by Inger Wolf
She nodded, finished the braiding, and grabbed a cup from a cabinet. She poured coffee out of the silver thermos on the kitchen counter.
"Thanks," he said. "Have you been thinking about who your attacker was? You know your name was mentioned on TV after we talked to the woman in Talkeetna?"
"Smith told me."
"Maybe it wasn't so hard to find out who you are. And if someone was really mad, maybe they wanted to put you in your place."
She frowned; she looked pale. "But he has to know there are two of us. And we could have already passed on the information we had by that time. It doesn't seem very well thought out. It could also be someone from another case."
"Do you have problems with the people living here?"
"No, not at all. They don't even know I'm with the police. They think I'm a lawyer's secretary." Another smile. "But my cover might be blown now. Gossip spreads fast here in the slums."
She hesitated a moment. "I'm probably going to have to move, soon as I can. It can't go on like this. More shady characters have moved in here the last few months. I know meth is involved, and the other day I noticed that someone might be building a small meth lab again. I've been keeping my eye on it."
"Here? How do you know?"
"It's not rocket science. Mostly it goes on in the trailers towards the back. There are always containers of chemicals left behind, old stripped lithium batteries, pots, and other things with traces of the stuff still on them. People always go outside to smoke. And if you walk by, you can smell the odor of urine and acetone."
"But isn't it a little bit risky?"
"These people aren't all geniuses. They don't figure anyone will notice. They try to be discreet and get rid of their trash regularly, so there's nothing around for people to notice, but it's obvious to the trained eye. The shit can be manufactured several ways and with different chemicals, but when someone uses too much, something always goes wrong."
She sighed. "I've already helped bust one lab while I've been here. These home labs are dangerous; they can explode."
"How?" Trokic looked warily out the window at the other trailers.
She shrugged. "They use all sorts of volatile and flammable chemicals. Often, we only find out about a lab when it blows up. It doesn't take much. Bad ventilation, for example. Anyway, we've found fewer meth labs the past two years, but there are a lot more users. We think it's being imported. Meth is bad, in fact, it's the worst. Don't you have any problems with it in Denmark?"
"Not like you have."
"Okay. It's just as addictive as heroin, but much, much harder to stop using, and the physical effects are devastating. And that's not even taking into account the twenty percent who become schizophrenic, the type that can't be treated."
"We have plenty of problems, but not with meth. We know it's out there, it's smuggled in, and there's probably a lab somewhere too, but it's nothing like this. We don't know why."
Angie sighed heavily. "That's great for you. But the way things stand, someone involved with meth could have found out I'm with the police and decided to pay a call on me."
She grabbed her car keys from the kitchen table and tossed them over to him. "Let's head out. We'll stop by the hotel so you can freshen up." She looked him up and down with a raised eyebrow. "Sleeping in your clothes doesn't exactly help. You could pass for an authentic trailer park citizen."
When they went outside, he saw a raven sitting on the edge of the roof, staring directly at him. "A raven!"
"That's Timothy. He sits there every day."
"Really?"
"Yeah," she said. "Isn't that strange? He's been coming here ever since I moved in. Sometimes he's gone for a while, but he always comes back. I throw bread up to him. He just sits there and looks."
The bird hopped back and forth. Glared at Trokic with beady, black eyes.
"The damn thing is staring at me," he said. "His, what, his nose?”
“Beak.”
“That beak of his is scary. I think he's guarding you."
"He didn't do such a good job yesterday," she said, with a wry smile.
"Who knows? You're alive. Maybe Timothy was the one who saved you."
Chapter Twenty-Eight
IT WAS broad daylight when they drove into the station. Officers in Homicide were curious about Trokic, but then everyone turned their attention to Angie.
"Jesus Christ," one of the female officers said, a blonde named Linda. She stroked Angie's arm. "Shouldn't you be home?"
"I can't stay home as long as there's an eleven-year-old girl out there," Angie said.
