Makintanz muttered something profane.
“What about Honey?” Billy Bob asked.
“She knew too much?” Ray postulated. “Or he killed her because she talked to me. What was it, Chief?”
Makintanz was examining the ice beneath his feet, head sagging. “You can’t prove anything,” he mumbled. Over his shoulder the approaching plane was now the size of a small bird, a lantern against the black sky, wings defined by tiny flashing beacons.
“As far as the methodology, I can only guess that the chief considered the ‘offenders’ to be animals and treated them as such. Either that, or he’s just plain crazy.”
The chief aimed a vulgar epithet at Ray.
“The part I still haven’t figured out is why you used an ulu,” Ray confessed. “That’s a woman’s tool. Why not a hunting knife? Be easier to slit the trachea, easier to get the worm out. But maybe that wasn’t in the ‘How To Be An Eskimo’ handbook you got your information from.”
This time Makintanz denounced Ray’s entire family line.
“Mr. Reynolds …” Ray continued, arms propped on his knees. “I’d say he was dispatched to make sure the chief’s little hunting expedition didn’t come to light before the deal with Arctic Slope Regional was sealed. It could have ruined Davis. After the deal, they probably would have turned Makintanz in. Let him rot in prison.”
“What about Bauer?” Billy Bob asked.
“I don’t know,” he answered through closed eyes. His stomach was in on the act now, threatening to send up what little coffee might still be down there. “He’s probably in on it at some level.”
“I guess we should have a talk with him.”
“You have a talk with him,” Ray sighed. “You and the city cops.” He nodded at the 727 that was floating gracefully toward an adjacent runway like a giant hawk. “I’ve got a previous commitment.”
Rising, he staggered forward into Billy Bob’s arms.
“Yeah,” the deputy snickered, holding Ray up. “With the hospital.”
“No,” he managed, making a feeble attempt to shake himself free. The faces, the lights, the sirens and shouts, the roar of the 727 as it touched down and reversed engines … It all blended into a singular swirling whole. Ray’s legs gave way and the entire scene disappeared from view, replaced by a dome of glittering golden stars. As they cascaded down upon him, he whispered, “I need to go home.”
FORTY
AM I DEAD?
It was his first conscious thought, a question made all the more pertinent by the sensation that he was flying, rising magically into the air, floating, hovering, falling back, then moving forward at great speed.
A thumping sound began to intrude upon his brain. It was distant at first, but quickly picked up tempo and intensity, ultimately becoming a horrendous noise that resonated relentlessly through his chest and limbs. He wondered if it was the beating of his own heart, or perhaps the approach of death itself. Seconds later his eyes fluttered open and the mystery explained itself: glass, glowing readouts and displays, a man wearing a helmet and headset, fighting with what looked like a gear shift that rose up between his legs. A helicopter?
“Take it easy!” a voice shouted above the din.
Ray gazed up into the face of another man. He too was clad in a helmet and radio mike. Attempting to sit up, Ray found that he was restrained.
“Just relax!” the man told him.
“What happened?”
The man lifted a finger and turned to a nearby cabinet. A moment later he produced a headset, slid it beneath Ray’s hood, and hooked the line to a dock of plugs.
“You’re aboard North Slope Borough Medic-Alert-one,” the man explained in a crisp tone.
Ray strained to see out the closest window. The lights of Prudhoe Bay were retreating into the darkness. Deadhorse, the camps, the scattering of isolated rigs were already reduced to the size of a distant galaxy.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“Fairbanks.”
“No,” Ray told him. “I need to go to Barrow.”
“Our orders are to take you to Fairbanks.”
“What for?”
“Fairbanks has emergency medical facilities.”
“So does Barrow. Besides, I don’t need emergency medical facilities,” Ray argued. “Do I?”
The man shrugged. “We patched your shoulder and warmed you up. Your core temp was down to around ninety. Your vitals are steady now.”
“Then why can’t I go to Barrow?”
He shrugged again. “It’s not our decision. Granted, you’re not dying. But you do need to see a doctor.”
