Singing of the Dead

by Dana Stabenow

  “And after that, we went to dinner with the Kegturyaq Native Association, and then to our rooms, where we read until we went to sleep,” Doug said.

  Doug Gordaoff seemed to have rediscovered his marriage. Interesting, Kate thought, given that she’d seen him hit on more women in a twenty-four-hour period than even Jim Chopin could manage.

  “Thank you, Doug,” Jim said, with a corresponding scribble. The notebook was all for show, a tool of intimidation. Most people who’d been called in to help the trooper with his investigation couldn’t keep their eyes off it. Something in the act of someone taking down your words as you speak made people immediately wonder what they had said wrong, made them want to correct themselves, rationalize their behavior, contradict what they’d said before, or, fatally, attempt to explain themselves. It was a natural human reaction to try put the best light on one’s actions, no matter how amoral, asocial, abusive, or bloody.

  And that was when Jim nailed them in interrogation. He never actually wrote anything down in the notebook, though. When it came to write the official report, he wouldn’t have forgotten a single detail. It would all go into the computer and be printed out in damning black and white that always stood up in court. Jim Chopin was a district attorney’s wet dream.

  A good cop and a good pilot, Kate thought. Two good qualities.

  She shifted in her chair. Speaking of rationalization, what had happened between them in Bering in July or at the garbage dump in Ahtna was no reason for her to endow Jim Chopin with character. He’d been kind to her, yes, and she was grateful, but it stopped there. She concentrated on the conversation, like she should have been doing in the first place.

  “And you were where during this period, Doug?”

  Aha, Kate thought, repressing an unwilling smile. Jim was making it known that he was well aware that if Doug Gordaoff was Anne Gordaoff’s unbreakable alibi, then Anne Gordaoff was Doug Gordaoff’s alibi as well.

  Doug stared. “I was with her, of course.”

  Kate didn’t know it, but she and Jim were thinking exactly the same thing at that moment. How convenient.

  Jim looked at Erin Gordaoff. “Where were you, Erin?”

  “Who said you could call her by her first name?” Tom said, rising to his feet and leaning forward with his hands on the table. “Who said you could call my mother or my father by their first name? Show a little respect, and we might think about answering your questions.”

  “Where were you, Erin?” Jim said.

  “I don’t know,” Erin said, her tone close to a whine, and Kate thought what a dreary young woman she was. Hard to believe she was Anne Gordaoff’s daughter. Maybe fairies had pulled a switch in the crib.

  “What’s with all these questions?” Tom said. “You march us in here like we’re under arrest, and now you’re interrogating my family like we know something about Paula Pawlowski’s death. We don’t.”

  “Someone killed her, Tom.”

  “Well, that somebody isn’t sitting around this table.”

  Jim consulted his nonexistent notes. “Where were you that night?”

  “Now, just a damn minute,” Anne said, an unaccustomed flush rising up into her face. It was the first time Kate had seen her upset.

  Jim looked up for the first time, meeting her eyes squarely. “Tell us about your great-grandmother, Anne.”

  There was a silence that stretched out like a rubber band pulled to its breaking point. No one moved. For a while it seemed like no one breathed.

  “What do you mean, tell you about my great-grandmother?” Anne said, but it was a poor attempt, and she had waited far too long to make it.

  “The Northern Light,” Jim said.

  There was another silence.

  “She’s dead,” Anne said. “She’s been dead since 1915. I never knew her.”

  “That’s not what I asked you, Anne.”

  “What’s going on, Mom?” Tom said. “Which great-grandmother?”

  Jim waited for Anne to answer. She didn’t. He said, “The last threatening letter you received, Anne, the one telling you to pay up or they’d tell.”

  Anne was pale but composed. “Yes?”

  “I just got the report from the crime lab in Anchorage. It was written by someone else other than the writer of the original letters.”

  “Oh. I don’t understand. I—have two people been writing me hate mail?”

