Books by Sue Henry

by Henry, Sue

  Kabanak rose and shook hands with the inspector, nodding. “Yes. I will come back tomorrow.”

  Without another word, he left the room, walked through his Han Athabaskan people to the front door and out into the night. Silently, the rest got up and followed him, one by one, until the room was as empty as if they had never been there. Only the paper cups they had used for coffee were left, placed neatly in the trash can.

  Though Alex and Del spent another half hour attempting to wrest information from James Hasluk, immovably mute, he gave them no more than Kabanak junior. Only one comment slipped out in frustration, before they locked him up again. But it was one that Jensen would not be able to get out of his mind.

  “You would not believe me,” he spit out. “All Indians are liars, right?”

  Discouraged and too tired to discuss the events of the day, Jensen, Delafosse, and Clair fumbled on their coats and left the office. The two officers accompanied Clair to her car, then walked on up the street toward the hotel.

  “Hungry?” Del Delafosse asked.

  “Pooped, but not really hungry; besides, everything’s closed by now. How about a big breakfast in the morning?” Jensen suggested.

  “Fine with me.”

  The streets were quiet, the sound of the only passing car muffled by snow on the road. It was much colder than it had been the night before, though overcast. The air was so still that, going by a small log cabin, Alex noticed the smoke from its chimney rising straight up into the night in a tall column. Snow squeaked under their boots; a sound that was heard only at low temperatures. Briefly, he wondered how cold it was, but decided he really didn’t want to know, since knowing wouldn’t change it and would only make him feel colder. He yawned an enormous yawn that Del involuntarily copied.

  “Stop that,” he said. “You’ll have us both asleep in a drift in a minute.”

  Jensen grinned wearily. “Did you ever play that game in school—yawning to make the teacher yawn too?”

  “Yes, but I had Mrs. Kolleran, who was so stiff her yawns hardly moved her mouth and who sneezed through her nose like a cat. She had the straightest back I ever saw on a human being and a most excellent aim with a ruler.”

  It was late and they walked all the way without seeing anyone, even in the middle of town, though they heard the small sound of a jukebox still playing in one bar they passed. Turning down the side street, they quickly covered the remaining two blocks to the hotel and stumbled in the door.

  Alex was wondering if he would have to do the two flights of stairs on his hands and knees, when a sleepy-looking, blinking figure stood up from where it had been curled in one of the antique armchairs of the lobby and moved toward them. He looked, then looked again, and was suddenly much more awake.

  “Jessie?”

  She walked right up and into his arms, ignoring Delafosse.

  “Hi,” she said, circling his chest with a hug, her face against his shoulder. “Where you been, trooper?”

  “Jessie. Where did you come from? How…?”

  She looked up and gave him a sleepy smile. “You invited me. This case is taking too long and I missed you. Ryan’s feeding and running the mutts, but Sophie wouldn’t let me sleep in her puppy nursery. So…here I am. Is it okay?”

  “Most definitely okay.”

  As he swept her into a bear hug and kissed her soundly, Alex caught a glimpse of Del’s broad grin.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  IT WAS ALREADY LIGHT WHEN ALEX opened his eyes the next morning and lay very still in the bed, savoring the warmth of Jessie curled up against him, sleeping with her head on his shoulder. Sensing the waking change in his breathing, she stirred, laid an arm across his chest, and wiggled her fingers in between his back and the sheet, all with her eyes closed.

  “Morning. Welcome home, trooper.”

  “We’re not home, Jess. Still in Dawson, remember?”

  “Yeah, but we’re both in Dawson. You know?”

  “Hm-m. I do.”

  The bed was exactly the right comfortable temperature. So was Jessie, gone back to snoozing next to him. He had no desire to disturb either just yet.

  He thought of Hampton as they had found him in the cold pickup on the Top of the World Highway the day before and was glad to have made it back with everyone alive…even Charlie. How was the kid doing? he wondered. If Del was right, he could lose fingers and toes. What a price to pay for stupidity. A flash of anger reminded him that it was not just stupid, but a maliciously selfish thing Charlie had done in taking—let alone wasting—the bag of survival gear, leaving Hampton unconscious in the snow with nothing to protect himself from the ravages of the northern weather. Unconscionable.

