Murder over Kodiak

by Robin, Barefield

  She sat on the end of her bed and stared up at us. She had painted her pretty face with black makeup: black eyeliner, black mascara, and even black lipstick. The combined effect of the makeup and the dim lighting in her black bedroom made her skin appear sickly white, and I was struck by her resemblance to Morticia from the old television show, The Adams Family. You didn’t need to be a psychologist to know this girl had problems.

  “Who are you?” Toni asked as her dark eyes squinted toward my face. Steve had been so distracted by the sight of her bedroom that he hadn’t remembered to introduce me.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “This is Jane Marcus from the marine center. One of the passengers on Bill’s plane was her assistant.”

  “The crash wasn’t Bill’s fault.” Toni stood and stalked to the head of her bed, sitting by her black-shrouded nightstand.

  “I know that, Toni,” I said. “We’re just here to see how you’re doing, how you’re holding up under all this.”

  “Bill loved me.” She stuck her chin in the air and folded her arms across her chest.

  “Toni,” Steve said, walking around the end of her bed and sitting beside her. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you since the crash.” He paused for a moment, and I knew he was choosing his words carefully. “You talked to Bill after I did that day. Did he tell you anything? Was anything wrong?”

  “What do you mean?” Toni pushed against the headboard of her bed, and I thought Steve was brave to sit so close to her. I kept my distance.

  “I don’t know what I mean. That’s just it. Someone planted a bomb on that plane. Did Bill tell you if he saw anyone suspicious, or did he have an argument with anyone?”

  “No,” Toni said as soon as Steve stopped talking. “I’ve been thinking about that, and everything was normal. He asked me out to dinner, and I know he was going to propose to me. I know it.” Her words trailed into sobs, but instead of comforting her, Steve backed away from her. I didn’t blame him. She wasn’t the kind of person you wanted to put your arms around.

  “At least no one else will have him now.” The words escaped between sobs.

  “What?” I said.

  She lifted her face and looked at me, two black lines of mascara defining the trails of her tears down her cheeks. She thrust back her shoulders and puffed her cheeks. “Bill died mine. He will be mine through eternity. No other woman will ever have him.”

  Steve muttered something and stood.

  “That’s one way to look at it,” I said. “But I’m sure you’d rather have Bill alive.”

  “Well of course.” She spat the words at me.

  “Listen, Toni,” Steve said. “You can’t think of anyone who would have wanted to hurt Bill?” He enunciated each word of the question as if talking to a child.

  “Why are you asking me these questions?” Toni said. I thought the senator was the bomber’s target. No one would want to blow up Bill.”

  “The FBI doesn’t know that the senator was the target, they are just guessing. Steve and I are checking out other leads.”

  Toni looked from Steve to me and back to Steve again. “No one would want to kill Bill. I would murder anyone who tried to hurt him.”

  We left Toni huddled on her bed, hugging her knees against her chest. I had moments when I regretted that I didn’t have children. This was not one of them.

  We called our goodbyes to Mrs. Hunt, who was in the kitchen baking cookies. The rain didn’t seem quite as brutal when we stepped off the Hunt’s front porch.

  “What do you think?” Steve asked as we cruised down Rezanof.

  “Unstable is a good description. I don’t think we can rule her out. If she knows about explosives, and you say she does, then yes, I think she has the personality to blow up her boyfriend and five other people and then feel sorry for herself the next day, because she lost the love of her life. The girl has problems.”

  “Yeah,” Steve said. “That’s what I think too.”

  Steve asked me if I would like to stop and grab something to eat, but I said no. I had an overwhelming desire to be alone, locked in my apartment, away from the crazy world.

  As soon as I got home, I hung up my raincoat and dug my cell phone out of my purse to check the messages.

  The temperature in the room dropped when I heard Jack Justin’s voice. “Hi, Jane, this is Jack Justin. I’d like to meet with you again at your convenience.” There was a short pause. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about me; let’s start over. Call me at the Baranov Inn, room two twelve. Bye.”

