by Stan Jones
He clicked off and studied her.
She was, if possible, even smaller now. “A warrant on Pete’s place?”
He nodded. “And another one for samples of your hair and DNA. If there’s so much as a trace of you in that house or on Pete’s body or on his clothing—”
“Women don’t leave DNA,” she said in a feeble voice. “That’s men.”
“Actually, some women do. It depends on how much they enjoy the experience. It’s in female ejaculate, just like with men.”
“Well, I didn’t…I don’t…I mean…” She stopped and gave a half-sob. “That sonofabitch!”
“Pete or Brad? Or both of them, seeing as how they were nuliagatagiik?”
“Fuck you, Nathan.”
He waited, but said no more. “Mm-hmm. But if we do find something that puts you in that house, you know what that means, right?”
“I think it means I should call my lawyer before I say anything else.”
“Sure, you have the right to do that. But it might be worth your while to hear what I have to propose first.”
She closed her eyes and laid her head against the backrest. “Whatever.”
“I’m offering you a deal. One where you get to keep your clothes on, though I’m starting to think you do your best work without them.”
“Drop that shit. It’s not gonna work now.”
“You plead guilty, or at least no contest, to manslaughter, leaving the scene of an accident, and destruction of evidence—that’s for dumping the snowgo—and you call your dogs off me and my womenfolk.”
She opened her eyes and raised her head from the backrest. “Did you say accident?”
He nodded. “I know it wasn’t. I know you ran Pete down on. I knew it when I the rage in your eyes when you did this.” He touched his damaged cheek. “But Theresa’s not sure we can get a murder verdict, whereas the accident version is a slam dunk. So you’re getting a break here.”
“A break? It’ll ruin me.”
“You didn’t notice I haven’t mentioned the matter of you raping Pete when he was still a minor, or of him fathering Pudu?”
She tilted her head and studied him. “What’s that about?”
“Insurance.”
“Insurance. I figure you’ll be able to talk your way past the manslaughter plea in public, at least to some extent. You’re out for a ride on the tundra on a cold, clear morning, thinking how much you love your Chukchi and how much you’ll miss it in Juneau, and there’s a tragic accident. In a moment of panic, you don’t know what to do, you make a stupid mistake, and now you’ve got a local cop and an overzealous prosecutor on a vendetta and you had no choice other than pleading no contest so it doesn’t drag out forever.” He read her eyes for a moment. “Something like that on your mind, maybe? Anyway, as long as I’ve got the child rape charges and the paternity tests in my pocket, you’ll have to leave Grace, Nita, and me alone. Otherwise, it’ll all go before the grand jury, and on the Internet, too, if I need it to.”
“Why should I believe you’ll stick to your piece of this? I mean, sitting on my allegedly raping Pete Wise?”
“Again, insurance. If I use the child rape now and you wiggle off the hook, I’m out of ammo. With child rape, polyandry, and a love child in reserve, I can go several more rounds if I need to. Think of the birth dates on that custody petition as candles on a great big birthday cake I can light any time.”
She sipped thoughtfully at her wine. “What kind of sentence?”
“Sixty days, which you can serve under house arrest in the governor’s mansion.”
“Can I start it after my trip for the primaries next week?”
He nodded.
“And Theresa’s OK with all of this, including letting the rape issue slide?”
“That part she’s not aware of. When I first got the files, she didn’t even want to look at them because they were sealed. The only thing she has now is the DNA tests on Pete and Pudu, which she used to get the search warrants. And the birth dates aren’t on them.”
“So—”
“So it’s our little secret. Yours and mine.”
“Unless you change your mind.”
He nodded. “Or you do.”
“But she’s in on the rest—the plea and the sentence?”
“I think I can sell it to her.
She thought it over. “It’ll take a while to call off the dogs, as you put it. And if I’ve already pleaded, I may not be able—”
He nodded. “Have your lawyer get a draft plea agreement to us by this time tomorrow, with an offer to show up here and enter it in court on Friday.”
“Friday? That’s only three days.”
“That’s your deadline to make the investigations go away.”
HE CAUGHT UP with Procopio as she was locking her office and pulled her back inside.
“Say what?” she said when he told her of the deal with Helen Mercer.
Active nodded.
“Sixty days is pretty fucking light. You record her this time too?”
He shook his head.
“That would be because…?”
“The circumstances were not such as to, ah, permit another surreptitious recording.”
Procopio’s eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. Do we need to test you for her DNA now? Talk about a conflict of interest.”
“No, nothing like that, I swear. I played the two recordings for her and of course she suspected I was recording her again, so I had to prove I wasn’t.”
The prosecutor whistled. “You played the recordings of her and Brad? What did she do?”
“She buckled and I moved in for the kill and I got the deal. And no damage to my face.”
“Why would she cave? The evidence so far is just conflicting testimony we may not get in and telephone evidence for which she has at least a superficially plausible explanation.”
“Maybe she’s afraid the search will put her in Pete’s house.”
Procopio chewed her lip for a moment, then nodded in acknowledgment. “Make me love that sentence.”