  Jessie raised her head to look at him. “That bad?”

  He stared at her. “What?”

  “You huffed. What were you thinking about?”

  After he kissed her, he scooted up to lean on pillows against the head of the bed and told her, briefly, about Hampton’s near-miss with freezing and Charlie’s part in it.

  By the time he finished, she was sitting up, cross-legged, on the bed facing him. She wore purple socks and an enormous T-shirt, size 3X, that came down over her knees and, with her tumble of honey-blond waves and curls, made her look like an urchin, though she was taller than average and tough from driving dog teams. She hated gowns or pajamas that clung or would up around her in the night and always wore a large T-shirt and sweat socks in cold weather.

  “Did he do it on purpose?” she asked, when Alex finished telling. “If he wanted to kill Hampton, why didn’t he make sure he finished the job before he left?”

  “He just didn’t care one way or the other, I guess. But we’ll find out more this morning, when we have a chance to talk to him, I hope. He’s in pretty bad shape. Much worse than Jim Hampton, who was doing okay by the time we dropped him at the clinic last night. They didn’t keep him over. He came back here to the hotel. Delafosse bunked in the extra bed in his room last night so we could have this one. But the doctor evidently thinks Charlie’s hands and feet may be a serious problem, and his face was a mess.”

  “Serves him right,” she snapped.

  “Aw, Jess…”

  “Yeah, I know. You’re right. Nobody deserves…”

  They looked at each other and Jensen grinned. “I deserve,” he said, reaching for her.

  “You? You deserve…nothing,” she told him and a wrestling match ensued, full of shrieks and giggles. “You made me come all the way to Canada to see you…considerably tarnishing my independent image.”

  She had just whacked him with a pillow, when a knock rattled the door. Jessie cracked it open to find Delafosse outside holding a pot of coffee and cups on a tray with two considerable cinnamon rolls, gooey and covered with pecans.

  “Oh, you wonderful man,” she told him, swinging the door wide. “Are you spoken for?”

  The inspector turned extremely red in the face, but smiled and handed in the tray. “Hi, Jessie. Thought you might…ah…be ready for this.”

  Jensen roared with laughter from the bed. “He’s already got a friend, Jessie. You’ll meet Clair of the gorgeous hair later. Come on in, Del.”

  But Delafosse, on his way to the office, refused.

  “Want to have a chat with Duck Wilson about that vehicle theft Cherlyn mentioned, and check on Kabanak and Hasluk. Wilson should have cooled off some by now. I’ll meet you at the clinic, for Charlie, in an hour. Okay? Hampton’s going with me to identify the hatchet.”

  Then he was gone, closing the door behind him.

  While they ate, showered, and dressed for the day, Jensen filled Jessie in on everything that had happened since they found Hampton in his sleeping bag on the riverbank.

  “What’s all this about a journal and some miner’s bones?”

  “That’s Hampton’s story. And since he found them, I’m going to let him tell you, but it’s pretty interesting. Besides, I haven’t finished reading the journal yet and he has…or soon will.�
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  “Okay. I can wait. It sure sounds like you’ve got yourself a real tangle this time, trooper,” she said, as she ate the last pecan from the plate, licked her fingers, and picked up her coat.

  “Yeah, but we got part of it last night and I’ve got a feeling the rest may be about to untangle soon. At least some of it.”

  Alex, waiting at the door, watched her tug on her boots and thought how glad he was that she had come. Tall and fit, Jessie was tanned and healthy-looking from the time she spent outdoors. In less than six months she planned another assault on the Iditarod.

  And here she was, though taking time off was not part of her current schedule, in response to his unreasonable jealousy. But that was only part of it, he reminded himself honestly, knowing the rest was just as she had said last night: She had missed him, wanted to be with him. And she had cared enough to go to the trouble of coming all the way from Knik, on at least three different airplanes, not wanting a misunderstanding to become a problem. In itself that seemed even more astonishing.

