by Karen Black
“They can’t do anything until both of us are back in St. Paul. In the meantime, she stays in jail.”
She gave me a long questioning look, then turned away, apparently choosing to not to push it, at least for the time being. Then I thought about what I had just said. Maybe I was taking too much for granted, or as Mike would say, “assuming facts not in evidence.” I’d never actually gotten around to asking her to go back to Minnesota with me.
CHAPTER XXV
Tuesday, Talkeetna, Searching for a Deed
The next morning, while Corky went out for a jog to check out the “quaint little town,” as she put it, I settled for coffee and a donut in the room, while I perused the complimentary copies of the Wall Street Journal and Anchorage Daily News. The latter proved more interesting. The first page of the “Local News” section contained a chilling article. “A woman identified as Stella Johanssen, manager of the musical combo, the Ecofreaks, was found dead in an alley near the Palladium, a club where the Ecofreaks had been performing. Her death, the result of blunt force trauma, was estimated to have occurred between 8 and 10 p.m. last night. Homicide is investigating. Anyone with any information is asked to call Detective Swanson of the Anchorage Police Department. In another related development, the lead singer of the Ecofreaks, Jazzy Saint James, was arrested for attempted murder related to an earlier event in Minnesota, and last night’s show was cancelled.”
I reacted to this new information with an increased sense of danger. Clearly “they”–whoever “they” were–were taking care of business in Alaska. Was I next? They’d already tried to kill Hennie once. He would be in danger if anyone found out he was here. Corky? Was she on someone’s “list” too? How could we protect ourselves? The killer could be anyone. Like the guys who killed Charley–low-level thugs for hire, or some junky who would do anything for money to get a fix. I’d probably never see them until it was too late. Perhaps now was the time to consider buying a gun. I’ll ask Buddy Lee where the town’s shooting range is. This is still basically the untamed West, I’ll bet they have a couple. I’d certainly need a refresher course in handling a weapon. My dad used to take me deer and pheasant hunting before he died when I was a senior in high school. I became pretty proficient at handling a rifle and a shotgun. Still, it had been years and I’ve never really handled a pistol much at all, except a few times at the range…target practice with some buddies.
Maybe a shower would help clear my mind and, if not, I needed one anyway. I downed the last of my now-cold coffee, folded the newspapers and stuck them under the end table. I wasn’t sure I wanted Corky to see that article on Stella, or on Jazzy. I lathered myself beneath the pulsating needles of water, rinsed in the hottest water I could stand, then stepped out and reached for one of the oversized towels. A painful memory tugged at my heart–of sweet, innocent Darwin, who’d sit at the shower door until I finished, then lick my legs when I stepped out. While I’d dry the rest of my body, he’d do my calves down to the tops of my feet, then plop himself in the middle of my bath mat, expecting–and of course receiving–his reward. I always kept some treats in the cabinet next to the sink just for that purpose.
As I brushed my teeth, I stared at the reflection in the mirror. Shouldn’t I feel some remorse about that woman’s death? I didn’t. If anything, knowing she was dead improved my depressed spirits. Darwin had been avenged…at least partially.
Then, a heavy knot formed in my stomach as I put on my watch and noticed the time. Corky should have been back by now. I finished dressing, my fear meter rising by the minute. When I heard Corky’s key, I wiped the moisture from my brow, breathed deeply and removed the worried look on my face as she entered, torn between whether to share my concern so she could be on guard, or to save her from the emotional turmoil. I decided on the latter for the time being.
We met Jack at the airport at 10 a.m. “So, Buddy Lee tells me you want to go to the various recorders’ offices. What’s that about?”
I liked the guy and given his position, trusted him, but still not enough to divulge anything about the core drilling. “We talked with the people at TINMAN. Someone said they thought Charley had bought some land up here. We want to see if we can find any deeds in his name.”
“Oh, I see. And you don’t have any idea where it is?” Jack inquired, a questioning…or possibly doubtful…look on his face.
“Right. So we’re hoping you could fly us to the various recorders’ offices. Buddy Lee suggested we start with the one that covers this area.”
