Nik Kane Alaska Mystery - 02 - Capitol Offense

by Mike Doogan

  “Pretty much everything you can see from here is state government,” Alma said. “It’s what keeps Juneau going.”

  Kane let her pick the lunch spot, so they walked carefully downhill, avoiding the biggest patches of ice. Alma took a cigarette from her purse and gestured with it.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” she said.

  “I don’t,” Kane said, “but I thought smoking was not politically correct anymore.”

  “It’s not,” Alma said. She stopped, turned her back, and cupped the cigarette to light it. Turning, she sucked in a lungful of smoke and let it trickle out her nostrils. “I guess I’m just an addictive personality. You don’t smoke?”

  “I did,” Kane said with a wry smile, “but I had the opportunity to break the habit.”

  As they chatted their way downhill, they passed several men chipping ice off the sidewalks. That and all the ice melt spread around made the footing better, but both Kane and the woman placed their feet carefully. During the walk, Kane learned that Alma was thirty-two, originally from Minnesota and working her tenth legislative session, all of them for Grantham. She also said that she was thinking about giving up legislative work to go to law school.

  “It’s just not as much fun as it used to be,” she said.

  They reached the narrow strip of flat land that rimmed the water. Across the street was a big, blue, shedlike building built out over the channel on pilings.

  “This was once the hangar for the airline that flew seaplanes out of Juneau,” Alma said. “They’d take off and land in the channel right there. A man who’d ridden in them said that the first time he took off in one, there was so much water splashing over the little porthole window he thought they were sinking.”

  The building held a number of places to eat and a few tourist shops. Their restaurant was built along the channel side of the building, big windows giving a view of the water and Douglas Island beyond. Both the bar and the restaurant were packed.

  “Do you live in Juneau?” Kane asked as they waited for a table.

  “Year-round, you mean?” Alma said. “No. I spend the interim, the time between sessions, in Anchorage. Here I rent a place across the channel. In fact, you can just see it from here, a little brown place down by the water.”

  She took his arm, pulled him close, and pointed. Kane looked along her arm and pretended to see her place.

  “You come back to the same place every year?” he asked.

  She smiled.

  “One of the perquisites of being a longtime staffer,” she said. “I’ve got the moving back and forth thing down pretty well.”

  One of the waitstaff led them to a table well away from the windows.

  “This is what comes of not being anybody,” Alma said. “The window tables are full of lobbyists and legislators and important staffers.”

  Kane picked up the menu, scanned it, and set it down again.

  “Was Melinda Foxx an important staffer?” he asked.

  Alma set her menu on top of his.

  “I suppose I can talk to you about this,” she said, “or else the senator would have said something. But even though I don’t really know much, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone we discussed this subject. As you just saw, the media pressure on this is tremendous, and that means the political pressure is, too. I don’t want the press hounding me, or anything I say to cause problems for my boss.”

  Kane nodded.

  “Fair enough,” he said. “I suppose everyone I talk to about this is going to be a little wary. So I won’t tell anyone we’ve talked about this. Now, was Melinda Foxx an important staffer?”

  Alma looked at him for a time.

  “I suppose I’ll just have to trust you,” she said. “Was Melinda important? Yes. Many of the most important bills have to go through the Finance Committee, and she was in a position to affect what happened to them. So she was important.”

  The waitress brought them water and bread and said she’d be right back.

  “Tell me about the civil unions bill,” Kane said.

  “There’s not much to tell, really,” Alma said. “When Senator Hope introduced the bill last session, everyone thought it was just for show. Something to energize his support among progressives. Alaska is such a conservative place, no one thought the bill had a chance. But the bill actually moved through a couple of committees. Nobody knows how. Then it got sent to the Finance Committee, and now it’s stuck there.”

  “I read an article about it,” Kane said. “Senator Potter and his allies have some pretty old-fashioned views about homosexuality.”

  Alma laughed.

  “Old-fashioned,” she said. “I like that. They’re a bunch of bigots, is what they are.”

  “So you think civil unions are a good idea?” Kane asked.

  Alma gave him a look.

  “I’m a woman who likes men,” she said with some heat. “Does that mean I should have more legal protections than a woman who likes women?”

  Kane raised a hand in defense.

  “Hey, I’ve got nothing against gay people,” he said, “and I don’t know enough about civil unions to know whether they’re a good idea. Marriage isn’t working out so well for a lot of straight people these days.”

  Like me, he thought.

  “I’m sorry to bite your head off,” she said. “It’s just that the system stacks the deck against getting anything progressive done because it gives power to Cro-Magnons like O. B. Potter. The civil unions bill isn’t the only piece of legislation stuck in his committee.”

  “Did Melinda Foxx have strong feelings about the bill?” Kane asked.

  “If she did, she kept them to herself,” Alma said.

  She gave an embarrassed smile.

  “Like I should be doing,” she said. “It isn’t really smart for staffers to express opinions on policy issues.”

  The smile left her face and she knit her brows.

  I’m paying an awful lot of attention to the way she looks, Kane thought. Danger, Will Robinson. Danger.

  “Why are you asking so much about that bill?” Alma asked.

