area, and then we'd gone back a time zone. "This is not cool."

"It could be worse."

"Things can usually be worse."

Once Fraser and I were both settled, Dief came over and sandwiched himself between us. He put his head by Fraser's shoulder and I scooted closer so I could get some warmth from him. Fraser put out his lantern.

"Good night, guys," I said.

"Good night," Fraser answered.

I fell asleep petting the soft fur on Dief's chest. Sometime during the night, Nanouk came over and weaseled his way into my sleeping bag. It was cramped, but I stayed toasty warm.

In the morning Mrs. Hendricks, the shopkeeper's wife, surprised us with oatmeal and coffee. I can take oatmeal or leave it, but in such a cold climate I wasn't about to turn it down. Fraser offered to pay them extra for feeding us, but she said it was on the house. This was five-star service compared to the way we'd lived on our first trip.

Once we finished eating, we took the dogsled across town to the Community Hall, where we learned that the Hamlet Council had been expecting us.

"Given the nature of your visit and how far you've come on such little promise of results," someone-or-other official told us, "Corporal Martin advised us to do our utmost to accommodate your request. I can schedule the Council to convene this afternoon, if that suits you."

"The sooner, the better," I told her.

"Yes. I'm afraid our time is quite limited," Fraser added.

"In that case, we shall plan on seeing you back here at one o'clock. Where may I reach you if plans change?"

Fraser told her she could reach us through the general store and we left.

"So... what do we do for four hours or so?" I asked.

"Fancy a little tourism?"

I smiled a little. "Should I bring a shovel?"

"No, not yet."

"Stakeout?"

"More like canvasing."

"Got it. You do the talking."

"Indubitably."

I blinked. "What?"

"Without a doubt."

"Right."

We headed out northwest of the community toward the more primitive dwellings of the Netsilik Inuit. Most of them had conventional homes, but the ones outside of town were all snow, for the benefit of tourists. Tourism is pretty much the only industry they have—showing foreigners how igloos are built; selling them soapstone and bone carvings, handmade jewelry, and cured caribou hides; and offering them raw seal meat and dogsled rides. Some of them hold jobs in the community too, but most of those live in Gjoa Haven. The few that still live like nomads outside the town are the real McCoy. The last "authentic Eskimos." Caribou-tracking, seal-hunting, sinew-chewing, throat-singing, drum-dancing Inuit. And I say that with respect.

I won't bother telling all the stuff people tried to get us to buy, or try to spell the Inuit words in conversations between Fraser and the locals. Suffice it to say, we looked at a lot of stuff and talked to a lot of people. Some of the kids did remember us from last time, and they fairly hung off us and all wanted to pet and hug Dief and feed him little bits of... well, I didn't ask what it was.

Then our little train of people broke up as Fraser and I headed toward the unnamed grave attraction, which was by itself on the side of the village closest to Gjoa Haven. I remembered the first time we'd seen it.

Fraser led the way at first, but then I started absent-mindedly walking on toward the grave without him.

"Ray. Ray. Ray!"

I stopped and looked back at him. He was standing like he was going to walk on by the grave without going up to it. "What?" I asked, confused.

"We have to walk by the grave before approaching it. Remember?" We had been told about this custom of passing by the grave on our first visit when we arrived at the Inuit camp, but I had completely forgotten.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry." I followed him past the grave a ways, and then we walked back to it. "Nice pile of rocks," I commented.

"It's a cairn. It keeps predators from getting to the body."

"Gross."

"Well, they can't bury them deep; the permafrost won't allow that."

"It's still gross."

"Do we have to walk past it this time?" I asked Fraser.

"No. That's only the first time you visit," he answered.

"Okay. Just checking."

It looked the same as it had before, though my memory of it had changed a little. I'd made it look bigger in my mind, and more... I dunno. More like a white man was buried there, rather than an Inuit woman.

"Think he's in there?"

Fraser knelt near the headstone and looked at it—not like he was looking for anything in particular; just looking. "I don't know. I hope so... but we can't know yet."

I heard someone coming toward us. Mukluks make this quiet "Shh-squeak" in soft snow. Not as squeaky as our boots, though. It was the village's shaman, whose name I had forgotten.

"You came back," the shaman said.

Fraser nodded to him. "I'm afraid we didn't get the answers we sought last time."

"You still seek the grave of the white chief."

I knew, because Fraser had clued me in on our last visit, that the shaman purposely talked like a mysterious, primitive, uneducated person in order to keep up his mystique for the tourists.

"We do," Fraser said.

