The Perfect Grave: A Constable Petra Jensen Novella by Christoffer Petersen

Author:Christoffer Petersen [Petersen, Christoffer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aarluuk Press for Arctic Noir, Action Thrillers and Greenland Crime
Published: 2024-02-27T00:00:00+00:00

8

Luui was quiet on the drive back and I worried that the sight of the disturbed graves was bothering her somehow. And then, on impulse, when I spotted the man we had both seen carrying a single plastic rose on his way to the graveyard, I pulled over and stopped the car.

“What do you think, Luui?” I said, when she looked at me, wondering why we had stopped. “Shall we talk to him?”

I pointed, and Luui looked through the windshield.

“Aap,” she said, popping her seatbelt a second later.

We got out of the pickup at the same time, and I scooted around the front to take Luui’s hand, suddenly aware that the intense six-year-old might scare off the unsuspecting man on his lonely walk along the street. Of course, if he couldn’t speak Danish, I would need Luui to help me talk to him.

But Hoqqaq Aaqqii was of an age when, for better and often worse, Danish was considered to be the dominant language in Greenland, and as soon as he realised I didn’t speak Greenlandic, Hoqqaq switched to perfect Danish, albeit with a slight lisp brought on by his lack of teeth.

“We’re just visiting,” I said, pointing at the red house just a little further along the street. “We’re staying there while Luui’s ataata is in the hospital.”

Hoqqaq nodded, glanced at Luui, and then turned back to me.

He wore a pair of worn work trousers with thick cotton loops for a hammer, and big cargo pockets with a fisherman’s smock tucked inside the waistband. I half expected the pockets to be filled with odds and ends, not unlike the pockets in Constable Maratse’s police jacket. But Hoqqaq’s pockets were flat and empty, a little like his face, and I felt another clump in my throat as I saw a desperate sadness in his eyes. Luui must have seen it, too. She let go of me and slipped her tiny hand around Hoqqaq’s fingers, giving them a gentle tug as if testing the line. Hoqqaq reacted just like a fisherman, looking down at Luui with a renewed interest in his eyes. His face was lined and wrinkled, just like his hands, but with a curious strength that I didn’t doubt was in part because of Luui’s touch. He pushed back his hat, revealing a lock of thick grey hair, and then pointed at a green house just a few houses along from the one we were staying in.

“Coffee?” he said, and Luui accepted for both of us.

Hoqqaq led the way, and I walked a pace or two behind them as Luui did her thing, chatting away in Greenlandic, and tugging at Hoqqaq’s finger when she expected a response. I’m sure I heard mention of a big wolf in Qaanaaq, catching the word amarok, followed by the name Cargo. I smiled at the thought of chasing Luui around the couch, and the last few metres to Hoqqaq’s house passed quickly, and we were inside before I knew it.

“Pretty lady,” Luui said, almost a whisper.

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