by Dave Daren
I nodded, and on cue, the sound of an engine ripped through the air as a motorboat sped away from the docks and toward us. I watched as the boat circled around us so that it faced the shoreline and then pulled up next to the pontoon on the passenger side. Somehow, the man on the tiller managed to keep the boat from smashing into the plane. He waved when he had the boat in place, and I clapped Colin on the shoulder as a show of gratitude as I got up from my seat. The old bush pilot acknowledged the thanks with a grunt, but his eyes were already on the plane’s controls as he plotted his return to Anchorage.
I opened the door, and though I shouldn’t have been shocked since I knew what I was getting myself into, I was still taken aback by the frigid air that nipped at my cheeks and nose. I zipped up the front of my jacket and pulled up my hood, though I knew from experience that it probably wouldn’t do much good against the freezing wind. I pulled out my phone, quickly texted Cassandra to tell her to make sure my parka was among the things she packed, and then turned my focus to the task at hand.
Normally, I could hop into a boat by the docks without a problem, but from the bobbing edge of a seaplane, it was a trickier proposition. I eased my way onto the pontoon, waited for the plane to settle into some smoother water, and then quickly stepped into the boat with a helping hand from the man at the controls. The boat rocked, but I sat down quickly on the hard plank seat before either of us could topple into the sea. The boat steadied, and the man and I exchanged quick nods.
My new guide carefully moved the boat away from the plane before he revved the engine and sped back toward the coastline. The cold air bit into my cheeks, and my eyes started to tear up from the sting of water and ice. I wrapped myself tighter in my jacket and wondered if I should buy a pair of gloves before I visited my client.
I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket and somehow pulled it out despite my numb fingers. It was Cassandra’s number, so I unlocked my phone to check her response. I was expecting either a short message from Cassandra along the lines of a simple okay, or maybe a question about where my coat was located.
But of course, that wasn’t Cassandra’s style.
She’d sent a selfie of herself winking at the camera while holding up my black parka, and I shook my head and put my phone away. Well, at least she was doing her job.
The man stopped the motorboat at the end of a dock and waited until I was safely on the wood planks before speeding off without a farewell. I had wanted to ask him where the police station was, but his sudden exit meant I would have to find out that information by myself.
I found myself surrounded by boats of different sizes and different purposes. It was easy enough to identify those used for fishing from the gear, but there were smaller boats as well that were probably used to get around between the towns the way most Americans drove cars. There were a few larger, more luxurious yachts as well, a sign of a growing industry in the north slope area that was being met with mixed reviews by the traditional blue collar community.
Off to my left, I could see a second dock that was longer than the one I was on. Yet it was empty at the moment except for a single fishing boat. Yellow police tape fluttered in the wind and blocked the entrance to the boat. Another piece of tape had been strung along the point where the dock met the shore, which explained why the pier I was on was so tightly packed with boats.
There was a police officer on duty next to the boat, and as I watched, two men and a woman approached the cop and started to gesture at the boat. I couldn’t hear exactly what was being said, but I could hear the murmur of voices as they waved and pointed. The cop, however, shook his head and waved them away, but this only seemed to anger the trio, and their voices grew louder.
In a town the size of Utqiagvik, it wasn’t likely that there had been two major crimes that would require police tape in such a short timespan. Clearly, the boat was the place where the murder had occurred.
I pulled my journal from my pocket and dedicated a new page to notes on the crime scene. I wrote down boat and began to write its name when I realized I couldn’t quite make it out. Between the white paint of the letters against the baby-blue hull and the bright sunlight, all I could see were the letters ‘Vint’.
I sighed and watched the exchange between the woman and the officer for a few more moments, and then tucked the journal away. It didn’t appear that the situation was going to be resolved anytime soon, and I still hadn’t met with my client. At least I knew where my next stop would be after the jail.
I walked to the end of the dock and dropped onto the beach. The briny smell of the ocean mixed with the less pleasant odor of fish once I was on solid land, and the sound of the waves was joined by a chorus of seagulls who skimmed along the edge of the water.
I had to shuffle through the sand until I reached the end of the beach and the beginning of the road. I started to pull my phone from my pocket so I could look up where the police station was, but I quickly realized that wasn’t necessary. Directly across the street was a bright blue, two-story building with a large sign that said police. It was the only multi-story building that I could see, and I wondered what it said about the town that the biggest structure in the place housed the local police department.
I checked for traffic, but the road was clear, so I darted as quickly as I dared across the black strip. Dirt and ice crunched under my feet, and I made sure to kick their remains from the bottom of my shoes once I was standing in front of the glass door.
The smell of freshly made coffee and a burst of heated air greeted me as I entered the lobby. Six metal chairs lined the wall to my left, though two of them were separated from the other four by a low, white table that had fishing and hunting magazines stacked on it.
