Northern Lights: A Due South Novel

Chapter 7: Cloudberries and Caribou Meat

Constable Franklin looked pleased when Fraser returned to the Bear Falls RCMP detachment. He leaped to attention so quickly that the paperwork on his desk tipped over across the grimy linoleum. The winter wind, howling around Fraser's silhouette in the door, scattered the files and sent several inches of snow into the room. Fraser slammed the door shut as soon as Ogilvie entered.

"Good morning, Superintendent, sir. Is Constable Fraser returning as well?"

Fraser stomped the snow off his boots and shook it off his parka before stepping off the doormat.

"No. Elizabeth has taken a new position as junior liaison officer at the Chicago consulate." Fraser announced.

"Chicago!" Franklin protested. "That happened so fast!"

Given the chronic vacancy at the Chicago consulate, the RCMP had approved Elizabeth's transfer in three days and ordered her to report to the consulate a week later. That was barely long enough for Elizabeth to pack and for Fraser to catch up on his administrative duties as Chief Superintendent of the Yukon. After dropping Elizabeth off at the airport in Whitehorse, Fraser had returned to Bear Falls. Promotions, discipline, political relations, and the eternal question of dropping snowmobile repair from standard RCMP training paled in comparison to his one and only investigation.

"Is this desk taken?" Fraser pointed to a bare, dented metal desk facing a room divider. Next to it, a swivel chair, its worn grey upholstery stained with coffee and salt, leaned to the right.

Cartier emerged from his office with his arms crossed. "That was Constable Black's desk, but you won't find anything there. Your investigative team already cleared it out, and it's waiting for her replacement. Before you left town, I wondered if your daughter was going to take the job. It sounds as though she found a better offer."

"Hello, Inspector," Fraser greeted him.

Inspector Cartier had, at least, ironed his uniform and shined his shoes. His black eye had faded and there was not a speck of cat fur on his pants or suspenders, which he had clearly guarded from the elements. Even the well-worn parka hanging by his office door was spotless. Beneath the parka, dripping on a plastic tray, sat a pair of brand-new winter boots.

"Did another suspect do that to you?" Fraser pointed at the bandage.

"Cat scratch," Cartier said.

Fraser winced.

"And the reason for your visit, Superintendent?" the Inspector asked.

"It's really been too long since I checked in on the outlying detachments, and I thought it was only logical to begin here."

"It's all yours. But," Cartier looked at the flickering fluorescent lights and the chipped paint, "you won't find our facility up to the standards of headquarters in Whitehorse."

"That's all right, Inspector." Fraser held up his laptop. "The wonderful thing about modern technology is it makes it possible to work from anywhere."

Just as Fraser was plugging in his laptop and looking for secret compartments in Tamara's desk, his mandatory RCMP-issued cell phone rang. The number sent an ice pick of fear into his heart.

"Excuse me," Fraser said to Franklin. "It's the Deputy Commissioner."

He ducked into the only private room available in the detachment: a storage closet.

"Why didn't you tell me Elizabeth was going to Chicago?" Deputy Commissioner Margaret Thatcher's voice was clear and resonant across the thousands of kilometres between them. As always, she skipped the small talk. He appreciated that, but it often posed a dilemma. Was this call business or personal?