Spoils of the dead Page 7

  The chief nodded. “Our area of responsibility only extends to the city limits. You, on the other hand, are responsible for everything that happens on the other side of those limits.”

  “Well.” Liam tried a smile. “Not everything, I hope.”

  The chief did not smile back. “There are three Old Believer villages. They’re pretty self-sufficient. They almost never call in. But there are an awful lot of people living out in the boonies who could use a little attention.”

  “I am aware,” Liam said again.

  “You’ll need a four-wheeler.”

  “I’m told I’ll have one, and a pickup with four-wheel drive.”

  The chief nodded. “A plane?”

  “I don’t fly.”

  “You’ll need a pilot on call then.” He jerked his head toward the view of the other side of the Bay, visible outside the window they were sitting next to. “Those folks generally keep themselves to themselves but they do need help on occasion.”

  Please god not too often, Liam thought.

  “We should exchange phone numbers,” the chief said. They did, and the chief picked up his hat.

  Liam stood up with him. “Any ongoing cases of which I should be aware?”

  The chief pulled on his cap. “Nothing to speak of.”

  Liam had followed him outside and watched him drive away.

  Very odd, he thought now, tapping the steering wheel. He’d spent the morning looking at detachment dispatches, the files Barton had left him on a Google Drive file password-protected to the level of Defcon 5, and a map he could zoom into of the lower Kenai Peninsula. There were plenty of hot spots. If it had been him, he would have welcomed the help instead of actively distancing himself from it. “Was it something I said?” he said out loud.

  Someone tapped at his window in time with his own fingers tapping on the steering wheel. He jumped, and turned his head.

  Standing on the other side of the driver’s door was the tiniest, oldest woman he’d ever seen in his life.

  She was also naked.

  She smiled at him, looking as if she might sprout wings at any moment (and certainly there was nothing in the way to preclude that) and said something he couldn’t hear. He rolled down the window. “I beg your pardon, ma’am?” he said, because it was the first thing that leaped to mind.

  She smiled even more seraphically. “I knew just by looking at you that you would have good manners.” She sniffed. “Or any manners at all. I wonder, could you give me a ride to Barney’s? I’m going to be late for my first set, and Elmer gets so upset when that happens.”

  “Sure thing, ma’am.” He groped for the jacket on the seat next to him.

  He managed to talk her into his jacket, which reached her shins, and from there into the office. To oblige him she agreed to enthrone herself on one of the armchairs and made him promise again to find her a ride to Barney’s in time for her set.

  He turned and surprised Ms. Petroff with an almost human expression on her face. “Do you know her?” he said.

  “Of course,” she said, with what sounded like genuine affection. “That’s Mrs. Karlsen.”

  Mrs. Karlsen heard her name and waved. “So nice to see you again, dear. How is your father these days?”

  “He’s fine, Mrs. Karlsen.”

  “Such a nice boy, Erik, so polite, and my goodness, so very handsome. You look very much like him, my dear.”

  Ms. Petroff seemed to stiffen. “I’ll tell him you said so, Mrs. Karlsen.”

  “You do that, dear. And you’ll see about my ride, won’t you?”

  “Of course, Mrs. Karlsen.”

  The old woman fussed with the lapel of Liam’s jacket and looked at him with a frown. “Who are you again?”

  “Sergeant Liam Campbell, Alaska State Troopers, Mrs. Karlsen.”

  “If you are in the troopers, Sergeant, why aren’t you in uniform?”

  “It’s at the cleaners, ma’am.” In a lower voice he said to Ms. Petroff, “Who is Mrs. Karlsen?”

  “Sybilla Karlsen, sir,” she said in an equally low voice. “She lives at Sunset Heights, up the hill and across Sourdough Street.”

  Liam could feel the beginnings of a slow burn, and reminded himself that he was a stranger in town. “And she made it this far without someone stopping to help her?”

  “This would probably be the sixth or seventh time she’s done this this summer, sir.”

  “What?” He cast an involuntary look over his shoulder and Mrs. Karlsen beamed at him.

  “She’s very wily, sir.”

