Tundra Kill

by Stan Jones

  “Pretty much. Better maybe. Less haunted.”

  “It’s sure not how she looked in the mug shots at the court house.”

  “She’d been on Four Street a while when those were taken.”

  “Ah,” Stewart said. “I guess I didn’t get that deep into the files over there. Anyway, I’ll be seeing for myself in a bit. She’s next on my interview list, followed by her daughter. Nita?”

  “Nita’s her cousin, actually,” Active said. “Grace adopted her after the death of her mother, Grace’s aunt.” Then it dawned on him. “You want to talk to Nita?”

  “Sure,” Stewart said. “That’s what I was saying about the previous investigation. The girl was in the house at the time of Mr. Palmer’s death, but it’s not clear she was ever considered as a suspect or even interviewed in depth. We have to cover all the bases.” Again he waved the dismissive hand.

  Active sat in silence, stomach knotted, as Stewart looked at his notebook.

  “But, to get back to your piece of this. You go to Dutch Harbor and find Ms. Palmer and bring her back to Chukchi to be reunited with her parents?”

  “Partly true.” Active took a breath and went on, trying to limit how much his voice shook. “I had to go to Anchorage on Trooper business, so I nosed around a little after hours with the help of a buddy on the Anchorage force. I found out she’d been a Four Street drunk for several years.”

  Stewart winced.

  “Yeah, you should have seen her mug shots from that era, when she was busted for disorderly conduct and assaulting cops. They…well, they were even worse than the ones taken here when she was arrested after Jason Palmer’s murder. And they got worse as time went on. Like a time-lapse movie of a face slowly…dissolving.”

  Active studied the eight-by-ten on his desk, while Stewart waited another decent interval.

  “From Anchorage,” Active said at last, “the trail led to Dutch Harbor and I followed it and found she’d somehow pulled herself together and straightened out. She was working a slime line down there. But she wouldn’t come back to Chukchi.”

  “Why not?”

  “I think it’s all in the court record that developed later,” Active said. “But she told me her father had raped her from an early age and had raped her sister until he got her pregnant and she committed suicide. Grace finally had to get away.”

  Stewart penned something into his notebook. “If that was true, why would he ask you to bring her home?”

  Active shrugged. “I don’t know. Neither did she. She thought maybe he had some crazy idea he could win her back. Or she’d forgive and forget because of her mother being sick. Or something. What she said was, ‘Evil is opaque.’”

  Stewart nodded. “She was right about that.”

  “I bear it always in mind.”

  Stewart flipped back in his notebook and checked something. “But she did come back to Chukchi, obviously. Why was that?”

  “It was something I told her while I was down there.”

  “And that was?”

  “I told her Nita was living with Grace’s parents in Chukchi after the death of her mother in the plane crash. Grace couldn’t stand the thought of Jason doing to Nita what he had done to her and her sister. She fell back onto Four Street for a while, then she came home.”

  “And Mr. Palmer ended up dead.”

  “Grace showed up at my office one day and said ‘The son of a bitch is dead’ and dropped a pistol on my desk. The murder weapon, it was determined to be.”

  “Whew,” Stewart said. “Quite a story.”

  “That was just the start. There was a lot of evidence, fingerprints, gunshot residue, all pointing straight at Grace. But the defense—mostly Grace, I think—kept stalling. The state prosecutor couldn’t get an actual confession and a plea, but neither could he get the case in front of a jury.”

  “I saw that in the record,” Stewart said. “The pretrial stuff dragged on and on.”

  Active nodded. “Grace’s PD once described it as a nightmare case with a nightmare defendant.”

  “And you—”

  “Stayed out of it. It was a city case, not a Trooper case. Plus, this woman I loved appeared to be a killer. I couldn’t process it.”

  “And then one day…”

  “Yeah.” Active shook his head at the memory. “And then one day.”

  “Grace’s mother, pretty much terminal with the cancer by this point, comes in and testifies she’s the one killed her husband.”