  “No,” Jim said, “one person has been writing you hate mail, and a second person, a completely different person, has been trying to blackmail you.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Anne said. “That’s just—that’s silly. I don’t have anything to be blackmailed for.” She looked around the table. “My family—”

  “Yes, let’s talk about your family,” Jim said. “Your family’s got legs in Alaska, both literally and figuratively, starting with the Dawson Darling, who danced for her supper at the Double Eagle Saloon in Dawson City, who worked the Fairbanks Line, and who later moved to Niniltna to open the establishment known as the Northern Light.” He sat back, very much at his ease, and waited, blue eyes steady in an unnerving stare. It was said that Jim Chopin could look at you with that stare and make you confess to murdering your own mother, even if you’d been on Maui at the time.

  “That was a long time ago,” Anne said, almost sullen.

  “Yes, it was, and I couldn’t give a damn, but you might not agree.”

  Anne shifted in her chair. “It’s not something we talk about a lot in my family.”

  Jim agreed. “Some families are a little more uptight than others.”

  “Uptight?” Anne said. “She was a prostitute. She sold her body for money. It’s not something to be proud of.”

  “What?” Tom said.

  “What?” Doug said.

  “What?” Erin said.

  Tracy’s eyebrows flew up into her hairline.

  Darlene’s expression didn’t change.

  “Not something to be proud of,” Jim repeated. “Is it a secret you’d kill to keep, Anne?”

  “That’s enough,” Darlene said. “This conversation is over.” She looked at Jim with a pointed expression. “Unless you want to arrest someone?”

  Jim let them wait while he thought about it. “No,” he said at last, and let the room relax before he ratcheted up the tension again. “Not at the moment.”

  Darlene didn’t move a muscle. “Fine.”

  “I would like a list of Anne’s activities for the rest of the day, however.”

  “Fine,” Darlene said again, giving Tracy a curt nod before she swept out the door, herding the Gordaoffs in front of her.

  Tracy sighed. “Just once I’d like to be on a winning team.”

  Kate spoke for the first time. “You think the fact that Anne’s great-grandmother was a hooker during the Gold Rush will lose her the election?”

  Tracy shook her head. “Not the fact that her great-grandmother was a hooker, Kate. The fact that Anne kept it a secret.” She opened her DayTimer. “Anne’s having lunch at the Roadhouse in an hour. She’ll probably be there until three, when we come back for the start of the cheerleader tournament.”

  “You overnighting here?” Jim said.

  Tracy nodded and picked up her bag. “Well, hell, Kate. It was fim while it lasted.”

  They grinned at each other. “You sticking with the campaign?”

  Tracy shrugged. “They’re still paying me, so far as I know.” She shook her head and said mournfully, “This was such a slam dunk a month ago. What the hell happened?”

  When she was gone Jim looked at Kate and said, “Good question.”

  She sighed. “Yeah.”

  The door opened and they looked up. It was Dinah, flushed and breathing hard, as if she’d been running. “Finally,” she said, trying to catch her breath.

  “What’s up?” Kate said, Dinah’s urgency pulling her to her feet. “What’s wrong?”

  Dinah looked at Jim Chopin. “Good-bye, Jim.”

  He
stood behind Kate. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s personal,” Dinah said. “Good-bye.”

  “I guess I can take a hint.” He reached out a hand and chucked Dinah beneath the chin. “So long, gorgeous.” He adjusted the ball cap over his eyes. “Kate.”

  When the door closed behind him, Dinah said, “Somebody told Jane how to get to your homestead.”

  “She came back? Where’d she stay last night?”

  “I don’t know. All I know is she went out to the Road-house and six-packed Frank Scully, and he loaned her his truck. Bernie drove in to tell Bobby she’s on her way. Where’s Johnny?”

  Kate was already out the door. “With Ethan.”

  “Is your truck here?”

  “Parked next to the airstrip.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “Like hell.”

  “Auntie Vi’s got Katya, Bobby’s already on his way, I’m coming with you.” She was in the cab of Kate’s truck before Kate was. “Kate?”

  “What?” The truck scattered gravel and snow twenty feet as Kate pulled a brody on the way to the road.

  “There’s something else. Not about Johnny, about Anne.”

