by Susan Illene
The cafe adjacent to the motel turned out to be a good place to grab breakfast. Some of the locals were eating in there, along with a few tourists. No one paid much attention to my arrival, which suited me fine. At least my fair skin blended in well, along with my casual attire. You could pick out a lot of the visitors based on their expensive outdoor clothing and tanned complexions.
One family sitting in a corner booth had decked themselves out in top of the line gear. You’d think they were going to climb Mount Everest, rather than gold panning, as I’d overheard them say. I’d already guessed most Alaskans wouldn't fork out the kind of cash Mountain Hardwear and North Face called for. Locals were always more practical. You picked these things up when you traveled a lot. For me, I liked the same nice stuff the tourists did but it wasn’t worth standing out any more than I had to.
After finishing my meal, I headed off to check the address Aniya had given her mother. My Google maps directions took me to the edge of town and I had to check twice to verify I’d come to the right place. The "house” turned out to be not much bigger than a shack. An old, rusted car sat looking forlorn in front with grass covering its tires and grill. Other assorted junk had been left scattered around the side, including a fridge lying on the ground with the door torn off. Many of the houses I’d driven past on the way here had similar debris decorating their yards. It wasn’t the classiest of neighborhoods by any stretch of the imagination.
I risked the semi-rotted steps to check the front door. My intuition told me this place hadn't been lived in for years, but I wanted to verify that before running off. The door didn't open when my hand jiggled the knob, and no noises came from inside. A glance through the broken front window revealed nothing more than trash and animal feces littering the floor. It might have been used as a teenage hangout, but nothing more than that.
My shoulders slumped as my hopes for a quick search and rescue mission came to an end. I’d been set around the idea Aniya would be here and we could resolve the whole matter with a simple explanation. I should have known better. She must have figured out early on Philip wasn’t who he claimed to be. The fake address proved it. Why hadn't she told any of us this as soon as she arrived?
The possible answers worried me. She was too innocent to get caught up in something like this. The idea of sups being involved was growing on me. What had Noreen said back at the club? Something about northern climates. I really hoped she didn’t mean this far up.
I trudged back to my vehicle and resigned myself to speaking with the police next. Mrs. Singh had said they weren't cooperative over the phone, but it would be worth a try to talk to them in person. Maybe my physical presence would get their attention.
I pulled into the nearest station about ten minutes later and walked inside. A dour-faced woman with frizzy brown hair pulled back in a bun sat behind the counter. She refused to acknowledge my presence while typing something into the computer. Attempts to get her attention gained me nothing more than a dismissive hand gesture. An older man, with a scruffy gray beard and filthy clothes, sat in the corner watching me with interest. I turned my gaze away from him, not liking the toothless grin he gave me.
A few minutes later, the woman raised her head, impatience written all across her face. "What do you want?"
"This is a police station, right?” I lifted my brows in question.
"Of course.” She rolled her eyes. “What are you here for?"
To smack some sense into you. Of course, I couldn’t say that. She definitely wouldn’t help then.
"I need to report a missing woman. Her name is Aniya Singh."
The woman's thin eyebrows rose at my statement. "How long has she been missing?"
"The last contact anyone had with her was almost three weeks ago.” Better to leave out the details of her last cryptic and questionable email.
The desk clerk narrowed her eyes and gave me a slow once over. "Does your friend live in the Fairbanks area?"
As if that should matter. I tried to reign in my temper and forced my hand to unclench from the tight grip it had around my keys.
"No, she came here about six weeks ago to visit a man named Philip Mercer. I'm worried he may have done something to her."
"Are you a relative?"
"No.”
“Then who are you?”
“I’m Melena Sanders. Aniya is my roommate and best friend. Her mother is worried about her. She tried calling your department to let you know her daughter was missing, but you all wouldn’t help her.”
Glenda, according to her name tag, attempted to look down her nose at me. Her thick glasses almost slid off. I smiled. She pushed them back up and leaned forward in her chair.
"I'm sure your friend is fine and most likely on some romantic getaway with this Philip she met up with. Happens all the time. He probably lives out in the bush where it’s difficult to get a cell phone signal. Nothing to worry about."
I frowned. "The bush?”
She rolled her eyes. "The surrounding area outside the city. We refer to it as the bush here in Alaska. Where are you from?”
I shifted my stance. Glenda was beginning to piss me off with her line of questioning.
"California. What does that have to do with anything?"
She grimaced. "You cheechakos, always coming in here demanding immediate attention for the littlest thing. California, humph!”
Cheechako meant an outsider to Alaska. I’d seen the term mentioned while checking out travel sites, but by the way she said the word, it sounded like an insult. I’d had enough of this woman.
"I want to speak with a detective or police officer.”
She gave me another huff before raising her large frame from the chair. It let out a loud squeak.
"You have a seat and I'll get someone to talk to you. Not that it’ll do you any good.” She yelled the last part over her shoulder. I cringed; most of the building must have heard her. The old guy in the corner sure did since he was now cackling with glee. The heavy scent of alcohol wafted heavily from him.
