“I'm trying,” he said before he could stop himself.
A brief silence. “Really? Anybody I know?”
Liam said nothing.
“Is it Wy?”
Jim was the only person he'd told about Wy. “Yes.”
Liam heard the sound of keys clicking on a keyboard. “It's about time.”
“She's resisting.”
“She's scared. You hurt her.”
“She hurt me.”
“Yeah, but you had your family to go back to. She slept alone.”
Liam thought about that until Jim's voice said, “Okay, Larsgaard. Forty-two, born in Newenham, resident of Kulukak. Not registered to vote. Hey, no credit cards, not one. Checking account has fourteen thousand and change. Owns a boat, has a Bristol Bay drift permit. Doesn't own his own home, but I don't see any regular payments that might be rent-”
“He lives with his father.”
“Ah. Well, he pays his bills on time. No missed payments on the boat. He had to split up an insurance payment in 1993 but he cleared it with the company first. Taxes paid in full on April 15 every year.”
“Anything in my area?”
“Not so much as a parking ticket. He's got a truck, but it's twenty, no, twenty-two years old. Hasn't had an emissions check, but then he's not required to have one out in the Bush. Pays the minimum in property tax on it, on time.”
“A pilot's license?” Liam trusted Wiley Jim more than he did the State computer.
“Nope.”
“How about Frank Petla?”
Jim's voice brightened. “Joseph Aaron Petla; now, there is someone I can sink my electronic teeth into. The state's been renting him rooms since he was eleven-”
“I thought juvenile records were sealed.”
Jim made a scoffing noise. “Renting him rooms since he was eleven, when he and two friends were taken into custody for robbing a house. The record refers to him as a repeat offender, so they shipped him off to McLaughlin.”
Liam thought of Charlene Taylor's words- “Liam, he just never had a chance”-and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.
“It was the first of many visits, up until he was fifteen.” There was the sound of keys being hit. “Darn it, there should be some record of his transfer to an adult institution-”
“He was fostered out the year he was fifteen,” Liam said.
“Oh. Okay, that explains it. It was a year before his next offense.”
“Anything major?”
“A lot of drunk and disorderly, a couple of assaults, four B &Es, only one of which stuck.”
“He ever shoot anybody?”
“No.”
“Stab anybody?”
“No.”
“Kill anybody?”
“No.”
“Assault anybody?”
“Not on record.”
“How's his income?”
“Shows a little bump in the summer. He's been on unemployment every winter but one for the last five years. He owns a boat.” Jim sounded surprised. “It's mortgaged to the hilt, and he misses about one payment a year, around April, but he makes it up, usually in July or August.”
“Does he own any vehicles?”
“Nnnnnope.”
“Not even a four-wheeler?”
“Let me check the tax records.” Click, click, click. “Nope. Although in the Bush, as you well know, it's a lot easier to hide real property from the tax assessor.”
“I know. I've got a vehicle number for you.” Liam read it off. “Can you tell me who it belongs to?”
“Hang on.” The feminine voice was back, breathing sweet nothings into Jim's and Liam's ears. That they were sweet nothings, Liam could tell only by intonation, as the words were in a tongue foreign to him.
Jim laughed. “In a minute, honey. Okay, Liam, got it. The owner's name is Dick Ford. Ah, lives in Newenham. Only have a P.O. box for an address.” Jim sounded sad that this was so.
“Thanks,” Liam couldn't resist saying, “I can get his street address from my local data bank.” Jim bristled at the idea that someone, anyone would have more information available than he did, and Liam was pleased to have gotten a rise out of him. “Thanks for the help, Jim. Who's the babe?”
“Who, Varinka?” More disgusting kissing sounds. “Varinka's visiting from Magadan. I met her on a wide-band frequency a year ago and invited her over.”
“Yeah, well, give her my best.”
Jim's voice dropped to a good-naturedly lecherous purr. “I'll give her mine.”
