She couldn't find it in her to resist his plea.
He undressed her, one article of clothing at a time, not hurrying,
barely touching her, hanging her garments one by one on the coatrack
inside the front door. A frisson of awareness danced over her skin, not
entirely due to the chill spring air and the stove not yet being lit for
the evening. It had been a long time.
When she was naked, except for the stockings held above her knees with
satin garters and the high-heeled shoes with the rhinestone heels, he
stood looking at her in silence.
When he spoke, she was startled out of her sensual absorption by the
real despair in his voice. "You're still as beautiful as ever." He
walked around her, and she could feel his eyes on her body like a
caress. "Damn you," he whispered, and kissed her again, thrusting his
knee between her legs and pressing up. He took her hips in his hands and
ground her against him.
In spite of his ungentle handling she began to respond, but the wool of
his suit was rough against her breasts, and she whimpered in protest.
He broke away, panting. "Don't move," he whispered. "Let me look at you."
He walked around her again as she stood trembling.
When he walked behind her for the third time, he paused for so long she
asked, "What? What is it, Matt?"
"God, how I loved you," he said, and something hit the back of her head,
and the Dawson Darling knew no more.
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They were waiting at the Niniltna airstrip the next morning when George
Perry flew in with the Anne Gordaoff entourage. She got out of George's
leased 206 first, and when she saw Kate she smiled with what looked like
genuine friendliness. "Hello, Kate."
"Hello, Anne."
"How was your day off."
"Educational," Kate said. "You know Jim Chopin."
"Of course, as who doesn't?" Anne smiled and held out her hand.
"Ms. Gordaoff. Some information has come to my attention about Paula
Pawlowski. I wonder if I might speak with you for a few moments."
Darlene, at Anne's shoulder, said, "We've got a schedule to meet, Jim.
We don't really have time for-"
He kept his eyes on Anne. "That's a shame. Let's go, then." He put his
hand beneath Anne's elbow and urged her toward the blue-and-white Cessna
180 with the state trooper logo on the fuselage parked to one side of
the strip.
"What?" Darlene said. "Wait a minute, where are you taking her? Jim?"
He halted, looking down at Anne. "We can talk here," he told her, "or we
can fly to Tok and talk at the post there."
It was all pure bluff, of course. He didn't have a warrant-yet-and she
didn't have to go anywhere with him. Kate thought Anne probably knew
that. Darlene didn't, and she was spluttering with rage. Tracy Huffman
glanced at
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Kate and then buried her nose in her Day Timer. Tracy'd always been good
at staying out of the line of fire, a talent Kate envied. Doug Gordaoff
took one step forward and then halted, silent, watching. Erin was
indifferent to anything but her own misery.
Tom, to his credit, said in a loud, angry voice, "Get your hands off my
mother." His father put a hand on his shoulder and he shrugged it off.
"Let her go," Tom said. It was the first time Kate had seen him exhibit
anything remotely resembling familial feeling, and she was surprised.
"You want to stay out of this, son," Jim said.
Anne stared up at him. "You know, don't you."
"Know what, Anne?"
She looked over her shoulder at Kate. "You found out."
"Paula Pawlowski did," Kate said. "It was in her notes."
Anne's shoulders slumped a little. "Maybe Billy Mike will let us use the
conference room at the association." Her smile looked forced. "At least
we'll be in out of the cold."
"Let's go," Jim said.
Tom managed to contain himself until they were seated at the table in
the conference room before he burst out, "Is this about Paula Pawlowski?
Because if it is, and if you're dumb enough to think Mom had anything to
do with it, you're just plain crazy."
Jim frowned down at his notebook and made a minute correction to an
entry. Kate, looking over his shoulder, saw that the notebook was open
to a completely blank page.
"Besides, she was giving a speech at a dinner in Ahtna at the time."
"At what time, Tom?" Jim said without looking up.
"The evening Paula Pawlowski died. And after that she was in our hotel
room, with Dad, all night."
Tom couldn't know that, but for the moment, Kate held her peace.
