Bonereapers

by Jeanne Matthews

  “It’s hard to say.”

  “Checked in yesterday afternoon and paid in cash. I rang his room and he’s not answering. Could be he and Erika ran off together. If she’s in there with him, Sheridan will kick in the door. Say, did you bring a camera?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I’ve got one on my cell phone. It’ll do in a pinch.”

  Dinah couldn’t believe it. “Are you going to stake out his room?”

  “Right now I’m watching Sheridan’s war room. He and the others went behind closed doors not five minutes ago. If you learn anything juicy, get back to me ASAP.”

  She dropped the handset as if it were a live skunk. Had politics always been this vicious? The tone could be no uglier if senators were plucked at random out of state prisons and party affiliation broke down along the lines of gang membership. At least Norris had put her mind at ease about one thing. The fact that Maks Jorgen was registered in the hotel put paid to the notion that Erika had been abducted.

  She drank another cup of coffee, got dressed, and called the number Thor had given her. A computerized voice told her to leave a message. She had no help to offer and hung up. Maybe he’d already been rousted out of bed to search for Erika. Maybe he’d been searching for her all night. The fact that Erika and Maks Jorgen were lovers didn’t change the fact that she would have to be found. If she didn’t come forward and verify that she had left of her own free will, people with more authority than Thor would have to become involved. Erika would know that. She might want to fade away like a mirage, but the wife of a prominent U.S. senator couldn’t vanish in a foreign country, not even if it was her homeland, without causing an international incident.

  Dinah headed off to the dining room for frokost. As she passed the Sheridans’ room, she saw that the door was ajar. She halted, looked up and down the hall, and walked back.

  “Hello? Senator? Anybody?”

  She threw a stealthy glance over her shoulder and pushed the door open. Nobody at home. She slipped inside and did a slow turn around the room. The bed was unmade. Erika had lain in it last night plotting her escape while her husband did his thing with Keyes and Mahler and Valerie. Maks could have been watching Lee and waiting for him to take a break. He could have phoned Erika from his room and told her the coast was clear and she slunk out and flitted off to his room. Escaping to another room in the hotel didn’t seem like much of an escape. Maybe Maks had brought her another coat. She could have dressed in his room and the two of them stolen away into the night. When Lee returned, he wouldn’t have realized that he was guarding an empty room.

  Dinah looked in the closet for the khaki colored anorak she’d seen Colt wear to the vault yesterday morning. It wasn’t there. Two long white Radisson robes hung to one side next to a lavender velvet evening gown and matching long cape. Erika must have brought it to wear it to the state dinner she skipped out on. Dinah swooshed the hangers with the dress and robes aside, stepped into the closet, slid everything back into place, and crouched down behind them in the corner. She was pretty sure she was invisible except for her shoes. If Colt didn’t rummage through the closet looking for Erika, and why would he, she might have been hiding in here when he came in. And when he left in a tizzy, she could have skulked away down the hall while he and Lee searched Dinah’s room.

  Lee looked like a guy who knew which side his bread was buttered on. He wouldn’t be swayed by the pleas of a damsel in distress. Erika and Maks might have bought him off. But if they had, he would have hatted up and hit the road long before Sheridan got around to questioning him. Erika might be an alcoholic. She might be delusional and she might be a loose cannon, but she was no dummy. She could have pulled off an escape without anyone’s help.

  Dinah climbed out of the closet, tidied the garments, and hurried out of the room, closing the door behind her. She took the elevator down to the lobby. The doors dinged opened and she walked out into the middle of several arguments.

  Colt stood toe to toe with Thor. “Don’t patronize me, Ramberg. I want every rock in this town turned over until you find her, do you understand?”

  Thor remained stolid. “If you have reason to believe that the lady did not leave of her own free will, you should call in your American F.B.I.”

  “I don’t want the American FBI. I want the Norwegian police to do their job and do it in a hurry.”

  “Be careful what you ask for, Senator.”