“They have doctors in Barrow.”
“We’ve got orders to—”
“Who gave you the orders?”
“The sheriff.”
“You mean, the deputy?”
“Whatever.”
“Well I’m a police officer. Barrow PD. I’m not under the deputy’s jurisdiction.”
The man held his palms up to Ray. “I don’t know what to tell you. We’re supposed to go to Fairbanks. So that’s where we’re going.”
Ray swore at this.
“Barrow will still be there when you get released from the hospital,” the man consoled.
“Can you patch me through to Barrow PD?”
“Sure. But—”
“Just do it,” Ray said. “As a … a professional courtesy. One public servant to another.”
The man rolled his eyes, then began discussing this with the pilot. Two minutes later, Ray had the captain on the line.
“You’re where?”
“Headed for Fairbanks.”
“For the ER,” the paramedic threw in.
“Do you mind?” Ray asked with a glare. “This is police business.”
The man sighed and flipped a switch on his headset, instructing the pilot to do the same.
“Are you all right?” the Captain asked, obviously concerned.
“Pretty much,” Ray lied. “Just a little frostbite. Which is why I want you to tell these guys to take me to Barrow.”
“Ray …”
“Come on, Captain. We caught the killer.”
“You did?”
“It was Chief Makintanz.”
The captain drew a four-letter-word into two distinct syllables. “You sure?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Talk about a mess …”
“A big one,” Ray agreed. “Give Deputy Cleaver in Deadhorse a call. He’ll fill you in. I’ll have a report for you tomorrow.”
The Captain swore again, seemingly unable to accept the disclosure. “Makintanz?…”
“Right. So in the meantime, have these guys turn this bird around, okay?”
There was a long sigh, then, “Okay.”
Ray signaled the two men. “Captain wants to talk to you.” He watched as they toggled their headsets, listened, argued briefly, then gave in. The helicopter leaned as the pilot did a 180.
“What time is it?” Ray asked.
“‘Bout … six.”
“You guys know where Nuiqsut is?”
The man frowned. “Why?”
Ray explained his dilemma—his engagement, the shower, his promise to be there, that Grandfather’s presence was required … necessary … vital.
“You catch that sob story, Bill?” the man groaned.
The pilot nodded. “I could almost hear the violins wailing in the background.”
“Guys …”
“Think you can find Nuiqsut in the dark?”
“I could find a black cat in a black hole without a flashlight, blindfolded. Question is, why in the heck would we want to?”
“Guys …”
“Couldn’t be any worse than the missions we used to fly in Bosnia,” the pilot quipped.
“Yeah,” the paramedic grunted. “At least the Natives don’t have SAMs.”
“Thanks,” Ray smiled. “Could you unstrap me?”
“Don’t push your luck,” the man
said with a scowl.
Less than a quarter of an hour later, they landed in a field of snow in view of Grandfather’s ivrulik.
“What now?” the pilot asked when the skis were entrenched in the drift.
“Go over to that house and tell the man inside that his ride to Barrow is here.”
“Huh?”
“I’d go, but, well, I’m a little tied up,” Ray joked.
The paramedic cursed and began fastening his parka and mask. As he pulled on his snowshoes he remarked, “You owe us big for this one, fella.”
“Ray,” he smiled. “Ray Attla.”
The man nodded. “Jack Harrison.” He pointed at the pilot. “That’s Bill Swaim.”
“I really appreciate this, guys.”
“Yeah.” Jack groaned.
Ray watched as Jack the paramedic climbed out the door and fought his way across the field, his form illuminated by the copter’s high-intensity spotlight. He and Bill sat listening to the rotor blades beat the air.
“Maybe I should cut power,” Bill complained five minutes later.
About that time, Jack reentered the glaring light. He was followed by a short, hunched figure in a calf-length fur parka. They ambled toward them in slow motion, Jack waiting as the old man, drum in arms, plodded his way through the snow on a pair of ancient gut snowshoes that were nearly as long as their owner was tall.
