by Fire
Liam moved to stare over Wy's shoulder at the sheet of paper Wolfe handed her. He also had the check from the processor with him, which Wolfe flourished like the banner of a conquering hero. So many decimal places made Liam dizzy.
"This oughta pay for fixing up that plane of yours, Chouinard," Wolfe said. "Fearsome, what a crowbar can do to the fabric on a wing."
"How did you know they used a crowbar?" Liam said. "In fact, how did you know Wy's plane had been trashed?"
Wolfe gave a practiced shrug. "Hell, trooper, it was all over Newenham five minutes later, just like all the rest of the news."
"I didn't tell anyone about the crowbar," Liam said. "The only other person who knew about the crowbar besides me was the guy using it." He looked at Mulder. Mulder looked stolidly back.
He knew for sure, now, and Mulder knew he knew, and so did Wolfe. But he couldn't prove it, and they knew that, too. Wolfe gave Wy a sly nudge. "Anyway, lucky for you we did so good today."
"Luck had nothing to do with it," Wy said, lost to anything but the numbers on the fish ticket.
"Yeah, you earned your keep," Wolfe said, grin widening. "Well, I'm going to go deposit this check, clean up, and get the book work out of the way," Wolfe said, "and then I'm buying at Bill's. I'll be handing out paychecks there."
"See you then," Wy said.
Wolfe's grin widened even farther. "I just bet I will."
Master and man climbed into the Chevy and drove off. Liam liked nothing about Wolfe--not his cocky arrogance, not his cool assumption of intimacy with Wy, not his relationship, if you could call it that, with Laura Nanalook, and most especially not his air of knowing something Liam didn't. He didn't like Mulder, either, but that was personal, and would be settled personally, at a time and place of Liam's choosing. Alaskan fishing seasons were long, and so were the summer days. As with Wolfe, time was on Liam's side.
John Barton would not have approved, but then John Barton had not been coldcocked with a crowbar on a rainy airfield in the middle of the first night of his posting. In law enforcement, your reputation was even more important than your badge and your gun, and Liam had no intention of beginning his career in Newenham with the word getting around that he could be whacked with impunity. And if he read Wolfe right, word would get around.
He looked over at Wy, who was staring again at the fish ticket. Wy felt his stare and looked up. A tear slid down her cheek. She didn't notice. "You can't know what this means."
Liam remembered John Barton's call that morning. "I can guess." He gestured in the direction of the Cub. "Especially now."
She held the fish ticket up. "Ten percent of this is yours, don't forget." He started to say something, and she waved his words aside. "You earned it. You watched the sky and you didn't throw up down the back of my neck. Believe me, that's not bad for a first-time observer."
"Ten percent?" Liam said.
She smiled. It was a pale imitation of the real thing. "Ten percent. I've got to go--I want to clean up, too. See you later."
She walked off, no spring to her step, and for the first time since he had landed in Newenham no consciousness of their relationship coloring her demeanor, either. She wasn't thinking of him or of her or of them, she was thinking about her bank balance. Given what he knew of her situation, and the tattered wings of the plane parked a row up, he could hardly blame her.
She had mistaken his response. He had not been overwhelmed by his percentage; he had in fact been dismayed by it. Four thousand two hundred sixty-six dollars. That would have been Bob DeCreft's share, had he lived to earn it.
Say for argument's sake a lawyer billed at $100 an hour. It was more than that nowadays, but $100 was easy to divide into $4,266. Fortytwo hours. Liam wondered how many attorney-hours the standard adoption case averaged.
He'd investigated murders committed for the loose change in a man's jeans. Four thousand two hundred sixty-six dollars was a lot more than pocket change.
There were public showers at the harbormaster's. Liam got in at the tail end of a long line and ran out of hot water halfway through. It was after seven before he got back to the post, and when he did, he found Jim Earl pacing up and down the office in an obvious snit. "Where the hell have you been?" hizzoner barked. "I been trying to track you down all day."
"Working on the DeCreft murder case," Liam replied, which was the truth, if not all the truth. He could have added, Not that I'm accountable to anyone except my boss for my actions, but he didn't.
