Bench With a View by P.D. Workman

Author:P.D. Workman [Workman, P.D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: P.D. Workman

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Lewis took the lead in questioning Patrick. He was a tall, loose-limbed Indigenous youth with an acne-pocked face who looked at them warily and was not inclined to trust them. He did raise his brows, however, at the fact that Margie was also Indigenous.

“I don’t know any Indian cops,” he said. “I didn’t know there were any. Other than the ones on the rez, and they are useless, you know? No one wants to talk to them and they’re either acting all high and mighty over everyone or joining you for a drink and pretending that they are just one of the guys and not looking to narc on you or bring you before the council.”

“There aren’t a lot of us,” Margie admitted. “I really wish that there were more. I think that it would be easier to address Indigenous issues if there were more Indigenous cops. But the fact that our own people are not likely to listen to us and just see us as Oreos or traitors… that makes it pretty hard to have the effect we would like to on the community.”

“Indians don’t belong on the police force.”

Margie shrugged. “Maybe not. But I’m not giving up any time soon.”

He nodded slowly.

“So… we’re here because of Laura Clothier,” Lewis inserted, not interested in a philosophical discussion of Indigenous bands self-policing. They had an actual case to investigate. A dead woman. A widowed husband and motherless child. Those things were real and concrete, and were what they needed to focus on.

Patrick looked genuinely saddened at the mention of Laura’s name. “I heard about that,” he said, shaking his head. “That is bad business.” His eyes drooped halfway, hooded, not looking at either of them. “Mrs. Clothier was a good person. She really cared about the kids here.”

He looked around for a moment, identifying anyone who might be close enough to overhear the conversation. “Not all the adults here care. Some of them…” He trailed off, thinking about it. “It’s complicated.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “But Mrs. Clothier was solid.”

Margie and Lewis nodded. Margie waited to see if he would offer anything else without prompting.

“Did you hear anything about how she died?” she asked eventually.

Patrick cleared his throat. “No.”

It was clearly a lie. Margie and Lewis waited for him to consider his answer and confirm or deny it.

“I heard it was, like, a mugging,” Patrick said eventually, bouncing his leg nervously. “Like, she was in the park after dark, and she got ambushed, and they took her stuff. I don’t know why she was there, and she wouldn’t carry around a lot of cash or something late at night in the middle of the park. She’s just coming here; she doesn’t spend anything when she’s here.”

“She wasn’t mugged,” Margie told him. “This wasn’t someone who held her up and she fought back or the mugger got too jumpy. This was a targeted attack. A premeditated murder.”

“No… that couldn’t be.” He pressed his lips together, frowning worriedly. “No one would do that to Mrs.

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