by Dave Daren
“So, am I off your list now?” she asked as she studied me.
I shook my head at the sudden shift in conversation. “What?” I said when her question had sunk in. “No, of course not. Nothing has ruled you out.”
“How do I get off your list?” she asked.
Little did she know this desperate behavior from her was moving her up my list.
“Why are you worried about that?” I asked. “No matter what, I’ll investigate everyone connected to my client and the murder victim.”
“Yeah, but why waste your time investigating me when you could be investigating the real killer?” she said.
Her confidence was astonishing, though I couldn’t decide if it was the confidence of a truly innocent person or a brazen killer.
“What if I let you take a look around the house?” she suggested. “Would that convince you I’m not hiding anything?”
“Sure,” I lied.
Her sudden need to prove her innocence was odd, and I certainly wasn’t above taking advantage of it. It beat trying to track down the next of kin to ask for permission, or even worse, serving a subpoena.
It was clear that Yura was desperate to have Vann’s murder solved, and I wasn’t sure if that was because she was guilty of something or if this was her way of coping with Vann’s death. Maybe it was both. Either way, I allowed her to lead me deeper inside the house.
No surprise, the jet ski wasn’t in the house, and I was convinced that it was floating in the middle of the ocean somewhere along with whatever evidence it might have held. I’d looked through the boat, but only after the police had been through it. At least I’d made it to the house before the forensics team had been sent, but Yura had been here long enough to destroy any evidence that might implicate her or someone else from the Morris crew. She was certainly eager enough to do so, and I just hoped that she hadn’t completely cleaned up the place.
Dining room and kitchen were on the right side of the house, across from the living room. The rooms were separated by one of those weird half-walls that never seemed to serve much purpose. More abandoned papers covered the dining table, and a perusal of the piles turned up receipts, newspapers, and old bills.
There were also several cardboard boxes of various sizes littered across the table, the dining chairs, and the floor. I started to pick through those as well but it was just another large collection of the same old junk. If I’d had several days and a horde of temps, I might have been able to sort every page, but there was no way I could do it on my own in a few spare minutes. I was starting to think this was the house of a hoarder when I spotted the odd item out under a pile of old tax forms. It was a dark-blue velvet box, the kind that usually carried jewelry.
I picked up the box and shook it, but nothing rattled inside. I opened it then, but it was empty. There wasn’t even the jeweler’s name on the satin lining of the lid. I flipped it over to find a sticker on its bottom. The sticker read ‘Nautical Necklace’ with a price of almost two hundred dollars. A gift for Yura?
I looked over at Vann’s lover and confirmed that she wasn’t wearing a necklace, but maybe she only wore the gift for special occasions. When she caught my eye, I held up the box.
“That’s probably the box for the necklace he bought me,” she replied to my unasked question. “That was a couple of months ago, though. I’m surprised he still has it.”
I returned the box to its place on the table and rummaged through more of the papers. Almost all of the receipts were for groceries. One receipt from two weeks ago marked the purchase of the Barolo wine, but I didn’t see how that helped my case. Nonetheless, I added the information to my journal, along with all the details I had learned from my conversation with Yura.
She moved toward me to get a peek at the pages, but I snapped the journal shut and put it away. She pouted as she eyed the pocket it was in, but I was very good at ignoring people when I needed to.
I moved away from the dining table to the kitchen area. It was a basic man on his own setup with an oven, a basic range, and a microwave that looked like it did most of the work. I started to open the cabinets and discovered that most were empty.
“You wouldn’t happen to know how many wine glasses Vann owned?” I asked when I found the shelf with the glasses.
“What? No. Why in the world would…” she paused and then chuckled. “Wait, I do know. He invited me, Ronan, and some friends over to hang out a couple of weeks ago, and I served everyone drinks. I asked him why he had three wine glasses since they’re usually sold in fours, and he said he had broken one.”
And yet, there was only one left in the cabinet. I checked the sink and the dishwasher, and even the garbage can, but there was no sign of the missing wine glass. It was possible he’d broken the glass a few days ago and had been down to just the two, but I thought it was more likely that he’d taken two glasses on the boat.
“The other two are on the boat,” she said when she saw the last wine glass inside the cabinet I’d left open.
She said it like a reminder, as though I had forgotten something important.
“Right,” I mumbled as I went through the rest of the cabinets.
There were a few cereal bowls, a hodgepodge of coffee mugs, and a few chipped plates that he’d probably inherited. But there was definitely only one wine glass.
“All done?” Yura asked as I closed the last cabinet.
I nodded, and she led me down a short hallway out of the kitchen. The hallway led to two rooms with a door on each side. The door on the left opened into the only bathroom. It was cramped, and barely big enough for the shower on the right. Toilet and sink were on the left along with a medicine cabinet. I checked the cabinet, but other than a fresh bottle of Advil and two different brands of shaving cream, the man had a bare cupboard. I checked under the sink, the toilet bowl, and the shower, just to be thorough, but there was nothing else of interest.
The door on the right led to Vann’s bedroom, and I opened it to find more pictures of Vann decorating the wall across from his bed, above a dresser, while a painting of a cabin by a lake hung over his headboard.
