Why would a coed kill her professor? Especially if she was having an affair with him? Ray couldn’t think of a reason. Except … What if she wasn’t having an affair with him? What if he had turned her down? What if she had a crush on him, and he failed to return her love? Was that enough to send a college student into the Bush with a pickax?
Ray had no evidence and only a faint intuitive sense that these wild guesses might be on target. The problem was how to confirm or disprove the theory. If Cindy was guilty, she wasn’t going to blurt out a full confession. The truth would have to be dragged out in a series of long interrogation sessions. On the other hand, if she was innocent …
“Anybody got any handcuffs?” he asked.
All three of his companions looked at him as though he were demented.
“What we need cuffs for?” Lewis asked with a sneer.
“In case Cindy turns out to be our murderer.”
Now their eyes said they were certain he required a straightjacket.
“Ray … honey, you’re tired and beat-up …”
“Yah, Ray honey,” Lewis teased. “We go home, we have baby party.”
“Before I forget, we need to contact the FBI,” he told Billy Bob. “Have them drop in on Kanayut and the dig site. And Headcase has a couple of packages waiting for them. I promised him the Fibbies wouldn’t arrest him, if he’d bug out. I’d rather see him rot in prison, but he was pointing a pair of shotguns at me during our negotiation, so …”
A tongue played at the cowboy’s buckteeth. “I’m afraid ya lost me, partner. FBI?”
“Mark Farrell unraveled a plan to shut down the Red Wolf Mine. Apparently it was wreaking havoc with the world markets and with Hunan Enterprises’ zinc holdings. So Hunan set up a fake archaeological site in order to have Red Wolf declared a protected historical site. Mark found out.”
“So they killed him?” Margaret asked in a tone of disgust.
“No. They were going to. They rigged his plane with explosives. But before he could get to it, someone else killed him. For a totally unrelated reason.”
“Which was?” Margaret asked, spellbound.
“Jealousy.”
“But … Ms. Farrell said that Cindy was … you know … uh …” Billy Bob stuttered. “Playin’ around with her hubby. That’s why she was gettin’ sent home.”
“And she was telling the truth,” Ray said. “Sort of. My guess is that Cindy told Janice they were having an affair. And with Mark’s past history, Janice believed her.”
“But why?” Margaret asked.
“Because she was obsessed with him? And he wasn’t interested in her?” Ray postulated, watching Cindy from across the room.
Margaret thought this over. “If she really was obsessed with him … and he turned away her advances … Maybe if she couldn’t have him, she didn’t want anyone else to. And she told his wife that lie … just to cause Mrs. Farrell, her principal rival, added grief?”
“Makes sense to me,” Ray said, even though the logic seemed twisted. Sick. That was it. Cindy, if she had actually committed murder, was mentally ill. In a big way.“But it’s all conjecture. I don’t have anything tangible.”
The issue of her guilt cleared itself up as he started toward her. First her head jerked toward the door, searching for an escape route. Ray could see her mentally weighing the chances. But there was no place to run even if she made it. No place to hide. Not in Barrow. The expression on her face reflected an understanding of this, fear of being found out transitioning into a fear of being apprehended before changing to a hopeless, dependant look of resignation. Caught.
“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” she said with a pleasant smile.
Ray suddenly remembered that Cindy had made him promise to find Mark and helpfully pointed him toward Mark’s floatplane. “You knew about the bomb, didn’t you?”
“I knew Mark wasn’t supposed to make it to Juneau.”
This disclosure threw a wrench into Ray’s hypothesis. If Cindy knew that Mark’s life was in danger, why kill him?
“I did it,” she blurted. “If that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Did what?”
“Killed Mark.”
Ray stared at her in amazement. So much for lengthy interrogations. His next question arose out of simple curiosity. “Why?”
“Why did I kill him?” Her nose wrinkled up as if this were self-evident. “Because it was my turn.”
“Your turn?”
