by Dani Pettrey
“And why would he do that?”
“If she was telling the truth all those years ago, Saturday was supposed to be her last race. She probably knew it’d be her last chance to defect while in the States, and he never would allow that.” Exhaling an exasperated huff, she dumped the coffee in the trash and raced for the stairwell.
“She’s a Russian citizen,” he called, running after her.
She shoved open the door and took the concrete steps two at a time.
“She was killed here. If Doc Graham gives up custody, they’ll take her back to Russia and we’ll never know what happened.”
“Emmanuel is handling it. He has Jim calling the federal office up in Anchorage. They’ll know the right diplomatic agency to handle this.”
Libby rounded the stairs, took the last four, and crashed through the door, heading for the heightened voices at the end of the hall.
The door read Doctor E. Graham.
She burst through and all four men stared at her. Kat’s coach, Yuri Yesnavich, assistant coach Arshavan Barinov, Sheriff Jim Dalton, and Doc Graham—now wearing a white medical coat over pea-soup green scrubs.
“You,” Coach Yesnavich said. “You couldn’t beat her, so you killed her.”
“I didn’t kill Kat. I . . . we”—she pointed to Ben—“found her.”
“Hmph. Likely alibi.” He glanced at his assistant coach, who nodded in agreement. “Now,” Yesnavich said, addressing Doc Graham, his voice cold and stern as always, “give us our athlete.”
“That’s all Kat was to you, wasn’t she. Just an athlete,” Libby said. “Someone who brought you glory?”
He ignored her with a flick of his hand.
“Someone from the State Department will be here as soon as possible,” Doc Graham said. “I’ve already placed the call. In the meantime Miss Stanic’s body remains with us.”
Yesnavich’s usually pale complexion reddened, matching the cherry red of his velour tracksuit. “Very well. You can shortly expect a Russian ambassador too. Miss Stanic’s body will be returned to the motherland, where she belongs.”
He glared at Libby before turning and practically marching from the room, Arshavan, dressed in matching attire, following suit.
Panic seared inside. If they took Kat, they’d never find answers. She looked to Doc Graham. “You’ll perform the autopsy in the meantime?”
“I’ve been told to assess what I can without going invasive.”
“Meaning?”
“He can’t cut her open,” Jim said.
“Jim,” Ben scolded, gesturing in Libby’s direction. “A little delicacy.”
Jim winced. “Sorry, ma’am.”
“Will you be able to tell if her neck was snapped noninvasively?”
Doc Graham nodded. “Imaging will tell us.”
“Then get to it,” Jim said. “I doubt you have much time.”
Knowing the Russians, after Kat failed to appear for practice, they’d probably placed the call as soon as word of a body spread. As they walked down to the basement, Libby prayed Doc Graham would work fast. She needed to know if Kat had, in fact, been murdered.
Forty-five minutes later, Doc Graham entered the dismal hall.
“Well?” Libby said, setting the journal she’d been scribbling in aside.
“It’s my conclusion her neck was snapped premortem.”
“Which means before death?”
“Yes. Her injury wasn’t sustained after death. Bobbing around the ocean or among the orcas didn’t cause it. It is my professional opinion her neck being snapped occurred at the time of death—and that death was not accidental.”
“So she was murdered?” Libby tried to process that, but how did one process such a thing?
Doc Graham nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
Libby stepped out into the cool, pale sunshine barely breaking through the clouds, her head spinning.
Kat had been murdered. At least they knew that truth. They still needed to find the person or persons responsible.
“What will you do now?” she asked Jim.
“Start with questioning her coaches and the other competitors.”
“I highly doubt you’ll get anything out of the Russians, but the other competitors maybe . . . It’s possible. If I go with you, you’d probably get a warmer reception.”
Jim frowned. “Why’s that?”
“Just as the locals asked if the body belonged to one of theirs. Swimmers are still a community, even if we are competitors. I’m one of them. You’re an outsider.”
