White Sky, Black Ice

by Stan Jones

  THE AFTERNOON crawled as Active waited for the call from Fortune and pondered what would happen if Carnaby should call first. In the outer office, the muted clacking of Evelyn O'Brien's keyboard punctuated KSNO's broadcast of "All Things Considered." Active sat in hunched concentration before his own computer, playing solitaire. What would Alex Fortune do? What could Patrick Carnaby do? What should Nathan Active do?

  A little after four, Dickie Nelson arrived from Isignaq.

  "So it was a love story after all," Evelyn O'Brien was saying as Active came out to hear about the bingo burglary and get his mind off the Gray Wolf.

  Nelson had knocked around the troopers' rural detachments all his career. He was a mediocre cop, but a great yarn spinner. He was short, wore a mustache, and sported a lush head of wavy brown hair that never seemed to grow or gray.

  "Yep," Nelson said. "The preacher's daughter, just like you figured."

  "The preacher's daughter robbed her own father's church?" Active asked. "And Evelyn solved the case?"

  "You got it," Nelson said.

  The secretary beamed.

  "Chubby little thing named Nina." Nelson dropped his case on his desk. "The church sent her father up from Missouri about a year ago and Nina just fell head over heels for one of the Katala boys."

  "The men in that family have always been drop-dead good-looking," O'Brien said. "Which one was it?"

  "Herman."

  "Not Herman! The basketball star at Isignaq High? Why, that poor girl never had a chance!"

  "Didn't one of those Katalas become a movie star back in the fifties?" Nelson said.

  "That's right," O'Brien said. "Let's see, what was his ..."

  "Hey!" Active said. "The burglary, remember?"

  "Oh, yeah," Nelson said. "Well, it seems young Herman didn't return Nina's affections ..."

  "Like any fat girl ever had a chance with a basketball star," the secretary interrupted feelingly. "Especially a Katala. Those boys can have their pick of the village girls."

  "That's right," Nelson said. "And not just Isignaq. Why, their old man's probably got kids in half the villages ..."

  "Dickie! The burglary!"

  "Oh, sorry, Nathan," Nelson said. "So Nina decides a new snowmachine for Christmas might turn young Herman's head. She calls the Arctic Cat dealer here in Chukchi..."

  "You mind if I handle it from here, Dickie?" O'Brien interrupted. Nelson bowed in her direction.

  "So Nina tells the dealer she's going to mail him the whole seventy-four hundred," the secretary said. "In a piece of Tupperware! Unfortunately for Nina, the Arctic Cat dealer happens to be Jack O'Brien..."

  "None other than our Evelyn's own husband," Nelson put in.

  "My husband," O'Brien affirmed with a nod. "So Jack calls here and he says to me, 'Honey, does this seem fishy?' "

  "And Evelyn calls me up in Isignaq and tells me my burglar has to be Nina," Nelson said. "I talk to the girl for about five minutes, and of course she breaks down and blubbers like a baby. Gives me the money, still in the Tupperware, and that's that. Case closed."

  "Case closed?" Active asked with a smile. "You mean she's not looking at hard time in the women's section at Anvil Mountain?"

  "It's out of my hands," Nelson said, throwing up his palms. "All I know is, the magistrate in Isignaq released her to her father's custody. My understanding is, she may be sentenced to live with her grandmother in Missouri."

  "Is that legal?"

  "In Isignaq it is," Nelson said. He took off his parka and hung it on a hook by the door. Then he turned back to Active, his face suddenly serious. "So Tom Werner killed himself, huh? I never thought he'd go that way."

  "It may have been accidental," Active said. "I'm still reviewing it."

  "What's to review?" Nelson said just as the phone on Active's desk rang.

  He went into his office and closed the door and picked up the receiver. "Nathan Active."

  "It's Alex Fortune," said the voice at the other end of the line. "You know what I'm calling about."

  "Did GeoNord accept?"

  "The chairman has decided to go along," Fortune said. "He's lobbying the rest of the board by telephone now. They should have an answer for us tomorrow afternoon."

  "I have to have it by noon or I go to the district attorney." That way, it would be over in time for the two o'clock meeting with Carnaby. If GeoNord stonewalled him, he'd probably be fired at that meeting.

