Lost in the Wild

by Leigh Mayberry

  Meghan stepped into the warm house. She smelled the aroma of baked bread and casserole. Silvia Graves made some of the best-smoked salmon dip Meghan ever tasted. She didn’t see any on the table over the woman’s shoulder.

  “I don’t want to interrupt.”

  “You’re being silly, come in.”

  Meghan closed the door and stepped out of her boots. The three of them sat at the dining room table. Lester said very little and sipped at sweet tea in his tall glass.

  “I’m not here to apologize,” Meghan said. “I think you and I have some unfinished business.”

  “You mean between us, or the police department.”

  “I meant the police department. Do you think we have something between us we haven’t addressed?”

  “I’m concerned about you kicking a suspect.”

  “You and I both know Eugene deserved a lot more than that.”

  “I agree, but that doesn’t condone your behavior. And you know he’s not going anywhere for a while.” Lester shook his head at something and felt Silvia’s hand around his on the tabletop. “I have to say that you seriously impressed me with bringing Chrissy home again.”

  “It wasn’t me who saved Chrissy. After what I experienced, I feel like we’re all part of Cecil Tuktu’s world. He is incredibly intelligent.”

  “I wish he came to us with what he knew instead of turning the whole town on its ear.”

  “I don’t know. I think if I faced what he did if I found out about the business with Eugene, I would have killed the guy.”

  “Meghan, we don’t like that kind of talk in this house.”

  “I’m sorry, Silvia. It’s true.”

  “I know, but we’ll save that for somewhere else.” She waited a second before adding, “Do you think Chrissy will be okay?”

  “I’ll follow up with her school counselor. I’ll talk to Joane about getting someone involved from the court system. I know the FBI has a great program for missing and exploited children. I think with Chrissy’s artistic outlet, she’ll do well. I know Cecil will have a lot to do with how she handles the future.”

  “They are moving into the house within the week,” Lester said. “I suggested to Earl to get Eugene’s PO Box key and have the mortgage company change the box address to his and Joane’s address to ensure they get the bill. I’m not getting involved with the details of how they pay the mortgage.” Lester chewed some of his dinner. “So, what do you want to do now?” Lester asked.

  “You know I’m back, right?”

  “I didn’t think you ever left. I know you had some things to work out.”

  “What about you? Are you ready to come back?”

  “I got a new contract from Duane. He called me as soon as you had your conference call. I know he wasn’t happy about the FBI chief from Anchorage sitting in on the call with the Council. He sent an email to Oliver too.”

  “Are you coming back?”

  “I don’t have much choice. Someone has to keep an eye on you.”

  “We need to do something about getting a clothing drive started for the Tuktu kids. Cecil grew out of his jacket. Maybe we can use some of this momentum to rally around them and get the family better settled with some community help,” Meghan said.

  She ate some of the food and savored the taste. She made up her mind that things had to change. Meghan knew she had to get back into shape. It wasn’t about self-image; it was about how she felt about her circumstances and why she allowed someone else to make her feel bad with their words. Silvia and Lester’s dinner table was a place to make amends, but she had lots more to do.

  “Are you up for an adventure tonight?” she asked.

  “Don’t you think we should try to make the rest of Kinguyakkii feel like they’re under police protection again?” Lester asked.

  “Well, actually, for at least one more day, I want to allow some people to think they are living in the Wild West.”

  “Why do you want people to think that?” Silvia asked with a grin.

  “If I can borrow your husband for a few hours, I’ll let him tell you later.”

  Silvia patted Lester’s arm again on the tabletop. “You know, you might want to think about getting your own husband, now that you’re sticking around.”

  The idea made Meghan laugh. “I can handle one crisis at a time. I’m not too concerned about my love life right now.”

  “When did you want to go?”

  “I want to pick up Oliver and leave as soon as we can.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Building material wasn’t readily available above the Arctic Circle. People who had money to build remote cabins didn’t put them where they went unused and inaccessible. When it came to hunting cabins, it was in title only and ended up as something resembling a piecemeal shack fixed together with manila rope, bungee cords, and duct tape. Walls of recycled exterior and interior paneling and drywall with floors of wood pallets, it kept the elements out but wasn’t made for extended times of comfort.

  It was the kind of place where people went when they didn’t want to be noticed, because the sort of things they did inside the hut weren’t legal on the North Slope.

  Lester and Oliver knew about the cabin. The place where Eugene said he and Nate went to drink their shared bootlegged prizes. They borrowed the flat-bottomed boat with the two-chined hull from Lester’s friend.

  The inlet had less ice than the bay, which had something to do with the undercurrent from the sound. It allowed for easy mobility through the waters in the dark. Meghan wore a life vest and allowed her sergeant and lieutenant to track the waterway to the cabin. It came up like a yellow beacon on an otherwise black shoreline in the dark. Meghan knew that was a good sign of life. Occupants lit the fire throughout the night to keep warm, stave off the saturation from the riverbank.