“I think she’ll fight rather than take a longer sentence. Six months, a year, she’d have to leave office. This way, she might conceivably survive. The legislature might try to impeach her, but they’re out of session now and they love her, anyway, and this will be old news when the next session starts.”
“I admit, I’d hate to take her on in front of a jury. She struts out there in that push-up bra, bats her eyes, and tells them she just wanted to talk to Pete one last time and she hit him by accident, God knows what they’ll do. Especially the men, fuck all of ya. Hung jury for sure, if not outright acquittal.”
“What I’m thinking,” Active said. “We shouldn’t let the perfect be the enemy of the good.”
“Who said that?” Procopio asked.
“Someone wise, I’m sure.”
“He was right. Or she. God damn, I’m tired of this case.”
CHAPTER THIRTY - THREE
Tuesday-Thursday, April 22-24
ACTIVE CLICKED OFF the first recording and looked at Grace over his teacup. “You never heard that. It’s part of an official police investigation.”
She tilted her head and shot him a fierce don’tbullshit-me look. “Helen Mercer is standing there naked inviting you into her bed and you’re not tempted? Not one little bit?”
“Not even. You know she’s a psycho. And you heard what she was setting me up for. A rape charge.”
“Of course she was. But how’d she look?”
“You heard. Old and fake.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“OK, she looked pretty good, actually.” He saw from her expression he was off track, and realized this was actually a test. Conversations with females usually were. “For a woman her age, of course, and in comparison with you, well…what I mean is, there is no comparison. Whatever.”
“Nice recovery, Chief Active. But those implants of hers—they really looked that fake? You didn’t sq
ueeze one to check? As part of your investigation?”
He rolled his eyes. “You sound like Carnaby and Long.”
She pointed at his cheek. “And she did that when you told her she looked old and fake, and by the way, thanks telling her that, the bitch.”
“She did, and, you’re welcome. It was well worth it.”
“Did you like it? I mean, if you did, I could, we could…?” She formed her right hand into claws and swiped it before his nose.
“No, thank you. Now, do you want to hear Brad’s interview or not?”
“Let me get dinner and I’ll listen while we eat.” She went to the stove and returned with salads and caribou stew.
Active started the second recording and they ate and listened. At least, he ate. Grace kept stopping open-mouthed, spoon in mid-air.
Her mouth was full stew when the interview ended. She chewed and swallowed and chased the cracker with tea. “My God. That’s a pair to draw to.”
“Altogether.”
“Two men simultaneously—”
“That we know of.”
She nodded. “A love child and…” She paused. “Anything more you want to tell me?”
“Much more.” And he told her about the rest of his afternoon—the phone records, the search warrants on Mercer’s house and person, the second meeting with the governor and the plea deal with the birthday cake as leverage.
“You told her you had a romantic playlist on your recorder and she bought it?”
“She did. And the fact that she did and was ready to jump into bed was just more confirmation of how desperate she was.”
“Serves her right, the bitch. I would have loved to be there when she came out of those speakers instead of Etta James.”
She was silent for a long time. “I’m glad you caught the birthdays,” she said finally.
“Figured you’d spotted that,” he said. “Miles ahead of me as usual.”
She smiled and lifted her eyebrows. “But I don’t know about giving away the child-rape charges. I mean, don’t we want her in the coffin with a stake through her heart and the lid bolted on and every rock we can find piled on top?”
“Like I said, we need the insurance. A trial could take forever, and all that time she could be pushing her people on those investigations of you and Nita and me.”
“Oh, baby, I love you so much. Thank you.”
“And I love you.” He looked around what was now Grace’s house. She and Nita weren’t completely moved in, but it was enough to give the place a woman’s stamp. Grace’s pictures, her furniture, her—what did women call them, tchotchkes?—filling just enough of the empty space on shelves and table and counters. Clutter, he would have called it, until he saw what it did for the look and feel of the place. “And thanks for making this house a home.”
Grace’s phone pinged. She glanced at it, then pulled up a text. “What? I swear, I will kill that child! And Nelda Qivits too!”
He threw up his hands in hopes of opting out of whatever mother-daughter stuff was about to boil over. It was not to be.
“Look at this! Nita got her tattoo! And Nelda gave it to her!” She pushed over the phone and made him look.
“Didn’t she say—”
“Shut up, Nathan. You stay out of this.”
“OK, well, I really should be go—”
“No! You sit right there! You’re the male authority figure in her life. She’ll be here in a minute and you’re going to back me up about having the damned thing removed.”
“Removed? Won’t that be pain—”
“I hope so, the little smartass! Now sit there and shut up.”
Soon the door flew open, Grace jumped up from the table, and Nita burst in, face alight. “Mom, you’re really gonna like this.”
Two sets of eyes raced over Nita’s face.
“I don’t see any tattoos,” Grace said. “Is this another one of your jokes, because if it is—”
Nita held up her right arm, which had a bandage around the wrist. “Wanna see?”
Grace’s face softened. She took her chair at the table again and pulled one up for Nita. “Come over here, bunnik.”
Nita did. Grace pulled her arm onto the table and unwrapped the bandage.
