“It was rough sometimes. All the boys wanted her; all the girls wanted to be like her. When we got older, when she decided to get married, I felt like she was just doing it because Brian and I were married and happy. Marriage for Nancy never worked out because she turned into the kind of woman who took husbands away from wives.”
There was some real dirty laundry that needed airing out, Meghan considered. It wasn’t going to help her figure out who killed Cheryl’s sister unless some of the dirty shirts or underwear had names written in the collar or waistbands. She finished the coffee, asked Brian and Cheryl to make themselves available if she needed to speak to them again.
Chapter Nine
Meghan returned to the police station feeling heavy, burdened by the responsibility of investigating a murder without the proper equipment or personnel, and the layers of outwear Meghan shed as soon as she unlocked the door.
Kinguyakkii Police Department was a name more than a permanent building. Oliver and Lester took turns, answering phone calls to the department. The town didn’t have a 911 dispatcher or funding for a call center, but they had Oliver and Lester, who knew everyone in and around town. Most of the calls to the department were handled over the phone, sometimes with follow-up if there was theft or damages involved.
Lester sometimes let his wife answer police department calls when he was on-duty. Silvia Graves had a direct approach to most calls, fielding insults, and punting accusations at the callers, sometimes getting feuding couples on the phone together and conduct a relationship intervention right then. For all the quirkiness of the town, it worked.
There were two modular contractor trailers put together that made up the physical building of the police station. Like most of the buildings, even the temporary ones in Kinguyakkii were aboveground structures. Digging into the tundra wasn’t how to make structures stable.
Even the hotel and Mountain Manor, two of the most significant buildings in the village, were constructed on top of the tundra, icy slurry that had a temperament of molasses when the weather warmed up. Larger structures needed the ground frozen to keep from pulling apart the building at the seams. Long steel poles surrounded the buildings, driven deep into the tundra to keep the land stable. Sealed refrigerant moves down when the weather gets too warm up top, and up when the ground is frozen.
After construction, the contractors leave behind most of the leftover building materials, including the contractor trailers. Wisely, years ago, someone from town thought it was a good idea to have two of the contractor trailers welded together and placed next door to the town hall.
Meghan’s office was used for storage when she first arrived. It was the only place inside the building, other than the tiny bathroom, that had a door. Claiming the room as office space meant to shift around the years of accumulated files and boxes that had no relevance to policing and needed to go away entirely.
Once out of the cold weather gear, Meghan rounded the desk to boot up the laptop, her personal computer since the town was too stingy to spring for a department computer. Meghan fished the memory card from her pants pocket and slipped it into the laptop.
Oliver had an eye for detail. He took hundreds of photographs and knew what looked important. She liked what he saw through the camera lens.
“What the hell is going on!”
Meghan jumped in her seat and looked up at the man staring at her from the doorway of her office. She’d locked the outer door to the station. Lester was still collecting information on flights leaving town. Since it was after five in the evening, Silvia probably called him home again for dinner.
Oliver volunteered to patrol the town since Meghan was tied up with the investigation. Nancy’s body was safely tucked away at the trading post store, and she hadn’t had a moment to herself all day.
Duane Warren was the mayor of Kinguyakkii. He wore the title ‘Mayor’ on every piece of outerwear, sweatshirt, and t-shirt he owned. While they had no budget for simple things like paper or pens, somehow the town hall had money in the budget for embroidery.
“You scared the shit out of me!” Meghan recovered, straightened in her chair and went back to the laptop screen.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
Rumor had it that Duane grew up in Seattle, earned a law degree, and through the course of impractical means, was eventually disbarred and disgraced, and escaped to Alaska, using his limited imagination to run the Town of Northern Lights into the ground while no one was looking.
“I’m doing my job.” She concentrated on the image files, making folders, and filing them accordingly. She glanced up at him. “What did you need?”
“You’re not supposed to be investigating a murder. That’s a job for the troopers.”
“I’m gathering all the preliminary evidence, Duane. They’ll thank me for the extra work.”
“Did you even call them?” Duane was somewhere between forty and sixty years of age. There was something about living inside the Arctic Circle that made it hard to gauge ages on a glance. Trees didn’t grow in the Arctic because the root system needed deep soil to stand firm. Lichen, grass, herbs, and shrubs grew in clusters, close to the ground to protect plants against cold winds. Deeper into the field was supposed to be frozen. It made it hard to make basements, trees to grow, and bury the dead. Somehow, living in crisp air made people age differently than in the real world.
“I’m going to call them in a while. I want to get my report written up and send it to them.”
“That’s not how we do things around here.” He stood with fists on his hips as if scolding Meghan. She failed to be intimidated by him.
“Look, Duane, do I come over to town hall to tell you how to do your job?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, you do.”
“Well, that’s because you never have enough budget for the police department. Other than that, you do whatever it is you do there, and I suggest you let me do my job.”
“You know, I’m a lawyer, I know what you’re supposed to be doing. You’re not supposed to be investigating a murder by yourself.”