  He drew in a deep breath and let it out. “What is done, generally, when she, ah, goes out for a stroll?”

  “Generally, Sunset Heights is informed and they fetch her, sir.”

  Sunset Heights was informed and Mrs. Karlsen was duly fetched. Liam and Ms. Petroff stood on the porch, waving goodbye. “What was she talking about, late for her set at Barney’s?”

  “Barney’s was a nightclub, sir, which Mrs. Karlsen owned and where she sang.”

  “In Blewestown?”

  “Oh, no, in Anchorage. She was quite well known all over Alaska.”

  Liam regarded Ms. Petroff with fascination. “When was this, exactly?”

  “In the sixties and seventies, I believe. During pipeline construction.”

  Liam had heard stories of the pipeline years and wondered what else went on inside Barney’s besides singing. An unworthy thought. “How did she end up in Blewestown?”

  “Her husband built the highway in 1960. They had a cabin here. When he died she sold her club in Anchorage and moved down.”

  “So she’s alone now?”

  “Her brother, Hilary, is still alive,” she said with exactitude, by which inference Liam guessed Ms. Petroff thought Mrs. Karlsen might as well be alone in the world.

  He moved the conversation to a more profitable topic. “I need a map, Ms. Petroff.”

  “Your laptop has access to Google Maps, sir. I installed it myself.”

  “And thank you for that, but I want a paper map of the entire lower Kenai Peninsula, one that includes the south side of the Bay as well. I want every little nook and cranny at as high a resolution as you can find. If it fit one entire wall of my office, I would not complain.”

  Ms. Petroff readjusted her ideas. “I’ll see to it, sir.”

  He smiled at her. “I know you will.” She was unaffected by either the smile or the approval. It wasn’t the reaction he was accustomed to receiving from the fairer sex, and he might have pouted if he’d been that guy. He sternly repressed a grin. He looked at the clock on the wall and fortuitously, it was five minutes to three. “I’ll go home after my audience with Her Honor.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Eight

  Tuesday, September 3

  “DO YOU SEE HIM ANYWHERE?”

  “Nah. Told you. The movie star had that big party last night and they all went.”

  “Erik, too?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m still pissed they didn’t let us go.”

  “R-rated.”

  “Like we couldn’t dial up anything we wanted to online anyway.” High-pitched middle school giggles. “Kinda cool, though.”

  “What?”

  “Gabe inviting all the neighbors.”

  “Gabe?”

  “He said to call him by his first name. That’s kinda cool, too, right?”

  “Eh. He just wants them all to help him get that ornament thing passed.”

  “Ornament? You mean like you put on the Christmas tree?”

  Impatient with pedantry. “It’s a word that sounds like that, I can’t remember. He doesn’t want the tourists knocking on his door.”

  “Who does?”

  “At least they don’t come down here. Mostly.” A scrape of sneaker heel loosening a cascade of pebbles. “Watch out!”

  “Here, grab on! Kyle, grab my hand!”

  A yelp, a smack of butt, a crunch of grass, a tear of fabric, and a cross betwee
n a scream of panic and a whoop of delight, all ending in a soft thud.

  “Kyle! Dude, are you okay? Kyle?” A clumsy, hurried scramble slightly more controlled than the first. Two feet solidly hit beach rock. “Kyle?”

  “Get off! I’m fine. Except I think I got sand down my pants.”

  Another high-pitched giggle, this one tinged with relief. “Man, you should have seen yourself. You looked like you were coming down Mount Marathon on the Fourth of July.” A pause. “You kinda look like you did, too. You’re elbow’s a mess.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Dude, what are you doing? Ew!”

  “Shut up! I’m just trying to shake the sand out of my underwear.”

  “I sure hope none of those people out on boats have their binocs on you. Wow, that’s like a sand wedgie in there.”

  “Shut up. Is anybody around?”

  “I think we’d know by now.”

  “Shut up.”

  “You shut up. Want to look in the tent?”

  “I didn’t slide down that mountain just to poke around in the tide pools.”

  “It’s not a mountain. Okay, then, come on.”