“He’d been with all the other coeds in camp. And suddenly, when it was my turn, he goes on this fidelity kick. Staying true to his wife.” She rolled her eyes at this. “I told him that I loved him, that I’d loved him for two semesters. But he just laughed at me. Like I was a stupid kid. He shouldn’t have done that. He shouldn’t have laughed at me.”
Ray nodded. Mark Farrell had chosen the wrong time to try and piece together his broken marriage vcws. This girl was not someone you wanted mad at you. “Did you really think you could murder a man and get away with it?”
She gaze up at him with a half smile. “I almost did. If this airport wasn’t so prehistoric, I’d be long gone.” She stood, shoulders drooping, lower lip forming an exaggerated pout, ready to be incarcerated. “I loved Mark too much,’’ she lamented. “That was the problem. I loved him too much.”
FIFTY-FOUR
Ten weeks later
“THEY PICK A spot fer the trial yet?”
“Fairbanks.”
Billy Bob nodded his approval. “Beats havin’ it up here. What with all the hoop-la and the mee-dia and all. Big trials nowadays are a regular circus. What I think is …”
“Uh-huh,” Ray grunted, not really listening. He was preoccupied with Margaret. She was still in line, waiting with all of the other pregnant women at the check-in desk.
“… Them high-falootin mouthpieces is the real problem.”
“Highfalutin mouthpieces,” Ray repeated with a nod.
“Wall … that’s what they is. Them lawyers is evil …”
Ray took a sip of coffee and watched as a woman who looked ready to burst open and deliver right there in the waiting room waddled to a seat and the line crept orward.” … And another problem is all them …”
“Lazy cops. Dats da problem.”
Ray and Billy Bob looked up as Lewis slumped into a chair across from them.
“Dey be drinking coffee and eating …” He paused and lifted the top from a cardboard flat of assorted donuts. “When dey should be out catching da bad guys.”
Ray selected a chocolate old fashion. The cowboy snatched up a glazed jelly roll.
“I miss much a anything?” Lewis asked, already chewing a maple bar.
“Not yet,” Ray answered.
“Where you get da coffee?”
“Down that there hall,” Billy Bob said, pointing. “Got a machine spits out some decent joe. Wouldn’t you say, Ray?”
“It spits it out, all right,” he agreed. You had to stand back to avoid getting soaked.
When Lewis disappeared around the corner, Billy Bob asked, “But we got us a perty good case, don’t we?”
We? Ray found the cowboy’s use of the plural amusing. Where had he been while Ray was risking his life? “Yeah. It’s perty good,” he said, mercilessly mimicking his partner. “The DA has a signed confession from Cindy. He thinks she’ll get twenty years.”
“What about the widow Farrell?”
Ray couldn’t help laughing. Widow Farrell? That made Janice sound like a poor, lonely old woman who lived in a retirement home. “The widow is pleading not guilty.”
“Thank she’ll get off?”
Chewing the old fashion, Ray said, “I doubt it. According to the DA, they now have evidence that she accepted money in return for faking the site at Red Wolf.”
“Ah …” Billy Bob took a gulp of coffee.
“The Feds in Fairbanks said a federal grand jury indicted the management from Digidine, the Hunan branch in San Francisco. They’re
planning to go after the parent company in Hong Kong. But it’ll take a while to fight through all the red tape.”
Billy Bob nabbed a cinnamon twist. “The goons are being prosecuted too, right?”
“Chung and Chang? Yeah.” Ray took another bite of donut before shooting the remaining U into a nearby trash can. “Hunan tried to have them extradited under the pretense that it was an internal Chinese matter. But the DA told them where to put it. They’ll be doing time in a federal pen.”
Across the room, Margaret turned around, made a face, shook her head at the inefficiency. Ray gestured at the open donut box. Lifting it for her perusal, he wiggled his eyebrows. Margaret licked her lips and held up a palm: in a minute.
“Kinda disappointin’ that old Headcase got away,” Billy Bob lamented.
“He didn’t get away. We made a deal.” Ray sighed. They had discussed this at length on several occasions. Billy Bob was always quick to remind Ray that he had allowed a dangerous gunman, the man responsible for shooting him, to “get away.”
