Alaskan Legal: A Legal Thriller

by Dave Daren

  “You can finish your meal,” I told her. “I’m off to see Ronan.”

  I drank the rest of my coffee and got up.

  “I know I can finish my meal, and I plan to enjoy it,” she declared. “What I don’t understand is why you’re not trying to do the same. The day has just started. Do you even know where he lives?”

  “His address was on his bank statement,” I answered as I zipped up my parka.

  “Ronan’s not going anywhere,” she complained as she pushed her bacon around with her fork.

  “That’s what you think,” I said. “We’ve got a job to do.”

  “Yeah, I know that,” she contested. “But there’s more to life than just working. Like taking the time to sip your coffee instead of gulping it down, or having a nice heart to heart with your co-worker.”

  I shook my head and smiled.

  “There will be plenty of opportunities for us to chat,” I reassured her. “Besides, the sooner we get out of this town, the better. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but everyone seems to be a little on edge.”

  “Actually, I have noticed,” she whispered. “And I think I know who the culprit is.”

  She pointed out the window toward the sun and made a shocked expression like the kid in the Home Alone poster.

  “Oh, right,” I said as I shook my head.

  I smiled as she giggled and then waved as I headed out of the restaurant. I noticed a man working behind the check-in desk, and he greeted me as I passed. The lobby was otherwise quiet, and the lack of human noises persisted when I stepped outside. The wind was fierce, though, even worse than it had been the day before if that was possible. As I trekked across the space between the hotel and the bar, I pulled up my hood to protect my ears from the biting gusts of air. I sighed in relief when I reached my truck and climbed inside, and I took a moment just to recover. When I could feel my fingertips again, I started up the engine, pulled up Ronan’s address, and reversed onto the main street.

  Ronan’s house was located near the end of the street, and conveniently across from the hospital. If all things went well, I could get a confession for murder out of Ronan, have the police show up to arrest him, and then go across the street to visit Morris and tell him the good news. I smiled at the image of me tramping across the road to tell Morris he was in the clear, though I knew it wasn’t likely. But I was going to get something out of Ronan, and I just hoped it was related to Vann’s death.

  Ronan’s house was the same as Vann’s in terms of its trailer-like appearance, but rather than being white, it was a light green. There wasn’t a garage, so a Chevrolet Silverado was parked on the grass near the house on a makeshift driveway. I parked behind the truck under the assumption it belonged to Ronan and then climbed out. It was forty-five past nine, and as I bounded up the porch steps, I hoped Ronan was the type to sleep in. It would be harder for him to lie to me and keep his story straight if he was groggy and disoriented.

  I knocked on the front door and waited and shivered in the cold. No answer. I knocked again, and this time I thought I heard movement inside. Just when I was getting ready to pound on the door a third time, it flung open to reveal Ronan dressed in gray sweatpants and a white, long-sleeved shirt. He squinted at me with a dazed expression as he ran his hand through his short hair in an attempt to fix his bed head.

  “Good morning, Ronan,” I greeted him and then offered an eager smile. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  He stared at me in confusion as he tried to gather his thoughts. When his thoughts were as organized as they could be in the mind of a recently awakened man, the fisherman’s eyes widened with recognition, and alarm replaced confusion. He tried to hide his discomfort with a smile, but it was obviously forced. His hand trembled as he ran it through his hair for the third time.

  “Reese Brooks,” he said in a strained voice. “W-what are you doing here?”

  “I thought we’d continue our conversation from the beach,” I answered as I glanced past him to get a look at the inside of his home.

  From where I stood, I could see a wall lined with shelves on the right side of the house, an archway that led into what I guessed was the kitchen based on the corner of a counter I saw, and on the other side, I saw a stand pushed against the wall with a TV placed precariously on top. A navy-blue sofa was positioned across from the TV. Directly behind Ronan was a short hallway with an open door at the end, but that room was too dark for me to see inside.

  “Our conversation on the beach?” Ronan repeated. “I thought we finished that.”

  “Well, there are a couple of things I wanted to follow up on,” I said as I casually placed my left foot on the threshold.

  He hadn’t invited me inside yet, and I was certain he was never going to do that, so I used my foot as a stopper in case he tried to slam the door in my face. As we stared at each other, I wondered what was racing through his mind. My guess was a million different excuses he could use to get out of this situation. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he brought up his need for sleep. He must have settled for one because his face relaxed.

  “Okay, fine,” he finally said. “What do you want to follow up on?”

  Not the response I expected, but I wasn’t going to complain. If he was willing to meet me head-on, then he must have convinced himself he was capable of hiding information from me. It was either that, or he thought I had nothing on him. I was looking forward to pulling the rug out from under his feet.

  “Your job,” I answered, and I noticed the corner of his mouth twitched. “According to your bank statement, you started depositing two hundred dollars in your account back in April. Where was that money coming from?”

  Ronan’s face immediately crumpled into a panic, and he stared at me with such a wild look that I feared the door slamming in my face was going to be the least of my concerns. He breathed heavily, but the gears were turning in his head because the frenzied expression began to fade. Despite the hatred between the two, Marniq and Ronan had more in common than they realized. In addition to working in the same profession, they both lacked a poker face.