  But she would never have come if he hadn’t asked her. They respected each other’s work and were careful not to intrude. Hers was more accessible because she lived it every day and he was often included. His law enforcement work was mostly separate, though he talked to her about it regularly, as much as he could. She insisted that she not be protected and wanted to know what he was working on, assuring him she would worry more about what she didn’t know than what she did. Besides, she was insightful and often made astute suggestions.

  “Hey in there. Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

  He was startled to find her standing directly in front of him, looking up. Leaning down, he kissed her and folded her solidly into his arms, coats and all.

  “I love you, Jess. I’m glad you came.”

  Smiling contentedly, his arm around her shoulders, they went down the stairs together, out the door and into the snowy street.

  “Duck thinks Charlie shot Will, though the kid told him whoever was shooting at them did it. He went downriver with him after dark that night, but they didn’t find Will’s body, and every bit of gear was gone from the beach, including the boat Will and Charlie had been in. He won’t say where it came from or who it belonged to, so I bet they stole it somewhere. They went back to Wilson’s place and he beat hell out of the kid, trying to get the truth out of him, so he says.”

  Alex sat with Delafosse in the clinic waiting room.

  Jessie had gone with Hampton for coffee so he could tell her all about Addison Riser and the journal. They then intended to head for the museum to see if the curator had an early map of Dawson.

  “You guys talk to suspects. We’re going history hunting,” she told Alex as she left. “You don’t need civilians hanging around. See you later for lunch?”

  “Give me your reading on this guy?” he had asked her in confidence before they left the hotel.

  “Sure. But you know my rules on that. I won’t be put in the middle…won’t snitch.”

  “No problem. Just an impression. If there is anything, he’s not going to tell you.”

  The inspector had already talked to Charlie briefly, and was waiting for the medical staff to finish checking the kid’s hands and feet, then allow him back into the room.

  “What’s the doc have to say about the kid’s frostbite?”

  “They’re flying him to Whitehorse tomorrow. It’s too soon to tell for sure. He was badly dehydrated and hypothermic, which made the frostbite worse. The altitude on the pass didn’t help. The doctor said they’re giving him lots of fluids. They thawed his hands and feet at the same time they warmed his whole body in a whirlpool bath. Bet that was painful. He looks awful, with huge blisters. Pretty obvious he’s going to lose parts of his toes and fingers at least, maybe more.”

  “Poor guy.”

  “Yeah…well, if he’d stayed with Hampton…He says he never went near Russell’s campsite, and swears he didn’t shoot Will.”

  “Lies like a rug.”

  “Prove it?”

  “Well, for one thing Kabanak’s son said Charlie tore his jacket getting into the boat after he shot Will, remember?”

  “Hm-m.”

  “And do you remember that scrap of cloth we found on that beach where Russell was camped?”

  “Sure. Gray?”

  “Wasn’t there a gray jacket in that pile of clothes he abandoned up on the pass?”

  “Yes. There sure was, and it was ripped too. Let’s dig that stuff out when we get back to the office.”

  “Other thing is that the bullet from Will’s back should match Charlie’s gun.”

  “The slug we picked up was too battered to use as evidence, except that its weight says it probably came from the forty-four.”

  “Charlie doesn’t know that, does he? It could have stayed in Will’s body. He never got close enough to him to see before he took off in Russell’s boat, if what Kabanak’s son says is true.”

  Delafosse was on his feet. “You’re mean and nasty, Jensen. You don’t play fair. I like the way you think.”

  Ten minutes later, confronted with Jensen’s suggested evidence, actual or not, Charlie confessed to shooting Will Wilson. The officers stood away from his bed to ask their questions, wearing gowns and masks to avoid introducing infection, a serious risk in post-frostbite cases, while the doctor once again checked the ruin of his extremities.

  “It was an accident,” Charlie whined. “Will stepped in front of me when I was shooting at that guy in the brush that was shooting at us.”

  “You hit him in the chest or the back?”