  “They still weren’t at trial,” Active said. “So they had a hearing and got her on videotape, complete with cross-examination. That way if she died they could use it later.”

  “Which they never did, as far as I can tell?”

  “Uh-uh.” Active shook his head. “They let Grace out and put the mother under house arrest. There was a sealed indictment against her, but it stayed sealed until she died and that was the end of it.”

  “And then you and Grace formed a domestic partner relationship, she adopted Nita, and here you are.”

  Active was silent.

  Stewart studied his notebook and made a brief entry.

  “So I watched that tape,” he said. “Quite a story the mother told. Grace comes back from Dutch Harbor, tries again to convince her of what her husband did to Grace and her sister and is gonna do to Nita if he’s not stopped. The mother gets mad like always and sends Grace away, only this time something tells her it’s true. She catches her husband with the little girl, not really doing anything to her yet, but she realizes he will if he’s not stopped, so she shoots him after Nita goes out. Grace comes back to the house, finds out what happened, and rigs the evidence to point at herself instead of her mother. Scrubs the residue off her mother’s hands, wipes the gun down for fingerprints, then fires it into a wooden post in the basement to put her own fingerprints on it and get residue on her own hands. They tell the little girl Mr. Palmer shot himself by accident while cleaning the gun, and Ms. Palmer turns herself in to you. And then she stalls till it’s time to bring her mother into court and make the magic videotape. Amazing, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Amazing Grace was what they called her on Four Street,” Active said.

  “Chief Active?” Stewart said after another decent interval.

  “Sorry, guess I got a little cobwebby there.”

  “I was just saying, the whole matter of the tape was pretty ama—pretty remarkable, eh?”

  “It was remarkable,” Active said. “But this is Chukchi. I’ve learned not to rule anything out.”

  “Especially when it’s someone you love.”

  Active shrugged. What was there to say?

  “Let’s suppose it wasn’t someone you love. Can you put your cop hat on for me?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Would you believe that story? “ Stewart said. “The mother is dying, she’s got nothing to lose, so why wouldn’t she lie to save her daughter? Mine would for me. And if the mother really did do it and Ms. Palmer really was innocent, why would she rig the evidence and run interference to protect her mother and take the risk it’d get away from her and she’d get convicted herself?”

  Active chewed his lip. “Because she knew no Chukchi jury would convict her when that tape of her mother was played in court. Especially if the jury was full of women. Half of them have been where Grace was and the other half have a daughter or sister who has. Grace had to know she was pretty safe.”

  “Geez,” Stewart said with a hint of admiration. “It’s kinda like one of those corn mazes, huh? No wonder it never got to trial.”

  Active tented his fingers. “The mother’s story’s is either true, or it was a flawless piece of stagecraft by Grace. As I recall the evidence, when Grace was arrested, one bullet from the gun was found in Jason Palmer’s heart, and an empty casing was found in the gun.”

  “Along with four live rounds.”

  “Uh-huh. The prosecutor initially concluded an empty cylinder was kept under the hammer for safety reaso
ns, leaving five cylinders with live rounds till the one was fired at Jason Palmer.”

  “But what about the round that was found in the post downstairs after the mother came forward?”

  “According to Grace, there were actually were six live rounds kept in the gun. When she fired that second one into the post, she drove a nail into the bullet hole and hung an old snowgo suit on it in case the house was searched. It was, but they didn’t find anything in the basement. Once Grace and her mother told them about the post, they went back and dug out the bullet.”

  Stewart studied his notes and smiled a little. “And the casing? Did they find the casing from that basement shot?”

  Active cleared his throat. “They did. In a cup on my desk. That pencil cup, as a matter of fact.” He pointed. “Apparently she dropped it in at the same time she was dropping the pistol on my desk. I guess I was a little distracted.”

  “I guess you were.” Stewart still wore his little grin. “Musta been kinda embarrassing.”

  “More than kinda. She has a flair for the dramatic.”