I entered the room despite Yura’s frown, but she said nothing. I imagined she saw me as an invader in this room that held memories of her and Vann, and here I was trampling on them with my searching gaze and wandering hands. I could tell I was pushing my luck, so I had to move quickly before Yura finally kicked me out.
I went to the closet first, but all it held were some worn clothes, a couple of pairs of boots, and an impressive collection of flannel pajamas. I checked the pockets and the boots, but other than another handful of receipts, there was nothing remotely interesting.
I stepped away from the closet and studied the room again. Yura was growing impatient, so I had to select my next collection carefully. I settled on the dresser and moved toward it.
“There’s nothing in there,” Yura snapped as she grabbed my wrist.
“Your reaction says otherwise,” I said as I pulled my wrist free.
“I have some stuff in there,” she told me. “I don’t want you looking at them.”
I really wanted to know what was in the drawers, but it was clear Yura considered it off-limits. It was possible she was telling the truth, but right then, I didn’t have a reason to trust most of the people I talked to. Everyone was a suspect in my book, and everyone had their reasons to lie.
The real problem, as far as I was concerned, was what would happen if Yura changed her mind and called the police. At the very least, I’d probably be arrested for trespassing since I was sure Yura didn’t have the right to ask me in. So, I needed to stay on Yura’s good side, and if that meant I put off searching the dresser, then so be it.
Besides, I had several good leads to follow up and an autopsy report to track down. We walked back to the front door together, and Yura opened the door. Cold air rushed inside, and I shivered as it swept over me.
Yura looked at me expectantly, and I stepped onto the tiny porch.
I turned around when I realized she hadn’t followed me outside, and I gave her a quizzical look.
A burst of wind nearly knocked us both sideways, and we both chuckled after we’d regained our balance. The wind had tousled her bangs, and she shoved the hair back with a sigh. She suddenly looked even more tired and a good deal older.
“And now you’re going to investigate Luke and Marleen,” she said, less like a request and more of a command.
“Sure,” I replied.
Eventually I would need to talk to them, but speaking to Morris was far more pressing. I needed to know if he remembered seeing a jet ski at the end of Vann’s boat before the fight and again after he regained consciousness. It was also crucial for him to remember whether or not Vann had a wine glass when the fight started. With that information, I could determine when the third person had been on the boat.
The final thing I needed to review before paying Luke and Marleen a visit was the autopsy report. I still couldn’t count out an accidental death, though I doubted its plausibility. The local authorities wouldn’t have taken such an interest in the case if Vann had simply tumbled overboard after one too many drinks. But I had to make sure that I checked that box as well. But Yura didn’t need to know any of that.
“I’m going to stay here for a little longer,” she informed me out of the blue. “Maybe we’re both wrong. A friend might stop by with Harrison’s key to the jet ski.”
She stared past me as she spoke, and it sounded like she was trying to convince herself.
“That would be helpful,” I replied.
“Maybe we’re overthinking this,” she continued as she wrapped her arms around her body. “It’s as simple as Austin killing Vann, but we want to chase fantasies. You want to chase fantasies.”
She winced and touched her forehead as if she were suddenly in pain. A headache didn’t seem like such a stretch, given everything she’d been through, but then she shuddered and drew a deep breath.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“No, I’m not,” she answered. “How could I be?”
“Do you need me to get you something or maybe call someone?” I asked as I extended a hand toward her.
She moved out of reach and glared at my hand like she’d never seen it before.
“I need this case to be solved,” she said. “I need things to return to normal. I need to be on a boat catching fish. I need… sleep.”
“Sleep,” I murmured.
“Yeah, I need sleep,” she sighed and looked up at the sky. “This sun is fucking with me.”
She slammed the door in my face, and I stood on the porch in silence as I tried to figure out what had just happened.
“What the hell was that?” I whispered as I descended the porch steps.
Maybe Cassandra was right, and the sun was frying these people’s brains. Maybe I had a new possible defense. I shook my head at the thought, and then I climbed into my Ford for the short drive to the hospital.
The sooner Cassandra and I could get out of Utqiagvik, the better.
Chapter 5
“Wait, wait!” a nurse called from the reception desk as I walked past.
I pivoted, approached her instead, and noticed it was the nurse with curly hair.
“Do I have to check in every time I come here?” I asked as I leaned on the counter.
“No, it’s not that,” she said with a wave of her hand.
She pushed a ringlet from her face, and when it returned, she tucked it behind her ear. She leaned toward me with a tilt of her head. She seemed bolder than before, and I wondered if that was due to the absence of her co-worker since it was just the two of us in the lobby with the TV making noise in the background.
“How’s the case going?” she asked as she drew circles on the desk with her finger.
I chuckled at the flirtatious smile she wore and the way she batted her eyes. I leaned toward her and lowered my voice although no one was nearby.
“If you’re looking for a good time, I’m your man,” I whispered to her. “Otherwise, you’re not getting anything else out of me.”