Jim was an avid ham operator, although Liam had once accused him of getting his license just so he could pick up girls in Kalgoorlie. Jim had looked wounded, but it was a fact that he dated globally, women parading into Alaska from as far away as Helsinki, lured on by Jim's siren song. On one halcyon occasion, Liam had been present when a beauty who said she was from Graaff Reinet, South Africa, showed up with a sister who was only marginally less stunning than she. Unfortunately, Liam had been married at the time.
Not that that had stopped him when he met Wy.
“Stop it,” he said out loud.
“Stop what?” said a voice from the doorway.
He looked up and saw Wy.
She let the door swing closed behind her and said again, “Stop what?”
“Nothing,” he said automatically, and then thought, the hell with it. “Stop feeling guilty about sleeping with you when I was married to Jenny.”
“Oh.” She pushed her hair behind her ears and then shook it forward again, a habit she had when she was nervous. “Do you think about it a lot?”
“Every day.”
She bit her lip. “Me, too.”
He turned off the computer and sat back. “What are you doing here, Wy?”
She took a deep breath. “I didn't-I… hell.” She squared her shoulders and looked him right in the eye. “Jo said something to me last night.”
“Oh great,” he said, remembering the last time he'd seen Jo, or rather she'd seen him, dancing around with his pants half off, in company with Diana Prince. “My new best friend, I'll bet.”
“She called me a martyr.”
“A what?” he said, startled. It wasn't what he'd been expecting.
“She said that three years ago I sacrificed my happiness for yours. She says it's become a habit, and that I'm afraid that a relationship with you wouldn't measure up to our affair, and that's why I won't… why I won't…” She made a vague gesture and lapsed into silence.
Liam digested this for a moment. “Is it true?” he said finally.
She blew out a breath. “I've been asking myself that over and over again. I don't know.”
He got up and came around the desk. “I can only speak for myself, Wy, but it's there, everything I ever felt for you. It's still there.”
She regarded the buttons of his shirt. “There's a lot you don't know about me, Liam. A lot I never told you. Some of it…” She hesitated. “Some of it could be hard for you to take.”
“I can hear it all. I want to hear it all.”
“You say that now. No, wait. Liam, I learned about catastrophe at an early age, and I've lived my life preparing for it to happen again.” She looked up at him. “I looked at you and I saw another catastrophe coming at me like a freight train. Maybe that's why I couldn't say the words you needed to hear. And maybe that's why you couldn't make the commitment I needed you to make.” She took a deep breath, met his gaze, held it. “Do you know what I wish?”
“What?”
“I wish that just one time I could kiss you on purpose. No, Liam, you know what I mean.”
Liam, in the act of reaching out, halted. “No. I don't.”
She made a frustrated sound. “Every time, it's like we jump on each other, a surprise attack, quick and dirty and then we're gone. Just once I'd like to kiss you and have started out meaning to kiss you.” She took a step forward. “Bend down a little. Put your hands on my waist.”
He obeyed. She was trem
bling, visibly, but she stood on tiptoe and brushed her cheek against his. He quivered at the feel of skin on skin but didn't make any moves. Her nose nuzzled his, she ran her chin along his jaw, her brow against his neck. Her lips came to rest against the pulse in his throat, which instantly accelerated. She raised her head and slid a hand behind his to urge it down. Her lips were full and soft, her breath light and warm. Her lips parted, her tongue flirted with his, her teeth nipped at his lower lip.
She pulled back and stood in the circle of his arms, staring up at him. It was late, and dim in the little office, but he could see her features clearly, her enlarged irises, the lovely flush of color in her cheeks, the quick rise and fall of her breast. “Like that,” she whispered.
He understood. They'd gone at each other like they were starving, like they could never eat enough to fill themselves up. He sat down on the small couch behind the door and pulled her into his lap. “We never had time to play,” he whispered back.
She put her head on his shoulder. “No.” His heart beat steadily, reassuringly beneath her cheek. He ran his hand slowly, lazily up and down her spine, such a fine, firm arc of flesh and bone, supple, strong, sexy. He was convinced he could recognize it out of a thousand different spines by touch alone.