"I really hope I run into the guy who did this," a stocky officer mumbled. "I'll break his goddamn neck. I'm in a bad mood anyway, I need someone to take it out on."
Several of the others joined in with sympathetic words. Mark Smith clapped his hands a few times to get their attention. "Briefing." The officers trudged over to a long table at the end of the room.
"As you can see, somebody did a job on Angie. We don't know who's behind it; it could be related to the Asger Vad case, or it could be somebody else with a grudge against her. Or us. All I can say is, watch your backs, everybody."
He glanced suspiciously at Angie. "But since you're here, even though you should be home in bed, let's sum things up. At present, we have witness statements from Asger Vad's neighbors and people who are in some way connected to this case. The news leak about the dollhouse is not good."
"What about Marie Vad?" Angie said.
"We've heard nothing, not a peep."
"Do you have lists from the telephone companies here in Alaska?" Trokic said, hoping it wasn't a stupid question.
Smith grimaced. "Not the same way you have in Europe. We don't have many cell phone towers here in town, and we only have two carriers, so it's not as relevant here. We can't follow the movements of people in any detailed manner like you can. But we…well, we have other methods. Not anything we want made public, and unfortunately not anything we can use in this situation. What we can say is that her cell phone is not sending, and therefore it's either been turned off on purpose, or there's no more battery, or it's been lost."
"Bad news," Angie mumbled.
"Yes. There's simply no sign of life from her whatsoever. Right now, there isn't a single state trooper not searching for her. All the surrounding area has been thoroughly searched, even up north and down south a long ways, but there's no sign of her."
"What about that dog?" someone asked. "Did we get a blood test on it?"
"We did, but the vet said the blood from Zenna, that's the dog's name, contained an animal painkiller. He said he hands that type of pill out to people with an animal that's been operated on. That's not going to help us, lots of people have them laying around. I even have something like it at home from when my dog was sterilized."
"What about the FBI, are they sending anyone?" Linda asked.
"Not right now,” Smith said, shaking his head. He glanced at Trokic. “They're a little bit careful about the cases they take. Usually, there's a serial killer involved, and of course we don't have many of them up here."
"We did have Butcher Baker," she said.
"Who's that?" Trokic asked.
"That was back in the 80s," Angie said. "I'll tell you the story later. Hollywood is making a film about him; they even filmed some of it here in the office."
"Yeah, a few of us are going to be film stars," Smith said, smiling now. "But anyway, we're still focusing on the people who knew Asger. We've gotten some calls from the university. People who knew him. We need to talk to them, so we can track his movements the day he was murdered. Maybe he met with someone. Had an argument or something. I've notified the university that we want to meet with some of their people. Angie, Trokic—you're going over to talk to them."
They both nodded. Trokic thought this sounded like a peaceful and appropriate assignment, given his battered partner.
"Then take a closer look at the Volcano Observatory's employees," Smith conti
nued.
"We're still keeping an eye on that bastard Griffin, I'm assuming?" Angie said.
"Yes, in fact, I've just spoken with the airport. The nosy neighbor called and said Griffin was home, which apparently isn't normal. He's not at work today and wasn't yesterday, either, they say. They think it's strange. The man hasn't called in sick for ten years."
Chapter Twenty-Nine
"SO, what was that about a Butcher Baker?" Trokic asked, as he drove in slow motion on the slick streets leading to the university.
Angie leaned against the passenger door. She wore her gray stocking cap, and her cheeks were red in the cold car. "We had an oil boom in the 80s and 90s. It attracted a lot of prostitutes, who made money on the men working in the industry. Back then, there were a lot more men than women. For a while, Anchorage was a den of iniquity, you could say. Of sin. Butcher Baker's name was Robert Hansen; he came up from Iowa with his wife. He had two kids, and people liked him. He was a good hunter and pilot."
"I saw a small runway not far from the hotel," Trokic said. "Everybody seems to fly up here."
