“So your sister Barbara said,” Prince agreed. “And your brother-in-law Rob, and your nieces Karen, Sarah and Patricia, and your nephews John, Patrick and Tom. I’m sure your mother would have said so, too, only she was in the hospital in Anchorage on the twelfth.”
“You can’t prove a goddamn thing.”
“You’re right,” Prince said, nodding. “We can’t, and we couldn’t. Same way we couldn’t when a bunch of hikers up Utah Canyon got their camp trashed.”
Engebretsen drew in a long, shaky breath. Kvichak shot him a warning glance. “Yeah, Corcoran asked us about that, but we were on the other side of the bluff from Utah.”
“Of course you were,” Prince said.
“I wanna go to the bathroom,” Engebretsen said.
“In a minute,” Prince said.
Engebretsen plucked up his courage. “You’re always saying ‘in a minute.’ How come not now?”
She smiled at him, a thin-lipped, humorless stretch of the lips. “Because we’re not done talking, Teddy.”
He slumped back in his chair.
“For crissake,” Kvichak said angrily, “let the poor bastard go to the john, why dontcha?”
She turned the smile on him. “In a minute.”
“Fuck you!”
Liam turned his head and said, “John, your Winchester shotgun was the one used to kill Mark Hanover. Crime Lab called, and they say there’s no doubt.”
Kvichak stared at him, his face white and shocked, whether at the sound of Liam’s first words in three hours or at the words themselves.
Liam rose to his feet. “Let’s get some lunch,” he said to Prince, and led the way out of the interview room. Prince had to hustle to get behind him before the door closed.
They stood in the hallway. “Shh,” Liam said with one upraised finger.
An outburst of shouting came from behind the door, and Liam smiled.
“Sir, I-”
“They were thirsty, they were hungry, they did need to pee. Now they’re scared. Let’s let them be scared for a while.”
Prince chewed her lip. “How much longer can we hold them without charging them?”
“Another twelve hours.”
“The local magistrate would pick now to head up the creek.”
“All to our advantage. If Bill were here, she’d probably sign off on a warrant, but she’d let them out on bail.” He saw Prince’s look. “Hey, John Kvichak’s brother-in-law’s the biggest bum unhung. John’s the sole support of his sister’s family and his mother. Teddy Engebretsen’s dad is eighty-two, and he lives with Teddy. Neither one of them is a flight risk. Besides, where would they go?”
“Anywhere in the Bush?”
“It’s coming on winter, they’d either starve or freeze.”
They went to Eagle and cruised the deli counter, Liam settling on deep-fried chicken and Prince on a ham and cheese sandwich. They journeyed back to the post, ate their lunch without haste, called the Anchorage D.A. with information about a sex offender recently paroled, which parole he had immediately broken, big surprise.
At fifteen past one, they presented themselves back at the jail. At sixteen past one, they walked into the interview room. Engebretsen looked up and said, “I want to talk.”
“Teddy-” Kvichak said.
“No,” Engebretsen said with unaccustomed firmness. “Let’s just tell them the truth, Johnny. One more time. Either they’ll believe us or they won’t-”
“They won’t. Cops never know the truth when they hear it.”
“Either they’ll believe us or they won’t,” Engebretsen repeated, his voice wavering a little. “Either way, I’m talking.”
“Shit.” Kvichak folded his arms and glowered. “I ain’t having nothing to do with it.”
“Fine,” Engebretsen said. “I’ll tell.”
Prince looked at Liam with undisguised admiration.
They’d heard the shot from their camp on the bluff, Engebretsen said. “It was our last day, you know, we’d limited out on everything, we butchered everything out, put it in game sacks, we were just waiting on Wy.” He glanced sideways at Kvichak. “So we opened the beer.”
“How long was it before you heard the shots?” Prince said.
“Man, I don’t know,” Engebretsen said. “We opened the beer early. I think I was on my third. I mean, we just didn’t need to be sober anymore, so we weren’t trying to be. Hell, we’d been drinking most of the night, if it comes to that. I don’t know, nine o’clock, maybe? Maybe earlier.”
