by Stan Jones
He dropped his own phone into the cupholder, got out and crossed Beach Street, and leaned on the seawall rail.
“What?” she said from behind him.
He turned. “Is Sonny safe?”
“Ah. You figured it out.” She wore a quizzical grin.
He winked in acknowledgment. But he said, “Not officially, no.”
“Interesting reading, huh?”
“Very. But, again, Sonny. He does work on the computers at Chukchi Telephone and Pete did have his email with them. That’s a little close for comfort, isn’t it?”
“Terms like the Tor client were mentioned,” Grace said. “And anonymous relay servers.”
“Ah. The traffic passes through so many servers and and so much encryption, nobody can track it? Or something like that?”
“Maybe the NSA could untangle it, but Helen Mercer can’t,” Grace said.
“We may both have to lie about this.”
The grin came back. “Of course. But you’ll put it to good use, yes?”
“Absolutely.”
AT NOON, HE went through the kunnichuk and knocked on the inner door of the Mercer house. It was dead silent inside and he started to wonder if Alaska Airlines was behind schedule today. Or if Mercer had pulled a Mercer and changed her mind. No, the kunnichuk door would be locked if the place was empty.
He knocked again, waited a half-minute, and was pulling out his cell phone to call her when the knob rattled and the door opened to reveal her with a thick white towel wrapped turban-style around her head and some of the rest of her clad in a satiny bathrobe in her signature scarlet. A bathrobe short enough to display the thigh gap that had contributed to her fame in the rancid swamps of the Internet, and with nothing under, judging from how it draped off her nipples. Her feet were bare.
“Hi, Nathan. Sorry to keep you waiting.” She waved at the robe and towel. “I just got out of the shower. I didn’t have time for one before I left Juneau this morning. Your email was quite the attention-getter.”
“Again, it wasn’t mine. I was as surprised as you.”
“Mm-hmm. Well, be that as it may, come on in.” She nodded toward a sofa and a jade-topped coffee table, no doubt from the big mine on the upper Isignaq. “Did you bring a printout?”
“I think I can remember the gist of it.”
“I’ll get mine.” She vanished into the kitchen and returned with a black crocodile-skin tote, the robe swinging out a little as she set the bag on the coffee table and opened it. She met his eyes for a moment, then re-belted the robe. “Sorry. I’m a bit distracted.”
“No problem. Just tell me why we’re here.”
She sat beside him on the sofa and opened a file folder labeled “Wise.” The DNA report was on top. “Assuming you weren’t behind this leak, which I’m not conceding, how on earth did somebody do it? Get into Pete’s email and re-send all this stuff?”
“So this matches what you guys got as respondents in the suit?”
“Identical. And however it happened, why would Pete think he could get away with this?”
“With what?” he asked. “I mean, a DNA test—”
“Oh, that’s bullshit. There’s no way he could get a sample from Pudu. He forged this.”
“How would he do that?”
“I don’t know. The Internet.”
“There’s an easy way to prove it.”
“You mean a real test?”
“I had the medical examiner take a sample from Pete’s body. We can get a swab from Pudu, run the test, and it’s over. If you’re telling the truth.”
“If? Fuck you, Nathan. I oughta know if I ever slept with Pete Wise and I didn’t!”
“Then why not end this?”
“Because it’s the kind of bullshit I get all the time. If I start going along with every crazy demand some wacko bird comes up with, it’ll never end.”
“Wacko bird? Pete was a pretty straight shooter, from all I’ve heard. If he’s not the father, why would he do this?
“He had a crush on me in high school when I was coaching basketball and he never got over it. Calling the house all the time, my office in Juneau, practically a stalker. Brad got into it with him a couple times, including the night before this all happened, but it didn’t make any difference. I think he actually believed he was Pudu’s father.” She leaned back on the couch, unwrapped the towel, and raked her fingers through her hair, eyes closed. “God, this is exhausting.”
The robe slipped off of one thigh, and the top gapped open to show a pretty nice breast, suspiciously nice, considering her age and the fact she had four kids.
This time she didn’t notice, or didn’t mind. He watched the show, wondering if she was watching back from the corner of her eye.
After a couple of minutes, she shook her head as if to clear it and sat up. The robe gapped open a little more. She closed it and tightened the belt and caught his gaze with a knowing smile.
He rose from the sofa. “That’s it? This is why you got me over here?”
“That’s it. I thought you were my friend. I thought if I looked you in the eye, you’d believe me and we could get this out of our lives.” She shrugged and bit her lip.
“One more question before I go?”
“Sure,” she said in an exhausted tone. “Anything.”
“Everything you say makes sense. But none of it explains why you killed Pete Wise.”
“You still don’t believe me.”
“Of course not. Why did you do it? You wouldn’t be the the first politician with an active sex life. You won’t be the last. You could have talked your way past a love child.”
She buried her face in her hands. “Nathan.”
“Yes?”
“It was Brad. I’m sure it was Brad.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Tuesday, April 22
“BRAD KILLED PETE WISE? You expect me to believe that?”
