by Henry, Sue
“Oh, shit!” Becker said, turning to stare at her. “You too?”
“Yesterday, when I was gone, someone left a rose in front of my door.”
“Not inside your house?”
“Apartment,” she corrected him. “No. It was outside the door, in the hallway.”
This piece of news suddenly changed the equation. Becker dropped his annoyance with Jessie along with his questions about Timmons’s whereabouts and asked several rapid-fire questions.
“Did you see anyone?”
“No.”
“None of your neighbors saw anyone?”
“No, but I only asked three.”
“Ask the rest. Did you call the florist?”
“Yes, this morning. But he said he didn’t know who ordered it—or told me he didn’t.”
“You believe him?”
“I had no reason not to. I thought it was just some kind of oversight.”
“So did I,” said Jessie, frowning in discomfort. “But I don’t think so now.”
They looked at each other, puzzled and anxious.
“I stopped yesterday and questioned the woman in that shop this side of Palmer,” Becker told Jessie. “She evidently really doesn’t know anything, though she may have played cute with you. The order came in the mail, cash in the envelope, no return address. It was for three separate deliveries, two days apart, so you won’t be getting any more. Unfortunately, she tossed the envelope, and the money is gone, of course. Not that fingerprints were a probability.”
She stared at him, relieved that she wouldn’t have to anticipate receiving any more roses, but wondering if that was good or bad and what might come next.
“What do I do now, Phil?”
“Nothing,” he told her, with a shrug. “But there won’t be any more middle-of-the-night antics, right? You’re going to stay somewhere else, like it or not.”
“Yes, sir.” Jessie was tempted to salute. “Any suggestions?”
“I don’t care where, but—”
“You can stay with me,” Bonnie offered.
“Not a chance!” The idea raised Becker’s brows in dismay. “You’re not going to stay at home either till we catch this person. It crosses my mind that you could be an even more important target to this guy than Jessie, with your connection to the Hansen cases that he seems to be copycatting.”
There was a long moment of silence as the two women considered possibilities. Becker took a deep breath and slapped his hat against the side of his leg.
“They could both stay at my place,” Hank Peterson suggested. He had walked up quietly and stood listening. Concentrating on the problem at hand, none of them had heard or seen him coming. “If they could put up with a somewhat less than neat bachelor pad, that is.”
“Thanks, Hank. I might take you up on that, if Becker agrees. Bonnie?”
The other woman nodded agreement, slowly, still thinking.
“I won’t…” Jessie began.
“Jess–ie,” he warned, and she recalled his words of the night before about trying to take care of everything herself and friends helping each other.
“I hear you, Hank. But I’ve got a kennel to run and there’s all this construction going on. With all these people around it’ll be okay for me to be here during the day, right?”
“I don’t have a problem with that,” Becker told her, “as long as you come and go with Peterson.”
He turned to Bonnie.
“I tried to call you an hour ago, so I’m glad you’re here. I’ve got something to ask that may be a little tough for you.”
She sat up, seemingly calm, but anxiety showed in her eyes. “What?”
“You’ve spent a lot of time along the Knik River, right?”
“You know I have.”
“We’re going to take a plane up there as far as we can this afternoon and do as thorough a search as possible with the water this high, for—well, anything we can find. Knowing that area so well, would you be willing to go with us—to help?”
There was something he was not telling her. From the expressions on both women’s faces, they knew it. Bonnie voiced their suspicion.
“There’s another woman missing.”
Becker sighed. “I should have known you’d be all over that. Another dancer disappeared last night. Her roommate called the police this morning. Your looking for your sister and finding the one the other day make it hard. Will you go?”
“Yes, of course I’ll help. But I’m not leaving here before I know what’s going on back there in the woods and what Timmons has found. Then I will, and—if she would—could Jessie come with me?”
“Where is John?” Becker asked, remembering his intention to join him.