She raised her head and smiled at him. “I'd better get home.”
“Me, too, damn it. I've got to get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a long day.”
“I know.” She lifted her face and kissed him again and he lost himself in it and in her.
He cupped her cheek in his hand. “Is it okay that I want more?”
She smiled, the smile of every temptress since Eve. “It's more than okay.”
They stood up and paused, both of them reluctant to say goodnight. “What next?” he said.
She looked thoughtful. “I could say, we start dating.”
“In principle,” Liam said, “I like the idea. In practice, though…”
She smiled. “I know. There really isn't anyplace to go on a date in Newenham.”
“We could drive out to the dump and watch the bears,” he offered.
She pretended to consider, and shook her head. “Too early in the season. There's still salmon in the streams.”
“Well, then, I could take you to dinner at Bill's.”
“We just did that.”
“Right, right.”
“I could take you on a flightseeing trip to Round Island,” she said.
“Round Island? Where's that?”
“It's a state game sanctuary fifty-plus miles south of Kulukak Bay. Walrus haul out there in big herds. It's quite a sight.” Her nose wrinkled. “And smell.”
Liam remembered the walrus head on Walter Larsgaard's kitchen wall. “Walrus, huh? And since it's a sanctuary, I suppose you can't hunt them there.”
Since he seemed interested, she obliged. “Not until recently. Around 1960 the state government declared the area off limits to everyone, Native or non. Pissed off a lot of people, because it was sort of a ukase from the czar, they did it without any hearings held in the area. It was pretty drastic, but there was some justification.”
“Why? The walrus go the way of the otter?”
“Pretty much. It had been hunted nearly to extinction, not by Natives but by Yankee whalers in the 1800s, and not for their meat or hides but for their ivory.”
Liam thought again of the walrus head, the long, curving tusks of smooth, glowing ivory. A tempting target, all right.
“The population has come back since then; you can see thousands of walrus hauled out on this one particular beach alone.”
Liam thought of what Ekwok had told him about Larsgaard Senior. “So the state was forced to reopen the area to hunting.”
“Depends on how you define hunting.” Wy's voice was very dry. “Native hunters only, of course, and no hunting at all until a ten-page agreement had been drawn up and signed between state and villagers, detailing where the boats could go ashore, how the animals could be shot and allowing for tissue samples to be collected from each kill. Observers from both federal and state governments were on hand to witness the event, hand out permits and videotape the results.”
With a smile, Liam said, “You flew some of them in.”
She nodded. “A whole plane full of observers and equipment. So. You want to go?”
“No first dates that involve flying,” Liam said firmly. “I'm better at making my moves when I'm not airsick. How about you cook me dinner tomorrow night? I'll bring a movie to watch after.”
“Tim will be there.”
“I know.”
She smiled, this time a sweet smile full of promise. “It's a date.”
NINETEEN
Liam rose early, stood post and practiced all sixty-four movements of the form with what he was sure was exquisite grace and superb style, showered briskly and was at his desk, whistling while he worked, by seven-fifty-nine. He called the medical examiner's office in Anchorage and left a message on the machine for Brillo Pad to call him. He went through the evidence he'd collected from the archaeological dig at Tulukaruk. Don Nelson's journal made very interesting reading, but there was nothing in it that Liam identified as pertinent to his murder. He reviewed his notes on the interview with Alta. Molly and Larsgaard's last meeting had been the previous Monday. One week alive and loving, the next dead and buried. Sounded like a line from a country-and-western song.
He got Bill out of bed at eight-thirty, and heard an irritated Moses complaining in the background. Everybody got some last night but him, but the thought did not depress him as much as it might have.
“Dick Ford?” she said. “Nice guy. Good fisherman, too, but he's such a soft touch that he never hangs on to any money. A four-wheeler? I don't know, Liam, he's never driven it into the bar.”