“I don’t know what to expect from you anymore. I thought you were my friend. God knows, I need one.” She stood and the robe slipped off her shoulders a little. She turned her eyes full on him, the eyelashes jeweled with tears. “And now I think my husband’s a murderer.”
“You pull that up and I’ll listen.”
She sighed, adjusted the robe, and tightened the belt. “Coffee or something?” She pointed at the sofa.
“No thanks, just the story.” He slipped his notebook out of a pocket.
“That morning, what was it a week…?”
He nodded. “A week ago today, yes.”
“It seems like a year.”
“It does. I can imagine what it’s been like for you.”
“You can’t, but thanks.”
“So. That morning.”
“It was about five-thirty, six, maybe. The phone goes off on Brad’s nightstand so I figure he’ll get it and I try to ignore it and go back to sleep. Then it rings again and I poke Brad to wake up and get it, he always sleeps like a hibernating bear, because it might be my folks with some kind of problem with the kids. But Brad’s not there, so I figure he’s in the john or already out getting packed or something and I grab it and it’s him.”
Active wrote “phone—5:30/6?” in his notebook. “And then what happened?”
“I answer it and he tells me he’s out for a ride and he’s lost his snowgo through the ice up by the mouth of the Katonak and he wants me to come get him on mine.”
“Mm-hmm. So off you go.”
“I knew roughly where the spot was so I go up there and call him on my cell when I get close and he talks me in. I pick him up and we come back here and go back to bed for a couple hours before we have to get organized for our Juneau trip.”
“Why did you lie about the snowgo being stolen when we called about it?”
“Brad swore he wasn’t the one who hit Pete and didn’t want me to get dragged into it. I give him credit for that.”
“And you believed him?”
She only nodded. He cocked his head and wait
ed her out for a thirty-count. He kept his eyes on her face to avoid distraction, and noticed for the first time that she seemed to have had time to put on makeup after her shower. She didn’t speak.
“Did you and Brad fight after Pete showed up the night before? Is that how you got the cut on your forehead I saw when I took you to the airport that morning?”
She raised her eyebrows in assent and touched the spot, which still showed a faint bruise. “Brad had been drinking some and he got a little out of hand, yeah. The bastard, he always suspected Pete was telling the truth about Pudu.”
“But you didn’t file a domestic violence complaint?”
“Of course not. I couldn’t stand the publicity.”
“There was a 911 call from your place a few years back. Same thing?”
“Uh-huh. Pete came over that time, too, Brad went after him, and they got into it. Pete left and then Brad came after me so I made the call. He calmed down, and I canceled it.”
“Uh-huh.” He put it all into his notes.
“That’s why, as soon as I heard Pete was dead, I started to wonder. Brad denied it, but I guess if your lab says it was his snowgo that hit Pete, then it’s over?”
“Not exactly. The lab can’t tell us who was driving yet, but there was blood on the windscreen. Can we get a sample from you for comparison purposes? That would take you out of the picture and point the finger at Brad even more.”
She gazed off to the right for a moment. “I suppose I should ask my lawyer first.”
She returned her eyes to his. Summer was in them, and a smile on her lips. “Or maybe there’s another way to handle this.” The feline rumble he had heard on the Isignaq was back in her voice.
“Such as?”
“I see what I can do about Grace’s murder investigation and the children’s services inquiry into Nita’s situation and I withdraw my complaint to the police standards council against you.”
“And me?”
“You see what you can do about the Pete Wise investigation.”
“No, thanks,” he said. “Not my kind of deal.”
“And we spend the afternoon together. Trust me, you’ll never forget it.” She slipped the robe off her shoulders and let it drop away and untied the belt. She put a hand between his thighs and winked. “That a Glock in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”
He pulled her hand away and stood up. “Not really.”
She eyed him, one hand on a confident, cocked hip. “Seriously. You don’t see anything you like?”
“Actually, I see a couple.”
She gave her implants a quick glance and chuckled. The triumphant grin returned and she spread her arms. “They’re all yours.” Her eyes widened in invitation and perhaps even real anticipation.
“I see you’re still playing me. And I see you’re desperate.”
“What?” Her face went rigid and her lips flattened to a thin slash.
“Besides, you’re too old for me. And I’m allergic to silicone.” He pointed.
She raked her nails across his cheek, eyes lethal with fury, focused like a wolf circling a caribou.
“Jesus,” he said.
She drew back for another slash but he grabbed her biceps, shook her hard once, and immobilized her. He realized with shock that her nipples were erect and he scented musk in the air. Could this be what she liked?
The tension drained out of her.
“OK now?”
“Sorry, Nathan,” she said with something like a sob. “No woman likes to hear something like that.”
He gentled his face and handed her his handkerchief. “I’m sorry, too. That was unkind of me.”
She blew her nose and passed back the handkerchief, then pushed his arms apart and tried to fold into them.
“Probably better if we don’t touch. And if you put this back on.” He scooped the robe off the sofa. She slapped it away.
Her nipples, he noticed, were normal-sized again, but the eyes were still like a wolf’s.
“Thanks for trying to rape me, asshole.” She gestured at the finger marks forming angry and red on her arms. “These plus those wounds on your cheek plus your little number in the tent—you’re done.”
