by Dave Daren
One poster depicted three men standing in the snow around a boat about to be set off into the water with the caption ‘hunting’ across the bottom, while the other displayed a woman and her child wearing traditional Inuit parkas. A string of Inuit words acted as a caption for this poster, and I found myself wondering what it said.
I started to lean in closer to the picture, but my back and shoulder reminded me then that I had a few bruises to contend with first. With a sigh, I turned on the lamp closest to me before walking over to the window to draw the blackout curtains. I passed the dresser and wall-mounted TV on the way, and I spotted the remote on top of the dresser. I tossed the remote on the bed, closed the curtains, and then started to remove my parka.
Even with the slow, careful movements, I winced at the pain that shot from my left shoulder as I shrugged off the puffy coat. I threw the coat onto a chair tucked into a corner of the room and then slowly peeled off my shirt. I was surprised by the red marks across my forearms from where the fishermen had punched me. I didn’t feel any pain there, but I suspected that was because the pain in my shoulder trounced the rest. When I turned away from the chair, I found Cassandra standing in the doorway holding what looked like a balled-up face towel and a bottle of Advil.
“It doesn’t hurt,” I blurted out as I walked toward her.
“Get some rest,” she ordered as I took the towel and bottle from her. “Good night.”
I discovered the towel was actually wrapped around ice, and a tight knot prevented it from unraveling.
“Good night,” I responded.
She studied my arms for a moment before she nodded and backed out of my room. She looked like she was still replaying what had happened in the parking lot, and I just hoped she wasn’t debating whether to hand in her resignation in the morning.
I watched her head next door before closing and locking my door. I then stepped into the bathroom and studied myself in the mirror. I was happy to see that I hadn’t taken any blows to the face, though my knuckles were red from the few blows I’d landed. My head felt tight though, from the stress, so I pulled out my ponytail and let my hair hang loose.
The pressure faded just a bit, and after a few deep breaths, I was able to twist around so I could inspect the damage in the mirror. The injury wasn’t serious, just a bruise that stretched from the base of my neck to the back of my shoulder. I placed Cassandra’s makeshift ice pack over the bruised area and flinched away both in pain and in shock from the coldness.
I looked over to the shower and tub on my left as I considered letting hot water pelt me before turning in to sleep, but I decided against it. I was too tired, and I wanted to make the most of the ice before it melted. I decided I’d enjoy a long, hot shower in the morning, instead when I could use the heat to help wake me up.
I set the ice down long enough to open the Advil bottle, pop the maximum prescribed amount, and then turned out the light on my way out of the bathroom. I pressed the ice against my injury again and resisted the urge to pull away. Whether I liked it or not, I needed the coldness to both reduce the swelling and speed up the healing process. My left arm wasn’t my dominant arm, but I needed both arms to get anything done in this town. Climbing onto boats was often a two-handed ordeal, and apparently, fights were also a regular part of the daily routine.
I walked back to the chair where I’d tossed my parka and rummaged through the pockets until I’d retrieved both my phone and journal. I placed them on the bed stand, sat on the edge of the bed, and kicked off my shoes. I moved the pillows so that they were propped up against the wall and then climbed onto the bed to sit against them. I placed the towel between my back and the pillows and then reached over to pick up my journal. I always made it a habit to review all the information I had gathered throughout the day before turning in for the night. As my mother was fond of saying, new insights could be gained from looking at everything holistically.
I flipped through my journal slowly as I looked over the bits of information I’d collected throughout the day. Tash was officially no longer a suspect, I decided, and I smiled at the memory of her telling me to seek her out. I shook the memory away, though, and focused on the words on the page.
With Tash out of the picture, the potential list of suspects had shrunk to four. Both the bank statements and awkward interview pointed at Ronan likely being the killer, and I hoped to get a confession out of him tomorrow morning. However, I wanted to review the notes I had taken on Yura, Diana, and Marniq just in case the mustached fisherman wasn’t the culprit.
Before, motive and plausibility were the two biggest issues I needed to tackle. After today’s events, I realized I had a motive, albeit shaky in some scenarios, for every suspect, but plausibility was still a problem. In addition to being at the murder scene, Morris was a prime suspect because he was both physically capable of drowning a battered Vann in ice-cold water and had a reason for doing so. The physical aspect was an important one, and because of this, both Ronan and Marniq were the next most likely killers. Marniq was well-endowed with strength, and his ire over the fishing net was the perfect motive for murder.
I hadn’t gotten a good look at Ronan’s physical build earlier due to his coat, but I knew he needed to possess some muscle to be able to perform well in his profession. The strength needed to be a fisherman was the reason why Yura remained a suspect, and after her rigid display while talking about her relationship with Vann, I had the idea that not all had been sunshine and rainbows with the secretive couple. Several theories ran through my head as I tried to imagine what Vann could have had said to Yura to provoke her to murder. Had he been in the middle of breaking up with her when Morris interrupted? Had Tash been brought up?
