by Dave Daren
“When I need to,” he answered. “And I haven’t had to just yet. My girl has served me well over these years.”
“Fine,” I sighed. “Let’s push Luke and Marleen to the side for now. I still think they’re worth investigating, though. Like you said about Vann, they could have a hidden side.”
“I suppose it’s good to cover your bases,” Morris agreed, though he wasn’t happy to admit that. “But you won’t find anything.”
“What about your wife?” I asked.
“My wife?” he asked in surprise and then burst into laughter.
He laughed until his entire face was red and tears rolled down his cheeks. He tried to stop several times, but every attempt resulted in a coughing fit that led to more laughter. His laughter was becoming infectious, and I had to clear my throat to keep myself from joining him.
“Would you care to explain what’s so funny?” I asked.
Morris coughed several times and then cleared his throat. He held up a finger to ask for a minute, and after he’d successfully taken a deep breath without snorting, he looked at me with an almost serious face.
“Meet my wife, Mr. Brooks,” he replied. “You’ll see exactly why she’s not the killer. Besides, we get along just fine.”
“Okay, I’ll take your word for it,” I answered, though I knew I’d be talking to the wife soon. “Speaking of, I thought I told you to call her here.”
“I did,” he replied. “I swear I did. She said she couldn’t come because the extra hand we hired refused to work with us. He said he didn’t want to work for murderers, so now we’re down two people instead of one. She decided to help Luke and Marleen, and I told her that was a bad idea for a number of reasons. She wouldn’t listen to me.”
“Getting along just fine, huh?” I sighed.
His cheeks flushed red again, though I wasn’t sure if it was from anger or embarrassment, and he quickly tried to change the subject.
“You’re going to look into Yura and Ronan, right?” he asked. “I don’t know why they’d kill Harrison, but they definitely would try to pin it on me if they did.”
“Noted,” I replied. “Anyone else you can think of?”
“No,” he said. “I don’t like that we even have to make a list.”
Before I could respond, my phone rang in my pocket. It was my turn to hold up a finger as I pulled it out, and I saw that it was a number that was fast becoming familiar to me.
“Hey, Cassandra,” I greeted.
“I’m here!” she cheered. “The flight was not as scary as I thought, probably because Colin is an absolute sweetheart. I don’t know what you were so worried about. He had as much fun talking to me as I did talking to him.”
“What?” I said in surprise. “You had a conversation with Colin? He spoke to you?”
“Yeah!” she answered. “We talked about cooking, TV shows, and the weather. But we didn’t talk about the weather because we ran out of topics and things had become awkward or anything like that. We had the same discussion about visiting Utqiagvik during the summer versus the winter, and Colin said he would rather live through endless night time like me.”
“Like you,” I muttered as I tried to wrap my head around the idea of Colin carrying on a long conversation.
“Because he prefers the darkness,” she said in a passable imitation of Colin’s gruff voice.
She laughed, but I still couldn’t figure out what to say.
“Hello?” she called after the silence on my end had dragged on. “Reese? You there?”
I sighed and rubbed my forehead as I pictured Colin and Cassandra chatting about cooking shows as they flew along the edge of the mountains.
“You baffle me,” I told her.
“That’s what I’m here for,” she boasted. “Anyway, I met Pingayak. Wonderful guy. He gave me a copy of the autopsy report as well as a police report for a damaged fishing net and a transcript. I understand why you want me to work with him. I didn’t even ask for the other two things. He just gave them to me. Did you know he celebrated his daughter’s tenth birthday last week? He showed me pictures of the party, and it was mermaid-themed. Very cute! So, are we looking at these documents together, or do you want me to tell you what they say over the phone?”
“No, let’s meet in person,” I answered as I pictured the crowd at the docks listening to her end of the conversation. “Hold on for a minute.”
“Okay,” she said.
I moved my phone away from my face and turned to my client. “Where can I find Luke and Marleen at this time?” I asked Morris.
“They’re supposed to meet up with Diana soon to prepare the boat,” he answered. “They’ll be on the docks.”
“There are a lot of docks,” I reminded him. “Give me a specific location.”
“They’re not at the docks where Vann’s boat is,” he explained. “There are more docks further down the road, right across from this sushi place called Osaka Restaurant. That’s where they’ll be. Look for a boat named Arctic Wizard.”
I nodded and brought the phone back to my ear. “We’ll meet at Osaka Restaurant,” I told Cassandra.
“Great,” she replied. “I’m starving. See you soon!”
She hung up, and I stared at the phone for a moment. When my client shifted noisily in his bed, I looked back at him as I tucked my phone back into my pocket.
“I look forward to meeting your crew,” I said.
“They’re good people,” he replied. “You’ll see that none of them could be the killer.”
I almost started to explain why that was not a good thing but decided it wasn’t worth the time or effort. Morris was convinced his crew loved him, and only a guilty verdict from a jury would convince him otherwise. And maybe not even then.
Besides, I had an autopsy report to read. I had no doubt that drowning would be the cause of death, but I was interested in the specifics. Had Vann been drunk when he went in? Were there bruise marks on his neck or shoulders? What about injuries from his fight with Morris? There were too many details that needed to be filled in, and the sooner I could do that, the sooner I could determine who had really killed Vann.
