Murder over Kodiak

by Robin, Barefield

  “So sad, dear,” Glenda said and patted my back.

  I dared not speak, and I blinked as two tears snaked their way down my cheeks.

  Glenda released me and looked at my face. “And I hear you found the wreckage.”

  “News travels fast.” My voice sounded breathy and high. I glanced at Betty, a petite, grey-haired woman who sat in her chair with her palms flat on the desk top. I wasn’t certain if I imagined her look of disapproval. She was usually more restrained and less affectionate than Glenda, but now she looked as if she were judging me. I wanted to blurt that yes, I should have been on that plane instead of Craig. I should have been the one who evaporated, my life wiped away as if I never had existed.

  The room began to look dark and far away. I struggled to breathe, and I heard Glenda’s voice call to me from a distance. “Are you okay, dear? You look pale. Maybe you should sit down.”

  I held onto the wall for support as I pulled myself toward the door frame. Once in the hallway, I kept my hand on the wall and shuffled toward my office. I passed someone who said something to me, but I couldn’t respond. Sweat dripped from my face and black swirls danced in front of my eyes. I had fainted only once before, during my miscarriage, but I remembered the sensation that had preceded that event, and I feared I was about to end up in a heap on the hall floor.

  I reached my office door and tried to find the key ring in my purse. As soon as I looked down, everything went black. I pushed my back to the wall and slid to the floor. I don’t think I lost consciousness. I bent my knees to my chest and rested my head on them. I hoped no one would walk by and see me.

  Slowly, the heat subsided, and my face began to cool. My head pounded, but when I lifted it from my knees, I was relieved to see my foggy vision had cleared. My body felt spent, and I didn’t think my legs would support me. The corridor was empty, so I decided to sit a few minutes longer.

  What was wrong with me? Was I sick? I’d had my share of trauma, and I never before had responded to it by fainting. Maybe this was a symptom of guilt. How could I move beyond this terrible feeling? What could I do to ease my burden of responsibility for Craig’s death? Maybe if I knew what had caused the explosion, I would find some consolation. I could call Steve Duncan at Kodiak Air Services and see if he had any new information.

  My plan of action gave me strength. My knees vibrated as I stood, but I managed to find my keys and let myself into my office. I opened a warm bottle of water and washed down two aspirin. Then, I scooted the chair to my desk, pulled the phone in front of me, and dialed the number for Kodiak Flight Services.

  The dispatcher answered the phone, and I asked for Steve. There was a long pause, and then a deep voice said, “Hello, Dr. Marcus.”

  “Hi Steve. Have you heard anything about the crash?”

  “Two FAA inspectors and the troopers are out there now. I was planning to call and warn you that they’ll want to interview you sometime today.”

  “Why?”

  “We were the first two on the scene of the crash. I think they want to know what you saw and make sure you didn’t touch or move anything. They may also want to ask you about Craig’s gear.”

  I paused for a moment. “I can’t lie about it, Steve.”

  “I don’t want you to lie, but please don’t tell them what I said or volunteer any information.”

  “I won’t say anything to get Kodiak Flight Services in trouble, but I want the FAA to get to the bottom of this. I need to know why that plane exploded.”

  “We may never know,” Steve said.

  “I hope you’re wrong.”

  I hung up the phone and slumped in the padded chair. I stared at the walls of my office, and my eyes settled on the large tide calendar to the left of my desk. I had to get my mind off Craig and the plane crash and focus on work. That was the only way I would get through this mess. I needed to collect samples to replace those lost in the plane crash. I stood and peered closer at the calendar.

  The calendar was printed with the tidal fluctuations for the Kodiak District. Uyak Bay, where the lady had died from PSP, had tides that correlated with the Seldovia district. I’d written in the Seldovia fluctuations for the months of June and July.

  The times and intensities of the tides changed daily. To collect the clam samples, I needed at least two days of extreme low tides. Today was June twenty-sixth; the next series of minus tides began on July fourth. The marine center had planned a Fourth of July picnic, but I wasn’t in a partying mood. I could fly to Uyak on the third and camp for three days.