  But if the company caved in, he might survive. It would depend on the Super Trooper, Patrick Carnaby.

  "I'll see what I can do," Fortune said, and hung up.

  Active didn't want to answer any questions, so he killed time in his office till O'Brien and Nelson left. Then he grabbed his hat and coat from the hooks by the door and went home.

  Pacing didn't help, so he opened a Wired magazine. It appeared the FAA was now seven years behind schedule in its efforts to modernize the thirty-year-old computers that ran the air traffic control system. Too serious.

  He turned on the television. "Will it be bachelor number two, or..." Click.

  He tried KSNO. An old man telling a story in Inupiaq, too quickly for him to follow. Click.

  He went to the phone, looked up her number, and dialed her. It rang twice. "It's Nathan," he said. "Do you want to come over?"

  Silence. Finally, a quiet "OK."

  "Can you bring that blue robe?"

  CHAPTER 19

  Thursday Morning, Chukchi

  LUCY GENEROUS YAWNED AND tried to think what was different. Something nice, she remembered, nothing to worry about, but why wasn't she in her own bed? And why was there a pillow under her hips? As she reached to move it, her hand brushed against something warm and solid beside her. Then she remembered. She was in Nathan Active's bed!

  She fought off the urge to sit up and look at him to make sure it was true. Instead, she slid softly from under the covers and crept into the bathroom. She flicked on the light and looked at herself in the mirror. Naked! She was stark naked in Nathan Active's bathroom! Wait until Aana Pauline heard.

  She flicked the light off again and opened the door a few inches, sneaked out, and retrieved the blue terry-cloth robe from the floor beside his mattress. He would want her in the robe, at least at the start.

  Back in the bathroom, she brushed her hair and washed her face. Makeup? No, he might awaken and catch her with her face half on.

  Quietly, she brushed her teeth. Would he have morning breath? She'd put up with it if he did. But he wouldn't have to put up with hers.

  Ready. She opened the door a crack and peeped out. He was still asleep. She reached behind her and turned on the hot water faucet in the bathroom sink. She peeped out again. He stirred, rolled over, and faced her way. Then he opened his eyes and blinked sleepily in the half-light of the bedroom. He looked as puzzled as she had a few minutes earlier.

  She turned off the water and tied the robe at her waist. Then she took a deep breath, pulled it open at the neck, and shrugged the top halfway down her bare arms. She pushed open the door and his eyes locked on to hers. Then his gaze dropped to the open robe.

  She walked toward him, acutely aware of her breasts swaying and of Nathan watching them sway. It was like being outside herself, watching him watching her. She could almost see her body with the same helpless fascination it held for men. No one but Nathan Active had ever brought out this side of her. What if she had lived her whole life and never known this feeling?

  Nathan pulled her down on top of him and she kissed his nose. Then she raised herself on her arms and grinned. "Now that I know what you like, you're my prisoner."

  He reached for her breasts and she wiggled her pelvis against his through the fabric of the robe and his sleeping bag. She was still grinning, still a little in charge of the situation.

  Then her pulled her down again and kissed her. He rolled her onto her back, undid her belt, flipped the blue cloth back, and studied her. He put a fingertip on her knee and trailed it upward along her body.
She felt as if sparks must be shooting from her skin. Slowly, her eyes on his, she drew up one leg, then the other, and opened her knees, feeling as timeless as the signal of invitation she was sending.

  "Does this mean you decided to jump in after all?" she asked with a giggle as he buried himself in her. He kissed her again and she shut up.

  "All that energy was nice," she said a few minutes later. Her head was on his shoulder. She half-turned to face him. "But I don't think it was just me. What's going on?"

  He pulled his arm from beneath her and sat up. "I have to go to work."

  She looked up at him. The warm night-Nathan whose lips and tongue and hands could set her on fire was gone. In his place was the remote, calculating day-Nathan, the son of two mothers, the orphan who had to make his own way.

  Well, that was all right. She was learning how to get through his orphan reserve. She thought she would be seeing the night-Nathan more and more now, perhaps even in daylight.

