Oliver returned to the office, leaning against the now-defunct doorjamb. “Did Lester get a hold of you this morning?”
“No, you hear from him?”
“I got a call from a friend who came in this morning from camp. He was out there when Lester was talking to Billy.” Billy Tate was the domestic violence suspect. He left town shortly after smacking his wife, Jessie. Small town drama that needed dealing with and no place to put the bad guys. “Billy ain’t going to hit Jessie anymore.”
“So, he says,” she mumbled. In the real world, Billy would be in jail. In rural Alaska, the incident was documented, Meghan would follow up with Jessie, try to get the woman some hotline numbers she could call for support. Lester would work up the report, submit it to the local magistrate, and while they had a limited justice system, if the court saw fit to reprimand Billy, he’d go willingly if needed.
“What you going to do about the break-in?”
“Not sure what I can do.” She sat back in the chair that squeaked whenever she moved in it. “I documented everything. I’m going to take home the department laptop, or maybe if you’re working nights, you keep it at your apartment. You’d think the police department would be a safe place to keep stuff.”
She stood, stretched, feeling exhaustion pull at her limbs. Meghan put on her coat, stepped back into the bunny boots, and gave Oliver a look of endearment. “Can I borrow the Polaris? I left the Suburban at the house last night.”
Oliver put the keys on the counter as he settled in the reception chair. “It’s the department four-wheeler, Boss. You don’t have to ask.”
“I’m asking, Oliver, because you are a skilled officer who will be without a vehicle in case you have to race to a call and save a life.”
Oliver chuckled. “Your patronizing ain’t going to bother me.”
Meghan clapped him on the shoulder, collected the keys to the Polaris, and limped out the front door. “You should go to the clinic.”
“It’s not that bad. If it turns green, I’ll go to the clinic. Waiting at the top of the stairs, watching Oliver at the front counter, she asked, “When is Lester coming back?”
He shrugged an answer. Somehow Oliver had shifted to days without being asked. It was some natural system the two of them worked out. Cousins, they had limited similarities, other than Inuit features, both men worked on a level of the subconscious that baffled Meghan. If they had worked out the schedule changes without informing Meghan, that was perfectly acceptable. She wasn’t a micromanager; no one needed that kind of shadow.
“I’m heading over to the apartment complex. You need anything, call me. If the guy that broke into this place last night happens to show up again, sit on him until I get back.”
“You got it, Boss.”
Meghan swung her leg over the seat of the Polaris. Most people in the village rode four-wheelers year around. It was cost-effective and with limited roadways, better than owning a car. Any vehicle brought to the town never left. Skeletal remains of broken-down cars littered much of the city’s landscape. It was an unfortunate castoff of a mechanized society. People were getting better at taking care of their equipment, but every year, one or two people thought to leave an abandoned truck, snowmachine, or car along the winding road that looped around the town in an eight-mile ring was a better idea than neglecting it to rust next to their houses. It took time, but people were starting to catch up. It helped that Meghan had every vehicle in the town registered with the police department.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Before Meghan pulled up to Mountain Manor, she acclimated herself with the Polaris. The four-wheeler had seen some rough winters and some unkind hands before the town purchased it and it was eventually passed down to the police department. Lester and Oliver took care of the machines and did what they could with a limited budget. Much of the four-wheeler was held together by duct tape, a standby tool in the north. Duct tape was part of any survival kit in Alaska. There were a few small planes on the airstrip with pieces and parts secured with industrial tape.
She drove at a reasonable speed, around twenty miles per hour to keep the chill from tearing the hood off her head. It was daylight somewhere above that low ceiling of fog that continued to hold over the town like an unyielding white haze. Meghan pulled around the multiunit building, driving along the side, around back, front, and to the side again where she stopped at the exit closest to the stairwell and Nancy’s apartment. Sitting on the Polaris, waiting to go inside, she considered what was lost and if the culprit had done anything more to Nancy’s apartment after or before he decided to rob the police station.
