by Marc Cameron
Lola faced outbound without being told, keeping watch for Daisy Aguthluk or any other threat. Cutter put his body behind the judge, and gently cajoled everyone toward the front doors.
“I’d like to be kept apprised of her condition,” Markham said.
“You bet, Judge,” Cutter said. “We should get inside.”
Ewing, the attorney for the nonprofit corporation, shuffled along with his bag, grousing under his breath. “Now everyone’s in a hurry.”
The school had two sets of doors, providing a dead air space or arctic entry, to conserve heat. Lola paused alongside Cutter at the outer set of doors.
“Reminded me of that old no-win scenario they tell us about in the academy.”
“Weren’t they all no-win?”
“True,” Lola said. “Still, I’m surprised you peeled off from the detail to save the girl.”
“Are you really?”
“No, boss.” Lola laughed out loud. “Not one damned bit.”
Cutter relaxed a notch once the judge returned to the school proper. It wasn’t exactly a fortress, but any building was better than standing in the fog like sitting ducks.
There was a small lobby just inside the door with two long classroom wings running east and west from a center common area that served as the lunchroom. The main office was just inside the front doors. On the opposite side of the lobby was a set of restrooms labeled in what was presumably Yup’ik, written underneath the plaques that designated them BOYS and GIRLS. A piece of printer paper was taped to each door with a reminder about the water limits of the village. IF IT’S BROWN FLUSH IT DOWN. IF IT’S YELLOW LET IT MELLOW.
“Kind of in-your-face,” Markham’s law clerk said.
Jasper gave a shrug. “It is what it is. Pipes tend to freeze this time of year. There’s a storage tank for water under the school, but a lot of houses still use five-gallon honey buckets to take care of business. Most kids wait until they get to school so they go through a lot of water . . .” He waved at two elementary-age girls coming down the hall toward them, on their way to the restrooms. Both stopped and giggled when they saw the group of strangers with their VPSO. Rosy cheeks, jet-black hair, fleece jackets. Cutter could not remember ever seeing more vibrant smiles.
“Whach you’re doin’ here?” one of the girls asked, staring at Lola.
The other one edged tentatively closer. “You got tattoos?”
Lola shot a sideways glance at Jasper, who chuckled. “She’s not interested in any of your real ink,” he said. “Troopers sometimes bring the kids gum or temporary tattoos.”
“And candy,” the other girl said, covering her mouth to stifle a giggle. “I joke!”
The VPSO took on a serious tone. “Do you ladies have permission to be out of class?”
Both girls looked at him, eyebrows raised on high foreheads.
“Okay then,” he said. “Hurry along with your business and then get back to class.”
“Why didn’t they answer you?” Markham’s law clerk asked.
“They did.” Jasper raised his own eyebrows, exaggerated to illustrate his point. “That means yes. Lots of talkin’ goes on without words, if you know what I mean.”
Jasper led them past two open classroom doors on the way to the library. Markham stopped at the second door, standing in the hall to listen, so everyone else stopped too.
A white woman wearing a lilac kuspuk and faded jeans was in the middle of a lecture to a class of ten or so high school students, most of them girls. She was tall, in her twenties, but with a silver streak in her dark hair.
“. . . statistics and averages,” the teacher said. “Both can be deceiving if we don’t look at all the data. Let’s suppose we have a group of one hundred caribou. Of this group, fifty are bulls and fifty are cows. That means that the total number of testicles in the group is . . . ?”
A couple of the girls giggled. The boys in the back of the classroom squirmed.
“One hundred,” a girl on the front row said.
“Correct,” the teacher said. “One hundred. One hundred caribou, one hundred testicles. A statistician who was only acquainted with math and not caribou biology might conclude with this limited information that each caribou had one testicle . . .”
Lola gave Cutter a nudge in the ribs. “Bet they remember this lecture.”
Jasper grinned at the rest of the group, like he was proud. “My wife is the counselor here. She says Aften Brooks is a heck of a good teacher. She has a real connection with the students, knows what makes them tick.”
The group picked up their bags and continued toward the library.
Cutter started to quiz the VPSO about Daisy Aguthluk some more, but Judge Markham picked up his pace to walk beside them.
“Mr. Jasper,” he said. “You mentioned honey buckets earlier. I was under the impression that Stone Cross received a federal grant two years ago. Everyone should have running water and indoor plumbing now.”
“That’s right, Judge,” the VPSO said. “Everyone should. But they don’t. If you look at the grant paperwork, it clearly states that the toilets were all installed, one in each dwelling. The thing is, there’s no place in that documentation to mention that half of those toilets are hooked up to a septic system that doesn’t work unless the temperature is above freezing and we aren’t getting any rain. The data clearly shows that the US government has helped us Natives out with brand-new toilets. The folks in DC and Anchorage get to feel better about themselves.”
“Everybody gets one testicle,” Lola said. “Even if it doesn’t work.”
Melvin Red Fox gave a sad chuckle. “Yep.”