Turning to point out the direction he should take to join the lab crew, Jessie saw Timmons roll out of the woods and start across the yard toward them. Behind him the lab assistants bore a stretcher that held a plastic body bag. They turned aside, headed in the direction of the van. So, it had been a grave and there had been someone in it.
“Here he comes now,” she said, and was not surprised when Bonnie moved instantly to stop him halfway. She couldn’t hear what was said, but saw him shake his head. Clearly dissatisfied, Bonnie accompanied him the rest of the way across the yard to where Jessie and Becker waited.
“Please,” she tried again, when he halted the chair. “Is it my sister?”
Timmons looked up at her and frowned but spoke gently. Jessie and Becker listened without a word.
“There’s no way of knowing, Bonnie. All we found was bones as old as the old man’s—no clothing, no identifying items. We have a lot of testing to do, but I think it’ll come down to DNA results, and those take time.”
“You have dental records.” She was almost begging.
He reached out and took her hand, rubbing the wide pad of his thumb comfortingly across her fingertips, making wordless contact.
Smart, Jessie thought, letting go of her irritation with Timmons and remembering what it was about him that she respected and valued even more than his considerable professional abilities. Under the gruff exterior, he was a warm, sensitive, and compassionate person who dealt in straight truth. Sometimes what he had to say was painful, but you could trust him to say it in the least hurtful way he knew. He had learned many kinds of pain and disappointment on a very personal level, and his ability to empathize and respond to the distress of others was huge.
“Yes, we have those records,” he now told Bonnie. “But they may or may not be useful. Hopefully, DNA from this woman will give us a match with yours.”
“How long will that take?”
He hesitated, not yet ready to give an estimate.
“It’s too soon to say. Why don’t I call you tomorrow, or the next day, after I make an initial examination in the lab? I’ll have a better idea then.”
“Meanwhile,” Becker spoke up, “will you go flying up the Knik with us?”
Bonnie turned to Jessie with a question in her eyes.
Jessie had no desire to go trekking in the upper reaches of the Knik River, especially not to help find another body. But she recognized the tangled skein of emotions that held Bonnie captive to this latest element of an old obsession. The woman would go without her, if she had to, but her request for company was not made lightly.
If she’s anything like me—and I think she is—Jessie reasoned, it’s costing her a lot even to ask.
How could she refuse?
From their expressions, she knew that neither Becker nor Peterson was completely happy with the idea. Hank Peterson was shaking his head in frustration and disagreement but saying nothing. It was Becker’s call, but Jessie knew what his answer would be. He needed Bonnie. She was familiar with every twist and turn the river made, or had made, in the last twenty years. No one knew it better.
21
PILOT BEN CASWELL WAS WAITING AT THE WASILLA field with his Maule M-4 when Becker, Bonnie, Jessie, and Tank arrived just after noon. He met t
hem with a grin and a huge bear hug for Jessie.
“Hey, stranger. Linda sends her love.”
Cas and his wife were friends Jessie had met through Alex Jensen. The two couples had enjoyed one another’s company for everything from evenings of bridge to country line dancing, often getting together on weekends for cookouts, until Jensen left Alaska. Cas flew his own plane on contract for the Alaska State Troopers, and he and Jensen had often worked and fished together. The two women had kept in touch over the last four months, but Jessie hadn’t seen Cas since Jensen’s departure and had missed his cheerful, if thoughtful, company.
“Hey, yourself.” Jessie hugged back, then gave a nod to the Maule. “I’ve never seen this plane on wheels.”
“Becker caught me just in time. I was about to change the wheels for its summer floats.”
“You have it on skis for the winter?”
“I do. I have all three, and it just depends on what these guys need. Up the Knik, the water’s too shallow to land on floats. Flew up this morning to take a look. It’ll have to be wheels and a sandy spot.”
Jessie introduced Bonnie Russell, who smiled a little hesitantly. Knowing Bonnie was not comfortable with the whole idea of this trip, Jessie was glad of her own decision to come along, though she didn’t like the motive behind it.