  "What is it?" she asked. "Something about Tom Werner?"

  He stared at her and she sensed he was on the edge of opening up in some new way. She sat up in bed and drew his sleeping bag over her breasts. She felt shyer now that it was daytime. And she didn't want to distract him. "Why do you think he killed himself?"

  "He tried too hard to make things perfect here," he said after a long time. "Something in his mind was stretched too far and it just snapped."

  "What do you mean?"

  He stared at her for a long time again. "I can't talk about it yet. But when I can, I'll try to tell you."

  "Okay," she said softly.

  He was still staring at her, head tilted to one side.

  "What?"

  "How well do you know my mother?"

  Suddenly, she was hot and nervous. "Martha scares me. Aana Pauline doesn't think she likes me."

  "Maybe we should go over there for dinner sometime, so you can get to know each other better."

  "We could go if you want. But I'll be too scared to eat anything."

  He laughed and patted her arm. "Don't worry, if she starts trouble, I'll arrest her." He rolled off the mattress, stood up, and started for the bathroom.

  "You got eggs and bacon?" she called, feeling dizzy with terror and delight. "I'll cook you some nalauqmiut food."

  "Was that Lucy Generous I saw riding in with you?" Evelyn O'Brien said with a grin as he came in.

  "What if it was? I give lots of people rides. Old ladies, even Kinnuk Wilson."

  "Umm-humm," O'Brien said. "But they usually sit over by the window. Didn't I see Lucy snuggled right up next to you?"

  "Did you have your glasses on? Maybe your eyes were playing tricks on you."

  "Somebody's been playing tricks, but it doesn't have anything to do with my glasses." She pushed back from her desk and stood up. "I think maybe it's time for a little girl talk." Her heels clacked away down the hall.

  He paced and looked down at the alley behind the public safety building. Two kids had hitched a young husky to a Flexible Flyer sled and were trying to teach the dog to pull. The pup turned on the boys and licked their faces. What if Carnaby called? Active started a game of computer solitaire.

  The secretary came back into the office, her grin bigger than ever. She walked to his doorway and leaned against the jamb. Uncharacteristically, she didn't say anything. She just grinned smugly.

  "What did she say?" he asked finally.

  "She didn't say anything. She didn't need to. Because she's definitely aglow."

  "If she didn't say anything, it's just your imagination."

  "Oh, no," the secretary said. "A woman can always tell. Especially if another woman won't say anything."

  He shook his head, got up and closed his office door, and watched the hands crawl around his clock. At ten minutes to noon, he was just starting a new game of solitaire when he heard Alex Fortune's voice outside. Almost immediately, O'Brien cracked his door and stuck her head in.

  "It's Ichabod Crane!" she whispered, her eyes wide. Then she giggled and handed him Fortune's business card.

  Active stood and shooed her away, trying not to giggle himself. Partly, it was at her choice of character for the tall thin hairless lawyer. Mostly, it was nerves. "Come on in," he said.

  "The board approved the cleanup plan." Fortune set down his briefcase and an expensive-looking leather valise, then dropped into the chair beside the desk.

  The surge of relief was so intense, Active thought he might pass out. He stared silently at the lawyer until his head was clear enough to speak. "Can you tell me the details?"

  "The statement is going out now to the financial press all over the world, the Associated Press, the Alaska papers." Fortune unwrapped a woolen scarf from around his neck, folded it, and put it in the pocket of his trench coat. "We're announcing a seventy-five-million-dollar cleanup program at the mine, and inviting the Department of Environmental Protection in to review our pollution controls. And, oh yes, Shotwell is resigning."

  "And you pledge to keep the mine open?"

  "We do." Fortune shrugged the trench coat off and laid it on Active's other office chair. "We will file something with the Securities and Exchange Commission about this. And Jermain just did an interview with Roger Kennelly at KSNO."

  "I thought GeoNord didn't have seventy-five million," Active said. "Where'd the board get the money?"

  "They're borrowing some of it," Fortune said. "At punitive rates, I might add, because of the company's shaky financial condition and weak metals prices. They're also negotiating to sell the company office building in Oslo and lease it back from the new owners. They're about to become tenants in their own headquarters."