  I pushed the rewind button and wished I’d gone to dinner with Steve. I suddenly did not want to be alone.

  Chapter Seven

  I went to bed at 8:00 and didn’t sleep at all. I tried all the tricks, but my mind raced, and I couldn’t slow it down. Anyone who knew anything about the passengers and pilot of Nine Nine November was reluctant to talk to the FBI. No one wanted to spread gossip, and neither did I, but Agent Morgan wasn’t from this community. How would he learn alternative motives for the explosion unless someone relayed the rumors to him? Yes, he would question innocent people, but maybe he also would find the monster who planted the bomb. I hated to violate confidences, but my first commitment was to Craig. I’d vowed I would find out how and why he had died, and I still planned to fulfill that promise.

  I rolled over and looked at the illuminated dial of my alarm clock: 11:15. I wondered if Dana had told the FBI about George Wall, the renegade guide who had threatened Dick Simms. I picked up my phone and dialed Dana’s number.

  “Hello,” Dana panted between breaths.

  “What were you doing? You’re out of breath.”

  “Stair climber.”

  “I’ll wait while you catch your breath.”

  “What’s up?” she said a moment later. Her gasps had mellowed to light wheezes.

  “Do you exercise like this every night?” I asked.

  “If I did this every night, I wouldn’t be in such bad shape. I ate a whole pan of brownies tonight, and now I’m feeling guilty.”

  I laughed. “Sorry to interrupt your penance, but I was just wondering if you’ve talked to the FBI about George Wall.”

  There was a long pause, and I worried Dana had passed out. Her tone was cool when she replied. “Listen, Jane, I shouldn’t have said anything to you about Wall. I’ve thought about it, and he’s not a viable suspect.”

  “What do you mean? You convinced me that he was violent and that he had a murderous grudge against Simms.” I heard my voice rising in pitch, and I slowly exhaled.

  “Look, Dana. I’m not sure the senator was the target of this disaster, but the FBI is focusing all their attention on the senator and her husband. They’re not looking at the other passengers. You need to tell the FBI what you know. I met the investigator today, and he seems like a nice guy; he’s easy to talk to.”

  “No way, Jane, and don’t tell him to call me. I don’t want to get involved in this.”

  “But Dana.”

  “Did you hear me? I’m serious. Keep me out of this.”

  I couldn’t believe the hostility in her voice. What was her problem? “Fine, Dana. Thanks for your help,” I said, and disconnected.

  My heart thudded as I slammed my head against my pillow. The dial of my alarm clock finally blurred and faded at 4:30. I slept for two hours.

  When I awoke, my sinuses were clogged and my head pounded. I pulled back my bedroom curtain and stared at the sky. The weather had improved. It was still drizzly, but only a slight breeze rustled the spruce needles. I pulled on my sweat suit and jogging shoes. My arms and legs ached from a restless night, but I forced myself out into the damp morning.

  After two blocks, my muscles began to loosen and my head cleared. The rain-soaked air was tinged with the pungent aroma of spruce and the sweet scent of wildflowers. Church bells clanged in the distance, but the streets were quiet.

  I jogged for twenty minutes and then turned around and retraced my steps home. I steppe
d into the shower and turned the water as hot as I could stand it. Sometime in the middle of the night I had decided to talk to Morgan and tell him every rumor I had heard. I reviewed this decision as the steamy water flowed over my head. I wouldn’t tell him who had told me the information, and I would stress that I was only repeating rumors. Then, at least he would have something new to investigate, and he could look at other possible targets besides the Justins.

  The phone was ringing when I stepped out of the shower. I wrapped a towel around myself and hurried into the bedroom. “Hello.”

  “Jane, it’s Steve.”

  I sat on the edge of the bed and waited for him to continue.

  “Toni Hunt’s mother called me last night, and she was pretty upset.”

  “What happened?” I pulled the towel tightly around me to ward off the chill.

  “Toni was hysterical after we left, and Mrs. Hunt is afraid she’ll get sick again.”