He touched his cheek and came away with blood.
“Powerful evidence, all right,” he said. “How about we get some pictures?”
He pulled out his phone and and took a selfie of his damaged cheek. Then he pointed it at her nude upper body. “You?”
“Get out, asshole! Get the fuck out! And get yourself a fucking lawyer.”
ACTIVE CLICKED OFF the voice recorder on his phone and looked around the little audience gathered before his desk. Patrick Carnaby, Theresa Procopio, and Alan Long were still processing what they’d just heard with various expressions of disbelief.
Active cleared his throat. “Well?”
Finally Carnaby spoke. “She was naked?”
“Like the day she was born.”
The Trooper chief shook his head. “How’d she look?”
“She wore it well, actually. Seemed to take to it naturally.”
“But you told her she was too old and her boobs were fake?”
“I did.”
“That was cold, Nathan.”
“You didn’t even squeeze them to make sure?” Long asked. “Arii!” he said as Procopio elbowed him in the shoulder.
“You kidding?” Active said. “I’m gonna touch that woman after what she’s already accused me of? I mean, except for restraining her when she was trying to rip my face off.” He gestured at his lacerated cheek.
“I’d’a ripped off more than your face,” Procopio said. “And gouged out your fucking eyes with my other hand.”
There was a silence as the three men involuntarily checked her chest for signs of enhancement.
Procopio noticed. “Shut up,” she said.
Nobody continued to speak, until Active screwed up his courage. “You told me to push her when we talked about this before I went over.”
Procopio grimaced. “But that? What is wrong with you, saying that to a woman? And she’s standing there naked, offering you everything she’s got, and you’re not tempted? Not even slightly? Not even for a quickie?”
More silence. This time, Active sensed, the other two men were picturing the scene. Especially the governor’s part in it. And imagining in the consequence-free fantasy world of the male libido what they would have done with the opportunity.
“Leave my DNA in that woman?” Active said. “Sure, for her rape kit.” He tapped his phone and looked at the prosecutor. “That voice recorder app has a timestamp feature. Any forensics test will show that it ran continuously from the time I turned it on here in this office in your presence, as verbally instructed, until I turned it off, also in your presence under verbal instruction, when I got back.”
Procopio said “Still” and left her seat to pace in front of Active’s window. Six feet right, six left, repeat.
“If she does file rape charges against you with the state, we’ll need a copy of that,” Carnaby said. “We play it for her, tell her it’ll come into evidence at the trial, that’ll surely be the end of it.”
“How you doing, counselor?” Active said.
“Fucking patriarchy,” she muttered. “Woman gets into a position of power, first thing happens is, the patriarchy uses her sexuality to bring her down.”
“So you’re on her side now?” Carnaby said.
“Actually, it seemed like she was using her sexuality to bring me down,” Active said.
“Fuck all of you and your fucking XY chromosomes and your fucking testosterone and your fucking measuring contests!”
“Maybe this is the first time it ever didn’t work for her,” Carnaby said. “Like the queen in, what was it? Cinderella? With the mirror, mirror, on the wall?”
“It was Snow White, moron, and fuck you anyway,” Procopio growled.
“Maybe some coffee,” Active said. He called and asked Lucy to bring so
me up.
“Tea for me,” Procopio growled.
“And tea for Theresa,” he said into the phone.
Time passed. They gossiped about the sheefish derby and the sex lives of various Chukchi luminaries excluding themselves. The coffee and tea arrived. Procopio scooped up her cup and resumed pacing by the window. They gossiped about when the sea ice might go out, who was the dumbest state legislator, and whether the U.S. Supreme Court was more of a threat or a menace when it came to undermining law enforcement.
Finally, Procopio left the window and set down her cup and cleared her throat. “Sorry, gentlemen. Sometimes my inner feminist gets the better of me. So what do we have here?” She settled into her chair.
“Well,” Active ventured. “She did seem to finger Brad, which, if I understand cor—”
“You do understand correctly. Spousal privilege always makes this kind of thing iffy. If she refuses to testify about it, we can’t make her.”
Carnaby and Long nodded.
“But if she did file a rape charge and I did use the recording in my defense, then it would be on the record, yes?”
“Hmm,” Carnaby said with a look at Procopio.
Procopio thought it over. “It might open the door a crack, but probably not one wide enough to be useful and only after a huge fight. The murder case against Brad would be a separate and unrelated proceeding from the rape charge. Better if Brad told the same story in his own words for some reason. Confessed, essentially.”
The other three nodded.
“So what do we have?”
Procopio ticked the points off on her fingers.
“One, for whatever good it will do us, Helen Mercer does implicate Brad big-time and her story does fits the known facts.”
Her audience nodded, and Active made notes.
“Two, she herself is an accomplice after the fact, by trying to scare Nathan off the case except, if we do manage to get her to testify against Brad into court, we don’t want to be charging our own witness with a crime in the same case. So that’s off-limits.
“Three, she tried to bribe Nathan with sex to drop his investigation.”
“Yeah, except does that count?” Carnaby asked. “I mean, he told her it was valueless. What kind of bribe is that?”