  Maybe I would stop by Mr. Cycek’s cabin and explain why it was taking so long to get the test results on the population of clams that had killed his wife. I couldn’t believe he wouldn’t know about the plane crash, but I’d heard he lived the life of a hermit. I had only met the man once, at the hospital after his wife, Doris, had been pronounced dead. He had been devastated by the loss of his wife, and when I explained that we would test the clams from the beach where he and Doris had dug the poisonous bivalves, he offered his assistance and even reluctantly suggested that we stay with him.

  I knew from talking to Craig on the radio that Mr. Cycek had been helpful and interested in our work. Craig had said that Mr. Cycek was lonely and talked about little other than his wife’s death. It was unfair to keep the man waiting and wondering about the results of our test. I was certain Doris had died from PSP, but only the presence of saxitoxin in clams from the beach where she had been digging would confirm the diagnosis

  Saxitoxin, the compound that causes PSP, is one of the most lethal poisons known to man. A nerve agent one-thousand times more potent than cyanide, it paralyzes its victims, much like curare. Saxitoxin is produced by a marine dinoflagellate, a type of algae. Bivalves, such as mussels and clams, ingest the poisonous algae along with their usual fare of nonpoisonous plankton. The poisonous dinoflagellates do not harm the bivalves, but the shellfish concentrate the poison, and when humans dine on these bivalves, they suffer the effects of the accumulated toxin.

  A human may begin to feel the effects of PSP as soon as five minutes after eating toxic shellfish. The first symptom is usually a tingling or numbness around the lips, gums, and tongue. In a mild case of poisoning, the tingling may spread to the face and neck. The victim also may feel a prickly sensation in the fingertips and toes and suffer from a headache, dizziness, and nausea. These are the only symptoms most people feel.

  In moderate cases of poisoning, the victim’s speech becomes incoherent, and the prickly sensation spreads to the arms and legs, causing stiffness and a loss of coordination in the limbs. The victim feels light headed, has a rapid pulse, and may have trouble breathing.

  If the poisoning is serious, the victim will suffer muscular paralysis, a choking sensation, and severe respiratory difficulty. Unless ventilatory support is available, the victim probably will die.

  A mouse bioassay is the only currently-approved method to test bivalves for the presence of saxitoxin. This test involves feeding extracts of the suspected shellfish to mice and then watching the mice to see if they die. This procedure leaves much to be desired. Not only is it labor-intensive, but it is non-specific for saxitoxin and only can be performed in a certified biological laboratory. Only one lab performs this test in the state of Alaska, and no monitored PSP-tested beaches exist in the state.

  Unfortunately, even though everyone realizes the risk, many people continue to eat shellfish. Most residents of Kodiak follow certain legends or taboos that have been passed down from their ancestors or from the native Alutiiq people Don’t eat bivalves in months without Rs or during a red tide. These taboos help, because the dinoflagellate responsible for PSP does bloom in the early summer, and a large bloom often produces a blood-red color in the water.

  However, other algae also produce a dark-red color when they bloom, and the deadly dinoflagellate can be present when there is no change in the color of the water. Also, some bivalves, such as the butter clam, can hold the toxin in its tis
sues for as long as a year. Additionally, deadly cysts produced by sexual reproduction of the dinoflagellates are even present in the winter and may be ingested by bivalves during the coldest months of the year, all of which have Rs in their names.

  At no time is one safe from PSP, and for some reason, Kodiak Island is one of the most dangerous places in the state for the toxin. These facts prompted Dr. Wayan to apply for a grant to develop an accurate, fast, inexpensive chemical assay to detect the presence of saxitoxin. While experimental chemical assays have been developed, none has been tested thoroughly or approved for monitoring purposes.