  Kane shrugged.

  “I’m not sure,” he said, “except that legislative politics are Matthew Hope’s business and were Melinda Foxx’s business, and understanding what people do for a living helps me to understand them.”

  “Is that what you try to do?” Alma asked. “Understand people? I thought detectives looked for evidence and clues and stuff.”

  The waitress returned. Alma ordered a salad. So did Kane, along with a cup of coffee. When Alma raised an eyebrow at him, he said, “Fighting my weight. I’ve finally got it down to where I want it, but keeping it there isn’t easy.”

  “Tell me about it,” Alma said “That’s why there’s something called the Juneau Twenty. It’s the twenty pounds most everyone gains every session from all the free eating and drinking down here.”

  The waitress left.

  “You asked about evidence and clues and stuff?” Kane said. “People love to think of detecting as a scientific enterprise these days, particularly with all these CSI shows on TV. But I’ve never put much stock in that. I’m certain that something in Melinda Foxx’s life caused someone to kill her, and if I can figure out what that was I’ll find the murderer. So I’m trying to find out as much as I can about her whole life. So you don’t know what she thought about the civil unions bill?”

  It was Alma’s turn to shrug.

  “I haven’t got a clue,” she said. “Like I said, it’s a bad idea for staffers to express their personal views on legislation. Particularly if they have a boss with ambitions for higher office.”

  “Senator Potter has ambitions?” Kane said “What ambitions are those?”

  “The story is that he’s thinking of running for governor, like practically everyone else,” Alma said. “Governor Hiram Putnam is so low in the polls that this table would have a good chance against him. And the rumor going around is that the price to get even
the mildest bill out of that committee is financial support for Senator Potter’s run for governor.”

  Kane took out his notebook and made a note.

  “That’s not legal, is it?” he asked.

  Alma shook her head.

  “No,” she said, “but quite a few legislators don’t seem to care much about legalities. Including Senator Potter.”

  Kane wrote for a minute, then asked, “Was Melinda Foxx important to you and your boss? Did—does Senator Grantham have a bill he wants to get through the Finance Committee?”

  Alma shook her head.

  “When you’ve been in the legislature as long as he has, and in the minority as long as he has, you know that you’re not going to get any bills passed, so you don’t bother,” she said. “You introduce the bills, so you have something to show the voters, but you know that someone in the majority will steal the idea if they think it’s any good, and otherwise your bills are going to just sit there.”

  “That must be frustrating,” Kane said.

  Alma nodded.

  “It is,” she said, then added quickly, “but it’s the way things are. It’s not a reason to kill somebody, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  Kane looked out over the room full of people. The ones at the window tables were talking loudest and gesturing most broadly. Like they’re on stage, Kane thought. And I guess in a way they are.

  Alma shifted in her seat so she could take in the whole crowd.

  “I know someone at every one of these tables,” she said. “I’ve been here too long.”

  The waitress brought Kane’s coffee. It wasn’t as watery as the hotel coffee, but it wasn’t great.

  “What about other legislation?” he asked. “Like the oil tax bill?”

  “I see,” Alma said. “My senator was giving you his ‘importance of oil taxes’ speech. Well, he’s right. Before the White Rose Murder, the press was focused on the domestic partners bill, but the legislature—the governor’s office, too, for that matter—was focused on oil taxes. Now the press is focused on the murder and the legislature is still focused on oil taxes.”

  She paused.

  “Although I suppose the two are related in a way,” she said.

  “The murder and oil taxes?” Kane said. “How?”

  “Everyone thinks that if the oil tax bill gets to the floor, the vote will be very close,” she said, “so close that if Matthew Hope—or any other senator likely to vote for it—isn’t there, or changes their vote, the bill will fail.”

  “And lots of people would like it to fail?” Kane said.

  Alma nodded.

  “There’s the oil companies, the lobbyists they employ, their political allies,” she said, “and, of course, the governor.”

  “Why would the governor want it to fail?” Kane asked.

  “Because if it passes,” Alma said, “the governor will have to either veto a bill that the polls show Alaskans support, or sign a bill his main political financers, the oil companies, oppose. So he’d much rather it just died in the Senate.”

  Kane sat quietly for a moment.

  “This is complicated, isn’t it?” he said. “And cold-blooded.”

  Alma laughed.

  “Complicated and cold-blooded,” she said. “That’s a pretty good description of Alaska politics.”

  Kane thought some more.

  “Your boss said the oil tax bill is worth hundreds of millions of dollars,” he said. “I can understand that as a motive for political action. Even for murder.”

  Alma shook her head.

  “That’s just politics,” she said. “Nobody gets killed because of politics.”

  Kane thought about his time in Vietnam but didn’t say anything. The waitress set their salads in front of them. Kane and Alma ate for a while, then he said, “I’m not sure I understand the reason for all this political maneuvering. If it’s just a question of Alaska getting fair value for its oil, why not just raise the taxes and be done with it?”

  Alma opened her mouth to speak, but Kane raised a hand.

  “Don’t bother answering that,” he said. “I’m sure it is hopelessly naive and completely unrealistic. Tell me instead about what you know about Melinda Foxx as a staffer.”

