by Stan Jones
“Come on, let’s talk. Please?”
“No!” Her tone softened. “No.”
She kissed him long and deep. “At least sit back and relax and let these hands work their magic.” She give him an exploratory grope. “See? Little Nathan’s interested.”
She led him into the living room, pushed him into an armchair, knelt between his knees and opened his fly.
His phone marimbaed again. Her look dared him to answer it. His eyes dropped to the screen.
“Yes, it’s Chief Active. Sorry, Governor, I’m still tied up. All right, Suka. But, I have to go. OK, sure, I’ll call when your plane lands in Anchorage, I promise.” He ended the call while she was still talking.
Grace was already on the stairs. She stalked into her father’s bedroom and slammed the door.
His phone marimbaed again. Did he dare let Mercer go to voicemail after hanging up on her? But it wasn’t “Governor” he saw when he checked the caller ID. It was the dispatch line at public safety. What now?
“Chief Active,” he said.
He listened as the dispatcher reported a drunk passed out on the Isignaq trail a half mile east of the airport. “Why didn’t the guy bring the drunk in himself?”
“That’s not in my notes,” said the dispatcher, a man named Winkler whom Active had inherited with the new job. “Mr. Sundown’s pretty deaf, so it was kind of hard to ask him any questions, Chief.”
Asking questions in English of an older Inupiaq with hearing damaged by snowgos, outboards, rifles, and shotguns wasn’t so difficult when you got used to it. You just had to speak loud and clear, then wait out the long pauses that were part of any conversation with an elder. That was how old Inupiat talked. But Winkler was white and pretty new to Chukchi, like everybody on the force except himself and Alan Long. Winkler didn’t speak Bush yet.
“OK,” Active said. “Find Alan Long and send him out to retrieve the guy. Tell him to take his EMT kit, a sled, some sleeping bags—the usual, all right? The guy’s probably hypothermic.”
“Got it, Chief.”
Winkler rang off while Active pondered the oddness of being called ‘Chief.’ Should he ask his people to call him something else? If so, what?
Then reality kicked back in and he headed upstairs for the apology. Maybe Grace would be charmed by the drunk passed out on the tundra. It was pure Chukchi. At least she’d know it wasn’t another call from Helen Mercer.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Tuesday, April 15
Tundra Kill
ACTIVE SWIVELED TO survey the terrain around them and shook his head as Helen Mercer’s flight faded into the haze. “So, again, what was he doing out here? Did he fall off somebody’s snowgo and they didn’t notice?”
“Yeah, and then he started walking and they finally came back to get him and ran him over by mistake,” Long said. “You know how those drunks are.”
“Let’s see if we can figure out who he was.”
He knelt beside the victim. Should he cut away the mask to see if one of them would recognize the man, or search his clothes for ID first?
No need to touch the mangled face if it could be avoided, he decided. He went through the parka pockets. Nothing. Then the cargo pockets of the snowgo suit. Nothing but a couple of the nylon booties mushers used to keep ice from balling up between their dogs’ toes and cutting up the pads. He showed Long the red booties.
“He’s a musher, ah?” Long said.
“Looks like it. Check around for dog tracks, eh?”
Long crunched away. Active put the booties back in the parka. Now he’d eliminated everything except the pockets of the dead man’s jeans.
He dropped to his knees and folded up the tail of the parka, then sliced through the shoulder straps in back. He pulled the rear bib down until the jeans were exposed. One hip pocket had a prominent bulge.
He flipped off his gloves and fished out the wallet, then flipped through it until he found a driver’s license. The photograph matched what he’d seen of the dead man’s face.
Long crunched back up. “No dog tracks over here by the body, but maybe some over there on the trail. Hard to tell if they’re new or even dog tracks for sure, the trail is so beat up from wind and snowgo traffic.”
Active showed him the driver’s license. “You know a Peter Wise?”
Recognition spread over Long’s face. “Oh, yeah, Pete Wise. He was a couple years ahead of me in school. And he was on the basketball team.”
Active nodded. The name was familiar but he couldn’t place it. “He run dogs?”
“I think so, yeah,” Long said.
“But he wasn’t in the 400, right?”
“Not this year. He won it a couple times before, all right, then he quit.”
“Got tired of it, did he?”
“I dunno, he said it was time for someone else to win,” Long said. “After that he just did it for fun.”
“He have a job?
Long thought about it for a few seconds.
“Let’s see, I think he’s—oh, yeah—he was the alcoholism counselor at Natchiq Association, remember?” Long said.
Now it clicked. Natchiq Association was the nonprofit corporation that ran the Chukchi hospital and most of the social services in the area. “Yeah, sure, now I do,” Active said. “His office takes counseling referrals from the court system when people get sentenced on something alcohol-related.”
Long lifted his eyebrows. “And he was a volunteer basketball coach at Natchiq’s summer camp, usually.”
“He ever have a drinking problem himself?”
Long squinted the Eskimo no. “Not that I ever heard of. He was pretty much a straight arrow. Even though he was a basketball star and could have had all the girls and booze he wanted.”