"Exactly. Merrill Field. And the airstrip was, in fact, vital to that investigation. At one point, Hansen took a prostitute home and raped and tortured her. He was going to take her somewhere in his plane, but when they got to the airstrip, she managed to run off. She ran down Sixth Avenue in handcuffs, with him on her heels, and she managed to stop a truck driver. To make a long story short, her testimony helped put him away. That and several souvenirs he had from his victims."
"Fy for Satan!" Trokic cursed under his breath. "He sounds like an evil guy. Is he still alive?"
"Yeah, he's in his seventies. He'll never get out; he's in prison in Seward, a few hours' drive from here. I have a friend down there, she's a physical therapist for the inmates. And she's treated him several times."
"Must be fun for her," Trokic said.
"Oh, yeah. I wouldn't want to touch him either, considering what he did."
She pointed at a large, light blue twisting statue. "You can turn in here and park."
"But isn't your friend afraid of him?"
"Nah. She says he's one of the nicest inmates they have, always very friendly to her. Funny how some of the worst scum can be model prisoners. So a bunch of idiots might believe they've reformed and release them. But that's not happening this time."
"So, who is playing Hansen in the film?"
"John Cusack."
"Hmm. I like him. At least I always have."
THREE STUDENTS and two teachers were waiting in a room in one of the many university buildings. The students, Amanda, James, and Kevin, were all writing their theses, and Asger had been their advisor. The two teachers, Tohill and Ewan, were geologists. The past several years, they had worked with Asger Vad as lecturers and advisors.
Their faces were serious, the mood somber. One of the students stared down at the table, another fidgeted at the sight of a battered female officer. The others watched them and waited.
The small, musty classroom felt a bit cramped. Someone had illustrated an ecosystem with a red marker on the whiteboard behind them.
"What we are most interested in," Angie began, "is any unusual behavior in the days before Asger was killed. If he said anything you wondered about, or if he acted a bit odd. As we understand it, he was here the day before, is that right?"
Several of them nodded.
"Yes, working in his office," Ewan said. He was a bald man with a gray beard, drooping eyelids, and a subdued voice. "I saw him a few times when I walked by. He probably wasn't doing anything requiring much concentration; otherwise, he would have closed his door. Later on, I ate lunch with him."
"What time was that?" Trokic said.
Ewan rubbed his chin in thought. "Let's see…it must have been about one. We were there twenty minutes, we sat off by ourselves. I didn't notice anything unusual. We ate lunch together often, and it seemed like any other day. We made small talk. They were going to Denmark for Christmas, I believe. And he complained about a bill from a mechanic. I talked some about a project I have going with some students, and that was it. We went our separate ways. I was busy, and I didn't see him the rest of the day."
"Actually, I don't agree that things were completely normal," Tohill said, running his fingers through his long curly hair. "I spoke with him shortly in the hallway close to his office. He seemed nervous. As I understand it, he should have gone out to the observatory that afternoon, but he said he'd canceled. I asked him why, and he mumbled something about his wife, that he was going home. In fact, I thought he looked a little pale."
"Your conversation with Asger took place after lunch?" Trokic asked.
Tohill glanced out a window as a group of students walked by. They were laughing. Life went on. "It must've been about two o'clock. Asger seemed a little impatient, like he didn't really want to talk to me, he wanted to get going. In fact, I remember thinking he was being sort of rude. He didn't listen to what I said, even though it was important, something about the advisor schedule. Finally, he interrupted me in the middle of a sentence and jogged down the hall. But whatever was bothering him, I have no idea."
"So, that's maybe why he canceled the meeting with me," Kevin said. He was an obese, small-eyed young man in a large black shirt. "Or, actually, he blew me off; nobody told me about the cancellation."
"When was your meeting scheduled?" Angie said.
"About a quarter past two. He told me the day before it would have to be short because he was going to the observatory. That was okay by me, we didn't have so much to go over. But he wasn't there when I went into his office."