Liam looked at Kvichak. Kvichak held his eyes for a long moment. “Oh hell,” he said, slumping. “It was about eight-thirty, and before you say anything, yeah, we were already half in the bag.”
“It was the first shots we’d heard that didn’t come from our guns, you know?” Engebretsen said. “We hadn’t even heard any planes, and the nearest cabin is that crotchety old Italian at Warehouse Mountain, and that’s twenty miles away. Then we remembered that mining claim on Nenevok, and we thought maybe they were in trouble? Like one of them fired a warning shot for help, you know?”
“Tell me something, Teddy,” Prince said, gazing at the earnest face sitting across from her. “Did you ever meet the miner on Nenevok?”
Engebretsen flushed and glanced at Kvichak, who folded his arms across his chest again. “Not really. Well, kind of.”
“Which? Not really, or kind of?”
“Crissake,” Kvichak said. “Wy dropped off supplies at Nenevok when she was bringing us into the bluff.”
“And you met Mark Hanover, the miner.”
Again the two men exchanged a glance. “Didn’t meet the miner, he didn’t come to the plane,” Kvichak said finally. “The wife was there, though.”
Prince gave a thoughtful nod, and glanced at Liam to see a muscle working in his jaw like a nervous tic. “The wife,” she said. “Rebecca Hanover.”
Engebretsen, forgetting for the moment where he was and who was listening, gave a long, blissful sigh. “Oh yeahhhh.”
“Hear tell she was pretty,” Prince observed in a neutral voice.
Engebretsen gave her an incredulous look. “Pretty! She wasn’t just pretty. She was-she was-” He struggled for suitable words. “She was flat fucking drop-dead gorgeous,” he said finally, with a touch of awe. “I never seen nobody so pretty outside of a movie. And built, wow!” A low, reverent whistle accompanied the words.
It is a maxim of the law enforcement profession that jails aren’t filled with smart people. Nevertheless, this might be just about the dumbest person on the face of the earth sitting across from her now. “So, on that last morning of your hunt, you got tanked, you heard shots, you thought fired from the direction of the mine on Nenevok Creek, you remembered meeting a gorgeous woman there, and you decided to investigate.”
“I told you,” Kvichak said, more in sorrow than in anger. “I told you, Teddy, I told you they’d never believe nothing we said.”
“No,” Engebretsen said, becoming frightened again. “I mean yes. I mean, we hiked over, took us, hell, took us forever, and we were sober as judges by the time we got there.”
“Uh-huh,” Prince said. “When you got to the mine, what did you find?”
Engebretsen leaned forward. “There was a man, facedown in the creek.”
“You pulled him out.”
“Well, yeah, we didn’t know if he was dead or not. I got my feet wet. Ten days I kept them dry, and the last day I have to go get them wet.”
“So, Mark Hanover was dead when you found him.”
Kvichak slammed his hands down flat on the table. In the ensuing silence, he leaned forward and he met Liam’s eyes with a flat, unwinking stare. “Yes. Mark Hanover or whoever he was was dead when we got there. We heard the shot right after we got up. It took us two hours plus to get from the bluff to the Nenevok. We found his body in the creek. We pulled him out to see if he was dead. He was. We yelled for his wife. She didn’t come out of the woods. I yelled for help on the cell
phone.”
“And then Johnny made us leave,” Engebretsen said. “He said you’d nail us for doing it.” He paused, and added defiantly, “And he was right.”
There was a brief silence. For a moment, for just a moment, Prince allowed herself to be impressed by their sincerity.
Liam stood up. “Interview terminated, two-thirty p.m.” He turned off the recorder and looked at Kvichak. “Crime Lab says yours was the gun, John.”
Kvichak stared back. “The Crime Lab is wrong.”
“Wasn’t a bad bluff,” Prince said on the way back to the post. “I would have believed him, but the lab doesn’t lie.” She thought of Nick, and had to erase the grin that came out of nowhere.
“Have you ever been forced to bushwhack your way across muskeg?”
Prince was thrown off track. “I beg your pardon?”
“Have you ever been forced to bushwhack your way across muskeg,” Liam repeated. “I have. It’s slow going.”
She digested this. “Come on. They’ve got it all, means, motive, opportunity. They’ve even got a history of pulling this kind of stuff, going back years.”