She glanced at Becker, who stepped forward to shake hands with Cas and thank him for the transportation.
Jessie had kept on the jeans, boots, and T-shirt she had been wearing to work in the yard but had added a sweatshirt, warm jacket, sunglasses, and a floppy denim hat. Around her waist she had fastened the large fanny pack she always carried when she went away from civilization. A mirror, matches in a waterproof case, wire survival saw, penlight, a tightly folded insulated reflective sheet, and some first-aid supplies lay within. There was no room for a water bottle, so she took one that had a shoulder strap. A hunting knife hung from her belt, and at the last minute she had thoughtfully added her Smith & Wesson .44 in its holster.
She knew Becker had noticed the handgun. He had started to say something but changed his mind and let it go with no more than a frown. Many Alaskans are more comfortable sharing the wilderness with moose and bear if they have a gun. Knowing hers was legal—Jessie carried it with her whenever she was on the trail with her dog teams—he ignored it.
The Maule M-4 was sturdy and dependable. But it was also compact, with little cabin space to spare.
“I’ll have to take you in two hops,” Cas told Becker. “The air’s pretty rough up there, coming over the hill from Turnagain and off the glaciers, so I’d like to keep it light.”
“That’s okay,” Becker agreed. “Take the women first. You want Tank to ride with me, Jessie?”
“No, he’ll be fine on the floor in back with me. Can’t seat-belt a dog anyway. That all right, Cas?”
“Sure. He’s been a good passenger in the past, haven’t you, fella?” He gave the husky a friendly pat or two and motioned the two women toward the right side of the plane. “Okay, let’s do it.”
Jessie climbed in, leaving the front passenger seat for Bonnie. Having flown with Cas before, she was comfortable enough with what she could see out the side windows and thought Bonnie would get a better view of the mountains and glaciers from the front. There was plenty of room for Tank on the floor beside her. In one way, she was looking forward to seeing this particular part of the Chugach Range, never having flown over it before. It was reputed to be one of the most beautiful within flight-seeing range of Anchorage, and many commercial pilots flew tourists through the area for a look, often on their way to or from Mount McKinley to the north.
By the time she and Bonnie were settled and had buckled their seat belts securely, Cas had the headphones on and the engine started. He spoke briefly into the microphone and they were on their way, leaving Becker to lean against his patrol car and wave them off.
As Cas tipped the small plane in a wide left-hand turn to the west of Wasilla, Jessie looked down and spotted the construction in her yard next to Knik Road. Tapping Caswell on the shoulder, she grinned and pointed. He took a look and said something she couldn’t hear over the roar of the engine, but she understood the thumbs-up and smiling nod of approval he gave her in response.
It was a perfect day to go flying, bright and sunny, with a clear blue sky. A few scattered clouds floated over the Chugach Mountains to the south. In the Aleutian Range to the west, volcanoes Redoubt, Iliamna, even Augustine on its island, were visible in the distance, white with perpetual snow, on the northernmost edge of the Pacific Rim of Fire. They soon disappeared behind Mount Eklutna as Cas flew the Maule across the wide Matanuska Valley and headed up the Knik River drainage.
There were two other small planes in sight, probably tourists catching a look at the Chugach Mountains with their hundreds of glaciers, large and small, including the Knik Glacier, one of the largest.
As Cas swung south around Pioneer Peak, the glacier came into view between the crests, broad and white in the distance, sweeping up in a giant S curve, the source of the river springing from its foot. As they grew closer it became possible to make out gray lines in the surface, gravel and the powder-fine dust created by its tremendous grinding power and weight.
“Oh!” said Bonnie, unheard in the roar of the plane engine. She turned her head to look back at Jessie. “It’s beautiful!” she mouthed. Jessie nodded enthusiastic agreement.
More than beautiful, it was a spectacular river of ice that flowed ceaselessly if imperceptibly, drawn into motion by gravity, slowly carving away the mountains in its path, creating wide valleys out of what, thousands of years before, had been narrow canyons or solid walls of upthrust stone.