I looked at the plaque that had been erected by the grave (with a slotted, padlocked box underneath for donations) and re-read the part that was in English: Here lies an Inuit woman, name forgotten in time.

"You meet with white elders to make a great choice."

I kind of wished he would just cut the crap already. It was funny the first time around, but now I felt like he was hiding something.

"We do plan to speak to the Hamlet Council," Fraser confirmed, not seeming bothered by the Big Chief Crazy Horse act. "Depending on the outcome, we may see you again later."

"Come again anyway. If they have nothing for you, Tulugaak may."

Good night, no wonder I couldn't remember his name. See, Ray is simple. Doesn't take people a week to learn it.

"You have something to tell us?"

"Come again later."

Tulugaak didn't seem like he was going to give us any hints about what he might be able to tell us "later," and I thought he might just be yanking our chains for dramatic effect. But Fraser seemed ready to take him seriously.

"We certainly intend to," Fraser said.

There was an awkward silence and then Fraser tilted his head back the way we'd come. I followed him back to igloo-central where we'd left the dogsled.

"You don't think he's on the level, do you?" I asked.

"If anyone knows the history of this settlement, it will be the angakkuq," Fraser answered.

I supposed that was the Inuit word for shaman. If he'd told me that before, I'd forgotten it. "Okay, but maybe no one does. Maybe he's just trying to scam us."

"Why would he do that?"

"I don't know—maybe money?" I suggested, thinking it was likely and obvious.

"Perhaps. But I think we should take any lead seriously. And if talking with him precipitates his cooperation in exhuming the grave, it would behoove us to garner his trust."

I got the gist of that, but he was throwing out too many expensive words at once. "Say what?"

"Precipitate? That means cause, or lead to."

"And... remind me what behoove means."

"In this case, serve our purpose."

"And..."

"Garner means to gather. Collect."

"So, we should build trust with this guy by chatting with him so he'll cooperate with the dig proposal."

"Precisely."

"God, why couldn't you just say that?"

"Well, I did."

We made lunch on the electric stove at the back of the general store. People didn't find it too odd to see us frying up quesadillas just off the sales floor while they shopped. Things were very informal in that town.

Once we got done eating, we went back to the Community Hall, where the Council was gathering. I don't know if you've ever been to a "town meeting" but it felt kinda like that, but with less people. The chairperson summed up what we were doing there, and then Fraser stood up and gave them a little more detail.

As expected, they were skeptical. They seemed to think it wasn't worth upsetting people by disturbing the grave just on the slim chance of making a historical discovery.

"What does Detective Kowalski have to say about your proposal?" one council member asked.

I hadn't expected to say anything after Fraser introduced me, so I felt pretty unprepared standing up to talk to them. The councilmen were a mix of ethnicity, gender and age. I figure some of them thought Fraser and I were a couple of young upstarts who didn't know what we were talking about. And honestly, I barely did. I may not hold very strongly to any faith, but I knew this area was predominantly Christian, even the majority of the Inuit populace, so I decided to beg off in a strategic way, using my memory of Sunday school lessons. "I'm afraid, like Moses, I'm not very good at speeches," I said. "But Constable Fraser and I see this thing the same way, and I trust him to speak for both of us."

That seemed to be good enough. Attention was back on Fraser pretty quick after I sat down.

"I understand that the remains of the dead should be treated with respect," Fraser picked up where he'd left off. "And I would never suggest invading anyone's final resting place without due course. The facts as I see them are these: The Grave Of the Unknown Inuit Woman either does not contain a woman, or was not created by the Inuit people. If it were created by the Inuit people, they would have laid out a woman facing south. If it does contain a woman, it follows that it cannot have been created by the Inuit. In short, the grave is something of a fraud either way. Either the story of how the woman came to be buried there is false, or the story of the body's identity is false. What you fine ladies and gentlemen must decide is: Should we let the story lie? Or should we learn the truth of the matter?"

When he put it like that, I thought a lot more of our chances. The councilmen seemed to be taking him very seriously, too.

After letting the silence hang there for dramatic effect, Fraser said, "Thank you for hearing us today." Then he sat beside me.

I wanted to tell him I thought he'd done great, but I thought it would kill the mood if I whispered something to him right then, so I just gave him a quick pat on the knee, like Good job, pal.

The chairperson got up again. "Council members, I believe it is time to put the matter to a vote. Do we sanction the Fraser/Kowalski project? Those in favor, please signify by show of hands."