  Though he was listening to what was being said, Alex found himself filled with an overwhelming pity for the boy who lay in the bed. He is hardly more than a boy, he thought, whatever he’s done. What a disaster. Ignorance. Nothing but incredible stupidity and anger. Hampton was damned lucky.

  There were other possible words to describe Charlie’s condition, but disaster it most certainly was.

  “It hit him in the back and he fell on his face. But I swear I didn’t shoot him on purpose,” Charlie said, and slightly raised a hand that resembled a claw to make his point.

  He was a miserable, pitiable mess. Open to medical inspection, the heart-stopping caricatures of his hands and feet lay uncovered on sterile sheets. Gauze bags would lightly cover his hands when the doctor finished and a prop would keep the weight of the sheets off his feet. Parts of his hands hand and the lower half of his feet were puffed to twice normal by the blisters Delafosse had mentioned to Jensen. They were much worse than he had anticipated. So full of clear fluid they looked ready to explode at the least touch, they extended from his wrists to perhaps two thirds of the way down his fingers. There they abruptly ended, leaving the ends, from the first or second knuckle to the tips, ordinary size. Their appearance, however, was anything but normal. Deep purple, almost black in color, they looked dead, slightly flattened, spatulate.

  From something he had read, probably in furthering his first-aid training as a trooper, Jensen remembered that the lack of blisters signaled damage too deep and complete to have much chance of recovery. No blood would flow through the ravaged veins and capillaries. The dead fingertips would blacken, dry, and mummify, slowly separate from the healthy tissue until, weeks later, they finally either dropped off on their own, or were surgically amputated. The blisters formed only over viable tissues, where fluid from the blood found its way through the damaged but still functioning circulatory system.

  Alex found he had clenched his fingers into fists, a half-conscious self-protection, he realized, in reaction to two things. First, the knowledge that Charlie would probably lose a significant part of his fingers and toes. Second, horror that the young man would have to spend weeks with the dead parts of himself still attached, horrible reminders, while the doctors struggled to save what they could of the rest. Amputating the gangrenous tissues too early could mean sacrificing more of what could be still viable. The idea was chilling an
d made the trooper swallow hard.

  Charlie’s face exhibited less damage and would heal almost completely. It had recovered its normal pink color, even his broken nose, which the doctor had put back into place. However, a burnlike blister had, almost humorously, doubled its size, covering it from just below the eyes to around the tip, making it look as if Charlie had laid it on a hot stove. It ran constantly from the head cold that, according to the medical staff, might lead to pneumonia. He couldn’t wipe it with his ruined hands, but managed to dab his lip ineffectively against his shoulder and the sleeve of his hospital gown, much to its detriment.

  The doctor finished his work and left, with a nod to the officers and, “Not too long now. He’s due for whirlpool therapy.”

  Jensen thought he had never seen a sorrier sight, but remembering the murders and attacks in which the kid had been involved, suddenly didn’t feel like telling Charlie that he hadn’t killed Will—that someone else had shot him again later. Let him worry a little; the way he had treated Hampton, he had it coming, didn’t he?

  “And what did you stop at Russell’s camp for anyway?” Delafosse asked.

  “Just stopped. To see if anyone was there.”

  “You couldn’t see anyone?”

  “Nope. Seemed abandoned.”

  “So you stopped to steal his gear, the way you stole Hampton’s?”

  Soon he admitted that, too, and escaping in Russell’s boat because he couldn’t get back to Will’s.

  “What did you do with his boat?”

  “Turned it loose below Dawson and caught a ride back to Wilson’s.”

  Jensen nodded. That could fit.

  “And where’d you get the boat you and Will were using that day?”

  Charlie turned his head away and looked at the wall. Pressed by Jensen, he finally admitted it was stolen. “But I don’t know where. Will went into Dawson one afternoon and when he came back he had it.” He then confirmed that he and Duck had gone back, but found nothing on Russell’s beach.

  “Duck things you killed Will…and then Russell,” Delafosse said with a straight face. Jensen wasn’t the only one who could tap-dance around the facts.