Active turned a full circle, scanning the folds of tundra around them. “So, again…”
“Yeah,” Long said. “Out here with no dogs and no snowgo. Not even skis. This is pretty far from town to be walking.”
There was a lull in the breeze and silence fell over the tundra. First Long, then Active, cocked an ear toward a brushy little draw that dropped away from the ridge where the Isignaq trail ran.
“Is that…?” Long said.
“Has to be. Let’s get him loaded in the ahkio, then we’ll check.”
Long started his snowgo and pulled the ahkio alongside the body. They flexed the corpse’s shoulders until the muscles loosened up, then bent the arms down along his sides.
Active took the armpits and Long the boots and they heaved. The corpse’s left leg folded at mid-thigh and the boot started to slide out of the snowgo suit. They lost their grip and dropped the body back onto the snow.
“Jesus!” Active knelt to examine the red-black stain where the thigh had been, then rolled the corpse onto its side and pulled apart the tatters of the parka, snowgo suit and jeans to check the damaged leg. He sat back on his heels and gazed at the mess. “It’s actually severed. The impact cut off his leg. One of the skis, maybe.”
“What a way to die,” Long said. “Bleeding out on the tundra.”
“Although with that head injury…,” Active said. They looked at each other, then at the corpse, then at the snow around them. Finally Active grunted. “All right, let’s get him on the sled.”
This time, they slid him sideways across the snow to the ahkio, then rolled him on. Wisps of goose down floated up from the ripped parka and wafted away on the breeze.
“You cover him up and follow me, OK?” Active mounted his Yamaha, hit the starter, and accelerated off the ridge and into the draw.
A quarter mile downhill he found the sled snagged in the willows. Seven huskies, still in their traces, erupted in hysteria as he circled the scene for a look and shut down the snowgo. A few seconds later, Long pulled up on his Arctic Cat with the remains of Pete Wise wrapped in a blue tarp on the ahkio.
“I guess we know how he got here,” Long said.
Active raised his eyebrows. “Call animal contro
l to come get them. And put an announcement on Kay-Chuck asking anyone spotting a snowgo with front-end damage and maybe blood on it to get in touch.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Tuesday, April 15
ACTIVE, LONG AND Carnaby waited in pointed silence as Lucy made a production of bringing in a carafe of coffee and setting around cups and condiments for the three of them.
Finally, she looked at Carnaby and asked, “You take yours black, right?”
“Ahem,” Active said.
Lucy put on a look of mystified innocence. “What?”
“We can pour it ourselves, thank you.”
“Arii, I’m just trying to help.”
“Of course.”
“Humph.” She turned and waddled out.
“I called our village safety officer up in—” Long stopped at a look from Active.
“And shut the door,” Active said.
The door closed with an indignant ‘thunk’.
“And that’ll be all now.”
“I’m just waiting in case you need something,” came Lucy’s voice from outside.
“We’re fine, thanks.”
“Arii, I don’t know why I work so hard,” the voice said. Footsteps receded down the hallway.
“Maybe you should make her a detective.” Carnaby poured himself a cup of the coffee, which he left black. “Officer Brophy. It has a ring. Plus, she usually knows more than the rest of us put together.”
“Let’s try to focus here,” Active said. “To what do we owe the honor of this visit from the Alaska State Troopers?”
“I’m just here to listen and advise,” Carnaby said. “So far it’s a borough case, but you never know when we Troopers will get pulled in.”
“I don’t recall us doing any sit-ins when I worked for you,” Active said.
“Me, neither,” Long said. “The Troopers never came in on a city case unless we asked for it.”
Carnaby waved a dismissive hand. “No biggie. Something new the governor has asked us to do. Kind of facilitate local law enforcement, make sure you’ve got all the resources you need, partnership kind of thing. That’s good, right?”
Active frowned. “The governor asked you to sit in on this?”
“Posilutely, Helen Wheels herownself. I’m from the state of Alaska and I’m here to help! You know how she likes you.”
“But how does she even know about it? It can’t possibly be news in Juneau.”
Carnaby shrugged. “I dunno. From her family up here maybe?”
“Maybe,” Active said. “And now that I think of it, she said she streams Kay-Chuck. Maybe she heard Roger Kennelly’s story. Or our notice about the snowgo.”
“She streams Kay-Chuck? What is that?”
“Never mind. Just Internet technojabber.” Active studied the Trooper captain. “I guess we would have ended up bouncing it off you anyway.”
“And so…?” Carnaby turned up his palms.
“And so…what do we have? Alan? You check with the victim’s family in Walker?”
Long raised his eyebrows. “I called the village safety officer up there and he talked to them and they didn’t know anybody that would have had it in for Pete. But his mom said they never heard much from him once he moved down here to Chukchi for high school. Sounds like he was a real private guy.”
Active nodded.
“They think it was an accident probably.”
Active frowned. “You didn’t tell them what we found at the scene?”
Long stiffened a little. “Of course not.”
“You go to his house?”
“Yeah, it’s just a regular house,” Long said. “Everything was pretty normal. Place was locked, nothing broken, messed up, spilled, turned over inside, from what I could see through the windows. Nothing funny-looking outside. I put up some crime scene tape.”
“You didn’t go in?”
