by Henry, Sue
“No way to tell then, but we’ll keep it in mind. Listen, Chelle. About that charter…”
She didn’t wait for what she knew he would say next.
“Don’t bother, Alex. I can’t let people down, so I’m going.”
Can’t let Norm down? she wondered. “I promise I’ll be careful. Besides, I’ll file flight plans, so you’ll know where I’m heading.”
But not till I’m already gone, she decided. Probably a round robin, giving them an estimate, since I’m not sure about the return and won’t be able to say when I’ll close it out. Try for a week.
“Don’t worry,” she told him. “I’m a big girl, okay? Been doing this for a long time.”
He bit his upper lip like a child determined to hold his tongue, and nodded once, stiffly, not completely satisfied, but respecting her right to decide. Let her fly the charter. It would be something to keep her busy, at least…maybe out of trouble. What was she not telling him?
“Okay. I give up. Just check in once in a while. This breakin concerns me. Do you have any idea what he…she…oh hell…it…was after? Don’t forget that it’s possible—if this try was unsuccessful—it might happen again. Don’t take chances.”
At his frustrated attempt at political correctness, she had to smile, as she shook her head. “Not a clue.” But suddenly she remembered the milk, found that morning on the wrong shelf. No. Silly. My own dumb mistake. As he went on, she forgot it, to focus on what he was saying.
“Now. I need your reaction to some things we found out about the crash.”
For a second she froze, then waited with wary, close attention.
“The survival gear was still in the plane. I’m sorry, Chelle, but it all seemed to be there: sleeping bag, emergency supplies, first aid kit, flares, rifle, ammunition…the lot. Either he couldn’t get to it, or didn’t try. There was no way to tell much from the instruments. Doesn’t matter much anyway, does it? We know what brought it down.”
Her frown narrowed her eyes with concentration as she nodded. Norm had always carried survival gear in his plane, never removed it, only replaced what he used, or added to it. The gear missing from the garage was almost a duplicate of what he normally carried. Had he taken it? Why? She drew a deep breath.
“What else? Who was she? Do you know?”
He nodded. “Did Norm ever mention a Karen Randolph?”
“Randolph? No. Never. Who was she? What was she doing in his plane?”
“Nothing on your charter books?”
“No, and I know them almost by heart. Never heard of her…from him, or in writing. Who was she, Alex? Tell me, damn it.”
“You’ve got to keep quiet about it, okay? For now, we don’t want it known that we’ve found her body.”
“Yes. Okay.” With one important exception he didn’t need to know about, she would comply.
“Randolph was a special undercover Fish and Wildlife agent. Up here from Wisconsin as part of a sting on illegal trophy hunting. You remember that big bust in the Brooks Range—ANWR—last year? She was part of it.”
“Wisconsin?” Rochelle breathed. Another piece of information clicked into place. The Madison number in the lock box could be hers. Why? What? Norm? Special agent? Her head spun with confusion and she hardly heard Jensen’s question.
“Yeah. Does that mean something?”
When she glanced up, he was looking at her with a glint of suspicion in his eyes. It shook her. For the first time she suddenly felt like a suspect of some kind.
“Ah…I don’t know. Two days ago I would have said it meant nothing at all, but…well…I found something strange yesterday, Alex.”
“What?”
She told him about the metal box in the closet, the papers and key it had contained, and her search for the safe-deposit box that led to the insurance policy. “When I tried the number on the phone it reached an answering machine with a woman’s voice that the operator told me was Madison, Wisconsin. But she wouldn’t tell me who it belonged to. Could it be Karen Randolph? But why would Norm have her number? Why Wisconsin?”
“I can’t answer about Norm yet, but it’s interesting that he had her number, if that’s what it turns out to be. Give it to me so I can run a check on it. I’d like to see that insurance policy, too. You brought it home?” She nodded, and he went on. “Randolph came in from outside so she could go undercover as a hunter after big game—someone they wouldn’t know or recognize. Get evidence that they were running an illegal hunt—taking game from restricted areas, hunting with planes.”