  “I’m in Norway,” shrilled Tipton, “and I don’t care what time it is in Iowa.” He paced about the lobby with his cell phone wedged between his cheek and his shoulder, riffling a sheaf of papers. “You’ll have to wake him up. Senator Sheridan wants the caucus put off for a week.” The hand holding the papers made an arc of sweeping frustration. “It’s not impossible if you want to see a Republican in the White House.”

  Valerie was arguing with Lee. Her voice was too low to hear what she was saying, but she seemed peeved in the extreme.

  Lee said, “Lady, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  Dinah exchanged a quick look with Thor and went into the dining room.

  Mahler and Keyes were standing at the buffet.

  “I thought he was made of sterner stuff,” said Mahler. “He’s good on the stump and good at the negotiating table, but he’s acting like a wimp over that blond baggage. She’s a Norwegian. Can’t we leave her here and get on with our business? Val can trump up a story about the absent wife that passes muster. I’m counting on Colt to kill that bill requiring labels on GMO foods.”

  “Keep your voice down, Jake.” Keyes cast a look around the dining room. “This is a public place. You never know who’s listening or shooting a video from behind a potted plant.”

  Mahler spotted Dinah at the end of the buffet and mock saluted. “The only one listening is Dinah and she already knows more than’s good for any of us. Isn’t that right, Dinah?”

  She might have taken it as a joke if it weren’t for the stitches in her arm. She put a piece of bread and few cold cuts on her plate and removed herself to the farthest corner of the dining room.

  To her surprise, Keyes brought his plate and followed her to her table. “May I?”

  “Sure.”

  He pulled out a chair and sat down across from her. “Jake’s angry. We’re all on edge and he doesn’t appreciate the way Colt’s going after Lee.” He turned over his coffee cup and looked around for a server.

  Dinah stared at the slab of dark, smoked eel sprawled across his plate. She tried not to think what the creature must have looked like fresh out of the water.

  “How are you holding up, Dinah?”

  “Fine. Thanks for asking.”

  Greta breezed by with a pot of coffee. She filled both of their cups and breezed off again before Dinah could say takk.

  Keyes blew on his coffee and set it down to cool. “When we get back to the States, I want you to see my doctor, no cost to you. He’s the best there is. Anything you need, therapy, whatever you need it.”

  “Thanks.” She could only guess what promises he would try to exact.

  “I don’t know what Colt told you last night. Not enough, I expect. He’s overwhelmed.”

  Keyes affected a rueful smile. “Erika is an enchanting woman. I think it’s her reticence. She mostly listens and lets others talk. I’ve known her for years, but I have to confess—lately I’ve wondered if she may have some sort of a dissociative disorder. Multiple personalities. One day serene and composed, the next day dissolving in tears at the death of a stranger and flying off in the middle of the night with her old band mate.”

  With so many warnings about her alcoholism and hallucinations and an imaginary daughter fantasy, a charge of multiple personalities seemed like piling on. She said, “I guess her departure can’t help but damage her husband’s campaign.”

  “To think she mig
ht be the First Lady of the United States and she’d throw it all away to go slumming with a has-been musician. The French have a phrase, nostalgia for the mud.” Keyes loaded a forkful of eel into his mouth.

  Dinah nibbled on a piece of rye bread. He was taking his sweet time to get around to saying what he wanted from her. While his mouth was full of eel, she veered off topic. “I think the motive for Eftevang’s murder originated in Myzandia.”

  For a split second, he seemed nonplussed. He reached for his coffee cup and took a long, slow sip. “Why do you say that?”

  “Eftevang hated Tillcorp because of something it did over there. Have you heard a rumor about the company taking advantage of a crop failure, or causing it?”

  “There are always rumors. The country has dozens of warring factions and no reputable institutions. It’s a hotbed of misinformation and distrust.” He flicked a look toward Mahler, whose face was hidden behind a newspaper. Once again, Dinah thought she saw a flash of malice in Keyes’ eyes.

  “Mr. Mahler told me that you’ve also had difficulties doing business in the country.”