Catching Jessie’s attention, Cas gestured to a second set of headphones. She leaned forward, put them on, and heard his question: “Want to take a look at the glacier before we land?”
“That would be great. I’ve never seen it from the air, and there’s only one place along the river road where it’s visible at all.”
“Okay. I’ll pick out a landing spot, then we’ll make a quick detour over the glacier before I let you out.”
Halfway up the valley, they flew past the end of the road that ran along the hillside on the west. Opposite, to the east, Friday Creek ran down out of the hills and spilled into the river. Beyond that the water grew shallow, narrow silver ribbons that braided the small creeks and glacier runoff and divided the sandbars into a jigsaw puzzle. To either side the mountains rose steeply into the sky, and Jessie felt that she and the plane were very small compared to the heights they floated between.
Air currents over glacier country are often strong and turbulent, with opposing currents of cool air flowing down from the snow and ice of the heights to collide with warmer air rising up from the lowlands. In this particular area, prevailing winds also flowed over the Chugach Range from the waters of Turnagain Arm on the other side. As they neared the headwaters of the river, the small plane began to bounce in the unstable air as if shoved around by invisible giants that jerked it not only up and down but from side to side as well. A wing dipped suddenly now and then, as a puff of wind hit from an unexpected angle. Once or twice it felt as if the bottom had fallen out of some huge elevator, dropping the plane and its passengers, who felt they had left their stomachs a floor above. Then, in an instant, they were lifted up again.
“Hold on,” Cas cautioned, “so you don’t punch holes in the ceiling. This is Mixmaster country but not a real problem. It might have been a smoother ride this morning.”
With her headphones on, she could now hear Cas talking to the other air traffic in the area, establishing his position.
“This is Maule nine eight six four Mike, going in southeast over the upper end of the Knik River, low and slow, looking for a landing site.”
Under the shoulder of Mount Palmer, Cas dropped down close enough to be able to see the condition of the sand and gravel bars along the riverbanks. Flying slowly, he assessed the tangle of
choices carefully until he found one he liked, close to the shore, long and flat and, except for some low brush on the south end, clean and without rocks.
“There,” he said to Jessie through the headphones. “We’ll set down on that one on the way back.”
“Won’t that brush be in your way?”
“Not if I can help it. But I’ve got a metal belly on this bird, so it wouldn’t tear my tail feathers off. Now let’s go see the glacier.”
Punching the button, he spoke again. “This is Maule nine eight six four Mike, rising southeast to flight-see over Knik Glacier.”
When he had finished, Jessie asked a question, interested in the communication system. “Do you always have to do that?”
“In a busy area like this, pilots tune in to the same local frequency—this is one twenty-two point eight. We give each other a heads-up on where we’re headed or what we’re about to do. Makes a midair collision less likely.”
As he finished explaining, the radio crackled with the voice of another pilot, giving identification and the information that he was over the glacier and would be heading northwest downriver to Palmer. Jessie looked and soon located a yellow Piper Cub ahead of them in the sky. It passed to the left, with plenty of airspace between, and vanished behind them.
Tank stirred at her feet, shifting position as the plane rocked a little crossing over the foot of the glacier. She laid a hand on his head. He licked her wrist, but she paid little heed, her attention focused on large chunks of ice that had fallen and were floating in the pond beneath. Some of them, along with parts of the vertical face of the glacier, were such a brilliant blue they looked painted. Every other color of the spectrum was absorbed by the compressed ice and only the profound blue was reflected. Tank settled back, his muzzle propped on one of her boots.
As they flew over the foot and were low over the ice, the Maule shuddered a few times in the turbulence, but Cas kept it low so they could get a good view. To the right lay Lake George, held back by the dam formed by the glacier resting against Mount Palmer, thousands of gallons of blue-green water contrasting sharply against the white of the snow and ice.