“They? Who’re they? Is that who trashed this place?”
“Now, here’s where it gets sticky. We don’t know. Those who were caught in the trap are still in jail, but there were others who were probably involved that we didn’t get. It could be one of them, on his own, or for someone who’s still doing time at Spring Creek in Seward. Dale Stoffel, maybe. He was the biggest fish. His guiding business was behind most of it.”
She slid off the stool to pace back and forth in the kitchen, talking as she thought.
“Stoffel. Now there’s a name I am familiar with. Everyone who flew or guided talked about him. Word gets around…rumors. He’s had a bad rep for years. Had a plane confiscated once for guiding a hunt on federal land. Wasn’t shy about letting people know that the law wouldn’t get another of them—that he’d blow it sky high before he let it go to the feds, and did. Saw them coming again and couldn’t get off the ground, so he stuck a rag in the gas tank, lit it, and ran for cover.”
She wheeled around to face Jensen, realization and anger spreading across her face as she put the rest of the pieces together. It wasn’t her he suspected.
“You…think…Norm was in on it somehow…the illegal stuff. You’ve got to be kidding, Jensen. Never. He wasn’t a greenie, or a wolf-hugger, but he found the idea of trophy killing distasteful. Only took that kind of charter—into the hunting camps, I mean—for a good client, or when there wasn’t someone else to fly. He thought hunting should be limited to subsistence, not allowed for sport. I’m not so committed, one way or the other, so I flew most of the hunters.”
She stopped walking suddenly, as a revelation of another kind floated to the surface of her consciousness. This one she did not comment on aloud. Norm had not turned over a hunting charter to her for several months before he disappeared. He had flown them himself, and there had been several. Why? It had not occurred to her before, but now she thought back, mentally counting on her fingers. Six?…seven? No. It wasn’t possible. Not Norm. But could he have been helping the feds? It would explain the Randolph woman in his plane…the secrecy…her number in his lock box…perhaps, somehow, the missing money. Had he known something…kept some kind of record? Was that what her burglar was looking for?
“What?” Jensen demanded, behind her. “You remember something else?”
His questions were beginning to be an irritation. Should she tell him that she intended to go hunting for Norm? No, she decided. Not till she knew where this was leading her, what it all meant, and she still didn’t know much. Not all. Not yet. Later…maybe. If she could clear Norm. He didn’t need to know she meant to go out there tomorrow…probably wouldn’t let her go alone if he did. Carefully she composed her face before turning.
“Nothing. Just trying to remember. But you’re wrong if you think Norm could have been part of that kind of thing, Alex. It simply wasn’t in him. You’ll see. I’ll get you that phone number and the policy to look at, but I want to keep it here. Okay?”
He agreed, but, as she headed for the back of the house, he knew from her expression, or lack of it, he would get no more from her. There was something she wasn’t telling him, but he knew it would do no good to press for it. Whatever her reason, she felt justified in keeping it to herself, and it would probably be better to leave it alone…for now…but not for long. She’d had enough thrown at her today. Tomorrow would be soon enough.
But he was concerned with it as he drove across town to t
he Glenn Highway and most of the way to Knik to pick up Jessie. He was glad he would be spending the evening with Caswell. They needed to talk.
But his mind…and sympathy, mixed with irritation…were back with Rochelle. He believed that, alive or dead—and probably the latter—Norm Lewis was gone—had left her—and wouldn’t be back. He had wished badly that there was something he could say…could give her to alleviate some of the hurt. Knowing from personal experience the confusion and guilt grief could inspire, he found himself more than usually concerned and quite helpless. She would not let him in. Clearly did not completely trust him…or anyone.
Losing someone shook your confidence and judgment, made you want to…atone?…for things you had no control over. You, after all, were still alive, while the person you grieved for was not. What else could elicit more guilt, more effort to make up for it? She was an attractive, talented, strong woman, intelligent, with a mind of her own. All right—stubborn. That brother of hers was no help—more of an albatross, if what Alex had seen of him was any indication. She was pretty much alone in all this, determined to know, and capable of trying to find out on her own.