  “Part-time job,” he said in a gruff voice, and the gap of the open door narrowed.

  “That’s odd because the deposits don’t follow any kind of payment schedule,” I stated as I put my hand on the threshold. “What job was this?”

  I was gambling on him not shutting the door on my hand, but as I watched his face morph from panic to desperation to panic again, I wondered how far he’d go to keep his secret. I was certain now that he had murdered Vann over this money, and the guilt was eating him up. His face became consumed with desperation one more time before finally morphing into rage, and that wild look in his eyes returned as he made eye contact with me.

  “You’re not a cop,” he said in an oddly even tone.

  He sounded as though he had solved a problem. He had found a solution that was so obvious it was laughable. Relief. There was relief in his voice, but none whatsoever on his face. His face still showed an unnerving mixture of rage and fear.

  I was confident I could subdue Ronan if he chose to attack, but that confidence wavered slightly as I considered my injured shoulder and the power of a man operating with a sun fried brain. I was beginning to understand why Utqiagvik was a good setting for horror stories.

  “I don’t have to answer any of your questions,” the fisherman continued.

  “You’re right,” I admitted. “You don’t, for now, but the police also have access to your bank statement. They’ll be here with the same questions. You might as well answer them now.”

  “You’re lying,” he said with uncertainty, and he inched the door closer to shutting.

  His fight or flight response was pushing him toward flight, and that was the least desirable response. I wanted him to fight but not physically. Running away meant he was going to remain silent, and the only way I was going to get Morris out of a court trial was through a confession from the real killer. There just wasn�
�t enough evidence to place Ronan at the crime scene.

  I decided to try to provoke him into confessing, though the twinge in my shoulder made me wonder if that was really the best plan.

  “Admit it,” I barked at him. “That money came from Vann. It was the money he handed you to buy supplies for the boat, but instead you took it for yourself.”

  He tried to slam the door shut in my face before I had the chance to accuse him of murdering Vann, but I blocked the door with my foot and grabbed the handle. I used my other hand to grip the edge and then pushed the door inwards.

  Although Ronan appeared lanky, there was remarkable strength in his arms, and I had difficulty pushing against him. But at least it wasn’t getting any closer to shutting, either.

  We were at a standstill, so I planted my feet firmly on the ground and gave another shove. This resulted in the door opening a little more, and the movement must have frightened Ronan because he suddenly released his grip.

  I fell forward and gripped the door handle to keep myself from falling onto the ground. I stood up straight just in time to see Ronan run at me. He shoved me down the porch steps as he crashed into me, and I felt myself falling down yet again. Thankfully, I landed on my uninjured shoulder, but that didn’t stop the small pang that still came from my left shoulder upon impact. I flipped over to lay on my back, and my view of the sky was blocked by the appearance of Ronan’s concerned face.

  “Are you okay?” he asked as he towered over me.

  “You pushed me down the stairs, and you’re asking me if I’m okay?” I said in disbelief.

  “I-I wasn’t thinking straight,” he stammered. “I don’t know what came over me. I-I didn’t mean to do it.”

  “Was it the same with Vann?” I asked. “You didn’t mean to shove him overboard and drown him?”

  Ronan’s face went blank, and then he knitted his eyebrows.

  “What?” he said.

  “Vann invited you onto his boat two nights ago under the guise of a friendly chat with wine, but what he really did was confront you about the stolen money,” I explained. “I’m guessing you had the same sort of response. You knocked him overboard without thinking about it, and you murdered him.”

  Ronan’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, God, no,” he protested. “Vann didn’t know... Well, actually, he might have... I don’t think…”

  He sighed and then sat on the ground next to me with his legs crossed. Since it didn’t seem like he was about to whip out a knife or a gun, I sat up straight, though not close enough for him to reach me easily. I winced at the pain in my shoulder, and I silently regretted not taking Cassandra’s Tylenol or Advil with me as I positioned myself to sit on the cold ground.

  “I didn’t kill Vann,” he said as he pushed his hair from his face, and for the first time his face and voice were both calm. “I was nowhere near his boat that night.”

  “Then where were you?” I demanded.

  “I told you,” he said. “I was here at home.”

  “There’s something you’re not telling me,” I replied. “Every time you bring up your home, you make a nervous expression.”

  “Gambling,” he mumbled and then quickly looked away. “I was at home gambling online.”

  Gambling of any kind wasn’t legal in Alaska, but it wasn’t so serious of a crime to warrant his reaction from before. At least, I didn’t think so. Ronan, on the other hand, must have thought what he was doing was truly heinous. That was another aspect he and Marniq had in common. Their notions of morality were very cut and dry.

  “Let me just explain from the beginning,” the mustached fisherman continued.

  His face was red, and I was sure it was due more to embarrassment than it was to the cold wind. He stuffed his arms under his armpits, though, as another gust snapped at us both. I was about to suggest we continue the conversation inside, but he spoke before I could offer.