Popping the door, Jack assisted Grandfather up into the cabin. The old man was mouthing something, shaking his head, complaining. Ray caught a few Inupiaq words in the exchange. When Jack had strapped him into a seat, he patted Bill on the shoulder and the blades grew frantic, lifting the copter out of the snow.
Once they were airborne, Grandfather looked Ray over. “Ayaa …” His creased face was pinched into an expression of disapproval. “You hurt bad?”
“No.”
“You no listen Maniilaq,” he surmised. This was followed by a paragraph of Inupiaq explaining why the elders should be trusted, why shamans should be held in high regard, their wisdom taken to heart.
When he was finished, Ray asked, “So what do you think of copter hopping to Barrow?”
“No good,” he frowned. “Birds fly. Naluaqmiut fly. Tareumiut no fly.”
“Well, I’m glad you decided to make an exception.”
“For Messenger Feast.” He gently placed his hand on Ray’s head. “For best grandson.”
“Your only grandson.”
“Only and best.” With that, Grandfather launched into a chant, invoking the tuungak to Ray’s aid. He was still singing when they touched down in Barrow twenty minutes later.
Jack unstrapped Ray, then looked at him. “I don’t suppose there’s any point in sending you to a doctor.”
Ray shook his head. “I’ve got a party to get to.”
“A party …” Jack laughed at this, passing the remark on to Bill. “Says he’s got a party to go to.”
“Gonna be a funeral if he doesn’t get some medical help,” Bill remarked.
“I promise I’ll see a doctor, right after the party.”
The two emergency workers smirked at him. Jack shrugged and offered a hand. “You’re one stubborn Eskimo.”
“Inupiat,” Ray specified. “And yeah, I guess I am.”
Grandfather was nodding enthusiastically. “Much stubborn. Much stubborn.”
“Take care of yourself.”
“You bet,” Ray assured him. “Next time you guys are in Barrow, look me up. I owe you.”
“You sure do,” Jack agreed. He pulled the door shut and waved them back. The copter rose swiftly and zoomed east, toward Prudhoe.
“Where snow machine?” Grandfather wanted to know. They were standing at the edge of the tarmac at the Barrow airport. The place was deserted, no planes in sight, no people, not even any support vehicles in evidence. Just a pickup idling a hundred yards away.
“At one of the oil camps.”
“Where truck?”
“Parked in Nuiqsut.”
Grandfather chose an appropriate Inupiaq phrase to describe Ray’s lack of planning.
“I’d suggest the bus, but I don’t have any money on me.”
“We walk.”
“Walk? It’s gotta be a mile. And I’m—”
“You what? You say you no hurt.”
“Well, I didn’t mean … I just …” Ray examined himself: the ill-fitting flannel shirt and the boots the medics had loaned him, the bandages protruding from his collar, decorating his face. He didn’t look injured so much as homeless.
“We walk.”
“I could call the captain.”
“You too much hurt, I carry.” He set his drum down and reached to pick Ray up.
Ray took a step back. “No. You’re not going to carry me.”
“You no think I can? I carry aklaq. I carry you.”
“The last time you carried a bear was twenty years ago.”
“I still strong. Most strong than you.”
“Let’s walk.”
“You no can.”
“I can out walk you any day, old man.”
Grandfather laughed at this. “We see.” He retrieved the drum and set off at a brisk pace.
They arrived at Margaret’s place twenty minutes later—at five of seven. Ray was in pain, out of breath, on the verge of vomiting, but, most importantly, he hadn’t let Grandfather get the best of him. “Well, we’re two hours late,” he observed, “but we made it.”
“Hope food no gone,” Grandfather grumbled.
Ray knocked on the door, waited, knocked again. A woman answered.
“Raymond!” Aunt Edna squealed.
He smiled at her, flinching as she gave him a hug. After the embrace, she gasped, “What happened to you?”
“Long story.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’ll live.”
As they stepped inside, Aunt Edna asked, “And who, might I ask, is this handsome gentleman?”