And then there was Cassandra.
I had dismissed her constant talking as an annoying quirk of hers rather than a tool to be used. But if she was capable of making Colin talk to her, then she could get anyone to speak, and that was something we could use in this small town where I was already viewed with distrust.
As I got up to leave, I wondered if my new paralegal had managed to get more from the police station than just an autopsy report and the vandalism report. It was clear that her love of gab was infectious, and other people wanted to open up to her when she spoke. I hoped she had used that to her advantage to win over the other officers in the station, not just Pingayak.
I left the room without saying goodbye, not that Morris cared. He was probably grateful for my absence and the dark thoughts I had planted in his mind.
While walking back to my car, I opened up Google Maps to search for nearby restaurants. The afternoon had started, and my stomach reminded me of that by growling for lunch. I found Osaka Restaurant easily enough, and from the online pictures, I realized it had a perfect view of the docks. So Cassandra and I could discuss the case over a nice meal, and when we spotted Diana, Luke, and Marleen on the docks, we could intercept them before they had a chance to leave.
A cold blast of frigid air hit me, and I shivered in the cold. It was a timely reminder that I wasn’t in Anchorage, so as I climbed into my Ford, I texted Cassandra a reminder to bring my parka and whatever other bits of information she’d picked up from the locals already.
Chapter 6
I spotted Cassandra standing in front of a bright orange building that was the only bright spot in an otherwise bland environment. The rest of the buildings were various shades of gray and white with metal parts like cylinders and pipes that dotted their property, often in large piles stacked against the wall. The area had an indus
trial look that would have been hipster chic in a large city.
I didn’t need Google Maps to tell me that the vibrant building was Osaka Restaurant, though a white sign above one of the windows displayed the name in bold, black letters. The vibrant color, I figured, was meant to catch the eyes of tourists as they walked along the beach across the street, and although the idea was a good one, only one car, a van, was parked in front of the building. I pulled up next to it and saw the words Osaka Restaurant painted across its side.
Once she realized I was the driver of the Ford, Cassandra walked around to the passenger side of the truck. Her wardrobe had changed slightly to include a puffy, navy coat and matching gloves, but she still appeared unaffected by the cold. The arctic wind tossed her hair around, and she did not flinch against it or bring up her hood for protection. Instead, she smiled at me through the passenger window. I noticed that her arms hung empty by her side, so I lowered the passenger window to speak to her.
“Where are the documents and my parka?” I asked her.
“Wow, no greeting?” she complained, though she lowered her voice in an attempt to mimic me. “Hey, Cassandra, it’s been hours since I last saw you. You look drop-dead gorgeous in that coat of yours. Also, you’ve been doing a fantastic job. All of my previous paralegals cannot compare to you in any way.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond, but I didn’t need to, since Cassandra carried on as if I were an audience of one watching a strange play.
“Why, Reese, you flatter me!” she gasped as she brought her gloved hands to her cheeks.
I shook my head as a smile formed before I could stop it. I didn’t want to encourage her, but it was this exaggerated, energetic side of her that drew people in. And I didn’t want this side of her contained when it had the ability to draw information out of reluctant witnesses.
“Hi, Cassandra,” I sighed and gave a dramatic wave. “Now, where are the documents and my parka?”
“They’re inside,” she answered. “Where else would they be?”
“You left them unattended?” I questioned as I rubbed my forehead.
“Oh, come on,” she groaned. “The only people inside are the owners, and they’re busy getting ready to serve us, so let’s go!”
Before I could tell her that everyone in this city was invested in this case, she turned away and walked into the restaurant. I pulled the passenger window up, turned off the engine, and then stepped out. I closed the truck door behind me and looked across the street. Just as Morris had said, another set of docks lined the coastline, crowded with boats.
Morris’ trawler was easy enough to spot among those moored closest to the shore. The words Arctic Wizard were printed in white letters across its hull, and like Vann’s boat, years of wear showed in the boat’s paint job and several impressive dents along the hull. It was, I suppose, the Alaskan version of the beater.
I watched the boat for a moment, but it was clear that the crew had yet to arrive. My stomach growled again, so I gave up and went inside the restaurant instead, where I was greeted with a hot burst of air from the heater and the smell of food being prepared.
Despite the large appearance outside, the restaurant offered only a small dining area for customers just to the left. Five tables in total were available for customers to sit at, and the maximum number of chairs at each table was four. The walls were decorated with pictures of sushi, and paper lanterns ranging from blue, pink, and green covered the light bulbs hanging from the ceiling. On the right, across from where the tables were set up, was a kitchen filled with crowded shelves and countertops. The environment appeared less like a formal restaurant and more like a house with an overfurnished dining room.
For some reason, there was a red velvet rope that blocked access to a staircase as well as another room that was shrouded in darkness. I thought I saw the outline of a couch, though, and I began to suspect that the rest of the building was probably the family’s private residence. A door marked as the bathroom was tucked into the corner next to a vintage cigarette machine.