  Not-so-stealthy footsteps, a rasp of canvas.

  “It’s just a bunch of junk.”

  “I don’t know. The arrowheads are kind of cool. We could make a bow and—”

  “Come on, Kyle. Erik would kill us dead if he knew we’d been messing with his stuff.”

  “He should lock it up when he goes home, then.”

  “Come on, Kyle. Erik’s a good guy.”

  “You just want him to teach you how to be a—a anusologist.”

  “It’s archeologist and you know it.”

  “Hey, look, a cave! Grab that flashlight, Logan. Man, it’s dark in here.”

  “Duh. It’s a cave.”

  “How far back does it go?”

  “I have a bad feeling about this, Kyle. We should go.”

  “Man, this goes back pretty far. I thought this side of the Bay was all sand.”

  “Silt. From the glaciers.”

  “Whatever. Hey, there’s a little crack here. I think I can reach through it.”

  “Careful, there might be something waiting to munch you on the other side.”

  “Shut up. I think I can—”

  “Kyle, wait, what are you doing?”

  “Hand me the flashlight. Hey. I think there’s another cave.”

  “Kyle, I don’t think you should—”

  “I think I can—”

  “Where are you going? Kyle—”

  A high, excited giggle. “Man, you think it’s dark out there!” Scrabbling sounds. “Oh shit!” A trip, a startled cry, a thunk, some more swearing.

  “Kyle! What happened? Are you okay?”

  Kyle screamed.

  Nine

  Tuesday, September 3

  “NICE PLACE.”

  “Nice, my ass, it’s gorgeous.”

  Jo laughed. “You win, it’s gorgeous. How big?”

  “About fifteen hundred square feet, I think Liam said.”

  “Not necessarily a McMansion.”

  “Don’t need one. Let’s check out the garden.” They went through the door that opened onto the deck and perambulated around the yard that stretched to the edge of the bluff. Someone had been ruthless in keeping the brush trimmed pretty close to the ground between the deck and the edge of the bluff, and Wy glanced back at the house. Of course, to protect the view.

  The yard was edged with flowers, almost all of them bloomed out by now but there were a few Shasta daisies left. “I think these are mostly Alaska wildflowers,” Wy said when they came to the end of the circuit. “Cranesbill, Arctic iris, sedum, starflowers. Is that a daylily?”

  “Since when are you an authority on Alaska wildflowers?”

  “I know a forget-me-not when I see one.”

  Jo came to a stop at the front of the yard and looked out at the view. The airport was front and center, with the Spit pushing out into the Bay in back of it. “What’s the elevation here?”

  “About a thousand feet, Liam said.”

  “Spring is gonna be late and winter will be early.” Jo turned to survey the house and grounds. “How much land comes with the house?”

  “Twenty acres, ten more or less on each side of the road.”

  Jo smiled. “Enough room to mow your own strip.”

  Wy smiled. “Liam said there was one put in by the original homesteader. It wasn’t maintained and the fireweed overran it. We’ll have to buy a mower or hire somebody with one.”

  Jo turned to face Wy directly. “What’s next?”

  Impossible to pretend to Jo. “I don’t know, exactly.”

  Jo gestured at the airport and at the lake that hosted the seaplane base. “Plenty of flying available here, it looks like.”

  “There are already two air taxis and half a dozen flightseeing operations in business on the Bay.”

  “Yes, and an FBO with a G-2 parked out in front of it. You built up a good business in Newenham, Wy. Had to hurt to leave it behind.”

  Wy shook her head once with a finality Jo had to recognize. “It was time to move on.”

  “The relatives in Icky getting to be too much of a pain?”

  Wy shrugged.

  Jo knew that obstinate look. “You’re a little too young to retire.”

  “I imagine I’ll pick up some jobs here and there while I figure out what I want to do with the rest of my life.”

  As if on cue, Wy’s cell rang, and Jo laughed when she heard the ringtone.

  Wy, a little flustered, turned her back. “Hey. We’re both here at the house. You? Okay, that sounds good.” She looked over her shoulder at Jo. “You, too.” She hung up.