She blew a raspberry and leaned back into her chair, but a coy smile stretched across her face afterwards as she considered my offer. She looked me up and down, laughed bashfully, and then averted her gaze. She planted her chin in her palm while also using it to partially cover her mouth. She looked like she wanted to be invisible.
“You should go see your client,” she mumbled.
“Yeah, I should,” I agreed with a laugh.
I stood up straight and walked the path to Morris’ room. The hospital was still eerily quiet, and that applied to my client’s room as well as I stepped inside. Morris was as pale as a ghost and was lying on his back in the bed. I thought the lack of sleep was getting to him until I noticed the other guests in the room.
Ansong and Jackson were there once again, though nobody appeared to be talking. They were slouched in the cushioned chairs positioned in opposite corners of the room, though Jackson sat up straight at the sight of me.
“We thought you’d be back sooner,” he said. “Kept us waiting. What’s with the confident smile? Find something good?”
I was smiling from my conversation with the nurse, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Yeah, I might have,” I answered.
Jackson sneered in response and gave Ansong an incredulous glance. She ignored both him and me to stare at Morris. Her gaze held nothing, and that was more interesting to me. There was no anger and no expectations. It was just a stare, and that was probably more unnerving for my client than any emotionally charged look.
But I could see what was going on here. Ansong knew Morris, and she knew how his mind worked. She’d decided that psychological warfare was her best bet of getting him to confess.
I made a mental note to discuss this with Morris the next time we were alone and to remind him not to say a word to any official government representative, or anyone else for that matter, unless I was present.
“You know who killed Harrison?” Morris asked as he tried to sit up straight.
He made several attempts to raise himself with his elbows, but finally after a struggle each time, he pressed his palm against his head and laid back down. From the corner of my eyes, I watched Jackson make a pitiful face that he tried to quickly hide. I glanced over at Ansong, but her face was in a completely neutral state. She turned to finally acknowledge my presence.
“Well, did you?” Ansong asked to reiterate Morris’ question.
“I wish I were that good,” I said as I walked into the room to stand by Morris’ bedside.
I looked down at my client and tried to give him a reassuring look. I knew the answer I gave wasn’t the one he had hoped for, and the frown that creased his face was proof of that. His fingers toyed with the blanket for a moment before he sighed and looked at me.
“I have questions for you,” I said.
“Okay,” he said as he looked at the two officers.
“It’s fine,” I said. “I’m sure they have the same questions. Do you remember seeing Vann’s jet ski near his boat when you first arrived?”
Morris squinted as he tried to remember and then nodded his head.
“Yeah,” he said. “The ugly yellow jet ski. It was there. It was attached to the back of the boat.”
“Okay,” I said. “And what about after you woke up? Was the jet ski still there?”
Morris took time to think again, and his eyes almost bulged out of his head when he reached his answer.
“No!” he yelled. “It wasn’t. It was gone.”
I shifted in my stance, and he suddenly groaned and smacked his palm to his forehead.
“I’m a fucking idiot,” he complained. “The body! I forgot that the rope was tied around Harrison’s arm. I had to use it to drag him to the boat and pull him aboard.”
I tried not to react, but a sigh did make it past my lips. How could he forget something so important? Yes, he’d
been stuck in the freezing waters with a body while he waited for the Coast Guard, but that didn’t seem like a detail that would be easily forgotten.
I heard Jackson gasp, and when I glanced in his direction, I caught his eye. Jackson tried to recover his tough guy look, but then we both looked to Ansong for her reaction.
We both flinched when we saw the neutral expression replaced with an intense look of scrutiny. She stood up immediately and came to the other side of Morris’ bedside. She leaned over it, toward his face. Although I thought it wasn’t possible, Morris grew paler. At this rate, he was going to become translucent.
“You’re certain you didn’t untie the jet ski and let it drift off?” Ansong asked.
“I didn’t untie the jet ski,” my client replied. “I swear.”
“We only have your word for it that the rope was tied around his arm,” Ansong pointed out.
“If it was, it will show up in the autopsy,” I pointed out.
“Doesn’t prove anything,” Ansong snapped, though at least she took a step back,
“Come on, Officer Ansong,” I said. “Do you really think my client drowned Harrison, tied him to the boat, let him float around in the water for an hour or so, and then called for help?”
Jackson snorted but quickly buried it when Ansong glared at him.
“Morris ain’t that smart,” Jackson mumbled.
“Hey!” Morris protested.
“So we’re back to some mystery assailant in the middle of the Chukchi Sea,” Ansong sniffed.
“It makes sense,” I insisted. “Someone who wanted to frame Morris would think to tie Harrison’s body to the boat so that it wouldn’t float away. Otherwise, they ran the risk of the body floating out to sea and never being seen again.”
“But they would have to believe that Morris wouldn’t simply cut the body loose as well,” she said.
“And he didn’t,” I pointed out. “Besides, there was always the chance that Morris would die from exposure, or that the Coast Guard would find the boats before Morris woke up. Either way, my client would take the fall.”
Morris nodded in agreement as he looked at me with renewed respect. Apparently, I was forgiven for not producing the real killer on the spot.