Not wanting to get too close to the drunk, I took a seat on the opposite side of the small waiting area. The chair I settled into was a hideous orange color that must have been older than my twenty-six years. Something told me this could take awhile so I stretched my legs out for greater comfort. The woman came back a few minutes later and confirmed my initial assumption—no one would see me right away. A glance at my watch told me it was about noon.
An hour later I was nodding off in my seat. There wasn’t even a TV to keep me distracted. About the time my patience came to an end a tall man wearing a suit, who appeared to be in his late thirties, came lumbering out. He motioned for me to come over. I hopped up and followed him past the reception area.
There was a slight limp in his gait as he led the way back to his office. Once we were inside, with the door left open, he indicated I could have a seat on another shabby chair. This one had been upholstered with faded, moss green fabric. They must have designed it so no one would want to sit on it long.
Jack Thompson, as he introduced himself, was the deputy who had the so called “unfortunate” task of dealing with me. I noted his messy desk, but that didn’t come as a surprise. It’s a world-wide law that no desk in a police station can be clean and free from masses of paperwork.
"Ms. Sanders, Glenda told me of the concerns you have about your friend,” he spoke in a semi-placating tone. "We did receive a phone call from Aniya Singh's mother last week. It is understandable for her to worry about her daughter, but there isn't enough evidence to make a case. We can’t find any record of this Philip Mercer your friend was supposed to be visiting. That doesn't mean much, since it's possible he doesn't live in the city, but without more information to go on there is nothing we can do. Your traveling up here isn’t going to change that.”
"Deputy Thompson...,” I began.
"Call me Jack."
A little more familiar than I would like, but if it would get him to cooperate…
"Okay, Jack. You have to understand there must be something wrong with Aniya for her to not contact anyone for this long. Are you sure there isn’t something more that can be done?"
He folded his hands and set them in front of him. "The problem is there is no evidence of foul play. Women fly up here all the time to meet men. Some fall in love and stay, others run screaming for civilization. Plenty of girls forget to contact their families for a while. Your friend wouldn't be the first or the last. She and this man are probably out in an area where phones and internet aren't accessible. It's nothing to get worked up about."
“For three weeks? Without telling anyone?”
He shrugged. “It could be for even longer if they went out to the bush. Maybe that’s where he lives and she just hasn’t had a chance to get back in touch.”
Frustrated, I tried a different tactic. "Can you at least take a report of Aniya being missing?"
He sighed. "We don’t feel it’s worth the effort at this point.”
"Okay, but have there been any unidentified women's bodies found in the last few weeks.”
Jack shook his head. "None recently."
I jumped on the way he worded his answer. "There have been some that occurred before, though?”
His face closed off. "It’s nothing to concern yourself about. There’ve been no suspicious deaths in the area in the last few weeks. That’s all you need to know."
My teeth ground together. The one failing of being able to sort out lies from truth is that some people could word things in a careful enough manner that they could get by me. Non-answers and evasion tactics were always good ways to avoid being caught up. It was amazing how many people used the skill even without knowing of my ability.
I stood and laid my hands flat on his desk. “In other words, you made me wait for over an hour to speak with you, so you could say nothing wrong is going on. Is that it?”
He held his hands up. “I’m sorry Ms. Sanders, but we’re short-staffed for detectives right now and I’m busy with a real case. There’s no need for you to get upset.”
A real case? So that’s how he saw it. Why care about one young woman from out of state? I tried a few more questions, hoping to push him into cooperating, but he didn’t budge. He and his colleagues hadn't even bothered to check the address Aniya’s mother had given them. Jack didn't seem concerned when I pointed out its lack of inhabitants. That should have been a red flag.
After a few more attempts to gain his cooperation, I gave up and stormed out of the police department, but not before leaving him my contact information and a picture of Aniya. Just in case.
It was ridiculous that they cared so little about a woman’s life. I didn’t want to believe the police—in any town—could be this careless. If they couldn’t be bothered with Aniya’s disappearance, I doubted they’d be much protection for me if things went wrong. It looked like I’d have to watch my own back. Luckily, I’d already considered this.
A local gun dealer held the .45 Sig Sauer I’d shipped up here a couple days before. Taking it in my luggage hadn't been an option and neither had driving the long distance to transport it. That left the postal system. Mailing a handgun in the United States had been no simple task, but I’d figured it out.
After stating my identity and purpose, the man at the counter asked me to fill out some paperwork before handing the gun over. It felt good to have it back, like my personal security blanket. I purchased some hollow point ammunition for it as well. The weapon wouldn't do much good against vamps, but a well placed bullet of the right caliber could damage a werewolf, along with several other races. Maybe even kill them.
Only a few prying questions slowed me down. The nice man seemed to understand the gun being for safety concerns, which made things easier. He didn’t need to know what kind of threat it was really for. Besides, I considered werewolves and vamps to be a form of wildlife.
***
A few hours and a change of clothes later I was prepared for a night out. My hopes were now pinned to finding locals who might have seen Aniya. The backpack wouldn't be appropriate for the venues I planned to visit, which meant stuffing what I could into my purse. My gun fit in the concealed holster I’d tucked into the back of my pants and a leather jacket worn over a silky tank top covered it up. A few other small weapons of possible use were also hidden underneath my clothes. If all went well, I wouldn't need them, but for the duration of my stay they would always be with me.