  "Let's hope they pay their rent on time," Active said. "And the Tom Werner scholarships?"

  Fortune studied him. "Why do you care so much about this? Tom Werner was a polluter and a murderer."

  "Did the board approve or not?"

  Fortune shook his head in resignation. "They approved. Next spring, the first five students from the Chukchi region will be awarded their free rides through your university."

  Active wanted to say thanks, but stopped himself and just nodded.

  "And now for your part in this?"

  "It's going to be a big news day for Roger Kennelly," Active said. "I'll call him now and announce that Tom Werner's death was an accident, caused when he dropped a rifle with the safety off."

  "There's one more thing," Fortune said. "Were you aware that Clayton Howell was subpoenaed by the federal grand jury in Anchorage last night? Apparently the FBI found Bobbi Jean Jenkins in Las Vegas."

  "I had heard something like that might be coming."

  "You heard it might be coming?" Fortune said.

  "I did."

  "Well, Officer Active, I can't say it's been a pleasure doing business with you, but it's been interesting." Fortune stood up and put his coat back on, then extended his hand. "If you ever take a notion to quit police work and get a law degree, let me know. I think you might fit right in at our shop."

  "I doubt it." Active gave Fortune's hand an extremely brief shake and dropped it.

  "And I doubt you know yourself as well as you think, Nathan." The lawyer picked up his briefcase and valise and walked to the door. Then he turned and looked at Active with one of his amused smiles. "You know, Jermain was right. You are a lot like Tom Werner."

  Active took so long to answer, the lawyer had given up and was turning away. "Nobody's like Tom Werner," he said to Fortune's back.

  Active called Roger Kennelly at KSNO and told him Tom Werner, Aaron Stone, and George Clinton had died by accidental self-inflicted gunshot wounds.

  Then he finally gathered the papers from the leach-field investigation into a folder and dropped it onto Evelyn O'Brien's desk right next to her barely audible radio. "Carnaby told me to give you this. I'm suspended."

  The secretary looked up in shock. "You're what?" she asked.

  "I'm going to lunch," he said. He wasn't hungry, but he di
dn't want to talk to anybody for a while. He didn't have answers for the questions Evelyn O'Brien was about to ask, much less for the grilling he would get from Carnaby at two o'clock. He would make them up over a Szechuan Number Twelve at the Northern Dragon, where hardly anybody spoke enough English to ask him anything.

  Active opened the door, stepped into the hall, and almost collided with Patrick Carnaby.

  The Super Trooper was six two, just the first flecks of gray in his hair and mustache, square-jawed, broad-shouldered. No doubt that was why he never needed to shout. He was intimi-dating at any time, but now Active felt like a schoolboy hauled before the principal for smoking in the John.

  "What the fuck did I just hear on the radio in the cab?" Carnaby said. "Did I hear that Tom Werner shot himself to death, accidentally, in your presence? And the other two, George Clinton and—"

  Evelyn O'Brien had followed Active into the hall and was listening, mouth agape. "Get into my office," Carnaby ordered Active. Then he drilled the secretary with a stare. "Evelyn, don't you need to go check our mail?"

  She grabbed her coat and scurried down the hall, shooting mystified glances back over her shoulder.

  Active walked into Carnaby's office and sank into a chair in front of the big oak desk. He jumped as Carnaby slammed the door, then watched as the commander walked around and dropped into the chair behind the desk.

  "What the fuck . . ." Carnaby looked down at his desk blotter and massaged his temples with one hand. "No, I told myself I wouldn't do this anymore, no matter what."

  Finally he looked up at Active, an entirely unconvincing smile on his face, his jaw muscles bulging. "So, Nathan," he said brightly, through clenched teeth. "What's been going on around here?"

  There was no time to think, so Active said the first thing that came to mind. "The case is closed, just like you heard on the radio. No murders, just three accidental self-inflicted gun-shot wounds. It happens."

  "Not to people like Tom Werner."

  "Yeah, I got there right afterward," Active said. "Like I told Roger Kennelly, he apparently dropped the rifle with the safety off and it fired. I guess they do that sometimes."