Directly across from me was a long black counter that reminded me of the reception desk in a cheap hotel. Two monitors stood on either end of the counter, but only one of them was in use by an officer who clacked away on a keyboard. Behind him were three filing cabinets arranged side by side between an end table with a printer on it and a shelf partially filled with labeled binders.
Not counting the entrance I’d just walked through, there were three more doors in the lobby, two to my right and one to my left. The one to my left had been propped open with what looked like an old phonebook, and I could just pick out a short hallway, and then another door that led to a room full of desks.
“He really lawyered up?” a woman’s voice asked from the mystery room of desks. “Why?”
“Maybe he thinks he can get a plea deal,” another woman responded.
“A plea deal?” a man said with a laugh. “Why in the world would anyone offer him a plea deal? He’s guilty as hell!”
I was struck by those words and felt a twinge of anger as I considered what it meant for my client. This must have been what Morris was talking about when he said he was being treated as an outsider and the town had already made up its mind. Or maybe it was just the usual cop shop chatter, but it still sent up a red flag in my mind. If the police were already convinced they’d found their perpetrator, then the investigation would basically come to a standstill. I knew from experience that we’d have to come up with more than just a theory and a few bits of evidence to get the police moving again.
“Can I help you?” a voice called out.
The question came from the man at the computer. He looked at me over his monitor, but I could still hear his fingers tapping away at the keyboard. I approached the counter and rested an arm on its sticky top. He stopped typing to roll his chair to the side and offer a clear view of his face and torso.
We sized each other up, and I found myself wondering what else the department had decided not to splurge on. The nametag on his uniform read Pingayak. Pingayak’s uniform looked too small for his body as it pressed and pulled against his protruding stomach. The uniform probably had fit him properly once, or at least I hoped it did, but apparently, the department hadn’t offered to replace it.
But I noticed the wedding ring, then, a
slim band that had also once fit but was now trapped in a roll of fat. It told the story of a man who once could slip the ring on and off with ease, but either pride or denial encouraged him to wear the ring and uniform as if he were still a much younger, trimmer man.
His dark eyes looked me over in an attempt to determine who I was. I’m sure he didn’t know all of the people in this city personally, but with a population of just over four thousand souls, he’d probably seen enough of the citizen’s faces to be able to recognize someone new. He watched me carefully, but nothing on his face gave away whether or not he knew I was from out of town.
“It sounds like they’re talking about my client,” I said to him as I jabbed my thumb in the direction of the opened door.
Pingayak’s eyebrows shot up, and his watchful gaze became more curious. “You’re Austin’s lawyer?” he asked.
I nodded with the expectation of a snarky comment being thrown in my face, but to my surprise, he responded by sucking in a breath and gave me a sheepish expression.
“You sure have your work cut out for you,” he said.
Once again, I was under the impression that the odds were stacked against Morris, and I was curious to know why. What did the police have on him that made them so certain he was the killer?
“And why’s that?” I asked.
“You don’t know?” he said in surprise.
“Haven’t done anything but talk to my client briefly on the phone,” I replied.
“Of course, you don’t,” he said more to himself than to me. “There’s no way you would have taken this case if you did.”
He leaned back in his chair, and it creaked in protest against his weight. “You probably don’t even know that Austin’s in the hospital right now, do you?” he asked.
I tapped my fist on the counter as the realization hit me that the beeping I had heard was a heart monitor. Now that I knew the context of the sound, it was so obvious, but my fixation on the case had prevented me from considering where else he could be other than a police station.
So what was he doing in a hospital? Had the two men fought and Morris ended up the winner simply by killing Harrison? If that was true, then my job had just become a great deal harder in some ways.
I pressed my palms against the countertops and released a sigh. When I shook my head, Pingayak displayed a tight smile.
“It’s not too late to abandon the case,” he told me.
I forced a chuckle to hide the displeasure I felt, though I didn’t know whether the sentence itself or the pity he expressed while saying it bothered me more. I had never been a quitter, and I certainly never shied away from a challenge, no matter how daunting it seemed.
Personally, I would have thought a man who lived in a city used as the setting for several horror films and shows would understand the concept of tenacity. But he’d probably seen plenty of outsiders who had come here ready to conquer the frozen north only to turn around and leave after nature beat them down. No one knew perseverance like this officer and the people of this city did, but they would soon learn that I had my own stubborn streak.
Regardless, it was clear that he was not of the same mind as his co-workers. I expected opposition, even malice, from him when I confirmed my identity as Morris’ lawyer, but instead he had shown sympathy. Maybe this case wasn’t as cut and dry as he and his colleagues made it out to be.
“I get the impression you don’t completely believe Morris did it,” I said.
He chewed on his bottom lip and glanced at the open door as though he feared one of his co-workers would walk in on us at any given moment. Their voices still traveled down the hallway, but the topic of their conversation had moved on from Morris. They were now ranking stand-up comedians, and the loud laughter suggested they had no interest in anything beyond their own discussion.
Their voices and laughter were loud enough that they likely couldn’t hear anything outside of that room. Even so, Pingayak lowered his voice.