That slowed Jim Earl up a bit, and Liam realized why with his next words. "Oh. Jesus, I forgot. Poor old Bob." By now, everyone Liam had spoken to had called DeCreft "poor old Bob." He hadn't been that poor or that old. Liam wondered what it had been about the man that made people pity him in retrospect. Other than his sudden and violent death.
Jim Earl rallied to his cause. "I wanted to talk to you about Kelly McCormick."
"Who?" Liam said, caught off guard.
Jim Earl glared. "Kelly McCormick, the guy who shot up the post office."
"Oh. Of course. I knew who you meant, the name just slipped my mind for a moment. Press of business and all."
It was a weak defense, and both men knew it. "You even talked to him?"
"Jim Earl," Liam said, a trifle impatiently, "I've been on the ground here in Newenham for"--he checked his watch--"not quite three days. I walked into the middle of a murder and two shootings, and I haven't had time to find someone to press my uniform, much less a place to stay. No, I haven't talked to Kelly McCormick. I've asked around about him. I haven't found out much, and I haven't found him."
With awful sarcasm, Jim Earl inquired, "Did you think of looking for him on his boat? Or at his girlfriend's?"
"I didn't know he had a boat. Or a girlfriend."
"Of course he's got a girlfriend," Jim Earl snapped. "Every girl in this town is looking for a way out of it from the time she reaches puberty on, and the fastest way to get out of it is to waggle their tail feathers in front of some young rooster with a boat and a permit."
"And Kelly McCormick qualifies?"
"You bet your ass he does," Jim Earl said. "In fact the only good thing I can find to say about that boy is that when he's sober, he's one hell of a worker. He catches himself one hell of a lot of salmon. 'Course he immediately drinks it all right down, so that don't mean one hell of a lot."
"What's his boat's name?"
"Hell, I don't know. He called it after some kinda booze or other, the Wild Turkey or the Sloe Gin, something like that."
Liam sighed. "Who's his girlfriend?"
Jim Earl eyed him. "Oh, so I'm supposed to do your work for you, is that it? Listen, boy, I don't expect one hell of a lot out of the Alaska State Troopers, considering the last three to occupy your spot."
The last three? Liam thought. So far he'd only heard about two. Was John holding out on him? What other horror in the Newenham trooper post's past was he responsible for living down?
"Well, hell, all that's past praying for, and at least you can't get knocked up." Jim Earl fixed him with a steely eye. "You can do your job, however, and I expect you to, and one part of your job is to find and arrest the man who fired on our postmaster. The Reverend Gilbert is a fine, good, upstanding, moral man, who never--"
"Reverend?" Liam said.
Jim Earl was momentarily thrown off his stride. "Oh. Ah. Well. Yes. Our postmaster is also the minister of one of our local churches." He brushed this aside brusquely. "But we're getting off track. Yes, one of our young women has set her sights on Kelly McCormick, and yes, he's keeping company with her."
"Does this young woman have a name?"
"Of course she has a name. Oh. Candy. Candy Choknok."
"Where does she live?"
"With her parents, of course."
"Fine," Liam said patiently, "and they live where?"
"Mile 5 on the Lake Road, you can't miss it. The local Native association has a subdivision going in there; Carl Choknok's the chairman of the board, h
e got the first house. First house on the right as you turn right, big blue mother."
There was still plenty of light for a drive out the Lake Road, also known as the Icky road. Not to mention which, it was always good for a trooper stationed in the Bush to curry favor with whatever local authorities there were. Liam combed his hair and then immediately ruined the effect by pulling on the gimme cap with the state trooper insignia on the crown. The lump on his head had almost vanished, and the band of the cap settled over it comfortably.
It took him longer to find the Lake Road than it did to drive to the Choknoks' house. The road was a high, level pile of gravel packed firm and flat, with no potholes to speak of and wide turns you could take a bulldozer around in perfect confidence that you would not sideswipe any oncoming traffic. Liam got to the five-mile marker in less than ten minutes. On the right side of the road was a large sign proclaiming, THE ANGAYUK NATIVE ASSOCIATION PRESENTS THE ANIPA SUBDIVISION: AFFORDABLE HOMES FOR NATIVE SHAREHOLDERS. A HUD PROGRAM.
