Piitalaat: A Constable Petra Jensen Origin Story (Greenland Crime Origin Stories Book 1) by Christoffer Petersen

Author:Christoffer Petersen [Petersen, Christoffer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aarluuk Press for Greenland Coming of Age stories
Published: 2023-01-05T16:00:00+00:00

Nuuk, Greenland

Present Day

19

Petra took a breath and slumped into the chair. Per sipped his coffee. The image of the ice in Qeqertarsuaq slipped away, until the granite spurs sugared with snow were replaced with the beige walls of Per’s consultation room, his office, now ordered with the packing boxes moved to one side and his desk cleared of all but the most essential items. Gone was the pancake ice and crumbling floes from Petra’s memory, and the black sea was restored to the hardwood floor, firm and unyielding beneath their feet.

“How old were you?” Per asked as he rested the cup of Banjos coffee on the arm of his chair. “Four, did you say?”

“Four or five.” Petra smiled, sipped her coffee.

“Four, not even five-year-olds do that,” Per said.

“They don’t?”

“You know they don’t, Petra.”

“Perhaps not.”

“But you did.”

“Yes.”

It was Per’s turn to smile as Petra’s cheeks flushed with a rush of colour. “It explains a lot,” he said, gesturing at Petra’s uniform, her utility belt and pistol hanging beneath her jacket on a hook by the door.

“I don’t think five-year-olds can shape their destiny by their actions,” Petra said. “At least, I don’t think I did.”

“You’d be surprised.” Per leaned forward to brush a clump of dust clinging to the sole of his shoe. “It’s like the wild west,” he said, flicking the dust ball onto the floor. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It’s worse further north. It’s much…”

“Drier?” Per nodded. He smiled, dipped his head to apologise for cutting her off. But then, when he leaned back, when he caught her eye, he was all business. “Tell me about the boy.”

Petra sighed and said, “I found him in the stairwell.”

“Not that one,” Per said, reaching for his coffee. “The other one. The one you pulled out of the sea.”

“Appa?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“I think you do, Petra.” Per shifted his coffee to his left hand so he could cup his chin in his right. “You formed a bond with him.”

“Yes.”

“Your first significant bond with anyone after your parents died.”

Petra nodded. “I suppose I did.”

“You know you did. And then, yesterday, when you collapsed onto the floor.” Per nodded at a spot on the floor in front of Petra’s chair. “You said he died.”

“Yes.”

“But before that, before he left you…”

“Alone, again,” Petra said.

“Yes. Alone.” Per paused. “Again.”

The words hung in the air, untouched as they each sipped their coffee, swapping glances in anticipation of Petra telling Per about the boy.

“It’s just a conversation,” he said. “Two friends talking.”

Petra nodded. “I know,” she said. “It’s just…”

“He was just like you,” Per said.

“Yes.”

“A kindred spirit. A soul mate.” Per waved his hand in lieu of similar descriptions of the bond they shared, until, smiling, he settled on one more. “Fellow escape artist.”

“Yes,” Petra said, rewarding Per with a smile of her own. “That too.”

“You had fun.”

“We did.”

“You raised hell.”

“A little,” Petra said. She smiled. “Maybe a lot.”

“Imaqa,” Per said, followed by a shrug. “Some Greenlandic I picked up.”

“Greenlandic? I didn’t need to pick it up,” Petra said.

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