  “Who else knows about this place?” Meghan asked. She whispered because in the dark on the cusp of June, sound traveled.

  “Most of the people who come out here use it for the same reason as Eugene,” Lester said. “I think it’s been here since the ‘80s. I know people add layers and reinforce it when they find additional construction material.”

  “I knew it was here,” Oliver said. “I never come out this way.”

  “You think someone’s home?” Meghan asked.

  “Yeah, they wouldn’t leave the fire burning otherwise.”

  “We can wake up whoever’s inside. Does this land belong to anyone?”

  “Nope, it’s state land.”

  “So, the cabin doesn’t belong here.”

  “No one complained before,” Lester said.

  “Did you have any idea people came out here to get drunk?” Meghan asked.

  “I suspected. I never followed up.” Lester stared at her in the dark. “I had more pressing matters in town than worry about what happened out here.”

  “Do you think the bootleggers use this as a hub for distribution?”

  “I doubt it. Everyone knows about it. Sometimes people come out here salmon fishing. It’s too exposed,” Lester said. “We can see it from here.”

  Meghan gauged they were almost a kilometer from the location. She saw something floating in the water. It clunked against the hull. She plucked it out of the water and tossed it in the boat. It was an empty, plastic whiskey bottle.

  Meghan pointed at it. “This is something the three of us need to put a stop to,” she said. “We’ve got to find out who supplies the town.”

  “Do you think Eugene will give away where he got the booze if he got a reduced sentence?” Oliver asked.

  “I think murder and child molestation are a lot more severe than bootlegging. We’re better off doing this and see what happens. Anywhere else, we’d have surveillance and watch who came and went.”

  “What about a couple of trail cams?” Oliver asked.

  “There’s nowhere to mount them. You’d have to drive posts into the ground. I don’t think they’d stay upright. You’d risk losing the eq
uipment.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  Lester cut the motor, and they used the momentum to coast along the shore. Oliver kneeled in the bow and used the oar to guide them closer to the shoreline.

  “What if they got guns?” he asked.

  “Everyone has guns,” Meghan said. “We hope they’re not stupid enough to use them.”

  Once they found a place to step out of the boat and haul it ashore, Meghan crouched, watching the flicking shape of the hut. It didn’t have a pitched roof, more of a lean-to, which redirected the rain using vinyl and aluminum siding as roofing bits and pieces. Meghan saw details of the place as they huddled near the boat. People used it as a dumping ground, throwing away trash that eventually made its way to the inlet. The currents finally dragged everything out to sea.

  “What are they using for fuel?” Meghan asked.

  “It depends. By the look of it, it’s either a propane stove or some open-source fire,” Lester said. “You ready.”

  “What are you going to do?” Oliver asked.

  Then two people burst from the door on the other side of where they huddled. They got confident and too loud. As Oliver jumped up to give chase, Meghan halted him.

  The rev of the snowmachine meant the strangers had a way to make it overland. The snowmobile allowed them to use the swampy terrain as a platform. As long as the driver kept the momentum and the throttle up, the heavy machine wouldn’t sink into the melting tundra. Meghan thought stalling in the muck might help their cause. It was impossible to walk over the ground without snowshoes or something to keep from sinking into the mire.

  She trudged through the thick mud to the open door, cautiously watching for anyone still hiding inside the cabin. It smelled like seal oil and urine. Meghan saw the oil lamp inside.

  “That makes sense,” Lester said. “I didn’t think about using seal oil.”

  “It’s a firetrap,” Oliver said. He waited until Meghan turned on her LED flashlight before he removed his from a pocket. He scanned the exterior of the place. Everywhere around the muddy earth, empty whiskey bottles. Meghan saw a few broken beer bottles among the trash heaps.

  “This is a place used by a lot of people,” she said. “How am I just finding out about this?” She flashed the light over Lester and Oliver’s face.

  “You never asked before,” Oliver said innocently.

  “Well, I’m asking now. Is there anywhere else that either of you know where they like to come to drink?”

  Far off, they heard the snowmachine revving as it cut across the landscape. By the time the police got back to town, the culprits had a few hours head start.

  Meghan went inside. It had a low ceiling. She saw the wallpaper was layers of nude magazines. The place had been around so long, men used print media as wall covering. She saw Oliver looking sheepish when he saw the interior. She kicked around more empty bottles. The ones inside the shed had residue. Under the ragged blankets and nylon torn sleeping bag, Meghan found a new container, unopened, still sealed. She picked it up. Lester eyed it cautiously like it was a wild animal in her hand.

  “This is state land?” she asked.

  Lester nodded.

  “No one owns this place as far as either of you knows?” she asked.

  Both men shook their heads.

  Meghan left the shed. She took her time to walk around the shell of the hut. Meghan kicked away the four-wheeler tires stacked against the back wall. She cleared away anything that looked like rubber or plastic. It took a few minutes. Lester and Oliver waited, watching her.