He shrugged. “Sure.”
In Palmer, the three of us took a cab from the small airport to the Recorder’s Office. Jack stayed with the plane. I saw him pull out his cell phone as we were leaving. I’d have to ask him how they worked up here. Obviously they worked okay in Los Angeles. My little Oriental tail had demonstrated that.
Hennie told the lady what we wanted. She asked for the pertinent information, filled out a form on her side of the counter and walked away. Within a few minutes she was back. “Sorry, I don’t find anything in Mr. Farnsworth’s name.”
I wanted to call Buddy Lee and report our failure at Palmer, but didn’t want to hold up the cab, reminding me that I really needed to look into getting a cell phone when we got home. This trip demonstrated how handy one can be. I’d just never felt a real need in St. Paul, always had a land line nearby, and admittedly, I’m not always quick to buy the newest gadgets, although actually a cell phone isn’t that new anymore. When we advised Jack of our failure, he suggested, “Okay, your best chance is going to be in Anchorage. The Department of Natural Resources office there covers not only Anchorage, all this area to the south, but also the Valdez-Cordova area. I can land at a small general aviation airport, Merrill Field. It’s about a mile east of downtown, so a short cab ride.”
Same action. Same result. Nothing. No deeds in the name of Charles Farnsworth. Was it Einstein, Ben Franklin, Mark Twain, or some other philosopher…or someone from AA…who claimed that the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result? What we had been doing might not have been insanity, but the lack of results was enough to drive me to it.
“Are there any others?” I asked, since Jack knew the area.
“The next closest will be the Denali Borough, and that’s up in Healy; about 200 miles north.”
“Do we have time to go there today?” I asked when he appeared to be hesitant.
“Yeah…sure…not a problem,” was his non-enthusiastic reply. His body language told me he was probably getting tired of playing our flying chauffeur, but he opened the doors on the helo and supported Corky’s arm as she climbed in.
We landed at Healy River airport. This time Jack accompanied us and waited with me and Corky on the hard benches as Hennie went up to the counter and duplicated his actions in Palmer and Anchorage. A few minutes later, the clerk came back with the same results. No deed in the name of Charles Farnsworth.
We returned to Talkeetna. “Jack, can’t thank you enough. It would have taken us days to accomplish what we did in a few hours with you and your plane. I heard or read somewhere that there were more planes than cars in Alaska. Judging from what I saw today, that’s probably an accurate statement.”
Jack, appearing much more relaxed than earlier, laughed. “Yeah, there’s an airport in every town, even very small towns. Look at Talkeetna. The year-round population here is less than 800, but this is one of the busiest airports in the area. Flightseeing, rafting, mountain biking, hiking, camping, fishing and hunting make up a large portion of the local economy. And it’s easier, not to mention faster. The tourists always seem to be in a hurry to get around in a plane…just to start some of those activities, many of which are in areas inaccessible by car. And we can fly to places in the winter that you wouldn’t even consider trying to get to in a car, assuming you could get it out of the snow bank in the first place.” He chuckled, as if he’d had that experience.
“Thanks, again,” I s
aid. A dejected trio stopped by the TINMAN office to give our discouraging report to Buddy Lee.
“Sorry, guys. I know it’s disappointing.” He shook his head. “Here, you all look like you could use a cold beer.” He opened and handed each of us a Corona, then popped the top off his. We all took a swig and raised the bottles as in a toast. Not sure toasting failure was exactly appropriate, but…Oh, what the hell; given the number of bodies that were popping up, maybe we should be toasting the fact that we were all still alive.
Just then a big black dog, probably a lab or lab mix, much in need of some grooming, crawled out from underneath the table. He ambled over to smell Hennie, then Corky, and stopped at me, sat down, looked up at me and licked my hand. My heart skipped a beat…his big dark eyes reminded me of Darwin. Although he was a different color, his face looked so similar they could have been brothers–well maybe half-brothers. I leaned down and rubbed his matted fur.