Or, as I had suspected earlier, was their relationship more serious than Yura had let on? Maybe she had hoped marriage would be around the corner, and Vann was hesitant to commit. I wondered if the topic of his family’s lineage, or rather Yura’s, might have been brought up. I realized there was more to work with in Yura’s case in terms of motivation since I was aware of the history between the suspects. Ironically, the most suspicious person, Ronan, was the one who had helped me fill in these gaps and given me so much material to work with.
Finally, there was Diana.
According to her, she had rarely interacted with Vann or his crew members, and Ronan’s testimony only further supported this claim. In other words, she had no reason to be on his boat or to kill him, other than a desire to eliminate her husband’s competitor. If she was afraid of her husband’s spending habits putting them in the red, then maybe that would explain her need to kill Vann. But that had never been an issue before.
The only reason I could come up with for her being on the boat was if she had asked to chat with Vann in the hopes of discouraging him from going to the police about the illegal fishing. Morris wouldn’t face jail time, just a hefty fine, and maybe Diana believed they couldn’t afford it. And yet, the hefty fine and stigma from an illegal act would have been the perfect excuse to move out of Alaska. It made more sense for her to let Vann go to the police.
Not only was the motive for Morris’ wife flimsy, but it was also physically impossible for her to have drowned Vann. She wasn’t involved whatsoever in the manual labor of fishing, and her apparently delicate constitution, another phrase my mother liked, didn’t exactly paint her as the picture of incredible strength and power. Every time I tried to imagine her dunking Vann into the water, I saw a comically outrageous scene of her falling backwards into the ocean as she tried to pull his body across the deck of the boat. She believed that Morris was only capable of accidental murder, and I was certain she was only capable of accidental suicide. I was beginning to think they were a match made in heaven.
I chuckled as I closed my journal and set it next to my phone on the bed stand. My shoulder felt uncomfortably cold, so I removed the makeshift ice pack from my back and put it on the other bedstand. I picked up my phone, unlocked it, and then pulled up the pictures of th
e crime scene.
Two key pieces of evidence had been missing from the boat, Vann’s jet ski, and the second wine glass. The jet ski had been found, and I hoped to hear from Cassandra tomorrow what new evidence the watercraft possessed. If the wine glass had been taken with the jet ski, then likely it was at the bottom of the Arctic Ocean. It didn’t matter. Any DNA evidence on the cup would be long gone.
I paused on the picture of the deck I had taken, the one with the yellow marker for the wine glass and the dark red stain. The stain was shaped like an oval with uneven edges, and I realized it was a puddle that had continuously shifted while the boat oscillated with the waves. The stain was obviously from the wine since far more blood would have covered the deck if either Morris or Vann had drawn blood during their fight. And since the stain had been found near Vann’s glass, it was likely Vann’s share of wine that had spilled onto the deck. It wasn’t a large stain. Vann had taken a drink of his wine and then spilled the rest. What was the significance of this?
I repeated the question in my head as I stared at the picture. I knew that Morris had said he had found the wine glass rolling around on the deck when he had regained consciousness. It hadn’t shattered, and that meant Vann hadn’t dropped it. The placement of Vann’s glass after Morris had been knocked out nagged at me, and I wasn’t sure if it was because I was onto something crucial or if this was one of those situations where I was nitpicking over every aspect of the case. I thought I felt the coming of a revelation.
I closed my eyes to blink, but when I opened them again, I found myself lying on my back instead of propped up against the pillows. My phone was no longer in my hand but instead lying on the mattress next to me. I didn’t need to check the time to know it was morning, but I grabbed my phone to check anyway. It was fifteen minutes away from being seven in the morning. Poring over the details of a case until literal fatigue knocked me out was not an unfamiliar phenomenon, and yet the sensation still managed to disorient me.
I placed my phone back on the mattress and then stared at the ceiling as I tried to remember what I did after I flipped through my journal. When the picture of the deck flashed in my mind, I reached for my phone and pulled the picture up. I stared at it in the hopes I could recapture whatever feeling or thought I had felt before I fell asleep, but nothing came to me. I tossed my phone back on the mattress, reached behind my shoulder to touch my bruise, and then frowned at the pain that shot through my arm.
The pain wasn’t as intense as it had been last night, but that meant I was now able to feel the soreness in my forearms. I folded my arms to look at them and found that the previous redness had vanished to show off my normally pale skin. I looked over at the left bedstand to find the makeshift ice pack was now just a damp, tied-up face towel. I swung my feet over the side of the bed and walked over to my bag. My body felt stiff, and I wasn’t sure if this was due to how I slept or to all the running around town I’d done yesterday. Either way, I hoped a hot shower and a couple of Advil would loosen me up.
An hour later, I was wearing new clothing and staring at my reflection as I pulled my hair back into a ponytail. I turned my head to inspect my beard, and when I was satisfied with its appearance, I exited the bathroom. The shower had helped to make me feel refreshed, but it had also irritated my injuries despite the medication I’d taken. I ignored the pain as I grabbed my parka and folded it over my arm. I picked up my phone and journal and placed them in my pockets before pulling on my shoes. I did a sweep of the room and then rechecked my pockets to ensure I wasn’t forgetting something before stepping out into the hallway.