  “Suspicion and superstitions are a given in that part of Africa. My clinics try to serve as large a section of the population as we can with the widest range of care and medicines we can procure. It’s a challenge, but we hope that the people will eventually trust us enough to let us vaccinate their children against measles and polio.”

  “Do your health clinics also distribute Tillcorp’s seeds or information about them?”

  “If they do, I’m not aware of it. The clinics are managed by doctors hired by a consortium of international philanthropists, including my wife and a group of Norwegian contributors.” He removed his little half-moon glasses and polished one lens with his napkin. “Norwegians have a penchant for philanthropy. They need to assuage their guilt, I expect.”

  “What do Norwegians have to feel guilty about?”

  “Nothing more nefarious than capitalism. Norway has substantial commercial interests in Africa. They’ve acquired large tracts of timber and a number of disused and underdeveloped plantations to grow corn and sugar beets for biofuels.”

  He set his glasses back on his nose. “Back to Erika. Of course, we hope her little exploit doesn’t torpedo Colt’s presidential chances.”

  “Senator Sheridan doesn’t think she’s motivated by politics.”

  “He may be right. He doesn’t want to believe she would hurt him deliberately and neither do I. Actually, we think she was influenced by someone else, someone who is working for one of Colt’s rivals.” His voice became cunning. “I’m sure you’ve heard about the dirty tricks that go on during a political campaign. Colt’s rivals are constantly on the lookout for gotcha moments they can use against him and, while we’d like to remain above such gamesmanship, it’s not possible to be both noble and victorious. Politics is war.”

  “It’s supposed to be war without bloodshed,” she said, “and yet Mr. Eftevang’s murder appears to have been motivated by politics.”

  His forehead pleated. “I doubt that very much. But Valerie thinks that Erika was manipulated by someone with a political motive.”

  “Who?”

  “You.”

  It was Dinah’s turn to be nonplussed.

  “A pretty young woman in a low-level position would pass under our radar without raising anyone’s suspicion. Playing cards with Erika, talking to her about music, coaxing her into revealing confidential secrets. Someone with knowledge of our excursion to Longyearbyen, someone who knew that Mahler would be traveling with us contacted this Eftevang person. Val has learned that he was in France only a few days ago and yet he showed up here, knowing that she and Jake were aboard our plane. How could he know that? You can see that the timing is suspicious.”

  A pain streaked down Dinah’s arm and she winced. “I didn’t know the man existed until he yelled ‘death gene’ in the Svalbard Airport and I certainly didn’t contact him. Valerie was right when she pegged me as apolitical. I have no desire to meddle in Senator Sheridan’s campaign or his marriage.”

  Keyes drank a bit of coffee and pushed the smoked eel aside. “If that is so, if it’s only a matter of money, the Sheridan campaign can find a way to match or better what you’re being paid. We could find a place for you on Colt’s staff. In exchange, we would naturally want to know which campaign is behind the mischief and the full extent of what has been disclosed. And of course we’ll need to know where Erika and Jorgen have gone.”

  “Senator Keyes, I’m employed by the University of Hawaii and no one else. I don’t know where Valerie came up with this idea that I’m some kind of mole. I admit that I’ve been asked by my department head to determine whether the Svalbard Vault can be relied on to safeguard her seeds and keep them out of the hands of people who want to alter them, but that is all. If there’s a mole inside your campaign, it’s somebody else.” Dinah thought about Valerie’s backbiting and her conspicuous crush on Erika’s husband and her temper boiled over. “Frankly, I wouldn’t put it past Valerie herself to spoil the Sheridan show. You know what they say about a woman scorned. Maybe she arranged to have Erika spirited away by Maks Jorgen. Maybe her way of making herself seem essential to you and Mahler and Sheridan is to create moles and spies that only she can recognize.”

  Keyes responded more in sadness than in anger. “I’ve known Valerie for years. She’s a scrupulous and loyal attorney, honest as the day is long. So is Colt. He doesn’t deserve to have his political future destroyed by something like this.”