“It just doesn’t make sense,” he whispered. “Why would Austin kill Harrison now? After all these years?”
“All these years,” I reiterated as I began to sense that this was more than just a late-night brawl.
“But at the same time, there’s no one else it could be,” Pingayak sighed.
He looked defeated as he stared down at his hands for a moment. He bent his fingers several times and then pinched the bridge of his nose.
“You know Austin Morris,” I prodded.
“I’m not close to him, but I wouldn’t say we’re strangers to one another,” he said as he released the grip on his nose. “We’ve run into each other at Emaiksoun Lake for fishing. I’d rather not see him sent to prison.”
“You have nothing to worry about,” I told him. “He’s not going to prison. I’ll make sure of that.”
My confidence made him lift his eyes to stare directly into mine. The corners of his mouth twitched into an impressed smile, but the head shake revealed he still had doubts. Even so, he couldn’t keep the admiration out of his voice.
“What’s your name?” he asked me.
“Reese Brooks,” I answered.
He stuck his hand out toward me, and I gripped it firmly.
“Good luck, Reese,” he told me as he shook my hand. “Really.”
“I don’t need luck,” I said to him as I walked back to the door. “I need evidence. But thanks.”
I pushed the door open with my back and felt the heated air of the station instantly succumb to the arctic wind that blew in from the water. I turned on my heels to face forward and shrunk into my coat as the wind flew across my cheeks. Although I didn’t meet Morris at the station like I’d planned, visiting the building had not turned out to be a huge waste of time. I now knew a cop that was sympathetic to Morris’ case, and therefore was someone I could rely on for new information or evidence as I investigated. Even better, I could send Cassandra to check in with him and then have her report back to me since I had no doubt he’d open up more quickly to Cassandra than he had to me.
More than ever, I wanted to shield my hands from the cold by placing them in my pockets, but I needed to find the hospital first. I considered going back inside to ask Pingayak for directions, but I knew what I really wanted was to sit in the heated room, and I might be tempted to stay there if I did.
I also knew directions from Google were far more reliable than my own memory of verbal instructions, so I pulled out my phone, and a quick search revealed the hospital to be a thirty-minute drive from my current location. My next search was for a car rental place, and that was revealed to be a five-minute walk from where I stood. I put my phone away and blessed my hands with shelter in my pockets as I moved briskly down the side of the street.
The locals I passed all wore better clothing options than me for this region. The Inuit style of coats with fur and geometric patterns mostly done in an assortment of white, brown, and tan, were the most popular, but I occasionally passed those wearing brighter colors, like blue or purple.
Some brazenly stared at me as I hurried past, and I wondered what passed through their minds as they watched me. Did they know I was from out of town? Likely. But did they know why I was here? I could have passed for a tourist, but if they had seen me come out of the police station, then they probably had a notion of what I was doing here in their city.
I rounded the corner at the next intersection and spotted the car rental place just up the road. I nearly sprinted down the road and then rushed inside just so I could soak in the heat. I stood under the vent for a moment until I could feel my fingers again.
When I turned around, I found that the woman behind the counter was watching me with narrowed eyes. She had her hair pulled back into a tight bun and a pair of pale-grey eyes the color of a stormy sky.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Ah, good morning,” I replied with a smile. “Should have brought my parka.”
“Reese Brooks?” she hesitated.
“Th
at’s me,” I said without masking my surprise.
Maybe I had become a local celebrity after all, though I hadn’t actually done anything yet besides take Morris on as a client.
“Perfect,” she said with a smile. “A woman named Cassandra called a couple of hours ago. She said you’d be coming. I just need you to fill out some paperwork, and you’ll be on your way.”
I blinked in astonishment as the woman came around the counter with a stack of papers. She walked to a round table tucked into a corner that I hadn’t even noticed, sat down in one of the chairs, and then gestured for me to join her. Once the surprise had worn off, I walked over to the table and sat down across from her.
“Now, this document just covers your responsibilities….” the woman began.
I tuned her out after that since I’d heard the same explanation many times before. I signed whenever the woman pointed to a line on the sea of forms and made appropriate noises whenever she stopped speaking for a moment. But my mind was busy absorbing Cassandra’s impressive display of initiative, and I gave myself a pat on the back for hiring her even if she did speak a mile a minute.
“That’s all done,” the woman across from me declared as she stood up. “And here are the keys. It’s in the lot out back in spot number six.”
“Perfect,” I replied and then realized I wasn’t sure what type of vehicle I had. Apparently, I’d tuned that out as well.
The woman pointed toward a short hallway, and after we exchanged smiles and nods, I walked past the office and the bathroom to a door marked exit. I pushed it open and found myself in a small parking lot filled with shiny cars and trucks. I was happy to see that a black Ford F-150 was in spot number six, so I pulled out my phone and sent a text of praise to my new paralegal. She quickly responded with a blowing kiss emoji, and then immediately sent another text.