The first bar I found appeared to be crowded, despite it not even being dark yet. Of course, the sun wouldn't set until almost 10:30 pm. Most people wouldn't bother to wait that long before going out. The place had a rustic appearance to it with the heads of various animals hung on the walls to add to the ambiance. Hunting game was known to be a big activity up here. I had my own kind of hunting in mind, in the form of whoever took Aniya, but any resulting heads wouldn’t be all that appropriate.
Almost all eyes were on me as I entered. Out of what must have been dozens of patrons, maybe a third of them were women. Maybe the male to female ratio here reflected the average American woman’s living preferences. I suspected most of my gender wouldn’t be caught dead living in a place where it reached a chilling negative sixty degrees in the winter.
Having dealt with even greater gender ratios in the army, I figured it could be used to my advantage. Of course, even buying a drink for myself turned into a challenge. I let the guys come; acting nice enough at first, then flashing Aniya's picture in the hopes they would recognize her. As it turned out, no one did. I had to keep running the prospective suitors off.
It wasn’t my looks that drew them to me as much as my availability. No matter where in the world you go, if a woman walks into a bar alone, it draws male attention. The drunker they are, the worse it gets. After more than an hour of constant attention and no progress, I left to try my luck elsewhere.
The next two places turned out to be a bust as well. The sun had set by the time I reached the fourth at almost eleven o’clock. My senses rose to high alert with the encroaching darkness. There were a couple of werewolves in the vicinity, but none were inside the bar I entered. My range went to about half a mile. They could be at any number of places. So long as they weren't at this one, it didn't matter where they chose to hang out.
At least most witches wouldn’t reduce themselves to watering holes such as this one. The vamps had yet to make an appearance anywhere nearby. It made me wonder if they lived farther outside the city limits. I hadn’t sensed any of them yet.
My current locale had a mixture of military and locals inside. Despite the dim lighting, I managed to count out five women. Four appeared to be wives or girlfriends, based on the protective postures of the men next to them. The fifth woman might have been military. Her clothes were flashy and the hint of tone in her body implied regular exercise. I could see a lot of her due to the short skirt and sleeveless blouse she wore. It almost made me snicker when she tossed her long, red hair back and all the guys followed the movement, almost drooling over the sight. This young woman, who couldn’t have been more than twenty-one, seemed to be enjoying the attention she received. More power to her.
I went straight for the bar, noting the impressive craftsmanship of it. The carved, mahogany wood was smooth against my touch and lined at the edges with shiny brass. A middle-aged man with a heavy beard and dark hair took my drink order while the male attention continued to be diverted to the red-head. He served it to me while I sat on a bar stool drumming my fingers and studying the place.
Two guys walked up a few minutes later. They were both close to my age and semi-sober. I sized them up in a glance and recognized their type. Before either one could speak, I started in on them.
"You two stationed at Ft. Wainwright?"
They both nodded.
The taller one with short blond hair asked, "How’d you know? We haven't seen you around here before."
"I haven't been in town long, but you both have army written a
ll over you with those haircuts.” I smiled so they wouldn't take offense.
"Yeah, that usually gives us away. My name’s Matt and this is Jason.” He pointed at his darker haired friend. "Mind if we take a seat?"
I nodded at the empty bar stools next to me. "Go ahead. So what do you do in the army?"
Matt leaned back and puffed out his chest with pride. "We're airborne infantry."
It took extreme effort not to roll my eyes. Airborne infantry usually served on the front lines in battle and always had big heads. They believed their short lifespan in combat made them braver than everyone else. Little did they know I had been airborne during my career as well, though not infantry, which was reserved for men. It made it hard for me to be impressed.
Not to mention my experiences in the Middle East proved anyone could be attacked. The enemy didn’t care what your official job title was, though mine would have gotten me killed faster if they’d caught me out in the open. I was an interrogator. The bad guys hated us. In the Middle East, we had high dollar price tags on our heads.
"Must be exciting.” I managed to squeeze out a bit of awe into my voice.
Jason spoke up. "I didn’t catch your name."
"That's because I didn't give it.” They weren't going to find out either, safer for all of us.
"Listen guys, I'm not really here for social purposes.” I pulled out the picture of Aniya from my purse and held it up. "Have you seen this girl?"
Jason shook his head, but Matt focused in on it before replying. "As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure I did. Back a few weeks ago, maybe a month."
I sat up straighter. "Where did you see her?"
"Actually, it was here,” Matt answered. “She was with a guy. They didn't stick around long. I only saw them on my way to the bathroom. By the time I came back, both of them had left. Jason, you were here that night too. Don't you remember her? Not a face you could forget.”
Jason shook his head. "Nah, I didn't see her man. A girl like that, though, would grab my attention.” He indicated the picture of Aniya. Her Indian heritage showed. She had a beautiful face and glossy, black hair. The olive tone of her skin would stand out as well.