  “I’m sending a message tonight, gentlemen. We need to face these assholes. I am tired of the bootleggers in my town.”

  Meghan broke the seal on the unopened bottle. She saw Lester’s nostrils flash in the dark. Meghan returned to the interior of the hut, poured the whiskey over the fabric and newspaper and piles of urine-soaked junk. She tossed the bottle on the collection. Before Meghan left the shelter, she used the tip of her boot, the same boot tip she kicked Eugene Tuktu, and knocked over the glass lantern filled with seal oil. The spilled accelerant flared and claimed the rest of the debris.

  Meghan marched back to the boat as the area illuminated in erupting firelight. Lester and Oliver cast off. Lester pull-started the motor as Oliver pushed away from the shore with the oar. Meghan sat in the center of the boat, snug in her life vest, watching as the flames climbed into the sky. She knew it was a fire they’d see for miles. It was a fire that meant she had enough. Meghan wanted to show the occupants of her city that the police weren’t interested in extorting people. They weren’t bullies, they were law enforcement officers, and that’s precisely what she intended.

  There was a sense of relief, as if burning the shack on the edge of Hotham Inlet not only sent a message to the bootleggers and the residents of Kinguyakkii, it cleansed Meghan of doubt. For the first time since she accepted the job and took up the shield, Meghan felt like she wasn’t an outsider anymore. She was part of the community, and she belonged there. Moving forward, Meghan knew it was a different game. She wasn’t afraid of stepping on toes or worrying about what the mayor thought of her performance. Meghan had a lot more people on her side than she realized. It felt good to come home again.

  “They can see that fire in town,” Oliver said.

  “I know.”

  “You think someone will call Rowland?” he asked.

  Meghan winced. Rowland Searson, the fire chief and only paid member of the volunteer fire department, wasn’t a proactive man. “I think we’ll be okay,” she said.

  “What’s your next plan?” Oliver asked. She saw the delight on his face, even in the dark.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Duane Warren arrived at City Hall a little after nine on Tuesday morning. Meghan, Lester, and Oliver only returned to Kinguyakkii within the hour after sunup. They smelled like tundra and oily smoke. Meghan sat in the office at the conference table with Oliver and Lester. She had bottled water in her grimy hands. Showering had to wait. They still had another matter to handle before she went home to shower.

  Ten minutes after Duane pulled the pick-up into the reserved spot between City Hall and the contractor trailers that made up the police department, he stormed into the office.

  “You can’t do that,” he said. “What happens when the tourists show up?”

  “I’m sending a message.”

  He looked like a man caught between the pit and the pendulum. Meghan knew whatever authority he had over her ended the moment they had the last conference call with the Borough.

  They spent a few minutes devising the sign they wanted to use to broadcast Meghan’s return to the police department. Oliver had leftover spray paint and had relatively good penmanship when it came to writing on a slice of plywood they claimed from under the trailers.

  “It sends the wrong message,” Duane said. She knew he held back. He wanted to say more to her, but the look suggested he knew better.

  Meghan stood up from the table. Lester and Oliver followed her through the archway and swinging door to the lobby and out the front door. The new sign was a temporary fixture. A far as Duane knew, there wasn’t a time limit on how long they left the makeshift sign.

  “You can’t do this,” he said.

  Duane followed them outside where the sign began attracting attention from morning commuters. People traveling on foot and four-wheeler slowed long enough to absorb the message.

  “I can do this, and I am going to keep it up as long as it takes,” Meghan said. No longer afraid of Duane or his constant warnings to shutter anything Meghan wanted when it came to handling city police business her way, she frowned at him.

  “Why are you worried, Duane? Do you know something?” She stepped closer to him. “You want to know something? Eugene said he took off with someone on Saturday night. I should talk to him again. Eugene said him and Nate went out to the cabin. Last night we went out there. Two people took off on a snowmachine before we identified them. One thing I
know, Duane. The only Nate I know is someone you might know. I suggest if your son is involved in the ongoing business around here. He might want to find another place to live. Even if I don’t catch him bootlegging, if I get one whiff of him involved in this, I will arrest him. Do you understand? You want to relay that to him.”

  The phone rang in Meghan’s pocket. She had carried the city police cordless phone with her outside. Meghan smiled and held up the receiver to show Duane. She wiggled it in his face.

  “You think this is someone about the sign, Duane?”

  “The city won’t pay it,” he said. Duane turned and marched across the gravel back to City Hall. He didn’t look back.

  Meghan answered the phone as she looked at the new sign propped against the platform leading to the front door of the police station.

  “This is Chief Sheppard Kinguyakkii Police Department, what can I do for you on this wonderful day?” she said into the receiver.

  In front of her, neatly written in legible longhand, the sign read: $500 reward offered for information leading to indictment and arrest of anyone wanted for bootlegging.

  Meghan felt it sent a very clear message. It was her town now, and she was coming for the troublemakers.