There were two people in the kitchen at the moment, an older man and woman who were working at the counters. The woman appeared to be rolling something around in her handy while the man chopped away on a cutting board. Nearby, a young man sat at one of the tables closest to the kitchen with a bored expression on his face. The older couple looked over their shoulders to wave at me while the young man gave me a mere turn of the wrist before he returned to his cell phone.
Cassandra sat at a table in the middle of the room with her face buried in the menu and her back to the kitchen. My parka was draped on the back of the chair across from her, and in front of the chair, on the table, was a manila folder placed on top of a menu.
I shrugged off my jacket, and instead, I draped it on the back of a chair at one of the tables that had been pushed against the wall. It also happened to be next to a small window with a perfect view of the docks and of the Arctic Wizard.
“We’re sitting there,” I told Cassandra as I picked up the manila folder and menu.
I placed them on the new table, and then picked up my parka to place it on the chair next to the wall. Surprisingly, my new paralegal picked up her menu and purse and relocated to the other table without a fuss. She settled into her seat quickly and returned to reading the menu. Concentration inhabited her face, and to see her young features form such a serious expression felt uncanny but also amusing. I tried to remember if I’d ever found the decision of what to eat to be so difficult.
The young man at the other table stood up and approached our table. He was in desperate need of a haircut as his black bangs hung in front of his eyes. He shook his head to the side to move them out of the way, but the action proved to be ineffective as all the hair fell back into place. If his hair actually hindered his vision, he would have tied it up, but instead he did another futile shake of his head. At that point, I figured the head shake was habitual rather than reactive, and the hair was exactly the way he wanted it.
“Can I get you two something to drink?” he asked when he reached our table.
His chin bore a field of acne that stretched from ear to ear in addition to patches of scruffy facial hair. The young man was likely a high school student working a summer job, and the shy smile he wore reinforced my guess. He didn’t know what to do with his arms as he first folded them across his chest and then suddenly placed them by his sides. He patted his thighs every couple of seconds as he waited for us to say something he could write down on his pad.
“I’ll just have some water,” Cassandra answered with a warm smile.
The boy visibly relaxed and nodded at her.
“Same here,” I told him.
He nodded again and walked across the room to the kitchen. Once he was gone, I picked up the manila folder and started to open it when Casandra reached across to grab my wrist. I looked up at her and that serious expression of hers was directed at me.
“You should look at the menu first,” she advised. “That way, you’ll be ready to order when that boy comes back with our water, and then you can look at the folder undisturbed as we wait for our food.”
I almost laughed at how solemn she sounded in giving me this advice, but I had to admit it was good advice to follow. I set aside the folder and picked up the fake leather-bound menu.
Upon opening it, I was greeted with several pages of green paper filled with a list of food options. All of the green pages listed meal specials for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The cuisine was Asian, but one section titled American Dinners offered options like hamburgers and steaks. The last couple of pages of the menu were blue, and they showcased a wide array of made to order sushi before ending with a section dedicated to dessert. The prices were outrageous, but that was the price to pay for the experience of eating fresh fish at a restaurant in the northern tundra.
Despite sitting in a restaurant in the middle of a city that specialized in capturing fish, I was not interested in eating sushi. My continual
exposure to the outdoors as I moved from one location to the next while wearing a thin jacket had planted a desire in me for something hot, so I looked at the soup options first.
While I perused, Cassandra snapped her menu shut and placed it aside while she waited for the kid to return with our waters. She tapped her fingers against the table, and I fought the urge to tell her to stop.
I was finally rescued when the waiter returned and carefully set a glass of water in front of each of us. He then retrieved a notepad and pen from his pocket and gave us a hopeful look. I couldn’t imagine that he really needed to write two orders for the thirty-second walk to the kitchen, but I wasn’t about to argue. Maybe it was just protocol, or maybe it was practice for when things got really busy.
“Ready to order?” he asked.
“Yes,” Cassandra answered. “I would like the Chukchi Sea roll. It only seems fitting.”
She winked at me, and I almost choked on my water.
“Okay,” the waiter said as he jotted the name down. “And you, sir?”
I cleared my throat as I unfolded the napkin used to wrap the silverware so I could dab at the water around my mouth.
“I want the nabe udon,” I told him.
He nodded as he jotted it down, and then returned the pen and notepad to his pocket. He collected the menus from us, and as he walked away, he promised our food would be ready shortly.
I grabbed the manila folder and flipped it open before the kid had even made it to the kitchen. Cassandra rolled her eyes at my rudeness, but I really needed to see what the police had found, and not found, during their investigation.
A copy of the police report for Morris’ broken fish net, the transcript of the emergency call made by Morris on the night of the murder, and a copy of the autopsy report were all neatly piled in the folder. I did a quick flip through each, and then decided it made sense to read them in chronological order.
So I started with the police report from two weeks ago. It was simple enough, and most of it was simply Morris’ statement. He claimed he had left his boat unsupervised for half an hour when he drove home to grab a pair of boots he had forgotten. When he returned, he had discovered his net destroyed and discarded on the docks. It had been early in the morning, before most of the city was awake, and so no eyewitnesses had been present. No evidence linked Vann or any of his workers to the vandalism.