“See, Mom? That’s OK, right?”
Active stepped over for a look. The tattoo was a tiny inuksuk, no more than a half-inch tall, inside the girl’s wrist.
“Nelda says it will always keep me on the right path.”
“Oh, bunnik.” Grace pulled her into a hug.
Active started to ease out, to give them this moment, when Nita looked at him over Grace’s shoulder. “Can I name him Nathan?” She looked at her mother. “Mom?”
Active nodded.
“Of course, sweetheart,” Grace said. She pushed the girl back and gazed into her eyes for a moment. “How about some caribou stew and pilot bread!”
“You bet, Mom. While you’re making it, I’ll take a picture and put it on Facebook.”
Grace handed over her phone and Nita rushed into the living room and planted herself on the sofa, wrist in the air.
“That daughter of yours is quite something. Wonder where she gets that.”
Grace smiled.
He looked at his watch. “I guess—”
“You need to get over to Pete Wise’s for the search.”
“That OK? You OK?”
“Don’t worry, we’ll be fine. I’ve got my princess back. Till next time.”
“It may not take that long to search the place. Fast check for any of Helen Mercer’s clothing or possessions, which I’m doubting will produce results, then bundle up everything we can test for DNA or hair matches and ship it off to the crime lab.”
“Don’t forget the shower drain. She’s the type to leave it completely clogged. The bitch.”
Not only was the shower drain clean at Pete Wise’s house, so was everything else. Empty trashcans, empty drain traps in the bathroom and kitchen, a fresh bag in the vacuum cleaner, no hairbrushes in the bathroom or bedroom, even a new, still-in-the-wrapper toothbrush in a cup in the bathroom.
Active stood with hands on hips as Alan Long rolled up the bed sheets and pillowcases and stuffed them into a plastic bag. “You smell that bedding?”
Long raised his eyebrows, yes. “Fresh, like it was just washed. No hair or stains on it either.”
“I’m thinking this stuff hasn’t been slept on since it was put on the bed.”
They were both dressed in official CSI gear—latex gloves and paper booties, even hairnets. The getup made Active feel a little ridiculous, but less so than he would if the crime lab found traces of Long or himself in the evidence they sent down.
Active dropped to his knees and crawled around the bed, his eyes on the carpet. “Not even a dog hair. What musher doesn’t have dog hair on this carpet?”
“Think the place was scrubbed?”
“My guess.” He shook his head. “Let’s vacuum the carpet and the bed and the furniture anyway and send the cleaner bag down to the lab along with all this other stuff. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“We’ll sure get a lot of bitching and moaning,” Long said. “They hate a wild goose chase like this.”
“Just get the vacuum from your rig and do it, OK?
AT MID-MORNING THE next day, Active studied Procopio over the rim of his coffee cup as she studied the plea offer from the Mercers’ lawyer.
“It’s all here, I guess.”
“It is.”
Procopio sighed. “Still feels like we coulda done better.”
“Or struck out altogether. I have a very bad feeling about that search. Place looked like she cleaned it up and I’m guessing we’ll end up with no trace she was ever there. In any case, it could drag on till breakup. Last I heard, the crime lab was backed up something like six weeks on this kind of DNA testing. Hair samples, I don’t know how long they take, but—”
“‘Bout the same,” she said. “They have to send it to some expert
Outside. We don’t have one up here.” The prosecutor shrugged and gazed absently around Active’s office. “Probably best to get what we can and call it good. I’ll let McConnell know.”
“But it wasn’t a total loss,” he said as she stood up and made for the door. “I did notice something interesting when I went over to Pete Wise’s place last night.”
She turned. “Yeah?”
“His lot is back-to-back with the Mercers’ lot.”
“Huh.”
“Huh, indeed.”
“Pretty handy for tepee-creeping.”
“Yep.”
The next forty-eight hours were like a storm breaking up, if not quite vanishing.
First Minnie Wilkins, the social worker, let Grace know the children’s services investigation had been suspended with a finding that Nita was deemed safe in her care, subject to later review.
He came home that night to find Grace sobbing on the couch. He sat down beside her and she grabbed him and swung her legs across his lap. He cradled her like a baby. “Almost over,” he said.
“’Suspended.’ What does that mean?”
“I think it’s Helen’s insurance policy. Like the child rape is ours. Can we live with it?”
“I guess.” She buried her face in his chest and tears wet his shirt. “The bitch.”
“Besides,” Active said. “She won’t be governor much longer. Even If she doesn’t leave for a big job in DC, she can’t run again here because of term limits. So, who knows? Maybe our search of Pete’s place will turn up something interesting and I’ll sit on it till the coast is clear. Or maybe somebody will light the birthday cake someday and take her out.”
The next day, Active’s phone rang and Lucy told him Stuart Stewart was on the line.
“You know people in high places, huh?”
“Not that many,” Active said.
“One that counts, apparently,” Stewart said. “The AG’s office just called to say we should let you know your woman’s off the hook. Her father’s case stays cold, subject to reopening as needed.”
“Subject to reopening.”
“All you’re gonna get, at least while this crew’s in office.”