Massaging his leg, the cowboy added, ‘’Seems like such a shame. Fella shoots a policeman and gets clean away.”
“He didn’t get clean away,” Ray argued. “I told you what happened. He had a shotgun pointed at me. It was either deal or die.”
“Wall … In that case, ya made the right choice.”
In that case … Ray was about to lay into the cowboy when Lewis came trotting around the corner. His white dress shirt and tie were stained with dark brown splotches.
“Aiiyaaa!” he bellowed. “Dat machine. It spray me good.”
“We told you it spit.”
He glared at them, then at his shirt. “I gotta change. Can’t work like dis. How much longer we gotta wait?”
Margaret was one woman away from the window.
“Not long,” Ray said. “At least, not long enough to go home, wash a shirt, dry it, and come back.”
Lewis scowled. “You don’t think I got extra clean shirts?”
“No.”
“? got one extra. Christmas present from Mama. Still in da wrapper.”
“That’s the only reason it’s clean.”
Billy Bob laughed, bunny teeth jutting out of his mouth.
“Dat funny, huh? I tell you what funny: you, Ray, me hunting da Bush.”
“That’s not funny, Lewis,” Ray said. A shiver ran up his spine. “That’s scary.”
“Next weekend.”
“Even if we were stupid enough to follow you into the wilderness again, which we are not, it’s too late in the season. The caribou are gone. The bears are hibernating.”
Shaking his head, Lewis announced, “Wolf. On snow machine. ‘Member, Ray? We used to do it when we was kids, back in da village.”
“Oh, I remember. I remember almost freezing to death one time because we got lost and you forgot to pack food and a map.”
“Not my fault.”
“It was your fault. I was in charge of transportation and weapons. I borrowed Grandfather’s snowshoes and his rifles. You were supposed to bring food and a map.”
“Long time ago … I forget who did what.”
“That’s when I quit trusting you, Lewis.”
“Trusting me? You still trust me. We work together. I’m real great cop.”
Ray shook his head. “That’s what’s so bizarre. On the job, there’s no better guy to have as a backup. But in ‘da Bush’ … I’d just as soon go ice fishing.”
“Ain’t that kinda borin’?” Billy Bob asked. “Sittin’ in the cold, waitin’ on a bite?”
“Boring is better than dangerous.”
“You want icefish?” Lewis asked enthusiastically. “I know good place on floes.”
“I was kidding. We’re not going out on the floes with you, Lewis.”
“Serious. Dis a secret. Nobody knows how real great it is.”
“Except you. And the polar bears.”
“Aiiyaa. Not many polar bears. Besides we carry 300s. It be good … real great.”
Ray was about to debate the matter, when he realized that Margaret had finally reached the front of the line. She was talking to the clerk, exchanging paperwork, signing something … A minute later she strode toward them angrily, cheeks flushed, eyes burning.
The three men rose.
“This place drives me crazy!” She paused to grimace at them. “Sit down …” When they did, she continued. “They are so slow! I’ll bet half the patients go into labor before they check in, even if they’re only here for a pregnancy test.”
Ray lifted the box. “Maybe these will help make up for the inconvenience.”
Frowning, she grumbled, “I can’t. My bladder’s so full it’s about to explode.”
“Ladies’ room is right around the corner,” Billy Bob offered politely.
Margaret shook her head at him. “We’re supposed to go into room 4. And wait for the technician.” She yanked Ray up by the arm. “Come on.”
Lewis and Billy Bob saluted them with their cups.
Ray followed Margaret into room 4 and closed the door. It was dark except for the glow of a single fluorescent light recessed into a rack of electronic equipment. Margaret sat down on the bed and started crying, something she had been doing a lot of recently.
Ray put his arm around her. “What’s the matter, honey?”
“… Nothing …” she managed between sobs.” … Everything …”
“Oh.” He decided not to push. Margaret had warned him that the mood swings would be erratic, emotional, without a tangible connection to daily events.
“I’m worried.”
Ray nodded. “That’s natural.”