  “Get sick as in attempt suicide?”

  “She didn’t say that, but that’s what she meant. She wants us to stay away from her daughter.”

  A flash of heat rushed through me. “I don’t plan to go anywhere near her daughter,” I said, “but I will tell the FBI agent everything Toni Hunt told us.”

  “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

  “Yes I do, Steve. Six people were murdered. I don’t think we can afford to protect anyone’s feelings, reputation, or even sanity. If Toni Hunt placed that bomb in the airplane, that may be the reason why she is suicidal.”

  A loud sigh sounded in my ear. “What a mess,” Steve said. “I’ll call you if I hear anything else.”

  I told Steve goodbye and then found my purse, dug out the card Morgan had given me, and dialed his number. I was expecting voicemail and was surprised when his deep, rough voice came on the line.

  “Dr. Marcus. What can I do for you?”

  “After a restless night, I’ve decided to tell you every rumor I’ve heard about the passengers and pilot of Nine Nine November.”

  “Well, that’s a nice change of pace. I was beginning to think every resident of this town had taken an oath of secrecy. When can we meet?”

  “How about 3:00 this afternoon?”

  “At the police station?”

  “My office.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  I hung up the phone and immediately felt lighter. This seemed like the first good decision I had made in weeks. I might not win any friends by talking to Morgan, but I might provide information that would help catch Craig’s murderer.

  I dressed in blue jeans and a sweatshirt, walked into the living room of my apartment, and surveyed the scene. I opened the hall closet, dragged out the vacuum cleaner, grabbed a dust rag, and went to work. After I had cleaned the floors, furniture surfaces, countertops, and washed the dishes, I felt better. Next, I tackled the mountain of dirty laundry, and once the washer was humming, I turned on the television, grabbed the remote, and stretched out on the couch. I flipped quickly past the news channels and settled on a tennis match, which distracted me for an hour.

  At 2:00, I drove to the marine center, and was relieved to see an empty parking lot when I arrived. I left the front door unlocked and turned on a few lights for Agent Morgan. I went to my office and sat for a while, but at 2:45, I returned to the front lobby and waited for Morgan. He was five minutes early.

  I was glancing through a marine center brochure and didn’t know he was there until I heard the front door scrape open. I stood, walked out of the carpeted reception area, and intercepted him in the tiled entryway. He was unbuttoning his black raincoat, and I saw that he was dressed casually in blue jeans and a navy turtleneck. The shirt emphasized his compact, muscular physique.

  “Dr. Marcus.” He held out his right hand, and I took it.

  “Let’s go back to my office.” While the reception area was more comfortable, I felt more secure in my office. Should any of my colleagues arrive for some Sunday afternoon office work, I did not want them to overhear me sharing my ideas with an FBI agent.

  Morgan nodded and followed me down the long hall. When we arrived at my office, I held open the door for him and then shut it behind us. Morgan sat in the straight-back chair in front of my desk, placing his briefcase on the floor beside him. I opened the window blinds, revealing my view of the dark, Sitka spruce forest.

  “This is a beautiful place,” Morgan said. “I’ve never been to Alaska before.” He crossed his left leg over his right and cupped his interlaced fingers over his left knee.

  I sat in my desk chair and smiled at Morgan. “The weather has been dreadful since you’ve been here. I’m not sure anyone could think this is beautiful.”

  A grin flickered across his mouth, and I caught a glimpse of straight, white teeth. “Maybe I should say that I’m sure it is beautiful on a nice day.”

  “That it is.” I looked away from Morgan’s eyes, certain that they would hypnotize me if I stared too long. I plucked a pen from my desk and devoted my full attention to it.

  Several moments of silence elapsed, and then Morgan said, “Dr. Marcus, we appreciate your help.”

  I didn’t look up from the pen. “Craig was a good person. He didn’t deserve to die.” I felt tears form in the corners of my eyes and brushed them away. “I will do whatever I can to help find those responsible for his death. My only obligation is to his memory.” I put my pen down and looked up. Morgan was nodding.