Jim looked at Ben, who agreed with a tilt of his head, and then back to Libby. “If you think it’ll help, I’m willing to give it a try.”
“I’m coming too,” Ben said.
“Look, I appreciate all you’ve done, but I don’t need to be babysat.” She was already coming to enjoy his company far too much.
He lifted his chin at Jim. “I don’t like how one of her own accused her of murdering Kat. I want to make sure she’s treated right. Humor me, bud?”
Jim exhaled. “Fine.” He looked to Libby as she grunted in frustration. “It’s best not to fight it when a McKenna sets his mind to something.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m quickly coming to see that.”
SEVEN
Ben climbed the steps of the Yancey B&B, where Libby and the majority of her competitors were staying. Jim had suggested they start with the friendlier of the two locations and then move to the Alaska Inn, where the communist swimmers were housed.
“Anyone in particular I should be looking at?” Jim asked as they entered the two-story mansion converted into an inn with nearly twenty rooms.
The house had once belonged to a wealthy Russian fur trader and was passed down through the generations until Milli Bentner and her husband, Al, purchased the property several years back in 1974, refurbishing the aging home and opening it as a bed-and-breakfast.
Ben hoped for their sake it drew tourists and for his sake too, as it was how they made their living. Alaska was becoming the new hot spot for travelers—the last frontier to explore. Even the dozens of missing women from Anchorage and surrounding area over the past decade hadn’t appeared to deter visitors, at least not from the Kodiak archipelago where he lived. In the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but wonder if the Anchorage killer had made his way farther southeast than usual, but Libby seemed sold on the Russians being behind Kat’s murder. Either way, he didn’t feel comfortable leaving Libby on her own until matters simmered down. He didn’t know why. She clearly was a strong woman, but something deep inside told him to stick fast to her.
“Monika Juergen,” Libby said answering Jim’s question. “West German swimmer. She’s my and was Kat’s stiffest competition, though she always comes in third. It’s no secret she hates us both. I’d start with her.”
“Hate strong enough to kill?” Jim asked, pausing in the lobby.
“She gives new meaning to German stout.”
“Jim,” Milli said, as she entered the lobby. “I have to tell you I’m not real keen on you turning my dining hall into an interrogation room.”
Anne Murray’s latest, “Shadows in the Moonlight,” played over the lobby speakers. She had a good voice, but Ben preferred Eddie Rabbitt when it came to country singers.
“Don’t worry.” Jim smiled. “I’m just grouping them there. I’ll interrogate in your library.”
Milli frowned. “Yeah, that makes it loads better.” She looked past Jim. “McKenna, heard you were the one who found her.”
“Found who?” Ben asked, curious about exactly how much everyone in town knew.
“That poor Russian swimmer. Thelma Jenkins overheard her coach ranting on the pay phone. In Russian, of course, but he’d just come from the morgue and his swimmer is missing. Doesn’t take much to put two and two together.”
At least not when it came to Thelma Jenkins, the burgeoning town gossip.
Ben followed Jim into the dining area, Libby stepping close behind.
A number of women and a handful of male coaches sat around the various tables. Doug stood and stepped toward her. “You okay, kid?”
She nodded, and after a moment’s concerned assessment her coach retook his seat.
One of the young women rushed forward. “What’s going on? We heard it was Kat.”
Libby shouldered Ashley’s weight as she lunged into her crying, her tube top and Jordache jeans as skintight as her wet suit. Most guys stammered in her presence, but Ben didn’t seem the least bit interested. “Was it really Kat?” she asked, sniffing. Ashley had never had a nice word to say about Kat, and suddenly, here she was, overwrought at Kat’s death?
Libby looked back at Jim, unsure what or how much she was allowed to share.
He nodded his go-ahead.
She swallowed, slipping her hair behind her ear. “I’m afraid it was.”
A murmur buzzed through the room.