I walked next door and lifted my arm to knock on Cassandra’s door when it flew open. The young paralegal was looking down at her phone as she stepped forward and walked right into me. She released several gasps as she looked up at me in terror.
I grabbed her arms to keep her from stumbling backwards, and I watched as terror became recognition and then transformed into amusement as she laughed both at herself and the situation. I chuckled along with her as she pointed a manicured finger at me.
“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” she ordered with another laugh.
“No promises,” I said with a smile.
I released her and took a step back to allow her to enter the hallway. As she locked her door, I marveled at the two-tone suit she wore. Her blazer was a light-blue while the pants she wore were maroon. There was a polar bear pin on her blazer just big enough to catch the eye but not enough to scream ‘swag’.
“I see the hotel has inspired you,” I said as we walked down the hallway.
“Indeed, it has,” she agreed. “When I was finding hotel rooms for us, I saw pictures of this hotel, and I realized I had two pantsuits in those colors. I had to repack my bag to include them. And look at this!”
She pointed at the pin and then turned the lapel so I could see the polar bear more clearly.
“I have a polar bear pin in the exact same pose as their logo,” she gushed. “It was a sign.”
I shook my head as I laughed at this, but I had to admit, she looked like she was ready to start work at the hotel. I felt a brief moment of panic when I remembered my fear that she would announce her departure today, but her eyes widened at the memory of something, and she started rummaging through her purse.
“You must have fallen asleep the moment your head touched the pillow,” she said as she searched. “I knocked on your door last night.”
“What did you need?” I asked as we stopped at the bottom of the staircase.
“I wanted to give you this,” she answered and pulled a nearly empty bottle of extra-strength Tylenol from her purse. “I’d forgotten I had it in my bag, but I found it when I started to unpack. I don’t know about you, but I find it works better than Aleve for, you know…” She motioned toward my shoulder with the bottle before she placed it in my outstretched hand.
“Every time I have doubts about hiring you, you surprise me,” I told her as I began walking toward the lobby.
“Doubts?” she said as she followed me with an incredulous look. “About me? Impossible.”
I chuckled as we walked through the double-doors labeled as Niġġivikput, and just as I had suspected yesterday, the doors led into a restaurant. Black booths with blue cushioned seats and matching black wooden tables lined the far wall to the right, and across the aisle from them were the same wooden tables that seated up to four people. Next to these two aisles of seating was a long counter that separated the kitchen from the rest of the restaurant, and there were currently chefs back there frying what smelled like bacon.
Two families that appeared to be tourists sat at the booths while a group of fishermen sat at a table closest to where Cassandra and I stood. Cassandra carefully studied our seating options before she chose a booth with a window. I followed and took the seat across from her. Before we had a chance to get comfortable, a waitress appeared at our table offering menus. I declined the offer while my paralegal grabbed one and scanned the options on the page.
“I’ll just have a coffee,” I told the waitress, and she nodded.
“You’re not getting something to eat?” Cassandra questioned with an arched eyebrow.
“Not a breakfast person,” I told her, and she clucked her tongue in disapproval.
“I’ll also have coffee and the house favorite,” Cassandra told the waitress as she returned the menu. “I’ll take bacon, and I don’t care what type of bread is used for the toast.”
“Coming right up,” the waitress replied and walked away.
“What’s the plan for today?” my paralegal asked.
“I’m off to confront Ronan at his place,” I answered. “You, on the other hand, are going to stay at the police station once again.”
“Really?” she said. “After what happened yesterday, I thought you’d want me to talk to Yura. She seemed a little weird when we started talking about her secret relationship with Vann.”
“I noticed that, too,” I said. “
And I did consider the idea, but the evidence at the police station is currently more important than whatever secret Yura might be hiding. Vann’s phone still needs to be unlocked, and the police might uncover something on his jet ski.”
“Fine,” Cassandra sighed. “You’re right, but I love secrets.”
“I’m sure the police station is full of secrets,” I reassured her. “You just need to find them.”
She chuckled at this at the same time the waitress returned with our order. She placed our coffee mugs down first before placing a plate of eggs, bacon, hash browns, and toast in front of Cassandra. We thanked the waitress before she started off in the direction of one of the families.
Once we were alone, I popped the pill bottle open, tossed two more pills into my mouth, and then chased them with my coffee. I slid the pill bottle over to Cassandra’s side, and she promptly returned it to her purse. I sipped at my coffee as I watched my paralegal sprinkle salt and pepper over her eggs. It wasn’t the greatest quality of coffee, but it was better than going without caffeine entirely.
“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” Cassandra lectured as she turned her plate so that the toast was aimed at me.
I rolled my eyes, but I had to admit, the toast at least was tempting.
“Sorry, Mother,” I mocked as I picked up the bread.
“You joke, but I bet Mrs. Brooks is smiling right now as her motherly instincts tell her that her son is eating right,” she said.
I coughed back a laugh and finished the rest of the toast. As I chewed, I grabbed at my parka and pulled it on.
“Wait, are you leaving already?” Cassandra asked with wide eyes. “I just started eating.”