Frustrated, he wanted to turn around, go back and shake her awake…or give her the support she didn’t seem to realize she needed. Knowing that she would welcome neither didn’t afford him much relief. Damn it, anyway.
Rochelle waited till he was gone long enough to be sure he wouldn’t be back, then threw on a jacket and transferred the pile of equipment and supplies to the Subaru and headed for Lake Hood. A quick phone call had told her she would have some waiting to do and might as well get her plane loaded while she did it.
Gassed and ready, the Cessna sat rocking slightly on its floats when she reached the lake. Long shadows darkened the water, cast by the evening sun, still far enough from the horizon that she was tempted to fly up and watch it set from the best of all possible vantage points. Afraid she might miss her objective if she did, she carried gear to the plane instead and stowed it neatly, ready for the morning. Aware, as always, of the empty space next to hers that would normally have held Norm’s familiar 206, she pretended to ignore it, concentrating on the job at hand.
Preparations complete, she had occupied a log on the bank for over half an hour, watching the dark increase and the water change colors, when a compact Maule M-4, similar to Ben Caswell’s, slid out of the sky, set down smoothly on the waters of the lake, and taxied toward the space next to Norm’s. She got up and walked across to stand solidly, arms akimbo, head tilted slightly, waiting.
Close to shore, the pilot of the small craft killed the engine and let the plane coast to the bank as he stepped out onto a float and peered through the gathering dusk.
“Chelle? That you?”
“Yeah, it’s me, Jeff. Got a minute?”
“Sure. Let me tie up first.”
While she watched, he pulled a pair of waders up over the legs of blue coveralls and walked into the water to swing the plane around to face the lake before tethering it. Though not a tall man, he was very fit and it was obvious from the ease with which he maneuvered the Maule that he had done it often and had plenty of muscle left over.
The last rays of the departing sun stained his prematurely white hair gold as he stepped back onto the bank and came toward her with a grin.
“Great day to be up there,” he said. “You just down?”
“No. Going up tomorrow though. Weather’s supposed to hold.”
“You’re waiting for me, then. What’s up?”
His smile faded as he searched her face for clues to what she had to say and found no good news.
She hesitated for a second or two, knowing the information she brought and the questions she must ask would disappoint and trouble him. She liked this man who was a special friend to her husband—his best, almost family—and who had grown to be her good friend too. Though she had already known how to fly when she met Norm, he had insisted she take a lesson or two from Jeff. “He can smooth off any rough spots—teach you more than I could. He’s the best.”
And he was.
Easygoing and generous of spirit, Bunker was universally respected as a pilot’s pilot by those who flew off Lake Hood. She felt privileged to know him, appreciated his cheerful confidence, and tried to emulate his responsible attitude toward what he clearly felt was the gift of flight. By no means a simple man, he thoroughly and without reservation enjoyed living, criticized little, openly appreciated much, and had a healthy sense of humor.
He hadn’t tried to minimize his frustration and concern over his friend’s disappearance and continued absence—had flown hours of search patterns—but was predisposed to optimism. Throughout the winter, he had not let a week go by without checking in. Respecting her independence, not attempting to take care of or smother her, but letting her feel his consistent presence and support, for which she was more than simply grateful.
Now he stood, patiently waiting, with a questioning look, so she told him quickly.
“They found the plane and Norm wasn’t in it. Still missing.”
“Damn. Where?”
“Beyond Susitna. In one of those lakes on the bench before you get to Beluga. The bad thing…there were bullet holes in the fuselage, and a dead woman in the passenger seat. Jensen…you know…the trooper? Says she was an undercover agent for Fish and Wildlife on that Stoffel Brooks Range thing last year. She came up missing about the same time, but nobody associated her with Norm. Still don’t know what the deal was. They want it kept quiet.”