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Jim looked up for the first time, straight at Anne. "Where were you the
following afternoon, Anne?"
She looked startled. "Why, I don't know, I-" She looked at Darlene.
Tracy Huffman snapped open her Day Timer. "She was passing the talking
stick at a healing circle for recovering alcoholics at the Ahtna Medical
Clinic at three P.M. That lasted until five P.M., when she joined the
residents of the Ahtna Pioneer Home for dinner in their cafeteria. She
was there until seven P.M., maybe a little longer because they had a lot
of questions about the plan to phase out the longevity fund."
"And after that, we went to dinner with the Kegturyaq Native
Association, and then to our rooms, where we read until we went to
sleep," Doug said.
Doug Gordaoff seemed to have rediscovered his marriage. Interesting,
Kate thought, given that she'd seen him hit on more women in a
twenty-four-hour period than even Jim Chopin could manage.
"Thank you, Doug," Jim said, with a corresponding scribble. The notebook
was all for show, a tool of intimidation. Most people who'd been called
in to help the trooper with his investigation couldn't keep their eyes
off it. Something in the act of someone taking down your words as you
speak made people immediately wonder what they had said wrong, made them
want to correct themselves, rationalize their behavior, contradict what
they'd said before, or, fatally, attempt to explain themselves. It was a
natural human reaction to try put the best light on one's actions, no
matter how amoral, asocial, abusive, or bloody.
And that was when Jim nailed them in interrogation. He never actually
wrote anything down in the notebook, though. When it came to write the
official report, he wouldn't have forgotten a single detail. It would
all go into the computer and be printed out in damning black and
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white that always stood up in court. Jim Chopin was a district
attorney's wet dream.
A good cop and a good pilot, Kate thought. Two good qualities.
She shifted in her chair. Speaking of rationalization, what had happened
between them in Bering in July or at the garbage dump in Ahtna was no
reason for her to endow Jim Chopin with character. He'd been kind to
her, yes, and she was grateful, but it stopped there. She concentrated
on the conversation, like she should have been doing in the first place.
"And you were where during this period, Doug?"
Aha, Kate thought, repressing an unwilling smile.
Jim was making it
known that he was well aware that if Doug Gordaoff was Anne Gordaoff's
unbreakable alibi, then Anne Gordaoff was Doug Gordaoff's alibi as well.
Doug stared. "I was with her, of course."
Kate didn't know it, but she and Jim were thinking exactly the same
thing at that moment. How convenient.
Jim looked at Erin Gordaoff. "Where were you, Erin?"
"Who said you could call her by her first name?" Tom said, rising to his
feet and leaning forward with his hands on the table. "Who said you
could call my mother or my father by their first name? Show a little
respect, and we might think about answering your questions."
"Where were you, Erin?" Jim said.
"I don't know," Erin said, her tone close to a whine, and Kate thought
what a dreary young woman she was. Hard to believe she was Anne
Gordaoff's daughter. Maybe fairies had pulled a switch in the crib.
"What's with all these questions?" Tom said. "You march us in here like
we're under arrest, and now you're interrogating my family like we know
something about Paula Pawlowski's death. We don't."
"Someone killed her, Tom."
"Well, that somebody isn't sitting around this table."
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Jim consulted his nonexistent notes. "Where were you that night?"
"Now, just a damn minute," Anne said, an unaccustomed flush rising up
into her face. It was the first time Kate had seen her upset.
Jim looked up for the first time, meeting her eyes squarely. "Tell us
about your great-grandmother, Anne."
There was a silence that stretched out like a rubber band pulled to its
breaking point. No one moved. For a while it seemed like no one breathed.
"What do you mean, tell you about my great- grandmother?" Anne said, but
it was a poor attempt, and she had waited far too long to make it.
"The Northern Light," Jim said.
There was another silence.
"She's dead," Anne said. "She's been dead since 1915. I never knew her."
"That's not what I asked you, Anne."
"What's going on, Mom?" Tom said. "Which great- grandmother?"