Long stiffened again. “Of course not. Not without a warrant.”
Active grunted. “Which we don’t have any basis for getting that I can see. Our patrol guys see a newly banged-up snowgo anywhere? Especially with blood on it?”
Long squinted the no.
Active looked at his notebook. “I checked with the hospital. They didn’t get anybody in the ER last night or this morning who looked to have been in a snowgo wreck. And Pete didn’t turn up in our computer. If he was ever in trouble, it apparently never crossed a police blotter.”
He turned his gaze on Carnaby. “You guys got any history with a Peter Aqpattuq Wise? I don’t remember anything but the alcoholism referrals when I was at the troopers.”
Carnaby shrugged. “Me neither. He was clean, far as I know.”
“There’s gotta be something somewhere,” Active said. “You can’t just kill somebody and vanish. Not around here.”
“Arii,” Long said. “What if we never figure it out?”
Carnaby shifted in his chair. “So what exactly did you find out there on the tundra?”
“A bloody mess, basically.” Active sketched the scene for him.
“Whew,” Carnaby said a few minutes later. “Skull split open, face ripped up, leg cut off, and nothing but snowgo tracks?”
Active frowned. “Yeah. It sucks.”
“Better you than us,” Carnaby said as he rose from his chair. “But seriously. Let me know if we can kick in on this one.”
Long and Active looked at each other as Carnaby slipped out the door.
“What now, boss?”
Active tented his fingers and looked across them at the sea ice beyond his window. Kay-Chuck had reported a temperature of five above a few minutes earlier. Why was he inside on a day like this? Why didn’t Arctic police work involve more riding around on snowgos or in Cessnas, as long as it wasn’t with Helen Mercer and the plane didn’t ice up and fall out of the sky?
He turned his gaze back to Long. “No reports of a stolen snowgo, right?”
Long squinted the no.
“Nothing from our Kay-Chuck message?”
Another no. Then, “Maybe we should offer a reward?”
Active frowned. “Reward? What have we got for a reward?”
Long shrugged. “Free nights in jail, maybe?”
“Free nights in jail.”
Long raised his eyebrows.
“Who’d want to be in our jail if they didn’t have to?”
“We used to do it sometimes when Jim Silver was chief. You’d be surprised how popular it was.”
“Jim Silver did it?”
Another yes from Long.
Active frowned in sudden suspicion. “Your sister wants another conjugal visit with Clevis Trafford, doesn’t she?”
“They’re engaged. They need to be together. It’ll give Clevis a reason to straighten up when he gets out from the bootlegging charge.”
“Yeah, all right. If Edna can find that snowgo for us, I’ll authorize a conjugal visit.”
“Three nights?”
“A conjugal visit is one night.”
“Two nights maybe?” Long asked. “This is a big case, all right. And she hasn’t seen him in a while. She says they need to catch up.”
“All right, two nights. If she finds the snowgo.”
“How about one night before she finds it and one after?”
“None before and two after. That’s it.”
Long grinned. “I’ll tell her.”
Active studied the deputy, still suspicious. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance she already found it?”
“No, but she’s got really sharp eyes. And she knows lotta people, all right, especially the aanas. Them old ladies know everything and they always talk to each other about it.”
“In other words, Edna’s been bugging you to get her another conjugal visit and you’re using this to get her off your back.”
“Arii, I love my sister.”
“Sure you do.”
“So I should put the reward in our message?”
Active conducted a mental in
ventory of their jail population, which totaled three at the moment, counting Clevis. “Is there somebody else interested in spending a couple nights in our jail?”
“The competition might make Edna work harder. You never know.”
“You’re right, Alan. You never do know. I don’t, that’s for sure. So, yeah, two free nights in jail for whoever finds the snowgo.” He stood up and headed for the door.
“What you gonna do, boss?” Long asked.
“Talk to somebody who actually knows something,” Active said. “I hope.”
Lucy looked up in surprise and, Active thought, some apprehension as he knocked at the open door to her office. She made a quick movement with her computer mouse that he guessed was to close her Facebook page, on which she had attained some renown for the Eskimo recipes she posted in Inupiaq and English, and on which she spent a considerable part of her official workday at Chukchi Public Safety. Active had declined to take formal cognizance of this. It was his experience that knowing what not to notice was critical to success in any job, this one in particular. As long as she got her work done.
“You guys all done up there?” Lucy asked. “You want me to clean up your coffee stuff?”
“No hurry.”
Lucy relaxed a little.
“I was just wondering what you might have heard about Pete Wise, especially lately.”
“Oh, yeah, isn’t it awful?”
“You ever know him?”
“He was, let’s see, I think a couple years ahead of me in school, but he was already a senior when he moved down here, so we weren’t there at the same time much.”
“He ever have girlfriends? buddies? enemies?”
Lucy frowned over it for a few seconds. “Not that I heard of. He always keep to himself, seem like. He was a big basketball star and really cute, so of course there was always girls trying to, you know, but I never heard of him getting together with nobody.”
“Really. A basketball star? And he didn’t you-know?”
Lucy shook her head. “Some girls said it was a broken heart. Some of them said he maybe didn’t like girls at all.”