That portion of the Lake Road that continued on beyond the sign deteriorated significantly; from where he sat Liam could see washboarding, soft shoulders, and a dozen potholes of a size to compete with the ones on the road from the airport. He turned off it with gratitude.
The first house on the right was big and it was certainly blue, an electric blue that looked as if it might glow in the dark. It was all blue, too--the porch and the steps that led up to it, the window frames, the door, the eaves. The only thing that wasn't blue was the roof, and that was because it was neatly shingled with black asphalt tiles. Liam got the feeling that if it had been at all possible, they would have been blue, too.
As he got out, a raven backwinged to a landing in a nearby tree and was scolded by a squirrel who had thought that it was his spruce. They yelled at each other while Liam went up and knocked on the door of the blue house. A young woman answered. She was short, stocky, and dark-haired, with a round face, clear skin, and intelligent dark eyes. She looked first at the badge on his cap and then at his face. "Hello."
He doffed his cap. "Hello, ma'am. I am State Trooper Liam Campbell. I'm looking for Candy Choknok."
"I'm Candy Choknok," she said.
Someone called from inside the house. "Candy? Who is it?"
"It's all right, Dad, it's for me. We can talk on the porch," she said, stepping outside and closing the door behind her.
"All right," Liam said. They leaned back against opposite sides of the railing and regarded each other in unsmiling silence. "Nice house."
She unbent a trifle. "Thank you."
He tried to break the ice, and gestured at the sign. "I'm new in Newenham, Ms. Choknok. Is "anipa" Yupik for something?"
"Owl," she said.
"Owl," Liam said. "You get a lot of owls hereabouts?"
"A few." She regarded him steadily and without expression.
"I haven't seen any owls myself, at least not yet." The raven clicked at them from the tree. "On the other hand, I have been seeing a whole hell of a lot of ravens."
"Yes."
"Mmm." Enough small talk. "I'm really looking for Kelly McCormick, Ms. Choknok. I need to talk to him about an investigation I am conducting. I have reason to believe that you might know where he is."
"I might," she agreed. She was very much in control of herself and in command of the situation--a selfpossessed young woman, with a natural dignity and a solid presence. "I imagine you want to talk to him about the shooting at the post office yesterday morning."
In Liam's professional experience, very few people were as forthcoming as Ms. Choknok without having an agenda of their own to put into motion. "I might," he agreed cautiously, and pulled out his notebook.
"Kelly's an idiot," she said in a tone of dispassionate observation, "and he is especially idiotic when he has been drinking."
"And had he been drinking yesterday morning?"
"I'd say he'd been drinking pretty much all night," she said coolly. "He started out at Bill's, as I understand it, and then continued on at Tasha's."
"Tasha's?"
"It was a party at a friend's house. Tatiana Anayuk." She spelled it for him and gave him the friend's phone number. "He had been drinking before I got there, and when I left, he still was."
"About what time was that?"
"A little after eleven. My curfew is midnight, and Tasha lives on the bluff south of town. I didn't want to be late. My parents worry."
"I see," Liam said, making a note. "Ms. Choknok, do you have any idea why Mr. McCormick would take it into his head to shoot up the post office?"
For the first time she hesitated, glancing back at the house. "Like I said, he'd been drinking. And when Kelly's been drinking, pretty much anything goes."
There was something she was not telling him, but that was all she was prepared to say at the moment, and by the stubborn set of her very firm chin he knew there was no point in pursuing it. One thing he couldn't resist. "Why are you telling me all this, Ms. Choknok? I had heard--" He hesitated.
She stood up and brushed off the seat of her pants. "You had heard that Kelly McCormick was my blue ticket out of Newenham."
"Well, yes."
She offered him a chilly smile. "He was. My parents are so scared I'm going to marry him that they offered to send me away to the University of Washington."
Out of curiosity, Liam asked, "Where were they going to send you?"
"At first, nowhere--they didn't want me leaving home. Then, when I insisted on going to college, they decided on the University of Alaska." The chilly smile broadened, just a little. "Kelly McCormick's alma mater, or would have been, if he hadn't dropped out last year. He told my folks he still had friends there, that they'd look after me."