“They’ve never killed anybody before.”
“They shot at two people last year,” she retorted.
“They didn’t hit anybody, though,” he said thoughtfully. “You notice? Just the canoe. You see that drawing Corcoran did, showing where the bullet holes were? One amidships, directly between the two thwarts where the two people were sitting. The second in the stern. Both just at the waterline.”
“So?”
“So, they both limited out this year.”
She pulled into the space in front of the post and turned to stare at him. “And?”
“And I’d like to know how good they are with those rifles.”
He called Charlene Taylor. “Johnny and Teddy?” she said. “They’re hell on the moose and the caribou, but I can’t see them killing anybody.”
“Do you know what kind of shots they are?”
“First class,” she said promptly. Charlene was Liam’s alter ego in Newenham, the fish and game side of the troopers. It was her unenviable lot to enforce, or try to enforce, the state fish and game laws, which she did by four-wheeler, Zodiac and Cessna 206. Wet your line too early, shoot your bear too late, take the rack on your moose and leave the meat, and Charlene was there, a smile on her face and a summons in her hand. “I’ve checked out their camp a time or two, up on the bluff. Always go for a head or a shoulder shot, and they always get it, too. Probably has something to do with needing the meat to feed their families. Trophy hunters’ll go for the gut every time.”
Liam heard the disgust in her voice but refused to be sidetracked. “You ever have to haul them in, Teddy or John?”
“I probably could have, a time or two,” she admitted. “Maybe even should have. But I didn’t. They don’t take more than their families can eat in a winter, and if they hold over the hunting season by a couple of hours, I’m not going to notice.”
“Thanks, Charlene.”
He hung up the phone. Prince had her arms folded and was staring at him. “Please tell me you don’t think they’re telling the truth.”
He put his cap back on. By way of answering, he said, “Let’s check out Teddy’s hunting boots.”
Teddy’s dad suffered from Alzheimer’s. One of John Kvichak’s nieces, a tall, cool, blond drink of water named Karen, was staying with him while Teddy, she informed Liam in icy tones, was in jail. She examined Liam and Prince from behind oversize glasses that somehow lent an extra air of contempt to her expression, and produced Teddy’s boots.
They were leather, and laced up over the ankles. They were also damp right through.
“This doesn’t prove anything,” Prince said.
“No,” Liam said. “Let’s go back to the office and make some calls to Anchorage.”
They reached Rebecca Hanover’s best friend, Nina Stewart, on their fourth call. She was upset and yelling by the end of the call, but what she unconsciously let slip along the way about the Hanovers’ summer on Nenevok Creek had even Prince raising an eyebrow afterward. “Well,” she said.
“Well,” Liam said.
“A reluctant miner.”
“Her husband was the miner,” Liam said. “Seems Becky wasn’t all that thrilled at the prospect of moiling for gold.”
“Can’t argue with her there,” Prince said. “You ever panned gold?” Liam shook his head. “My folks took me out to the Crow Creek mine when I was a kid. I was soaked to the skin with mud up to my eyebrows by the time I was done. Never did find any gold.”
Liam grunted.
“If I was dainty little Rebecca Hanover, used to a comfy suburban lifestyle, shopping at Nordie’s and dining at Sack’s, all supported by my husband’s North Slope engineering job, I might be a bit peeved if he quit that job, sold my home and moved me out into the Bush.”
“She had a job, too,” Liam said mildly.
“Uh-huh. Do you think she did it?”
“We’ll have to find her to answer that question.”
“The boys still look good to me.”
“They look pretty good to me, too,” Liam admitted.
Prince looked out the window. It wasn’t even six o’clock and the sky was black. “If it’s her, and she’s on the run, at least she’s not getting away easy.”
“More than that,” Liam said. At her inquiring look he added, “This storm is keeping the magistrate up the creek. Plus, if our boys do insist on a lawyer, it’ll take a public defender with a stronger stomach than I’ve got to put his ass in the air until it blows out or through.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning we’ve got time. Time to hang on to the boys while we wait for Rebecca Hanover to show up.”
Prince was skeptical. “You think she will?”