Not everyone was in favor, but no one looked ticked off, at least. The chairperson counted the raised hands and I held my breath.

"We have a majority."

I grinned at Fraser.

"Gentlemen, you have our official permission to pursue exhumation of the grave. However, you must also gain permission of the tribal elder and oversee the exhumation at your own cost."

That made things feel a little further from our reach again, but Fraser seemed optimistic.

"Thank you kindly," he said. "We're planning to meet with Tulugaak today."

Oh, great. I was starting to think that the "permission of the tribal elder" and our "own cost" were going to end up being one and the same. What would the heap big chief want in exchange for permission to wreck one of his most profitable tourist attractions?

March 4, 2018

RayV did come to work with us, and this time we even let him drive, since he assured us "I'll be conservative." He did fine.

On the way, we got stuck behind someone going slow. When I started to complain, Ray said we should be nice to them because they had the same make of car that Mairead did, and that gave us a sort of kinship.

Looking at their license plate, I said, "They're from Mississippi."

"Yeah, you're right," he said. "Move it, slowpokes!"

I laughed and Fraser made a sound of protest.

I challenged Ray to play the license plate game we made up: when you see a plate that starts with three letters, you try to make a word out of those three letters. They have to all be in the word, in order, but not necessarily consecutively. So, I pointed out a plate that started with "HVG" and Ray said "Having." I looked expectantly at Fraser, because he usually one-ups me at this game, and I was sure he could do the same to Ray.

"Havering," Fraser said.

"Havering? What the hell is that?" Ray asked.

"It's prattling on. Blithering."

"What language is that?"

"British."

I don't have Fraser's clear singing voice, but I couldn't help bursting into song. "When I haver, well I know I'm gonna be, I'm gonna be the man who's havering to you!"

Then Ray realized he knew that song himself and started in on the chorus as he drove us into the parking lot. I bet we'll alternately belt out "Da-da-DA-da!" from time to time from now on.

At the job we were doing today, we deal with a wide variety of people. We took turns in front a lot. At one point, Ray started out trying to help a black lady and then told me on our plane, so no one else could hear, "I can't understand what she's saying."

"I got this," I said. I took front and helped the lady. This is what we're here for—dividing life into manageable shifts so Mairead doesn't get overwhelmed by it. I've got an ear for this ethnicity and Ray doesn't. Just like he's worlds ahead of me with Italian people.

Later on, I spotted that the couple Ray was helping were Polish. I shoved him out of front and took over. I knowingly asked if they were Polish and we talked about their accent and stuff. When they were ready to go I told them, "dziękuję." It means "thank you."

"You speak Polish?" the man asked excitedly.

"I just know one word," I admitted.

He laughed. He borrowed a pen for a little bit and when he brought it back to our desk he said "I'm returning your pen. Don't call the police." I can't tell you how much I wanted to whip out my badge and tell him, "I am the police."

A bit later, a supervisor asked to see Mairead when we were done with the project we were currently working on. Me being kind of an insecure person, I asked the others, "Are we in trouble?"

"We're not getting fired," Eren said confidently, because that supervisor "doesn't do the firing."

"Okay, but did we screw something up?"

Fraser said he didn't think so, but that if we did it would work out.

We finished our project and went in search of the supervisor. I voiced my worry to another coworker on our way by, and she assured us, "Oh, no." We weren't in trouble. That was a relief, but I was still nervous. Mairead needs both her jobs, or we sure as hell wouldn't hang onto them both.

"You do it," I told Fraser, meaning he should be in front when we learned what the heck was going on.

He took front and stood at attention by the supervisor's desk while she finished helping some people. I think they noticed Mairead's military-like stance because they gave us this kind of awkward smile. They concluded a business transaction and paid with several hundred-dollar bills.

"Ever seen that much money up close?" I said on our plane.

"Only in evidence bags," Ray joked back, also on our plane.

After all that... it turned out that she had just wanted us to take an extra shift that week. Like, gee, couldn't you at least have said, "Come see me about scheduling" or something? All that pointless worry...

Levi claims he wasn't worried. Well, good for you, Captain.

At one point, Ray had to say something over the intercom, and when he got done I told him, "Your accent came through a little."

"I can't help it," he said. "When I want it to, it doesn't, when I don't want it to, it does..."

It's all part of adjusting to being an alter. The more he fronts, the more easily Mairead will be able to do his voice, and vice versa. Not that I want him to front much. I like being in front for the most part. But some parts definitely not; that's for another time, though.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you were amused by our day at work. (Yes, it was fairly typical!) ~Ray K.