“Howdy, Sheriff!” someone called to her from the road. There were a group of twenty-something adults moving along the roadway, huddled together and headed for the Alaska Merchandise Store.
Rather than correct them, seeing the group were giggling after the waving, Meghan climbed off the four-wheeler saddle with a returned wave and wandered toward the apartments.
There were no CCTV cameras anywhere in town, no security on the building. People came and went as they wanted or needed. She made her way inside the side door closest to the stairwell and stood in the hallway.
Music and television noise filled the space, along with cigarettes and a hint of marijuana smoke. She looked at each of the first-floor doors down the hallway. To her left, the apartment closest to the stairwell, there was something on the door that made Meghan’s heart skip.
She reached out and pushed the button on the electronic doorbell. It was a smart doorbell. Meghan watched the little camera on the device and removed her hood, pulled at the zipper on her coat. The temperature inside the apartment building was stifling.
There was a rattle of locks, and the door popped open. “Hello, Ma’am, my name’s Meghan Sheppard.”
“Hello, Chief,” the old woman said. Wearing the town police uniform under the coat spoke volumes for people who she didn’t know. “What can I do for you?” She was an elder, weathered, and bent from the cold climate. She used a quad prong cane to hobble around.
“Ma’am, I am curious about your doorbell here.” Meghan pointed because the older woman seemed not quite to understand what she meant until she followed Meghan’s finger to the small device attached to the doorjamb.
“Oh, yes, my son installed that,” she said and backed up because turning around seemed harder on her hips. “Please, come in.”
Stepping over the threshold of the apartment, she was struck by the scent of cinnamon and lavender. While it appeared, the elderly woman wasn’t as mobile as she once was, the apartment was sparse and spotless. Meghan stood on the floor mat by the door. Most of the time, no one wore boots inside their homes. It was out of respect that she unlaced and pulled off the bunny boots before following the woman further into the apartment.
It was a mirror opposite of Nancy’s apartment, one bedroom.
“Ma’am, about your doorbell,” she started again.
“My son, Jeff, he installed that, and I guess it’s supposed to keep an eye on me.” She moved around, Meghan into the kitchen. “I don’t understand it myself. He lives in Anchorage. He tells me he can see who comes to my place.” She removed a plastic container from the refrigerator, pulled two small bowls from the dish strainer in the sink. Meghan watched as the old woman scooped what looked like thick whipped cream with berries mixed in it.
She removed two coffee cups from the cupboard. After they were set out on the counter, the elder poured two cups of coffee from the pot cradled in the maker. She handed Meghan a cup, a spoon, and the bowl of creamy white frosting with blueberries and raspberries mixed in.
Meghan carried the bowl and the coffee to the tiny two-chair table off from the kitchen.
“This is Akutaq,” she said. “You call it Eskimo Ice Cream. It took the elder a moment to settle in the chair. The four-prong cane stood idle once she sat down. “Please, sit.” She sipped at the coffee. Either the old woman lost her bottom teeth or wasn’t wearing her dentures.
Her chin poked out from under her small round nose. She grinned at Meghan with minimal teeth.
Meghan sat down after she removed the coat and draped it over the chair.
“Now, I make Akutaq a little different than most. I use a lot of sugar. I like sugar. It’s not traditional to the recipe, but it’s good, right?”
Obligated to taste it, Meghan dipped the spoon tip into the bluish, red thick cream. There was a hint of seal oil from the mix. She found it impossible to describe the scent of seal oil. The closest she could muster was ammonia and decomposing fish. Tasting the mix without breathing, Meghan smiled, nodding, and washed down the mess with a quick gulp of coffee.
“So, the doorbell, you said your son, Jeff got it for you.”
“Yes, he says he can see when I come and go. He says he can see when I have visitors. He sometimes calls when—” The house phone rang. Unlike most people in town, the old woman still had a landline instead of a smartphone. “That’s probably Jeff. Could you get that for me, Dear?” she asked.