  “Erika is the one who needs to be persuaded, Senator Keyes. And for the last time, I have no idea where she’s disappeared to or how to get in touch with her.”

  “I’m afraid it’s more than that. Inspector Ramberg searched Jorgen’s room this morning. He found a document that was stolen from Valerie’s files.”

  Dinah studied his face. “You think I stole it?”

  “Someone did and passed it on to Erika. Don’t misunderstand me, Dinah. This isn’t a threat. But you’re playing with fire. You’d better tell us what you know before it’s too late.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Dinah blazed out of the dining room into the lobby looking for Thor. No such luck. The lobby was empty except for the man behind the front desk.

  “Would you happen to know where Inspector Ramberg went or when he’ll be back?”

  “He didn’t say. But he did leave a message for you, Ms. Pelerin.” He handed her an envelope with the Radisson logo.

  She opened it and read, “The murder is solved. Dinner?”

  He should be flogged for teasing her that way. What kind of document had he found in Jorgen’s room? At least, it didn’t sound as if he suspected her of stealing it. She tucked the note in her pocket. “When the inspector returns, would you tell him that Dinah Pelerin needs to speak with him urgently?”

  “Ja, sure.”

  “What is Valerie Ives’ room number?”

  “Room three-thirty-eight, next door to the presidential suite.”

  “Who’s in the presidential suite?”

  “Mr. Mahler.”

  Why did I have to ask, she thought.

  “Shall I ring Ms. Ives’ room?”

  “No, thanks. I’d rather surprise her.”

  Dinah headed for the elevators. Honest as the day is long. What the hell did that mean in a place where it was always night? Something was rotten in the Kingdom of Norway. Valerie didn’t whisper with Mahler and keep Tillcorp’s wheeling and dealing a secret because she was honest, and Keyes’ talk about political dirty tricks sounded fishy as smoked eel. How better to garner sympathy for Sheridan than to spin Erika’s disappearance as a political plot by one of his rivals and “trump up a story” about a mole inside his campaign? That would be the ultimate dirty trick. She couldn’t see Erika’s former lover going along
with the plot, but then it struck her that Sheridan could have hired somebody off the street to impersonate Maks. The impersonator could have lured Erika to his room, drugged her, and carted her off to a sanitarium where she could be held until after election day. Until Doomsday if it suited Sheridan’s or Valerie’s purposes.

  The elevator doors opened on the second floor and Tipton stepped inside. As always, he was breathless from the weight and urgency of his mission. “It’s a political fiasco. I can see the headlines now. Candidate’s Wife Goes Off Rocker, Runs Off With Rocker.”

  “Let’s hope that’s the true story.”

  “What do you mean?” His cowlick sprouted from his crown like corn stubble and there was a downy growth on his chin. He looked as if he hadn’t slept all night. He re-punched the button for the third floor.

  “I’m not so sure she eloped with Jorgen. I’m on my way to Valerie’s room to get a few straight answers.”

  “Jake’s looking for her, too. He’s called a meeting in his suite, but Valerie’s gone AWOL.” The elevator door opened on three and Tipton stepped out.

  Dinah stepped out, too. “Any idea where she is?”

  “The last time I saw her she was coming out of Colt’s room. She’s been trying to calm him down. He and the inspector got into quite a tiff this morning.”

  “About what?”

  “Oh, some document he found in Jorgen’s room, I think. Colt went ballistic and Val hustled him away all mother-hennish for a one-on-one. Jake says it’s bad.”

  Dinah batted the elevator door, which kept trying to close. “Do you know what it is?”

  “Only that it was something Valerie shouldn’t have let anyone see.” Tipton looked at his watch. “Jake wants Whitney at the meeting. I’ve been trying to get him on his cell. Have you seen him?”

  “As a matter of fact, he and I have just had a serious talk.”

  “Why would he want to talk with you?”

  “My superior grasp of the situation. What else?”