  “I’ve been on trips to Anchorage a couple of times with friends,” he began. “Two years ago, I was there on another trip with Harrison and three other friends. I visited a bingo hall for the first time, and that’s when I got my first taste of gambling. Or at least, as close to gambling I was ever going to get.”

  The red on his face deepened, and the dirt suddenly became of intense interest to him. He poked at it with a finger before he sighed and shook his head

  “I know,” he continued. “It sounds ridiculous, but you have to understand Utqiagvik’s a pretty conservative city. Northern Peak is a recent development. Prior to the opening of that bar, there was zero alcohol in town. If you wanted a drink, you had to travel somewhere else or buy it online. Even now, there are still some people who are upset about there being a bar in town, which is fair. People kind of went a little overboard when the bar first opened, but they’re better now.”

  “Okay,” I said when he stopped talking for a moment.

  “Sorry, I’m getting offtrack,” he said as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I tried bingo in Anchorage and won a camera. After that, I was hooked. I took a couple more trips to Anchorage to play bingo. It’s not like I was winning every time I played, and the prizes I did win weren’t worth more than what I paid for the plane trip to the city. In other words, I was bleeding money, so I looked for another way to get my gambling fix.”

  “Online gambling,” I guessed, and he nodded.

  “Yeah, online gambling,” he repeated. “The stakes were so much higher, and I didn’t know how to control myself. I blew a total of three grand toward the end of last November. In just that month alone. That was the first time I took the boat money, all four hundred dollars. I thought I could use the money to win back triple the amount. The loss of that money and more was a wake-up call, so I stopped playing for a while.”

  “But you started playing again in April,” I interrupted.

  “No, I started playing again in January,” he corrected and gave an embarrassed laugh. “Couldn’t stay away for long. I also felt guilty about taking the money, so I thought I could win it back. I did, and that motivated me to keep playing. I lost two thousand dollars in March, and that’s when I started taking money again. This time only half the amount.”

  “I think I would have noticed a withdrawal that large on your bank statement,” I said.

  “I didn’t lose the money all at once,” he explained. “I put in a couple hundred dollars at a time. That’s how I convince myself I’m not losing a lot. Until I do the math at the end of the month. It also helps to have another account with a different bank. Reduces the chance of raising red flags with my main bank.”

  I doubted his bank was monitoring his account anyway. Since the bank wasn’t required to report any transaction less than ten thousand dollars, they wouldn’t worry about two hundred dollars here or there. But paranoia had a hold on Ronan, and maybe a dash of guilt as well.

  “And Vann never noticed the missing money?” I asked.

  Ronan knitted his eyebrows and rubbed his mustache as he thought. Once the moment of deliberation passed, he looked at me, but his face told me he hadn’t found the answer.

  “The thing is, the four hundred dollars was given to me, and I determined whether it needed to be spent or deposited into an account the three of us had access to,” he explained. “I was the only one who actively used the account. Yura never checked it, and I don’t think Vann did, either. They… trusted me to do what needed to be done.”

  He sighed, and the shame burned on his face.

  “But I think Vann did know,” he continued.

  “And why’s that?” I asked.

  He eyed me wearily and rubbed at his mustache again. It was a good thing he hadn’t become addicted to poker. He had way too many tells.

  “Are you planning on telling the police everything I tell you?” he asked.

  “Unless you plan on confessing to Vann’s murder, I have nothing to say to them,” I reassured him.

  “Okay,” the fisherman sighed. “I told you before that we pulled pranks on Austin�
�s crew, and those pranks were just time wasters. Well, I was the one who destroyed the fishing net.”

  “I figured,” I said.

  “Harrison told me to do it,” he continued. “I was surprised when he asked because we had never destroyed something before. The goal was never to prevent Austin and his crew from catching fish. I was going to refuse since what he wanted from me was vandalism, and I definitely didn’t need the police looking into me.”

  “Why didn’t you refuse?” I asked.

  “Because Harrison kept going on and on about us being friends,” Ronan answered. “He kept stressing how much he trusted me, how I was the only one who could do it, and what it would mean to him if I did. I was stealing money from the crew, and here was my captain and best friend asking for a favor. I felt guilty, so I agreed to destroy the net. That’s when I realized he was trying to guilt trip me the entire time. He knew about the money.”

  “But he never actually confronted you with this knowledge,” I speculated.

  “Right,” he confirmed. “He never said it directly, and I honestly don’t think he was even that upset about it. He just wanted to use my theft to his advantage. At least, that was the impression I got.”

  I nodded at this and then got to my feet while Ronan did the same. The gaps in Vann’s background were filling, and the impression being created was not exactly a good one. Vann had been popular among the townspeople due to his fun personality, but those closer to him were revealing him to be a bit of a spiteful manipulator. It was interesting to learn, but not useful to my case. Any one of my remaining suspects could have been a victim of his manipulation, and I wasn’t going to learn that without some digging anyway.

  I looked over at Ronan. He shivered as he wrapped his arms around his torso and looked so pitiful that I felt a pang of sympathy for the gambler. I was inclined to believe him when he said he’d been at home that night, but his alibi would be tough to confirm without going through his computer. Even then, all it would show was that someone at his house and using his computer had been on one of the gambling sites.