"Did you wait on him?"
Kevin shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal to him. "The door wasn't locked, so I went in and hoped he would show up. I waited twenty minutes or so, then I took off. I was thinking maybe I got the time wrong. I don't have his number, so I couldn't call him."
Trokic thought that over. Did Asger get a message after lunch that upset him? Somebody he had to meet? Who could it be? This was news. Nothing up to then had indicated it wasn't a normal day for the family.
"Did he often not show up for a meeting with a student without informing them?" Angie asked.
They shook their heads. "Definitely unusual for him," Tohill said. "I never heard anyone complain about him not keeping an appointment. He was a stickler about that. Whenever he couldn't make it, he apologized and made a new appointment."
"What about the long run?" Trokic said. "I mean, were there any radical changes in his life at some time? Especially recently."
"No," Tohill said. "He felt a little bit bad about not teaching anymore, but he made that decision a long time ago. I really think his work at the Volcano Observatory interested him most. The books were just a hobby, and he worked here mostly because he liked interacting with students."
"I agree," Ewan said, wrinkling his nose slightly. "He definitely wanted to be at the top over there."
"So, there was competition?" Angie asked, drawing stars in her notepad. She sat crooked in her chair, as if her back hurt.
"None of us are volcano experts," Ewan said. "We have other fields of expertise. But we do follow what's happening somewhat. And I felt he was aiming for something higher at the observatory."
"And he could have made it, too," Tohill said.
"Again, I agree. There's no doubt he was qualified, though his physical condition limited him somewhat; he couldn't stand up for long periods of time. But that's not really necessary at the observatory. His future seemed a bit up in the air."
"So, he wasn't after just any job there?" Trokic said.
"No. I think his sights were set on becoming the director, though he never actually said as much."
"In the long run?" Trokic said.
"Not really. The present director is retiring in a few months. They have to be looking for his successor."
Chapter Thirty
THE ANCHORAGE VOLCANO OBSERVATORY was on the outskirts of the university c
ampus in a tall building, Grace Hall. It wasn't far, so they decided to take the paths over there on foot. Trokic considered buying a new coat. His leather coat was thick and lined, but in no way was it warm enough. Angie had also said he should be wearing something warmer. The Police Chief in Århus could just add it to the budget.
Slawomir Den, the director of the observatory, met them at the entrance. He looked worried. For some reason, Trokic had imagined a somewhat formal man, something like Asger Vad; the man in front of him, however, was anything but. He was short, with graying red hair and a beard that reminded Trokic of a little troll. He wore an Icelandic sweater and brown corduroy pants, and despite his height and informal appearance, he had a commanding presence. Trokic wondered where the name came from. Poland? He didn't look Slavic, not with that red hair. The director smiled stiffly, then frowned as he took note of Angie's battered face.
"It's terrible, what's happened," he began. "For Anchorage in general, but in particular for those of us who knew Asger. We've been talking about it, a lot, and in a way, it's personal. Most of us have known him for many years."
Angie took off her gray stocking cap, put it in her bag, and rubbed her hands together to warm them. "Personal, in what way?"
He shrugged. "The police have never been here in connection with an investigation. What I mean is, volcanoes take care of themselves, they don't commit crimes. But, of course, we want to help in any way we can."
Angie seemed satisfied with that. "So, Asger Vad worked here a lot? When he wasn't at the university?"
"Yes. He was undeniably an authority on Alaska's volcanoes. He was employed here, but he also helped many students writing theses on volcanoes, both here and at the university. But when something was brewing, he was the first man at his post, no matter what time of day. I assume you know something about our volcanoes?"
Angie looked a bit doubtful, and Trokic shook his head.
"I see, all right," Den sighed. He brushed a few crumbs off his Icelandic sweater. "Then I'd better give you the grand tour. Just like when schools visit. Why don't we go upstairs first, to get an overview?"