“But what if something’s wrong with the baby? Or what if the baby comes between us and we stop loving each other? I’m just …”
He took her hands in his and squeezed them. “It’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”
Margaret threaded her arms around his waist and clung to him. They were poised for a kiss when a woman whisked through the door.
“How are we today … Mrs …” She flipped pages on a clipboard. “Attla?”
“Fine,” Margaret answered.
“Please lie back on the bed and pull up your shirt,” the woman directed, her attention on the equipment. She flipped switches and turned knobs, sending the bank of electronic devices into a frenzy of blinking lights. “Okay …” Turning toward the bed with what looked like a computer scanner in hand, she gave Ray a cursory glance and gestured to a chair in the corner of the room. “Dad … if you’ll make yourself comfortable right over there … You can see what we’re doing in the monitor.” She punched a button and a TV screen flashed to display a blank blue screen.
Ray took his assigned seat and watched as the woman squirted something on Margaret’s taut, extended belly. After smearing the substance around, she began pressing the scanner-thing on the exposed flesh. On the monitor shadows and irregular-shaped patterns of gray light sloshed around.
“There’s the baby,” the woman said happily.
Ray squinted at the screen, trying to make a baby from the images. It reminded him of underlit home movies from space, the moon as captured by a drunken astronaut.
“Here’s the spine. It looks good.” She moved the device. “Here we see the arms. This is the head.” She used a pencil to trace a circle on the monitor.
“Where’s the head?” Ray wondered.
But the woman was moving the device again. Audio static surged in a pulsing rhythm. “That’s Baby’s heartbeat,” she said nonchalantly.
Ray listened, hypnotized by the sound. A heartbeat? There was something living inside of Margaret? He had known, of course. Yet knowing and actually hearing the child, hearing blood pulse through a new life … Extraordinary.
He looked at Margaret. She was glowing, transfixed by the pictures and sounds. Ray tried to take a mental snapshot of it all: the sparkle in her eyes, the curve of her stomach, the tiny butterfly thing on the screen jerking in time to the accele
rated train engine.
“Do you want to know the sex?”
Margaret looked at him, grinning. He shrugged back. “Can you tell?” she asked.
“Well, if it’s a boy, sometimes it’s pretty obvious.” She fiddled with the scanner, adjusting and readjusting it. “Mmm … Hard to say. Fifty-fifty chance either way …” She tried another angle. “If I had to guess, I’d say … girl. But don’t hold me to that.”
Margaret was nodding. “I think it’s a girl too.”
The technician abruptly ended the guided tour of Margaret’s womb. Extinguishing the equipment, she turned on the overhead light, blinding them. “Everything looks good. The doctor will want to look at the video.” She ejected a VHS tape from one of the machines. “Then it’ll be yours, for a souvenir.” Gathering her notes, she chirped, “Good luck,” and hurried out the door.
After wiping away the gel and tucking in her shirt, Margaret changed temperament like a sports car shifting gears. “I wish you hadn’t invited the whole gang. It was just an ultrasound. It makes me uncomfortable having Billy Bob and Lewis here.”
“They wanted to come,” Ray said, trying to duck the mood swing.
“It’s not their baby. It’s ours, Ray. This is something personal, just between the two of us. When the baby comes, we’ll share her with our friends. Until then …”
“Gotcha.” Ray nodded, ready to please. “Your wish is my command.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Are you making fun of me?”
“No.” He reached for the door and held it open for her.
“You’re not funny, you know.”
“I know.”
“I’d like to see you do this. Next time you get to carry a baby around for nine months. We’ll see how you like it.”
Lewis and Billy Bob stood. “How’d it go?” the cowboy asked.
Ray waited for Margaret to respond. He wasn’t sure if the appropriate answer was “good” or “bad” or “none of your business.”
“Fine,” she answered.
“Eh …” Lewis prodded. “What it gonna be? AnutAiyaaq? Or agnaiyaaq?”
Ray half expected Margaret to belt him. To pummel all three of them, just for being men. Instead, she smiled. “A girl … we think.”
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