Meghan stood up, went to the small stand by the hallway leading to the bedroom, and picked up the wireless phone. She handed it to the woman.
“Ah, hello?” The woman grinned and nodded. “Yes, Son, no—no, everything is okay. The police chief is here. No, she didn’t tell me why she’s here.”
Meghan felt a burst of embarrassment because here she was, boots off, making herself to home in a stranger’s house, having coffee and something that’s supposed to resemble dessert, and she didn’t even know the lady’s name.
“Why don’t I have you talk to her, Jeffrey?” She handed the phone to Meghan.
“This is Chief Sheppard.”
“Is everything okay? Is my mother okay?”
“Yes, is this Jeff?”
“Yes, Jeffrey Ravenswaay, my mother is Andrea Ravenswaay.”
“Mr. Ravenswaay,” she started.
“Jeff.”
“Meghan.” Formalities out of the way, Meghan felt she was communicating with someone who understood the electronic age. “Listen, I’m not sure if you’re aware of what happened Saturday—”
“Nancy McCormick was murdered.”
“Yes, that’s why I’m here today. Your mother has a smart doorbell.”
“I live in Anchorage. It’s the only way I can keep an eye on her. When I heard about Nancy, I was ready to call you to find out if you caught the guy.” It was a generalization, Meghan knew. Most murders, especially when a woman was the victim, had to do with a male suspect.
“We’re working on it. We’re doing some follow-up, and I saw the doorbell, so here I am.”
“I’m not sure if it’s going to be much help to you. What are you looking for?”
“Does it record people moving by the apartment as well as ringing the doorbell?”
“It’s motion activated. I’ve had to modify the range because people are always using the door by my mom’s place.”
“Do you store the data?”
“It’s on automatic dump after the cache is full. I don’t know if I’d have anything from more than a few days. What are you looking for?”
“I’m curious if you have any images from Saturday night.”
Jeff sucked air through his teeth before he answered. “That’s a while. I’d have to check to see if the memory deleted.”
“I understand. We’re just tying up loose ends.”
“Did you get the guy?” he asked hurriedly.
“I’m sorry, Jeffrey.” She was pleasant about him asking. Everyone wanted to know. “I can’t comment on an ongoing investigation.”
“That’s cop-speak for shut up, right?” He laughed.
“Not at all.” Meghan felt better about their communication. She gave Jeff her town email address. She had him read it back to her, so he copied it right. “If you find anything from the camera system, I would appreciate it.”
“I’ll check tonight when I get home from work.”
“Thank you.”
“Is my mom okay there?”
“She’s fine.” Meghan smiled at Andrea. The old woman spooned the last of the Akutaq into her toothless mouth.
“I worry about her. I’m really worried about what happened to Nancy.”
“Well, it’s been a long time since that happened. I think everything is okay with your mother. I’ll keep an eye on her for you.”
“Thank you, Meghan.”
“Did you want to talk to her again?”
“No, if she gets the phone, she’ll never hang up with me. Good luck trying to get out of her apartment. She’s chatty. And if she offers you any Akutaq just say ‘no, thank you,’ I think she’s still using a jar of seal oil from last year.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”
“Hey, you don’t see any old containers on her counters in the kitchen, do you?” The question made Meghan curious and peered around the counter space for something that resembled what Jeff described.
“I don’t see anything, why?”
“My mother is notorious for digging up old jars of ‘stinky heads’ around the outskirts of town.”
“I’m not sure what that means,” Meghan admitted.
Jeffery chuckled. “I forget you are kind of new to town. It’s fermented fish heads and salmon eggs. My mother will go out and find jars that her mother buried in the tundra. It’s a big nasty mess of poison. Most of the time, it causes botulism.”
“Oh, boy,” Meghan said. She looked a little hard for old jars that might have recently been unearthed.
“Yeah, the elders still eat that crap, my mother included.”