  “But, seriously,” Stewart said. “It sounds like Ms. Palmer at a minimum confessed to evidence tampering and obstruction of justice. Know why that never went anywhere?”

  Active shrugged. “I don’t. But I have the impression the whole mess was so embarrassing for the prosecutor and the Chukchi police they just wanted it to go away. They had the mother’s confession all tied up with a bow and why would they look that gift horse in the mouth? By that time, I think they were scared of Grace. She’s frighteningly smart.”

  “Uh-huh. And your prosecutor then was—”

  “Guy named Charlie Hughes. Got his fill of Chukchi not long after that and bailed for someplace warmer. Albuquerque, Amarillo? Something with an A.”

  Stewart made a note of it. “And your prosecutor now—”

  “Is Theresa Procopio. At the time, she was the PD who defended Grace in the case. I’m sure she’ll make Charlie’s files available to you, but I imagine attorney-client privilege would prevent her from talking about the case in any detail.”

  “I’m sure,” Stewart said. “Small world out here, eh?”

  Active nodded. “Very small. Probably where you come from, too?”

  “Aniak. And, yes, small world there, too.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let’s see, don’t we have three possibilities here?”

  Active waited, knowing.

  “One, Ms. Palmer’s mother killed her husband to protect Nita. Two, Ms. Palmer killed him for the same reason. And, three, Nita did it, for, well, for obvious reasons. Assuming Ms. Palmer’s story of child abuse is true. In which case it could be argued to be self-defense in Nita’s case, I guess, but that would be up to the grand jury.”

  “There is a fourth possibility,” Active said.

  Stewart looked at his notes, then at Active. “Yeah?”

  “Maybe it’s time the women of this family were left in peace.”

  Stewart raised his eyebrows. “Have you told me everything you can recall that would be relevant to our investigation?”

  This, Active knew, was a cop trap. If the investigators found out later he’d omitted something material, sometimes even something trivial, they’d be back and back heavy. The next round would start with ‘You said you told us everything’ and go downhill from there.

  His mind raced back through Grace Palmer’s story. What had he left out and how would he explain it? He finally decided there was nothing and shook his head. “That’s the case as I recall it. Talk to Lucy on the way out and she’ll dig out the old city police files for you.”

  Stewart collected his things, shook hands and left.

  CHAPTER TWENTY - TWO

  Thursday, April 17

  ACTIVE GRABBED THE phone as the elevator door closed on Stewart.

  “Hey, baby,” Grace said. “I’m on my way to your place now with my last load of stuffs. As of tonight, it’ll be the three of us. Here’s to cohabitation!”

  The cheer in her voice was so painful to hear he had to pause a moment to collect himself.

  “Baby?”

  “Listen. I don’t have much time. The state is reopening your father’s murder case. They sent an investigator up from Anchorage this morning and he just left my office. He’s on his way now to interview you and Nita.”

  “Are we suspects?”

  “Yes. Maybe. Probably.”

  “Even Nita?”

  “They’re not ruling anything out.”

  “Nita? Helen Mercer is after my bunnik?”

  “What? It’s not the gov—”

  “That bitch. I’ll kill her.”

  “No, it’s something called the Office of Special Prosecutions. It came out of the due diligence review for that stupid Trooper job.”

  “I don’t care what it’s called. It’s Helen Mercer and that bitch is not getting Nita.”

  “We don’t know she’s behind it. Maybe it’s random bad luck.”

  “Another coincidence? Ha!”

  He said the only thing he could think of, which was nothing. And then, suddenly she was sliding away.

  “I have to get her out of here, Nathan. Maybe Dutch Harbor. I disappeared there before, I can do it again. I gotta pack, can you pick her up at school? When’s the next Alaska Airlines flight? No, they might be watching already. Maybe I can charter Cowboy to Anchorage. You won’t tell anybody, right? I have to round up—how much cash can you get your hands on? They might be watching my bank account too and there’s—”

  “Baby. Baby! Come back!”