Jim waited for Anne to answer. She didn't. He said, "The last
threatening letter you received, Anne, the one telling you to pay up or
they'd tell."
Anne was pale but composed. "Yes?"
"I just got the report from the crime lab in Anchorage. It was written
by someone else other than the writer of the original letters."
"Oh. I don't understand. I-have two people been writing me hate mail?"
"No," Jim said, "one person has been writing you hate mail, and a second
person, a completely different person, has been trying to blackmail you."
"That's ridiculous," Anne said. "That's just-that's silly. I don't have
anything to be blackmailed for." She looked around the table. "My family-"
"Yes, let's talk about your family," Jim said. "Your
217
family's got legs in Alaska, both literally and figuratively, starting
with the Dawson Darling, who danced for her supper at the Double Eagle
Saloon in Dawson City, who worked the Fairbanks Line, and who later
moved to Niniltna to open the establishment known as the Northern
Light." He sat back, very much at his ease, and waited, blue eyes steady
in an unnerving stare. It was said that Jim Chopin could look at you
with that stare and make you confess to murdering your own mother, even
if you'd been on Maui at the time.
"That was a long time ago," Anne said, almost sullen.
"Yes, it was, and I couldn't give a damn, but you might not agree."
Anne shifted in her chair. "It's not something we talk about a lot in my
family."
Jim agreed. "Some families are a little more uptight than others."
"Uptight?" Anne said. "She was a prostitute. She sold her body for
money. It's not something to be proud of."
"What?" Tom said.
"What?" Doug said.
"What?" Erin said.
Tracy's eyebrows flew up into her hairline.
Darlene's expression didn't change.
"Not something to be proud of," Jim repeated. "Is it a secret you'd kill
to keep, Anne?"
"That's enough," Darlene said. "This conversation is over." She looked
at Jim with a pointed expression. "Unless you want to arrest someone?"
Jim let them wait while he thought about it. "No," he said at last, and
let the room relax before he ratcheted up the tension again. "Not at the
moment."
Darlene didn't move a muscle. "Fine."
"I would like a list of Anne's activities for the rest of the day, however."
"Fine," Darlene said again, giving Tracy a curl nod
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before she swept out the door, herding the Gordaoffs in front of her.
Tracy sighed. "Just once I'd like to be on a winning team."
Kate spoke for the first time. "You think the fact that Anne's
great-grandmother was a hooker during the Gold Rush will lose her the
election?"
Tracy shook her head. "Not the fact that her great- grandmother was a
hooker, Kate. The fact that Anne kept it a secret." She opened her
DayTimer. "Anne's having lunch at the Roadhouse in an hour. She'll
probably be there until three, when we come back for the start of the
cheerleader tournament."
"You overnighting here?" Jim said.
Tracy nodded and picked up her bag. "Well, hell, Kate. It was fun while
it lasted."
They grinned at each other. "You sticking with the campaign?"
Tracy shrugged. "They're still paying me, so far as I know." She shook
her head and said mournfully, "This was such a slam dunk a month ago.
What the hell happened?"
When she was gone Jim looked at Kate and said, "Good question."
She sighed. "Yeah."
The door opened and they looked up. It was Dinah, flushed and breathing
hard, as if she'd been running. "Finally," she said, trying to catch her
breath.
"What's up?" Kate said, Dinah's urgency pulling her to her feet. "What's
wrong?"
Dinah looked at Jim Chopin. "Good-bye, Jim."
He stood behind Kate. "What's going on?"
"It's personal," Dinah said. "Good-bye."
"I guess I can take a hint." He reached out a hand and chucked Dinah
beneath the chin. "So long, gorgeous." He adjusted the ball cap over his
eyes. "Kate."
When the door closed behind him, Dinah said, "Some
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body told Jane how to get to your homestead."
"She came back? Where'd she stay last night?"
"I don't know. All I know is she went out to the Roadhouse and
Stabenow, Dana - Shugak 11 - The Singing Of The Dead Page 27