  Alma ate for a while longer, then drank some water.

  “I know that this is, was, her second session,” she said. “I know that she was very smart and picked things up quickly. I know that the bill part of the committee ran very smoothly, and that it wouldn’t have been long before she was running Senator Potter’s entire office. If she could get around Ms. Senator Potter, that is.”

  Kane raised an eyebrow.

  “Senator Potter’s daughter, Letitia,” Alma said. “She spends a lot of time in his office. Some people say it’s so he can keep an eye on her. Others say it’s so she can keep an eye on him.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He might be old, but he’s got fast hands, that man.” She raised her voice again. “Whatever the reason, she’s there a lot and acts like the chief of staff. So Melinda would have had to reach some sort of accommodation with her.”

  She forked up some salad.

  “Did you know Miss Foxx personally?” Kane asked.

  Alma nodded, swallowed, and said, “A little. Staffers usually hang out with other staffers from their own party. But my senator loves information about what the majority is up to, so it’s sort of part of my job to keep an eye on their staff. I talk with them some, hang out with them some, drink with them some. So I knew Melinda Foxx better than I otherwise might.”

  She ate more salad and seemed to be marshaling her thoughts.

  “Melinda was very ambitious,” Alma said, “but in some ways very naive, too. Like you were saying, she thought that good public policy was more important than politics. Everybody comes in here like that. Most of us get over it, but Melinda hadn’t. At least she said she hadn’t.”

  “Do you have some reason to doubt her?” Kane asked.

  “Not really,” Alma said. “But around here you quickly learn not to take things at face value. Anyway, she seemed, I don’t know, satisfied enough with her job. And then, maybe six months ago, she started acting differently. Happier, I guess. Like something was working out well for her.”

  “Got any idea what?” Kane asked.

  “I don’t,” Alma said. “If it was something in her office, I’d be the last to hear about it. And as far as I know, Melinda had put her private life on hold. At least I never heard about her dating anybody.”

  Kane found that his plate was empty. He was still hungry.

  That’s the problem with salad, he thought. It doesn’t really fill you up.

  “So you don’t know why she changed?” he asked.

  “I don’t,” she said. “Maybe one of her coworkers could tell you. But I suppose you’ll find it difficult to get any of them to talk to you.”

  Alma finished her salad, set her fork neatly on the plate, and pushed it away from her. Kane caught the waitress’s attention and made a writing motion in the air.

  “I don’t know,” he said to Alma, “I can be surprisingly charming.”

  That earned him a grin. The waitress handed him the bill. Alma reached for her purse, but Kane waved her away.

  “My treat,” he said, and laid some cash on the bill. He helped her into her coat and they left the restaurant.

  “I’ll bet half the people in that room are wondering who you are,” she said.

  “Only half?” Kane said. “I’m disappointed.”

  Alma laughed.

  “I don’t know what we’d do for entertainment here without gossip,” she said.

  They stepped out the door and Alma quickly lit a cigarette. As they walked up the hill, Kane said, “And what about Senator Hope? What do you know about him?”

  Alma blew smoke.

  “His politics are great,” she said. “He really seems to believe in good government and helping people. Some people say that’s just show, because he wants to be gov
ernor, but that’s not what I think. Politically, he’s very attractive.”

  “And personally?” Kane said.

  “Personally, he’s very attractive, too,” Alma said. “He and I came to the legislature the same year, and I know a lot of the women wanted to serve under him, if you know what I mean. More than one of them did, according to rumor. The women he’s dated say he is very nice and considerate, but he never dated the same woman for very long and none of them succeeded in snaring him.”

  “Were you one of the women he dated?” Kane asked.

  Alma shook her head.

  “No,” she said in a tone Kane couldn’t quite identify, “I was busy with other things.”

  They walked the rest of the way in silence, Alma smoking and Kane lost in thought. A large crowd had gathered in front of the Capitol, carrying signs that said things like: “Support Public Education” and “Children Are Our Future.” A tall, bald man in a suit stood on the landing. He seemed to be just wrapping up a speech over a portable sound system.

  “What’s that about?” Kane asked.

  “Teachers’ fly-in,” Alma said. When Kane gave her a questioning look, she went on, “People come to Juneau to put pressure on the legislature all session. There are probably two or three demonstrations like this a week, plus people visiting offices and packing the galleries and so on. Today, it’s teachers.”

  “What do they want?” Kane asked.

  “What most everybody wants,” Alma said. “More money. That’s why the oil tax bill is so important to the legislature. They can use the extra money to make everybody happy.”

  Alma dropped her cigarette on the sidewalk and ground it out with her toe, then picked up the butt.

  “Don’t want to litter,” she said. “It’s not environmentally friendly.”

  Kane and Alma wound their way through the departing crowd, then climbed the steps. When they reached the entrance, Alma dropped her cigarette butt into an ashtray.

  “Can you think of any reason Matthew Hope would have for murdering Melinda Foxx?” he asked.

  Alma shook her head.

  “I can’t,” she said, “but I can’t think of any reason anyone else would, either.”