Meghan refused to stoop lower than Duane when it came to dishing out insults. So far, he was moderately civil. She stood up. While she wanted to point out to him that he’d been disbarred, it wouldn’t get anything accomplished, only make him bitterer.
Instead, she walked around the desk, pulled at the hem of her sweater, conscious of her hips, and walked toward him. She wasn’t very tall. Tall enough for the FBI and that’s all that mattered at one time. But like most of the mountain men in town, burly, broad shoulders, bearded, Duane practically towered over her.
“I would appreciate it if you didn’t sneak into the station. I locked the door. You have a key—”
“I’m the mayor—”
“I’m the Chief of Police. This is my place of business. I don’t have a key to town hall, Duane. I would appreciate if you went back to your office, and I will return to mine.” She managed to back him out the office door and closed it between them.
Meghan returned to the desk. She couldn’t see Duane hovering outside the door, but she knew he didn’t have a key to her office. “You need to call the trooper, Sheppard!” The thin door muted his voice.
“Thank you, Duane. Goodnight.” Meghan sighed and continued to organize the images. There was a ticking in her head that was exasperated by the sudden and unexpected appearance of Duane. It was hours since the discovery of the body. She had jurisdiction in town and the surrounding villages because there was never enough Alaskan State Troopers to go around. She wasn’t elected as a county sheriff; Meghan was hired to do the job. Meghan wasn’t dictated to do anything that didn’t fit her idea of what was her job.
Anchorage was the seat of the Alaska State Troopers. There was a designated telephone number to call. Once she reached someone, after what felt like ten minutes of automated prompts, the person on the phone sounded more annoyed than worried about the reason she called.
“So, the infamous Megh
an Sheppard,” he addressed her.
“Well, now, that’s no way to start a conversation, Detective.”
He’d come on the line after a five-minute hold filled with terrible jazz melodies. Gregory Anderson was the name he gave as soon as he came on the line. Meghan took a moment to throw ‘Detective Gregory Anderson’ in the search bar on the internet to see what came back at her. He was a little overweight according to the few photos that popped up. She’d never heard of him before; clearly, he knew Meghan through police channels. Anderson was one of the five violent crime detectives with the State Troopers.
“You got yourself a murder I hear.”
It took her by surprise. “How do you know already?”
“We got little birds in town.”
“By little birds you mean anyone with a phone and an ear to the crowd?”
“That works,” he mumbled indifferently.
“I’m finishing up the preliminary report and can email it to you in an hour or so.”
“That works. You get some pictures too?”
“I did.”
“We’ve flagged all the flights from your area of the woods.”
“I had one of my officers collect passenger manifests from the outgoing flights since Friday night.”
“Anyone leaving by boat?” he asked.
“We’ve got break up happening right now.”
“It’s a little early for break up.”
“Well, times are changing.” Ice on the river and bay made stable travel avenue when it was solid. An inch of ice could hold a lot of weight. Four inches thick was suitable for walking, skating, and fast machines like four-wheelers or snowmobiles. Thicker ice meant heavier vehicles. Cars, trucks, sometimes heavy operation equipment were driven downriver from town during cold weather.
Now with break up, icy was iffy and not stable. Those slabs of ice dropped in a second, once the water started moving again, it hauled tons of ice out to the bay. Ice was dangerous and unpredictable. When it was free-flowing, no one could drive on it, and the rivers were too dangerous to navigate boats because hulls would be shredded.
“So, no boats and no one is stupid enough to drive out of town.” Detective Anderson was aware of the logistics of living in ‘bush Alaska,’ the only way out of town that time of year was by plane. His comment suggested Anderson had no patience for villagers. Most people who didn’t understand the balance of living in rural Alaska thought most people in villages were hillbillies or hiding out. Meghan was neither of those, plus, she respected the Native Alaskans who refused to bend to the whims of ethnology that didn’t impact them directly.
“You got a one-off thing.” He still seemed bored by the event. “What happened to her?”
“I see you’re already up on who and what, just not the how?”
“If I had to guess, your victim was either beaten to death or strangled.”
“Nancy McCormick was strangled.” She looked at the scribbling in her notebook. “I got an ex-husband named Peter McCormick. I think he either lives in Anchorage or Arizona. I’m not sure which.” It was essential to have empathy for the job; many people who dealt with death daily became jaded. Meghan liked keeping in mind that she was solving a crime against a person, someone who lived and breathed, and not just the shell or a case number. Anderson threw around ‘victim’ like Nancy was just another statistic.
“I’ll see if we can find out where he was at the time of the incident.”
“Her sister mentioned that their relationship was a little strained. I’m pretty sure he’s not in town.”
“You got any leads?”
“She worked as a waitress for her sister and brother in-law’s restaurant. Nancy kept tip money in a cookie tin on her fridge. The money’s gone. I have tons of fingerprints. I’ll eliminate the family, or at least put them into perspective.”
“Sounds like you got a handle on it on your end. Where’s the body?”
“For now, our coroner has it stored in the cooler at the trading post.”
Anderson chuckled. “You mean Eric Kennedy?”
“Yeah, anything I should know about him?”