  With a click he could almost hear, she was with him again.

  “Oh, Nathan. What do we do?”

  “Absolutely do not talk to the investigator. His name is Stuart Stewart, Yup’ik guy from Aniak. Tell him you won’t consent to any search and you’re exercising your right to remain silent and not answer questions. And do not give consent for Nita to be interviewed. You’re her legal mother and you can hold them off at least for a while.”

  “My God, I have to get a lawyer. We have to get a lawyer. Theresa was my lawyer before, maybe I’ll—”

  “Not Theresa. She’s a prosecutor now. She’s conflicted out. We’ll have to find you another one. Let me check around. For now, all you have to do is not talk to the investigator. And don’t tell him I called you. It’s probably unethical.”

  “But what should I do now, right now this minute?”

  He gave it a few seconds thought. “Like I said, forget about this call. Keep moving to my place. Let him find you the same as if you didn’t know he was coming and act like you don’t know anything till he tells you.”

  “I want to come see you.”

  “Probably not a good idea. Just follow your normal routine and gut it out. We’ll see each other later.”

  “I’ll try, baby. But—”

  “Look, I gotta go. I’ll see you tonight. I have to stick to my normal routine, too. In case he comes back.”

  Grace rang off. He cleared the line on his desk phone and punched the button for the prosecutor’s office. It rang three times and he was about to try Procopio at home when she picked up.

  “Eleven o’clock,” she said.

  “What?”

  “The Pete Wise hearing. Eleven o’clock tomorrow.”

  “Oh, yeah. Gimme a minute.” He put it in the calendar on his computer, which linked it to his phone thanks to more of Sonny’s magic he only vaguely understood.

  “All good?” Procopio said. “I’ve got work to do if we’re gonna have a prayer at that hearing.”

  “Did you know ABI’s in town?”

  “I heard, yeah. Apparently that cute Two-Stew guy from the Trooper TV show was at the courthouse. You want me to poke around and find out what he’s—”

  “They’re reopening the Jason Palmer case.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, shit.”

  “Yeah, he was just here.”

  Proco
pio was silent a few moments, then spoke in a somewhat relieved tone. “But I guess I’m out of it, right? I was Grace’s lawyer at the time, so I can’t talk to them about it even though I play for their team now.”

  Active gave her time to work through it.

  “But if they’re reopening it, that means they don’t think Grace’s mother did it. Which means they think Grace—”

  “That’s one theory they have, yes.”

  “One? They have another?”

  “Yeah, they—”

  “Nita?” Procopio said. “They don’t think Nita might have done it!”

  “They’re not ruling anything out.”

  “Your girls need a lawyer,” Procopio said. “Big time.”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Let me get back to you with some names.”

  “I kind of have someone in mind.” He told her the name.

  “That snake?”.

  “Yeah, I’ve crossed trails with him once or twice myself. He’s the best.”

  “And the worst,” Procopio said.

  “Just what my girls need, eh?”

  Procopio sucked in a breath. “I have to admit that.”

  She rang off and he stared at his phone for a minute or two. Then he went back to his PowerPoint on the accounting system. He slogged through another five slides, then gave it up. Lucy would just have to come up and explain it to him. He punched her button on the phone.

  “Hi, Nathan, Jeremy’s coming at three, like you said.”

  “Great, thanks.”

  “You need me for anything else?”

  “I was gonna ask if you—hang on, I have a call coming in on my cell.”

  He punched her button offline, took out the silent cell, and stared at the blank screen for a moment. Then he pulled up his contacts and scrolled down to her number.

  It took him another moment to summon the nerve to tap it.

  “Nathan!” she said after two rings. “How are things in Chukchi? See you tomorrow, right?”

  “Right, right, Suka.”

  “I’m looking forward to it. And what can I do forya? I’m kinda busy, but never too busy for my favorite cop.”

  He shuddered inside. Favorite cop. That was what Grace called him.