  “One thing at a time,” Kate said, and floored it.

  Bobby’s pickup was pulled neatly to one side of the road, the offside wheels pulled to the extreme edge of the very narrow shoulder. Jane had left the end of Frank Scully’s pea green Dodge Ramcharger sticking out into the road; Kate gave it an ungentle nudge with the Chevy, and it turned out Jane had left the Dodge in neutral. It rolled forward until the two front tires ran off the side of the turnaround and got itself well and truly high-centered on the edge. “Shit,” Kate said.

  “Serves Frank right,” Dinah said.

  “Yeah, but I’ll have to pull it out.” Kate bailed out of the truck, barely pausing to close the door as Mutt launched herself out of the back and hit the trail running. “Mutt! Don’t kill her!”

  Dinah’s laugh petered out at the expression on Kate’s face. “She wouldn’t,” she said. “Would she?”

  Kate pounded past her without answering.

  “Goddamn!” she heard Bobby yell when she was halfway down the trail. “It’s the goddamn First Division of the goddamn Lupine Cavalry! You go, girl!”

  Kate’s worst fears were confirmed when she stumbled into the clearing, lungs burning, eyes tearing, to find Jane standing in the open door to the cabin, faced down by a Mutt standing on tiptoe, hackles stiff and straight up, head down between hunched shoulders, ears flattened, teeth bared, a steady, rumbling growl issuing promises of the most alarming kind. Kate almost felt sorry for Jane, frozen and white-faced, too terrified even to attempt to slam the door in Mutt’s face.

  “Mutt,” Kate said.

  Mutt snapped. The sound of teeth meeting was audible to everyone in the clearing. The growl changed to a snarl and escalated in volume.

  “Whoa,” Bobby said, grin fading.

  “Kate, do something,” Dinah said.

  “Mutt!” Kate said. She made a large circle, coming around to where Mutt could see her before she approached. She didn’t make the mistake of reaching out a hand. “Off,” she said.

  The snarl abated a fraction.

  Kate put more whip into her voice. “Off!” she said. “Now, Mutt.”

  The snarl deteriorated into a low, throaty rumble, and then ceased.

  Everyone relaxed except Jane. “Well,” Bobby said, grinning at Kate, “she sure knows who she doesn’t like.”

  Kate looked at Jane. “What are you doing here, Jane? Jane?”

  Jane tore her gaze away from Mutt and blinked at them. “I—I’m—I’m looking for Johnny.” Her voice sounded much higher and less certain than it had the last time Kate had heard it. When was that? One month ago? Two? She seemed to realize it, and pulled herself together. “I’m looking for my son. Where is he?”

  “He isn’t here,” Kate said with exact truth.

  Jane’s eyes were deep blue and had thick, straight white-blonde lashes, but they were marred by being too close together and by the expression of sheer malice they displayed every time she was in Kate’s presence. “I know you know where he is. You give him back to me now!”

  “He isn’t here,” Kate repeated. “I assume you looked through the cabin.”

  “Someone’s hiding him for you, then!”

  The best defense is a good offense, and Kate was a bad liar anyway. “So he’s missing, your son,” she said. “For how long?”

  Thrown off her stride, Jane said, “That’s none of your business. You—”

  “I agree, it’s yours,” Kate said, “and you don’t appear to be minding it. Did he run away, Jane?”

  Jane stared at her.

  “Has he done it more than once?” Kate said. “Like he did in Anchorage? I remember one time you took his shoes away so he wouldn’t run away to his dad, and he did anyway. Barefoot. In March.”

  Jane flushed a deep red. Her mouth opened and closed without any sound coming out. Kate pursued her advantage. “Has he come back the other times? Does he usually run to the same place?”

  “He didn’t get this far last time,” Jane said without thinking. “But that—”

  “So he’s done it more than once,” Kate said, anger simmering under her skin. “If he’s making a career out of running away then he’s obviously unhappy. What have you done about that?”

  “He’s a kid; he does what I tell him!”

  “Not noticeably,” Kate said.

  Bobby choked.