  Jo, still laughing, said, “Your ringtone for Liam is ‘I Want Your Sex’?”

  “No,” Wy said, pink staining her cheeks, “my ringtone for everyone is ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine’ but Liam thinks it’s funny to change my ringtone to whatever he wants when I’m not looking.”

  Jo’s laughter faded and her voice was gentle when she spoke again. “You thinking of adopting again?”

  “Because the last attempt went so well?”

  “She had family.”

  “Yeah, and my relatives in Icky helped so much.” Wy sighed. “I’m thirty-eight, Jo, and Liam says he doesn’t care one way or the other.”

  Prudently, Jo kept her own counsel on the matter. With determined lightness she said, “And Tim could provide you with some grandchildren. I dropped into Seward on the way down, took him out for a burger. He looks good. He coming down here when he’s got his A and P license?”

  “We’d like that, of course, but he’ll need to go where the jobs are.”

  Jo hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “I’m seeing plenty of airplanes at the Blewestown airport.”

  “What about you?” Wy said. “You and Mason still making the beast with two backs?”

  Jo grinned. “When we feel so moved.”

  Wy flung up a hand. “Spare me the details, please.”

  “You asked. How long can I stay?”

  “Long as you want. Plenty of room.”

  Jo gave her the side-eye. “I expect Liam will be overjoyed to hear that.”

  “Liam has a bedroom door with a lock on it and me on the right side of the lock. Liam won’t care.”

  Jo laughed out loud. “So that answers any questions I might have about how things are with you and Liam.”

  “I’m not flying today,” Wy said. “Let’s break open a bottle of wine.”

  The courthouse was a sprawling, one-floor building with gray siding and a lot of spruce trees crowding up like they wanted to personally hear testimony in all the cases. The grass beneath one of them rustled and he saw a pair of spruce grouse pecking busily away at the pine cones scattered on the ground. Not ravens, which was good.

  Judge DeWinter was in her fifties, five-five, untidy blonde hair going to gray, brown eyes, and a chin like Ben Affleck bef
ore the beard. She produced a bottle of Glenlivet and motioned for him to bring two paper cups from the coffee setup on the credenza across the room. “Sit,” she said, pouring.

  He and Judge DeWinter were going to get along just fine. He traded her coffee for his Scotch. The smell of eighteen-year-old single malt hit his nostrils and he froze in place with the cup just inches from his lips. But not for long. “Thank you, Your Honor,” he said with feeling.

  “Long day?”

  “Just getting used to the territory. And the help. Takes some concentration.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “And you’re in mufti.”

  “What does that even mean, Judge?”

  “Means you’re not in uniform, and so might not be experiencing that deference your office might otherwise expect.”

  “I’ve had some issues with my uniforms in the past.” He looked down at his Pendleton shirt and jeans, worn at elbows and knees but otherwise clean and neat. “And I’m not officially on duty until next Monday.” She snorted. “Ah,” he said. “You know Colonel Barton then.”

  “We’ve met.”

  “In court?”

  She toasted him and sipped. “Indeed.”

  A battle of the Titans, he thought. Or maybe just the immovable object meeting the irresistible force. Would have been nice to have had a front row seat to that. So long as he wasn’t testifying.

  “You were the trooper who found the wreck of the World War II plane.”

  “Not personally, no, but I investigated the cases that were associated with it.”

  “I’m an Alaska history buff,” she said. “Bunch of planes lost in Alaska during that war.”

  “May be the first murder solved by global warming,” he said. “If the weather hadn’t warmed up to the point that that glacier melted to where the plane crashed into it, people would still be looking.” He sipped again and let the Scotch sit for a moment on his tongue. “Are you aware of why I’m here?”

  “I helped Barton build the files he gave you.”

  He sipped, waiting.

  “I get tired of seeing the same faces up before me year after year.” She drained her cup, refilled it, and held up the bottle. He shook his head and she recorked it and made it disappear. He mourned a little but then he had Glenmorangie at home. “And a lot of those people are becoming nuisances to their neighbors. I don’t know what it is about meth cookers and junkyards, but as soon as one shows up the other follows.”