“What happened?” Sylvia, the one Australian swimmer at the tournament, asked as Ashley sat again.
Jim hitched up his pants. “I’m afraid all I’m able to confirm is Miss Stanic’s identity at this point. But I’m hoping you all will be able to help me put the pieces of her last days together.”
“How?” Sylvia frowned.
“By answering a few short questions.”
“What kind of questions?” Monika asked, her German accent thick.
“Just the basics. Miss Jennings here has kindly offered to assist me, so we’ll call you into the library one by one. I thank you for your cooperation in advance. This shouldn’t take long.”
Wearing brown corduroy coveralls and a yellow T-shirt, Monika slumped back in her chair. “Why aren’t you questioning the Russians? They were closest to Kat. Not us.”
“We’re planning to, Miss . . . ?”
“Juergen.”
“Well, Miss Juergen, why don’t we start with you.” He held out his hand, gesturing to the library at the far end of the dining hall. “This way, please.”
Monika eyed him warily.
Libby crossed her arms. “Unless you have something to hide?”
“Me?” Monika stood, her shoulders broad, her arms muscular, her blond hair cropped short. “Look who’s talking. You were Kat’s number-one enemy. You conveniently happen to find her body. Please. If anybody should be questioned, it should be you.”
“We have,” Ben said before Jim could even respond. Always so quick to jump to her defense and protection. While she greatly appreciated that, among other things about him, it didn’t change the fact she’d be gone soon and there was no room for a man in her life. Even a stellar one, as she was coming to view Ben McKenna.
“Correct,” Jim said, following up on Ben’s statement. “Miss Jennings has already been questioned.”
Libby hadn’t realized he’d viewed their conversations as official questioning.
“Are we going to do this,” Monika asked, standing in front of Libby, shifting her gaze between her and Ben. “Or are you two going to gawk at each other all day?”
Heat rushed to Libby’s cheeks. She had been staring at Ben. Again. Ignoring the smirks spreading across the room, she turned and followed Jim and Monika into the library. Two brown leather wing chairs sat in front of an ornate fireplace, the walls covered with bookshelves from floor to ceiling.
Monika plopped down on one of the chairs and rested her foot over her bent knee, her white Nike tennis shoes bouncing up and down as she jiggled her foot. “So, what do inquiring minds want to know?” She swiped her nose. “Isn’t that what you all say in the States when you’re looking for juicy gossip?”
“We’re not looking for gossip, ma’am,” Jim said. “We’re looking for facts.”
“Facts. Right. Well, the fact is you’re standing next to Kat’s enemy. Not looking at her.”
“As I’ve said, I’ve already questioned Miss Jennings. Now it’s your turn.”
“Fine.” She exhaled, blowing her fringed bangs from her forehead. “Let’s get this over with. I’m ready for a hot shower and my rubdown. Trained hard this morning.”
“How well did you know Miss Stanic?” Jim asked.
“Not well at all.”
“How many competitions have you been in together?”
“We’ve competed against each other maybe twenty times.”
“Over how many years?” Jim asked.
She shrugged a shoulder. “A decade, maybe.”
“And in all those years how many times did you beat Miss Stanic?”
Libby bit back a smile. Jim was good. Getting right to the heart of the reason for the animosity that existed between Monika and Kat.
Monika’s jaw clenched. “None,” she gritted out.
“None.” Jim strode forward, squatting in front of her. “That must have made you angry?”
Disgust rippled across Monika’s face. “I see what you are doing here.”
“What am I doing?” he asked.
“Trying to make me look like the bad guy, but I’m tired of playing along.” She got to her feet. “I’m done here.”
“Sit down, Miss Juergen. Please,” Jim said, polite but firm. “Only two questions to go.”
“Fine.” She retook her seat. “Two.”
“Did you see Kat at practice yesterday?”
“Yes. We both swam early.”
“Why?”
She glanced over at Libby. “Less distractions. Better focus.”