She stopped, interested in his reaction, which was stillness—utter watchful stillness—and exceptional attention. He knew something.
“And?” he prompted.
“And…” She pulled a hand from her jacket pocket and passed him the envelope from the safe-deposit box, closely watching his expression. “…this. He left it for me to find. Do you know why? If he told anyone, he’d have told you. Did he?”
Jeff turned it over twice, took the insurance policy out and read it before looking up with a frown, shaking his head.
“No,” he said slowly, “Norm didn’t tell me anything about this.”
But there was something going on behind his eyes that she couldn’t identify. Straight as they come, she’d never known him to dissemble, but she was abruptly aware that he was choosing his words with care. Jeff wouldn’t lie, but he was avoiding the whole truth by answering the question literally.
“All right. If he didn’t tell you about this, what did he tell you? Is he alive, Jeff? Did he expect for me to somehow cash in on this policy and get part of it later? What the hell is going on? Where is he? There’s other money missing. Have you known all winter that he wasn’t dead—that he set it up and took off somewhere? How could you…”
“Hey.” As her voice rose in anger and pain, he stepped forward to grasp her by the shoulders, paper pages crackling under his hand. “Chelle, hey. Stop it. No, damn it. He didn’t tell me anything of the kind. Whatever gave you that idea? He loved you. You know that.”
“Do I?” She looked him straight in the eye, challenging.
“Yes. More than anything. He’d never have put you through this.”
“Convincing me, or yourself?”
His expression changed, as if he had suddenly come to a decision. He handed back the papers and stepped back. “I had no idea he left this, Chelle. He didn’t tell me much of anything. Nothing that would help, or I would have told you sooner. He gave me something and made me promise.”
“What? For God’s sake, what, Jeff?”
“I’ll show you. It’s for you anyway. Wait here.”
He went to a shed similar to the one by Chelle’s plane, opened the door and rummaged around for a minute. When he came back, he was carrying another envelope that he handed to her. It was sealed, like the first.
“Tell me,” she demanded, holding it without attempting to tear it open. “What did he make you promise?”
Her eyes in the half-light were wide and h
er face haunted with stress. The envelope trembled in her hand.
“Come and sit down first.”
They sat on the step to his shed.
“Okay,” he told her, “here’s the thing. Last fall, sometime in September, because we were both down here getting the planes ready for winter. He was doing something with your radio…”
“It had been cutting out on me. He found a loose wire.”
“Yeah. Well…when we were through, he came with a pair of beers, sat down, and said he had a favor to ask. Said if I agreed to do it, I couldn’t ask questions, and that it was important. I said I would, of course. He’d have done the same for me. It wasn’t like Norm to need favors, or ask them, so I wondered, but I didn’t ask. Then he gave me that envelope, sealed, just like it is now. Asked would I keep it for him and not tell anyone, even you.”
“Especially me, I think,” she whispered. “Why?”
“He didn’t say that. Said the reason he couldn’t explain was because it was someone else’s confidence, but that this would make it okay for you, just in case.”
“In case…what? What is it?”
“That’s what I don’t know and couldn’t ask, see? He told me to keep it sealed and locked up, and give it back when he wanted it. The only exception was if one of two things happened: Either you came with questions, or I was very certain he wasn’t coming back to get it. Then I was to give it to you, unopened.”
“Is that exactly how he phrased the last part?”
“Yes. If I was very certain he wasn’t coming back to get it. Your coming tonight qualifies for the first of those two things, doesn’t it?”
It did, but the thought that she was struggling to force from her mind was that it might qualify for both. He hadn’t said if you know for certain that I’m dead, but rather, if you are very certain I’m not coming back to get it. Had he actually left intending not to come back for it? Giving himself time to disappear—to cover his trail? Was he somewhere else, alive and well, meaning to stay gone, no matter what Jeff said? Jensen thought so. It was part of his attitude, although he hadn’t come right out and put it in words.