“If she isn’t dead already, yes.”
“The Bush is a big place.”
“Yeah, but it’s amazing how often people wander out of it. Let’s go talk to the boys again.”
SEVENTEEN
Old Man Creek, September 5
The wind howled around the little shack. The walls creaked, but they were well caulked and Moses had built up the fire in the woodstove so that it was toasty warm.
“Do you think the roof will hold?” Bill said, eyeing it, a collection of water-stained bits and pieces of three different grades of plywood, Sheetrock and one-by-twelves, neatly trimmed and fitted together like a patchwork quilt. Softened by the golden light of four gas lanterns, it looked like a work of art instead of a creation of convenience.
“The walls will go before the roof does,” Moses said quite cheerfully, and grinned his evil grin when his three guests exchanged apprehensive glances. “Okay,” he said. “Mr. Plum, in the library, with the pipe wrench.”
He won, for the second time that evening, and Bill threw down her cards in disgust and eyed him in a frustrated way.
Moses worked his eyebrows. “Sorry, little girl,” he purred, “not in front of the children.”
After they finished picking up all the pieces, they retired Clue in favor of Monopoly. Moses won that game, too. In desperation, Tim suggested crazy eights, and aided and abetted by Bill and Amelia, who by this point didn’t care who won so long as it wasn’t Moses, he won handily.
They celebrated with mugs of hot cocoa. Bill leaned her back against Moses’ chest, his legs curled around her, her head on his shoulder. Amelia sat on her bunk, hanging over the edge as Tim showed her a card trick that involved a story of ace islands with diamonds buried on them, jacks coming to dig the diamonds up, kings coming to drive the jacks away and the queens bringing their hearts. “Then a big windstorm comes and blows them all away,” Tim said, stacking the cards and cutting them repeatedly. “Here.” He offered the stack to Amelia. “Go ahead, cut them.”
She did so, a puzzled expression on her face, trying to work out the trick.
Tim dealt the cards out again in piles facedown. One b
y one he turned the piles over, with all the diamonds in one pile, all the jacks in another, all the hearts in another, and so on.
Amelia was impressed. “How did you do that?”
Tim did his best to keep his face impassive, but a delighted grin kept leaking out around the edges. “I can never tell. I took the oath.”
Amelia giggled, and Moses nudged Bill. “They’re getting along all right.”
She cast him an amused glance over her shoulder. For a man who could read the future with devastating and occasionally horrific accuracy, he could be remarkably obtuse about the now.
“What?” he said.
She shook her head and snuggled against him, smiling to herself when she felt him react. Too bad, so sad, old man, she thought, and looked across the room at Tim and Amelia. Tim looked like a kid with a brand-new toy. He cast quick, sidelong glances at Amelia when he thought she wasn’t looking, he blushed when she caught him, he took every opportunity of brushing against her, a finger touch to the back of her hand as he scooped up the cards, a shoulder brush when he leaned in, even a bump of heads when they fought out a game of Snerts, resulting in shared laughter.
He was thirteen and she was seventeen, and Bill didn’t think that this was the beginning of a lifelong romance. But it did Tim no harm for his first time to be with a young woman who, he well knew, had been brutalized in her previous sexual encounters, and who therefore would require patience and kindness. It helped that he was young and inexperienced enough to be entirely intimidated, and would therefore be very slow. And it did Amelia a world of good to discover the difference between a lout and a gentleman in bed. Bill had a shrewd idea as to what had started them down this road, and she had an even shrewder idea as to who first reached for whom.
Well, she was a poor guardian of teenage morality, no doubt, but Amelia was looking less like a forty-year-old barfly and more like a seventeen-year-old girl, and Bill couldn’t regret that. It wasn’t just the newfound discovery of good sex, of course; nothing was ever completely about sex, no matter what the Freudians said. The tai chi was giving her control over her body, a physical confidence. Moses had left the filleting of the day’s salmon entirely up to her, and had viewed the results with nothing more than a disparaging grunt. From anyone else, that was like being awarded the Olympic gold medal, and judging from Amelia’s flushed, proud face, she knew it. She hadn’t been hit in four days. And a young man was looking at her with something close to adoration in his eyes.
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