“Oh, sorry,” Buddy Lee jumped up. “This mutt just came in earlier this morning and sort of made himself at home. He looked really hungry, so I gave him some hamburger. That may have been a mistake, because he seems to have decided to move in.”
“Don’t worry about me. I love dogs. But he needs grooming, his hair is really a mess. Do you have a groomer in town?”
“I’ve never checked, but I used to have a dog when I first came up here. She died last year…old age I guess…but I still have some supplies in the closet over at the motel. I’ll try to clean him up a bit, although I wouldn’t be surprised if someone doesn’t come around looking for him.”
I patted the dog on his forehead, and pointed toward the table, “Go,” I said, expecting to be completely ignored. To my and everybody else’s surprise, the dog looked at me, cocked his head in apparent understanding, walked slowly over to the table and crawled back underneath. Curling up in a ball, he looked up at me and uttered a soft “Woof.” I chugged the last of my beer and headed toward the door, as an unbelievably sad emotion overcame me.
Buddy Lee must have noticed my reaction. “You okay?” he asked as he patted my shoulder.
“Yeah. The dog reminded me of Darwin, the one killed by the bomb. It’s still a little raw.”
“I understand. I really miss Fifi, the one who died. I actually had her shipped up from Ecuador. She’d been with me about six years. A dog can’t replace a good woman, but I didn’t have a good woman and Fifi was really good company, actually slept with me…crawled under the covers and slept at my feet. I didn’t name her, she was a rescue, but Fifi just seemed to go with her personality.” He smiled nostalgically, patted my shoulder again, and changed the subject. “I’ve made reservations for the West Rib Pub & Grill for 7 p.m. It’s down there,” he pointed through the open door, “next to Nagley’s.”
I nodded my head in understanding. Given the size of the town, it would be hard to miss.
I removed the car keys from my pocket. “Hennie, why don’t you go ahead and take the car back. We’ll walk. I need the exercise.” I looked at Corky for confirmation, and saw her nodding in agreement. She grabbed my hand and, like many of the tourists, we walked in silence along the gravel edge of the paved main street and in some places on the board sidewalk, passing the town’s one stop sign, one parking meter–that didn’t work–and blocks of historic buildings.
Upon our arrival back at the motel, I cautiously checked around the shrubbery near our cabin before carefully opening the door. Corky shot me a questioning look, which I deliberately ignored.
*
When we returned to the room after dinner, where I had eaten a huge buffalo burger and sampled Hennie’s caribou burger, the light on the phone was flashing. I called the desk, and was informed that I had a call from Leonard. It was already after 10 p.m., too late to call tonight. I’d have to call him back tomorrow.
CHAPTER XXVI
Wednesday, Talkeetna/Anchorage
This part of Alaska was an hour earlier than L.A. so it was already after 9 a.m. there when I returned Leonard’s call. As before, he came on immediately when Sandra notified him it was me.
“Greg, I think I’ve got some good news you’re going to want to hear….”
“I could certainly use some,” I interrupted. “My progress up here is moving like a glacier.”
Leonard resumed his story. “First of all, the guys who actually killed Charley have been identified by witnesses. The big black guy and that blonde who escaped from the hospital, plus some big blonde gal who was apparently their accomplice, maybe the blonde guy’s wife, were all found murdered in L.A. Apparently they’d been dead a couple days, but their bodies were just found yesterday.”
“Good riddance. I read an article in the Anchorage paper that a Stella Johanssen had been found dead a day or two ago too. She was the head of the group that was behind the bombing at my house. Looks like whoever is behind this is tying up all the loose ends. But those were the little fish. I still want to find out who’s behind it all.”
“We think we know. Charley may have solved his own murder.”
“What!?”
Given the volume of my response, Corky looked my way, raised her brows and tilted her head questioningly.
“Look, you need to get your ass back down here to L.A. There’s a lot going on, and, like Charley, I don’t want to give you all the details over the phone. But, his lawyer has filed Charley’s will for probate. There’s a lot of interesting stuff there. I don’t know if you met the woman who came to Charley’s funeral and brought Mrs. Morales, but we’re trying to locate Charley’s Aspen girlfriend, Consuela Gonzales.”