He called Dick Ford's phone number. No answer. He saddled up the Blazer and galloped purposefully down to the harbor, pulling up in front of the office door for Seafood North. Tanya paled when he walked in the door, and then looked relieved when he said, “Is Dick Ford a fisherman of yours?”
“Yes.”
“What's the name of his boat, and do you know its slip number?”
Of course she did. She even accompanied him out to the dock to point out the boat. “Right there, theSelina Noel,slip number one-eighty-seven. Pretty name, isn't it?”
“Thanks.” He waited until she had turned to go and said, “Oh, one more thing.”
Her back was almost as nice as Wy's, slender, straight and at the moment vibrating with tension. “Yes?” she said, looking over her shoulder and narrowing her eyes against the still-rising sun.
“You were meeting David Malone at the Bay View Inn, weren't you, Tanya.” He made it a statement, rather than a question.
For a moment, one very brief moment, her shoulders slumped. She turned to face him fully, looking naked and defenseless in the bright morning light. “Yes.”
“Once every couple of weeks for the past three months.”
“And last summer. Yes.”
She offered no apologies and no explanations, and he admired her for it. “You don't have to worry, I'm not going to tell anyone, and if Alta Peterson down at the hotel hasn't by now, she won't be, either. The fact that you were having an affair with David Malone had nothing to do with his or his family's death, and it doesn't matter to the investigation.”
“It matters to me,” she whispered.
She looked very young and very defenseless, and he had a sudden vivid memory of Wy's face the day she'd walked away from him in Anchorage. Pain, loss, guilt, shame, more than he could put a name to, all of it reflected in the young face before him now. “Move on,” he said.
“I can't,” she said.
“You can't do anything else,” he said, and went down the gangway, leaving her standing on the end of the dock, staring out at the Bay.
Dick Ford wasn't on board theSelina Noel.Well, shit. Well, then, how about Max Bayless? He knew what Prince would say, that he was
tracking down useless leads, that they already had a confession in one case and an alibi with holes big enough to drive a truck through in the other. He should be in the office, doing paperwork, wrapping things up.
Instead he went to the only other bar in town, the Breeze Inn, which sat on the exact opposite edge of town from Bill's Bar and Grill. It was half the size of the other bar and twice as noisy, mostly because there was a television hanging from every corner of the room and two over the bar, all of them on at once. The bartender was a fat man with three strands of black hair stretched carefully across his otherwise bare scalp. He didn't say much. He shook his head when Liam asked him if he'd seen Max Bayless. He shook his head again when Liam asked him if he knew Max Bayless. The two guys nursing Bloody Marys while they watched ESPN didn't know Max Bayless and hadn't met him lately, either. Nobody'd seen Max Bayless, not Tanya, not Bill, not anyone; Max Bayless was the original invisible man.
He went back to the office and dialed Wiley Jim's number. It rang eleven times before Jim picked up. “I don't know who this is and I don't care, if you want to live you'll let me go back to sleep.”
“One more name, Jim,” Liam said. “I'll fix your next ticket.”
Jim drove a white Desert Rat Porsche convertible around Anchorage, even in winter, at no known and certainly no legal speed limit. A feminine complaint could be heard in the background but it didn't grate as much on Liam as it had the night before, and he grinned at the opposite wall. “Max Bayless. Come on, Wiley, I know you never turn that computer off. Just stagger into the office and type in the letters. M-A-X-”
“I got it, I got it,” Jim said, “and fuck you.”
“Thanks, Jim, I knew I could count on you.”
He waited. Five minutes later Jim said, “He's in jail. Cook Inlet Pre-Trial.”
“What for?”
“Selling cocaine.”
“Where was he arrested?”
“Anchorage. Wait a minute.” Click, click, click. “Fourth Avenue, the Hub, if you can believe it.”
“How long's he been in custody?”
“Eleven days. Can I go back to bed now?”
“With my blessing.”
“One ticket?”
So Sure Of Death Page 24