“And then what did you both do?”
“No clue what Kat did, but I came back here and changed, then went for a long run.”
“A run after swimming? Why the extra exercise?”
“Part of my training regimen.”
“So you run every day?” Jim asked.
“Not every day.”
“Where’d you run?”
“I don’t know the names of places. Back off in the wilderness somewhere.”
“See anyone on your run?”
“I was focused on the run. Not my surroundings.”
“And then?”
“And now I’m leaving. I’ve answered far more than two questions. If you want to talk to me more, you can go through my coach.” She strode from the room.
“You’re just going to let her leave like that?” Libby asked, outraged.
Monika always liked to be in control, calling the shots, but this was Jim’s arena. Why’d he let her walk like that?
“She’s not a U.S. citizen. As far as I know she’s committed no crime. I have no right to force her to answer any of my questions. What she did was a courtesy.”
“I’d hardly call that a courtesy.”
“She told us both she and Kat practiced early.”
“Yeah. I saw Kat leaving practice yesterday as I arrived.”
“And Monika?”
“Can’t say I recall seeing her at all, come to think of it.”
“Then we should speak with her coach next.”
“He’s only going to back up what she’s said.”
“Only if it’s the truth, or if she told him what she told us.”
“And how will we know which is the case?” Libby asked.
He smiled. “Ben’s out there listening.”
Right. Ben. What had he heard?
A few minutes passed before Monika’s coach, Claus Dieter, entered. Libby looked past him to Ben before Jim shut the door. They’d have to learn what Ben had overheard, if anything.
“Mr. Dieter, please have a seat.”
The man, balding though only in his early forties, sat. He was the stereotypical, overbearing, hard-nosed coach, and Libby doubted they’d get more than a grunted one-word answer or two out of him.
“Did you see Kat Stanic at practice yesterday morning?” Jim began.
“Yes. She and Monika practiced before the rest of the girls.”
“Why?”
“Because Monika had other training she wanted to do, and the two of them practicing alone makes them drive one another. It’s good for Monika to
go against her stiffest competition.” He offered a slide glance in Libby’s direction along with the jab. Monika had yet to beat her either.
“What time did she finish practice?” Jim asked.
“Seven thirty.”
“And then?”
“I told you, she trained.”
“How?”
“A run, I believe.”
“You believe? Aren’t you in charge of her fitness?”
“Yes, but she keeps her own log and I oversee.”
Interesting, she hadn’t offered to share her log.
“Did you see her running?” Jim asked.
“No, I had another swimmer practicing at regular time.”
“So you can’t verify Monika was running?” Libby said.
“If Monika said she ran, she ran. She’s my most dedicated athlete. You can check her log.”
Logs could easily be forged.
“We’ll do that,” Jim said.
“Any idea what Kat did after finishing her practice?”
He shook his head. “It’s not my business to keep an eye on the competition.”
That was a flat-out lie. All coaches kept an eye on the competition.
“Thank you, Mr. Dieter. I appreciate your cooperation. If you think of anything that might be helpful, here’s my card.”
Dieter slipped it into the pocket of his green tracksuit.
Jim turned to Libby after Dieter left. “Sounds like we may want to start asking if anyone actually saw Monika on her run, and when we are done here we need to speak with Kat’s coach and see where she headed after her run.”
“I doubt he’ll tell you anything.”
“If he wants to find her killer, he will.”
“You’re assuming he’s not her killer,” Libby said.
“You really think her own coach would kill her?” Jim asked.
“You’ve got to understand. Russia works very differently than we do.”
Ben popped his head in. “How’s it going?”
“Okay. How’s it going out there?”
“Good. I’ll catch you up when you’re done.”
Time passed, and they finally reached the last competitor—Sylvia Mollet, from Australia.
“Thanks for your patience, Miss Mollet,” Jim said, shutting the door behind her.
“No problem. If I can be of any help.”