“I met her.” No need to elaborate.
“Anyway, she’s named in his will. The other problem is Hennie. I received the report from the Fire Marshall. No human remains were found at Hennie’s blown-up house, but he’s not been seen or heard from since that explosion, and he’s also a beneficiary.”
I decided to keep my information about Corky and Hennie secret just a while longer. “I’ll head back to Anchorage, catch the next plane, and see you tomorrow. I may have some information for you as well.”
I called Hennie to come to our room and reported what Leonard had said. “I guess we can be proud of ourselves. We’re better at evading detection than we thought. It appears we’ve managed to keep our relationship–even your existence–hidden.”
Hennie seemed deep in thought. “Until we actually know how Charley is supposed to have ‘solved his own murder,’ I think we should continue our little charade. Let’s have the Sheraton…we still have to check out from our rooms there…make reservations for us in L.A. at their nearest hotel to the TINMAN offices. Let’s make separate reservations on flights back to L.A., and then Greg, you go see Leonard tomorrow. Once you’ve evaluated the situation, call me and Corky at the hotel to either come out of hiding–or disappear.”
Corky nodded her head in agreement. It made sense. There was still a lot we didn’t know.
I pointed to the “mountain-climbing stuff” we had purchased lying on the floor and chairs about the cabin. “No way are we getting all our gear on an airplane. I can use the parka, sweats and boots in Minnesota, but not the rest of it.”
Corky agreed. “Same here. Why don’t we give the rest to Buddy Lee? If he or Jack can’t use it, they can donate it to some worthy charity.”
“Works for me. I’ll wear the boots, carry the coat, and I can put the rest of my stuff in one suitcase so I still won’t have to check a bag.”
We dropped it all off with Buddy Lee and explained our plan. “I’ll take care of it,” he assured us. “I sure hope they’ve got some good news for you in L.A. Keep me posted.”
“Did anyone claim that dog?” I asked hesitantly.
“Nope.” He turned and patted his leg, “Come here, Max. That’s what I named him.”
Max, tail wagging and displaying shiny, groomed black fur, came forward, and again licked my hand. Damn. He sure brought back upsetting memories.
*
Be
fore we checked out of the hotel in Anchorage, I turned to Corky. “Look, I’ve been thinking.”
“Oh, no, not again.” She grinned.
“Honey, I understand a lot better how you feel about the environment, and I tend to agree with you more than I expected. I’d never really given it much thought. I’ve always been on the other end of it, I guess. And I also understand your concern for Jazzy. I’m going to call Mike from L.A. and ask him to have the charges against her dismissed. That way, we won’t need to stop by the Anchorage Police station before we leave. Maybe Jazzy and those Maasai warriors can put their act back together without Dragon Lady. They were actually pretty good.”
Who knew how nicely Corky could express her gratitude. But it did delay our check-out a few minutes.
CHAPTER XXVII
Thursday, Tinman Headquarters
I arrived at the TINMAN offices sharply at 9 a.m. and this time rode up in the Executive elevator. Leonard had given specific instructions to the receptionist on the first floor and she personally walked me to the elevator and watched until the door closed.
Leonard greeted me with a firm handshake. “Everyone’s waiting upstairs.”
We climbed the thick-carpeted stairs to the thick-carpeted dining room. Everything in this place reflected the partners’ desire to work in luxurious surroundings. It wasn’t a front to impress anyone else. This was their private area. They were simply wealthy men who liked nice things. All the partners were already seated, each looking somber in his well-tailored, perfectly-fitting expensive suit. They all got up as I entered, walked over, smiled almost in unison…even the Iceman…and shook my hand, each murmuring some words of welcome. Fortunately, I wore the dark suit I bought for Charley’s funeral, because my usual sport coat and khaki pants would have been totally out of place. In my defense, I hadn’t expected board-room meetings when I left St. Paul just…startled, I realized it had been only two weeks since Charley called me and this roller-coaster ride began.