Not just intelligent, Liam thought, positively Machiavellian. "Well, I wish you the very best of luck, Ms. Choknok." Not that it looked like she needed any, being the kind to make her own. On impulse, he said, "What are you planning on studying?"
Her expression didn't change. "Psychology."
"Of course you are," Liam agreed cordially. "I understand they have an excellent psychology program at U-Dub."
"That is my understanding as well."
Liam folded up his notebook. "Oh, I almost forgot. One more thing, Ms. Choknok. Can you tell me the name of Kelly's boat?"
"Certainly," she said. "The Yukon Jack. She's a--"
"--white thirty-six-footer with a red trim line looks like it should be on a Nike sneaker," Liam said resignedly.
"Why, yes. She's parked right next to--"
"--the Mary J.," Liam said. He tucked his notebook into his pocket. "Thank you for all your help, Ms. Choknok. Good-bye, and good luck."
She inclined her head once, with all the graciousness of a queen at home on her own court.
* * *
THIRTEEN
He went back to the office and called Tatiana Anayuk's number. A breathless, girlish voice with a permanent giggle implanted in it answered. "Yes, this is Tatiana Anayuk. Who is this?"
"This is Liam Campbell, Ms. Anayuk. I'm--"
"Tasha."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Tasha. Everybody calls me Tasha."
"Oh. Ah. Well, uh, Tasha, then. This is--"
"You have a wonderful voice--has anybody ever told you that? Deep, and low, and kind of growly. I like it."
"Thank you," Liam said. "My name is Liam Campbell. I'm with the state troopers, and I'm--"
"Oh, I love your uniforms!"
"Pardon me?"
"Especially the hats. They make you all look like Mounties." Giggle. "And Smokey the Bear."
"Thank you," Liam said dryly, "you're not the first person to say so. Ms. Anayuk, I've just come from talking to Candy Choknok."
"Oh, Candy, sure. She's my very best friend." A momentary pause. "She's not in trouble, is she?"
"No, I just wanted to ask her a few questions about a friend of hers. She said the last time she saw him was at your house last night."
"O
h gosh, I guess you mean Kelly?"
"Kelly McCormick," Liam confirmed.
"Poor Kelly," Tasha said. Another giggle. "That boy sure tied himself one on, and when he does that--look out!"
"How late did he stay last night?"
"Golly, Lee--"
"Liam," Liam said before he could stop himself.
"Liam--isn't that a nice name; is that like Liam Neeson? I just think he's the absolute most. I cried and cried when I saw Schindler's List, and wow does he look good in a kilt! Only I don't think he wore a kilt in Schindler's List, did he?"
"Tasha, do you remember how late Kelly McCormick was at your party last night?"
"Gosh, I don't know. Mickey Boyd was over, and, well, you know." Tasha's giggle was kittenish and appealing, but Liam was growing tired of hearing it. "We're throwing another party tonight, Liam. You guys have to go off duty sometime, right?"
There were days on the job when Liam thought the larger part of his salary subsidized his patience during witness interviews. Other days he couldn't decide which was worse: a lying witness, or a flirtatious one. "When was the last time you remember seeing him?"
"Gosh, I don't know. After eleven, anyway."
"Why after eleven?"
Again with the giggle. Liam gritted his teeth. "That's when the flatfoot contest was."
"Flatfoot contest?"
"You know, flatfooting pints. Kelly flatfooted a pint of Everclear. Candy said he was going to go blind, but then she's always been such a party pooper."
"A shame," Liam agreed gravely, and made a mental note to offer Ms. Choknok a ride to the airport to catch her university-bound plane when the time came. "And Mr. McCormick left following the, er, flatfooting contest."
"Yeah," Tasha said regretfully. "Larry Jacobson started puking his guts out right after; it was so gross. We would have made Kelly take him back to the boat."
"Larry Jacobson?"
"Yes, him and Kelly are friends. I think they fish together or something, too," she added vaguely.
Liam remembered the lump in the starboard bunk of the Mary J., the lump named Mac. Son of a bitch. He said, "But you couldn't send Mr. Jacobson home with Mr. McCormick because Mr. McCormick was already gone, is that the deal?"