  I am a biologist, not a chemist, but the position at the marine center interested me, mainly because it was in Kodiak, a town that had enchanted me when I’d visited it a year earlier. The position also happened to become available just as my job at the genetics lab at the University of Arizona was ending. I had hoped to find another genetics position, but was dismayed by the surplus of brilliant geneticists and the scarcity of jobs. I knew that I didn’t stand a chance in that marketplace. Since I have a Ph.D. in fishery biology, I thought this job might lead to something in my field. I find the problem of PSP interesting, but chemistry is not my forte.

  Why Dr. Wayan hired someone with my credentials for this study is a mystery I never may unravel. I know that Dr. Cenau, the director of the genetics lab in Tucson, gave me a great reference. She felt guilty about cutting my position, and she wanted to do everything she could to help me land a new job. I also believe the marine center has trouble attracting chemists to Kodiak. This isn’t an intellectual mecca, and while the location provides many opportunities for scientists interested in the ocean, most chemists can find jobs at better chemical laboratories.

  I am lucky to work with a group of brilliant graduate students, and I am certain that I have learned more from them than they have from me. In addition to the research project, I teach classes in physiology and marine biology, and the fact that I am one of the few people on the staff with a strong background in biology may be another reason I was chosen for this position.

  The primary mission of the marine center is to provide research and developmental support to Alaska’s seafood industry. Experimental projects range from producing good-tasting foods packed with high-protein fish meal to finding a way to neutralize the enzyme that causes arrow tooth flounder to fall apart when the fish is cooked. In addition to the laboratories and the small fish processing plant on the lower level, the center has a test kitchen to evaluate new seafood items before they are sold commercially. As with any good scientific laboratory, the projects are endless, but the funding isn’t.

  I think of my work as a short-term project, and I don’t expect my funding to last long. In addition to developing a chemical assay, I am assisting a Nova Scotia microbiology company to evaluate and refine their cell-based test for PSP, and in many ways, I like their test better than ours. It is cheap and easy, and even though it doesn’t provide as much data as a chemical assay, if their test proves to be accurate, I think it and not ours will become the test of the future. The main problem their test has at this point is that it often produces false positives. I get positive results nearly every time I use it, even when a comparative mouse bioassay turns out negative.

  If they can solve this problem, though, they will have an inexpensive, portable test kit that is simple enough to be used by a layman. A guy can dig a bucket of clams, use his cell-based pocket kit, and an hour later, know if the clams are safe to eat. Our test is expensive and complex and must be performed in a well-equipped laboratory by highly-paid technicians and scientists. So far, though, our test produces much more accurate results.

  By helping the Canadian company refine their test kit, I am cutting my own throat. I don’t think state legislators will find it in their hearts to give me more money to work on PSP if an accurate detection test is already on the market. After all, this is the same state that didn’t splurge for oil-containment equipment until after the Exxon Valdez disaster. On the other hand, it is also a state rich with oil money, and from what I’ve seen, there is no rhyme or reason as to how that is spent. If the right politician in Juneau decides this is a worthy project, we might be able to fund this venture for years. I’m along for the ride, always watching and listening for new job openings.

  My desk clock buzzed its 10:00 warning, and I shook my head to clear it. What day is it? I stared at the calendar, until I recalled it was Thursday. I taught a 10:00 class on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, but I didn’t have anything today. I should clean up the lab. I’d prepared it to run Craig’s samples, and I would have to put away the chemicals and equipment. I couldn’t face the graduate students this morning, though. Perhaps I would sneak down there during the lunch hour.

  I turned my attention to the stack of paperwork on my desk but accomplished little. At 11:30, my telephone buzzed and Betty announced that an FAA inspector was waiting in the main office to talk to me.

  “Send him to my office,” I said. I unlocked and opened the door and set a chair in front of my desk. I was just returning to my chair when a sharp knock rattled the door frame.

  “Hello. Come in.”

  The tall man bent his head and walked through the doorway. He would have cleared the seven-foot frame by several inches even without this maneuver, but I suspected he did it out of habit.