Grandfather stood up a little straighter, his wrinkled face beaming. “Charles,” he told her bowing. “You call Charlie.”
“I’m so glad you could come … Charlie.”
“Much glad,” Grandfather gushed. He displayed his drum proudly. “I ready play.”
“Good,” Edna said, nodding. “Right this way, gentlemen.” She led them down a short hall into the living room. It was crowded, the floor space taken up by chairs, all occupied by women. Ray glanced at Grandfather, but the old man was transfixed, mouth hanging open, eyes wide, as if he had just stepped into paradise.
“Aarigaa …” he sighed with delight.
At the center of the room, Margaret was seated at a table that was stacked high with boxes, most already open but a few still waiting to be unwrapped.
“Look who’s here, ladies,” Aunt Edna announced.
Heads turned in their direction. Margaret looked up. When she saw Ray, her face flashed with surprise, then delight, then dismay.
“Ray!” She leapt up and hurried to him, wrapping her arms around him. “What happened? Are you all right? Oh, my poor baby.”
Ray responded with a a lopsided smile. The embrace hurt, and yet it felt wonderful. Now he was in paradise.
“I’m fine,” he assured her. He squinted against the pain as she kissed him on the lips. The women in the audience cheered their approval.
“I was so worried,” Margaret murmured. “I thought something awful had happened.”
It almost did, Ray thought. “Told you I’d be here, didn’t I? A little late but …”
She was hugging him again, holding on as if he were a ghost and might somehow slip heavenward and float away if she released him.
The phone rang and Aunt Edna answered it. “Raymond. It’s for you.” She offered him a cellular.
Ray gave Margaret an apologetic look and took the phone. After a parting kiss, he retreated to the kitchen, sank into a chair at the table and grunted, “Hello?”
“Ya turkey!”
“Who is
this?”
“Ya don’t recognize my voice? Maybe yer worse off than I thought.”
“Billy Bob. How did you know I was—”
“Yer Captain called me and said you wouldn’t let ‘em take ya to Fairbanks.”
“Nope.”
“So I figured you’d head right for yer sweetie.”
“You figured right.”
“Listen, I won’t keep you, but I thought you might be interested to know that Makintanz confessed.”
“I figured he’d take credit for his handiwork, sooner or later.”
“Yep. Soon as the city cops started talkin’ to ‘im, he just up and said he did it. Said he killed all three of them people. Seemed right proud of it too. And sumpthin’ else.”
“What’s that?”
“Mr. Bauer was in on it.”
“I thought so.” Ray leaned forward and glanced into the kitchen. Margaret was glowing, eyes sparkling, cheeks flushed, her beauty effervescent, as she slipped the paper off of a box and opened it to find a coffee maker. Behind her, Grandfather was working the room, winking, smiling, showing off his drum, charming the ladies like an amorous old wolf.
“He told the city cops that he was in charge of keepin’ a lid on the chief’s crimes till after the deal with Arctic Slope was signed.”
“What about Reynolds?”
“That’s the second thing. Bauer authorized him to cover-up the murders.”
“Reynolds rigged my machine, hit me with the winch, stole the body … all that?”
“Yep.”
“And Leeland?”
“‘Cordin’ to Bauer, Leeland was outta the loop.”
Ray considered this as he gazed at Margaret. “And you relayed all this to my captain, right?”
“You bet. He was right proud of the way you handled yerself. And well he should be.”
Margaret caught Ray watching her and blushed. What was it that had so concerned him about getting married? At that moment he could think of no reason whatsoever to balk or even to delay. Spending the rest of his life with that woman, having kids, raising a family, growing old with her … He had never wanted anything so desperately.
“I’ll let ya get back to yer party now, long as ya promise to see a doc-ter.”
“I promise.”
“Okay, buddy—”
“Billy Bob. You said three things. What’s the third?”
“Oh! I nearly plum fergot. When I talked to yer captain, he said he was lookin’ to hire another man for the office there in Barrow.”
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