“Not really, he fancies himself an amateur pathologist. Once performed an autopsy on a village elder at the request of the family.”
“He’s not a licensed doctor, right?”
“Nope, but no one pressed charges either. Your predecessor was a bit of a coot, and things were a little backward then. It’s still a good story to tell.”
“I’ll pass.” She waited a while, listening to the rattle of the floorboard heater in the office. Anderson shuffled papers on the other end of the line.
“You send what you got for evidence; I’ll have the detective in charge of that area contact you sometime tomorrow. You got a one-off.”
“You keep saying that.”
“You’ve been in Kinguyakkii long enough to know how it works there. The last murder was twenty years ago.” Anderson pronounced it ‘King-U-Aki-Aki,’ and it wasn’t half bad except he left out one of the syllables.
“That murder is still unsolved, by the way. And it’s been fifteen years.”
Anderson didn’t bite at the facts. “Someone will eventually start talking. Once that happens, hook him up, and we’ll be by to pick him up.”
“You’re thinking it’s a man?”
He laughed because Meghan had a reputation and it spread all the way to Anchorage. “You already know the answer, Sheppard. Finish up what you’ve got, send it, and enjoy the rest of your night.” He ended the call with an abrupt ‘goodbye’ and Meghan went through the motion of writing a report on the murder for the detective.
Chapter Ten
When the smartphone rang on the desk, Meghan didn’t recognize the phone number. “This is Chief Sheppard.”
“Hey, Meg—Chief Sheppard, this is Calvin Everett—”
“I am not at liberty to talk about an on-going investigation.”
“This isn’t about that,” he said hurriedly, hoping to get in the information before she ended the call. “I’m calling because I saw the light on in the office. I wanted to check on you.”
“I’m still working, Mr. Everett. That’s what police officers do when there’s been a crime. We continue to do our jobs.”
“It’s Calvin, Chief Sheppard. Just Calvin,” he said with a sigh. “I know you don’t trust me. I get it, I’m a reporter, and you’re a cop. Our relationship is supposed to be tumultuous, and sometimes at odds, it’s kind of cliché actually. I’m just a guy that does a job, and people appreciate what I do. They appreciate what you do too.”
“Doesn’t feel like it,” she admitted.
“That’s because you never let anyone in. Since you took the job, you don’t share anything with anyone.”
“I know there’s a cool little thing on the computer you can type my name into and get all sorts of torrid information.”
“I’m not talking about that. You make yourself unavailable to the community, and when they need you, you want to make sure they can reach out to you.”
“Is that why you’re calling me? To reach out to me?”
“It is, and I’m extending a hand in trust. Also, I noticed you hadn’t eaten anything today.”
Meghan frowned. “How would you know that?”
“Look to your left.”
Meghan glanced to her left shoulder. While the trailers were elevated, the small window in the office showed the barren field on the east side of the building. Calvin sat behind the wheel of his little lime green Ford Focus. Vehicles that came to villages in rural Alaska rarely escaped. People used cars and trucks, sold them to others when they could move on. Calvin was the fifth or seventh owner of the Ford much in the way the police Suburban started as the school bus thirty years ago and evolved into something else.
He sat waving at her with the dome light. “I brought dinner. Are you in the mood for Chinese takeout?”
***
Relenting to an empty stomach, Meghan unlocked the d
oor and let Calvin in. He had showered, shaved, and smelled of aftershave. Meghan ignored him the best she could and led him through the small swinging door that separated the front counter from the rest of police operations.
There was enough room for a sizeable Formica table and a collection of mismatched office chairs. Calvin put out the paper bags he brought. Meghan grabbed the stack of paper plates and napkins.
“I should probably pay you for the food.” She sat at the table, stomach growling.
“Consider it a peace offering.” Calvin went through the bags and held up containers. “We’ve got egg rolls, churros, fried rice, refried beans, soft tacos, and spicy chicken.” He grinned. “Take your pick.”
“Is there anywhere else on the planet where we have traditional Chinese and Authentic Mexican food at the same place?” She collected a smattering of each dish and an egg roll and was unable to pass on the churro.
They ate quietly together, facing each other across the full warped table. He had questions; she saw it on his face, the small lines at the corner of his eyes from squinting staring across snow when it was sunny. Sunlight reflecting off the snow was serious business in the north. At least, most of the thick snow had already melted away, leaving the mud, muck, and rutty ground.
“I want to confess something,” he started.
Rather than coach him, Meghan waited, taking small bites while in the company of men because it was something her mother taught her as proper etiquette. Alone she’d devoured all of it within a few minutes. Now she had to look presentable, respectable. Eventually, she’d fill that void in her stomach.
“My camera has a redundant memory.” He made a face with the confession. Grimaced as if expecting her to slap him or throw food in his face. The food was too good to waste, and he was too far away to reach. “Everything that goes to the memory card is just back-up from the camera memory.”
“So, you have every shot of the crime scene.”
“No, well, yes, I did. But I wanted you to know that I deleted them. All of them.”
A Cold Day for Murder Page 4