“I don’t see anything like that in her apartment.”
“Thanks for looking.”
“Thank you for getting those data files.”
“I hope they work for you. Bye, Meghan.” Jeffery ended the call, and Meghan returned the phone to the charging stand.
“He had to go?” Andrea asked.
“Yes, sorry, Mrs. Ravenswaay. And I have to get going too.” Meghan went to the door and slipped on her boots. When she grabbed her coat from the back of the chair, she asked Andrea, “You don’t happen to have any jars of stinky fish, do you?”
The old lady smiled at Meghan.
Chapter Twenty-Five
When Meghan returned to the police department, Oliver looked up from an issue of Northern Lights Sounder. Most of the time the newspaper came out on Fridays, sometimes didn’t ship into town from the newspaper press in Anchorage until Saturday or Sunday. Either Oliver had an old issue, or Calvin went to press early.
“What’s that?” he asked.
Carefully, Meghan lifted the glass Mason jar and placed it on the counter. “That is Andrea Ravenswaay’s latest jar of ‘stinky fish.’”
Oliver’s eyes went wide. He leaned away from the front desk. “That stuff can make you real sick.”
“I know. Andrea was nice enough to relinquish it without a fight. She thinks I took it home to eat it.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“Well, I was hoping you could do something with it.”
“Should go bury it again,” he stated and stood up. Oliver followed Meghan into the main room to collect his jacket from the coat rack. “I can take it to the dump. If it breaks open out there at least, no one will smell it. Might even scare away the wolverines in the dump,” he said.
“I was worried about it breaking open on the ride back here. Be careful with it.”
“The mayor came by to see you.”
“Did he say what he wanted?”
Oliver shook his head. “He saw the door to the office was busted. I told him what happened. He was mad, started yelling, and left. I think he went to call the troopers or something.”
“He can call the governor for all I care.” The door had to be repaired, and since the frame was twisted, it wasn’t going to be a cheap fix. “At least now he can’t complain about getting into the office.” Oliver got as far as the front door before Meghan rais
ed her voice from the back. “Did Lester check in?”
“Yeah,” Oliver said. “He’s on his way back. He said it was slow going because some of the river was running free and overflowed. He might be back after nightfall.”
“Thanks for covering for me today. I’ll take the calls tonight. You can have a night off.”
“Thanks, Boss.”
Nightfall in March happened after nine now; each day, they gained another seven to fourteen minutes of daylight. That meant another long day for Lester. The Polaris sputtered to life outside when Oliver rode off with the lethal fish brew. The town dump was two miles out of town, downwind.
In the quiet of the building, Meghan went to her office and looked at what she had to work with since the robbery. Dropping in the squeaky chair, Meghan sighed. Once she thought to be an FBI Agent was a kickass job. When her career ended with a bullet, becoming the chief of police, almost five thousand miles away seemed like a safe way to spend her retirement.
Now Meghan felt like a failure because she didn’t have the proper tools or human resources to do the job. That was before she lost the evidence. If Jeffery’s smart doorbell caught the killer exiting the apartment building, provided the killer went out the side door, Meghan might get the redemption she needed.
The desk had manila files. Case reports from the week collected. She was supposed to review everything, initial it, and log it. Once she opened the department laptop, Meghan realized Oliver was supposed to take it with him but forgot. Her computer was at the house and hopefully, the person who broke into the office last night wasn’t in the mood to steal from her home that night.
She checked the department email. There was a priority email from Duane that Meghan immediately deleted before reading. Whatever he had to say could be done face to face. She read an email from Detective Anderson. He had nothing to contribute to the case, asked when she was ready to list it as a cold case so he could file it with the state trooper case logs.
Why was everyone willing to give up so easily? She wondered. Meghan sent a reply email that included an attachment to the incident report from the burglary. She took pictures with her phone and attached the photographs to the email. Meghan wasn’t ready to let go of the case.
A Cold Day for Murder Page 11