  Jane’s eyes narrowed. “You know where he is. I’m going to have you arrested for kidnapping.”

  “Fine,” Kate said, “but in the meantime, you’re trespassing. Get off my land.”

  “You—”

  “Mutt,” Kate said, and next to her Mutt went back up on tiptoe and kick-started the growl.

  Jane looked furious and frustrated, but she stepped out of the doorway and sidled around the edge of the clearing, never once presenting her back to Mutt. When she reached the trail, she said, “I’ll be back.”

  “We’ll be here,” Kate said.

  As Jane vanished up the trail, she remembered Frank’s Dodge, high-centered on the edge of the turnaround. Dinah remembered at the same moment, and touched Kate’s arm. “I’ll take care of it,” she said, and followed Jane.

  “Mutt,” Kate said, and Mutt arrowed away from her side.

  “Kate,” Bobby said, sounding nervous for what might have been the first time in Kate’s memory.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “She’s all right now. Besides, Jane can use a little reminder of why it’s not a good idea to wander off into the woods by herself. Especially private property in those woods.”

  “I thought Mutt was going to eat her alive. Remind me never to piss her off.”

  Kate shrugged, stretching a little to ease the tension between her shoulder blades. “I could use some tea. How about you?”

  “I could use a goddamn fifth of Scotch,” he said.

  Kate got the ramp from where it leaned next to the door and set it over the doorstep. When Bobby rolled to the top, he found Kate standing in the middle of the mess Jane had left behind. Books and tapes had been pulled from the shelves, the cushions had been tumbled from the built-in couch, canned goods shoved to the floor.

  “What, she thought Johnny had hidden behind the Selected Poems of Robert Frost, or maybe the baked beans?” he said.

  The look on Kate’s face could be best described as unpleasant, and truth to tell, it scared him more than Mutt’s growl. He hoped Jane had had the good sense to move herself out of range.

  “I should have turned Mutt loose,” Kate said in a very soft voice.

  Bobby shook his head. “Nah. She would have fallen backward, and there would have been blood and guts all over the cabin. Blood’s hell on books.” He gave the wheels of his chair a brisk roll into the kitchen. “I’ll start the tea; you start on the living room.”

  Kate had the co
uch back together and some of the books and tapes replaced by the time Dinah showed up, but there was still enough disorder left for Dinah to purse her lips in a soundless whistle. Bobby sent her one of those meaningful looks reserved for the married of the species, and she closed her mouth on whatever she had been about to say and went to restore the canned goods to their cupboards. By the time the kettle whistled, the room looked almost normal, and Kate was restored to at least the semblance of her customary calm, until they sat down around the table, and she discovered that Jane had dumped the contents of the one-pound Darigold butter can and had taken off with two of the five twenty-dollar bills that had been in it.

  “A petty thief,” Bobby said, not without pleasure.

  “Might have known it,” Dinah agreed.

  They both watched Kate from the corners of their eyes, like home canners watching as the steam built up beneath the lid of an old pressure cooker that might or might not be still working at optimum capacity.

  It took a while, but the color eventually faded from her face. She looked around at Mutt, draped across the threshold of the open door, dappled with afternoon sun, and told her, “Next time, she’s lunch.”

  Mutt flopped a lazy tail in agreement.

  Relieved, Bobby squirted honey into his mug. “That’s my girls.”

  “I have to say that I hate it that she knows the way here,” Kate said, taking the honey in turn.

  “Yeah, well, wait till Frank gets a load of what she did to his truck. It’ll be a while before he rents it out again for a six-pack of beer.”

  Bobby raised an eyebrow. Dinah told him. When he stopped laughing, he said, “What is it about you that drives her so nuts, Kate?”

  “Her son doesn’t like her,” Kate said.

  “And he does like you?”

  She thought of Johnny since he’d arrived in the Park. “He used to.”

  “Where is he, anyway?” Bobby said.

  “Either in school or with Ethan.”

  Bobby started to laugh all over again. “You mean all she had to do was go up to the school?”

  Kate shrugged. “She doesn’t give a shit about the kid. She wants to get in my face.”