  “I understand,” he said. “If the explosives were placed to kill someone other than the senator or her husband, then we need local help to understand the dynamics of the relationships of the other passengers.”

  I put my elbows on the desk and rested my chin on steepled hands. “I saw the news last night. Does the FBI believe Eaton’s ex-staff member? Do you have strong evidence that Eaton was behind the blast?”

  Morgan tilted his head to one side and kept his eyes locked on my face.

  “I know,” I said. “Confidential FBI information. You want me to tell you every rumor I’ve heard about the passengers, but you aren’t going to tell me a thing.”

  Morgan shrugged. “That is what I’m supposed to say, but I’m not very good at playing by the rules.” He uncrossed his legs and shifted in the hard chair. “I have not been briefed on every aspect of this investigation, but I don’t believe there is any hard evidence against Eaton. Our source is questionable.”

  “But you still think Eaton might be responsible?” I asked.

  “At this point, Eaton or his associates are our strongest suspects.”

  I leaned back in my chair. “I’m sure you’re aware that only Kodiak Air Services employees knew which plane would be used for the senator’s flight.”

  Morgan nodded. “I know that Steve Duncan believes that, but,” he shook his head, “in my experience, that type of information has a way of leaking. The flight schedule wasn’t a secret, and even Mr. Duncan cannot say for sure how many of his employees knew the plan for the day.” He put his right hand on the edge of my desk, and I watched his strong fingers.

  “Do you know why Mr. Duncan told me something that points the blame at his own employees?”

  My face grew hot. “Steve wants to get to the bottom of this as badly as you do.” I sucked in air and forced myself to calm down. “That’s one of the things I want to tell you. The pilot, Bill Watson, had a girlfriend named Toni Hunt. Steve introduced me to Toni, and we both think she is unstable.”

  Morgan reached for his briefcase, clicked open the locks, and extracted a notepad and pen. I waited for him to begin writing before I continued to tell him about Toni. I related the story about her smashing Bill’s truck and then told him that she knew how to use dynamite and probably had access to it.

  When I finished talking, Morgan looked up at me and nodded his head. “I appreciate this,” he said. “We haven’t talked to her yet, and now we can prepare for a more intense questioning.”

  “Be careful,” I said. “She’s fragile. She may
not be guilty of anything, but she is a very disturbed young woman.”

  Morgan squinted his eyes, and the lines in the corners wrinkled. “Is there anyone else?”

  “George Wall,” I said.

  “We know about him and his threats to Dick Simms.”

  I picked up the pen from my desk and began playing with it again. “Did you know that he was arrested for blowing up a man’s truck in Colorado?”

  Morgan wrote something on his notepad. “Yes. We plan to talk to him as soon as we can find him.”

  “Is he missing?”

  Morgan shrugged. “We haven’t tracked him down yet, but we just began looking.”

  “If you’re looking for the target of this crime,” I said, “you might want to spend some time looking at Dick Simms’ enemies.”

  The corners of Morgan’s mouth turned up. “I understand Mr. Simms was not popular. Did you know him?”

  “Oh yes, and I didn’t like the guy. He was arrogant and ineffectual in a job that I consider to be extremely important.” I put down the pen and pushed my chair back from my desk. “No one I knew liked him.”

  “But did anyone dislike him enough to murder him along with a planeload of people?”

  I wrapped my arms around myself. “That’s what keeps bothering me. I understand hating someone enough to murder them, but what kind of sick mind could blow up five other people in the process of killing his target?”

  Morgan shifted and stood. He walked behind me and stared out at the forest. I twisted in my chair and waited for him to speak.

  “When you’ve been doing this job as long as I have,” he said, “you stop asking those questions. There’s no shortage of people out there who think that sacrificing a few innocent lives is necessary to further their cause or to protect their way of life.”

  “That’s why you think this was some sort of terrorist act?”

  Morgan turned toward me and sat on the edge of my desk. He was so close that I could smell the subtle fragrance of his aftershave.