  He walked across my office, shifted the paper sack he was carrying from his right to his left hand, and shoved his long, thin right hand toward me. “Dr. Marcus, I’m Frank Hayman with the FAA.”

  I shook the dry palm, wishing my own hand didn’t feel so sweaty. “Please, sit down.” I gestured toward the chair in front of my desk.

  He folded his long body onto the seat and sat quietly for a moment, staring at my face. His thin black hair was combed straight back from his forehead, enhancing his prominent nose. The nose provided a solid base for his wire-rimmed glasses, and from behind these glasses, his brown eyes studied me, shifting their focus from my left to my right eye and then back to my left again. I imagined he could read the guilt in my eyes and was trying to decide how he should question me. What did I know about the plane crash, and how could he extract that information?

  I waited with my hands folded in my lap. I willed myself to breathe evenly and to hold Hayman’s gaze. I hoped he could not see the beads of perspiration that were forming on my forehead.

  Finally, he spoke. “Dr. Marcus, as I’m sure you have guessed, I am investigating the loss of Kodiak Air Services’ Beaver. I spoke with Steve Duncan, and he told me that you were with him when he discovered the wreckage.”

  Hayman paused, so I answered. “That’s right.”

  “Can you tell me what you saw?”

  “Not much, just twisted pieces of metal.”

  “Did you find any human remains?”

  I paused, and as the image of the singed flesh in the shoe filled my mind, the world started to go black again. “Yes,” my voice was weak, “a shoe with part of a foot in it.”

  “Did you touch the shoe or anything else?”

  “No.”

  Hayman sighed and said nothing. He watched me, and I knew I must look terrible.

  “Could you identify anyone?” The question came out as a whisper, but Hayman heard me.

  “There was more left from the crash than you might think. The underbrush was heavy, and once we cleared it away, we found enough remains to identify the pilot and three of the passengers.” Hayman paused. “That’s one of the reasons I want to talk to you.

  He lifted the paper sack from the floor and withdrew a piece of purple and green nylon material from it. “Does this material look familiar to you?”

  The saliva drained from my mouth. “Yes. It’s part of Craig’s jacket.”

  “I think we can confirm his identity then.”

  “That’s all you need?”

  “That’s all we’re going to get.” His eyes held mine until I looked away.

  “Do you know yet what caused th
e crash?” I phrased my question carefully, making sure to say crash instead of explosion.

  Hayman didn’t answer. Instead, he asked, “Was Mr. Pederson carrying any explosive materials?”

  I felt my cheeks grow hot. “Do you mean fuels or batteries?”

  “Why don’t you tell me what gear he had?”

  I stared at my desk. “Personal gear: A tent, shovels, cooler, dry ice, a three-burner stove, a Coleman lantern.” I closed my eyes as if thinking about the gear, even though I knew exactly what camping supplies Craig had packed. “Radio, antenna, Blazo, propane, and a twelve-volt battery.” I continued to stare at my desk as I said the last three items.

  When Hayman didn’t respond, I looked into his dark eyes. “Do you think the fuels caused an explosion?” I had to ask. Hayman was no fool. If he believed the plane had exploded, hazardous materials would be the first thing he would check.

  “That’s certainly a possibility.” He spoke slowly. “However, Mr. Duncan felt certain that the pilot would have loaded the fuels in the floats, not in the cabin with the passengers. What do you think?”

  I felt like a bug under a magnifying glass as Hayman studied me. “I’ve never flown with that pilot before,” I said, “but the other pilots have always loaded the fuels in the floats.” What could I do? I didn’t want to say anything to damage Kodiak Air Services’ reputation, but Hayman had asked me a direct question, and I wasn’t going to lie.

  “If that’s the case, then the fuels did not cause the explosion.”

  “Really?” I sat straight and didn’t try to conceal the surprise I felt.

  “The explosion originated in the rear section of the cabin. We’re certain of that, because that is the most damaged portion of the plane.” Hayman shrugged. “To be more precise, we can’t find any pieces of the rear section of the cabin. It seems to have evaporated.”