Judge Markham looked down at his shoes as they walked, deep in thought. Cutter generally didn’t much care for his royal attitude, but it was hard not to respect a guy who was so focused on his job. Depending on who oversaw the federal grant, all this information could have a direct bearing on the arbitration.
They dropped their bags with the librarian before retracing their steps back to the office to check in with the principal. Lola carried her rifle case over her shoulder rather than leaving it behind. The M4 had a short barrel and the triangular case resembled something that might hold a tennis racket rather than a weapon.
Birdie Pingayak was still in her office, seated beside her desk instead of behind it. Her hands were folded quietly in her lap as she addressed a bony little Yup’ik boy who Cutter guessed was maybe nine or ten years old. The boy’s eyes were red and swollen. Every few seconds his little shoulders shuddered, remnants of a sobbing cry.
The protective operation briefing sheet said Birdie’s real name was Bertha Pingayak, leading Cutter to expect someone older. He guessed this Birdie to be in her thirties. She was slim, with black shoulder-length hair, straight and parted in the middle. Cutter had never been a fan of face tattoos, on either gender, considering them job-stoppers. But the lines on Birdie Pingayak’s chin were nothing short of breathtaking. She wore nice khaki slacks and a blue polo shirt with a Stone Cross timber wolf mascot on the left breast. Her office was sparse and neat, as if Marie Kondo herself had done the decorating.
She spoke to the boy in hushed tones, glancing up just long enough to tell everyone she needed another moment. She listened as much as she spoke, letting the boy have his say. Then she reached behind her desk to retrieve a canvas purse. She took out her wallet, handing the boy a twenty-dollar bill. He began to sob again. She touched him softly on the shoulder before sending him out of her office.
“Waqaa,” he said as he ran past, still sniffing back tears.
Jasper whispered, “Clarence says hi.”
The others all said hello back, but the boy was already out the door.
Birdie rested her hand on the door frame of her office, leaning toward the school secretary at the front counter. “Clarence is not allowed on school grounds for the rest of the day,” she said.
“Okie dokie,” the woman at the counter said, smiling. She’d seen the passing of the twenty dollars as w
ell. “Good job, Ms. Pingayak.”
Birdie shook hands with everyone in turn. “Sorry to keep you waiting. My friend there had himself a little anger issue right before you arrived. He threw a chair at his teacher, Ms. Donna.”
Markham’s eyebrows shot toward the ceiling in surprise. “Good Lord! A chair? Is she all right?”
“Miss Donna?” The principal gave him a sad smile. “She’s fine. You saw Clarence. He’s so scrawny he can barely pick up a chair, let alone toss it with any force. You’re probably wondering why I gave him money.”
“The question did cross my mind,” Markham said.
Birdie motioned them all into her office with the flick of her hand. “I heard you met Archie Stepanov.” She stood behind her desk, singled Cutter out of the group with her gaze, and gave him a quick once-over.
“Are you the marshal?”
“Why doesn’t anyone ever ask if I’m the marshal?” Ewing groused.
Birdie swung her gaze to him. “Are you?”
“No,” he said, incredulous.
“Right,” Birdie said. “I’m guessing you’re one of the lawyers.”
Cutter liked this woman already.
“Anyway,” she continued, “if you’ve had the great pleasure of meeting Archie Stepanov, then you’ve seen the effects of our local home brew. Clarence’s parents are good people, but this new batch of hooch is making the rounds in the village. Everybody suffers, but kids suffer the most. Clarence is the oldest of four, so he feels the brunt of the responsibility to take care of his siblings. It’s a heavy load for a nine-year-old to carry. I gave him twenty bucks so he could buy some food.”
“What’s to keep him from buying candy with it?” Ewing asked.
“I’m guessing you’ve never looked at the eyes of a hungry sibling.” She sighed. “No, Clarence is a handful, but he cares deeply about his brother and sisters.”
Brett Grinder, Markham’s clerk, frowned. “What about Child Protective Services?”
Birdie gave a scornful chuckle but said nothing.
“CPS tries,” Jasper said. “But it is what it is—”
The cell phone in his vest pocket began to play a Bob Seger ringtone. “Sorry,” he said. “I have to take this.” He held the phone to his ear, listening intently. His expression grew darker with each passing moment.
Aften Brooks, the high school math teacher they’d listened to earlier, came running up the hall and into the outer office. She stopped short when she saw the crowd and began to wring her hands.
“I just heard from Vitus on his VHF,” she said.
“Vitus Paul?” Birdie asked. “He took the day off to go hunting for the elders.”
“He is,” Aften said. “I asked him to check in at Chaga Lodge as a favor. I haven’t been able to get in touch with Sarah or David since yesterday.”
Ned Jasper ended his call. He breathed deeply, gathering his thoughts.
Birdie put both hands flat on her desk, looking from Aften to the VPSO. “What is it?”
“That was my office,” Jasper said. “Patching me through to Vitus on his VHF. He said the radios at the lodge have been destroyed—and Rolf Hagen’s body is lying out in the snow. Looks like somebody shot him.”
CHAPTER 17
Everyone including Aften Brooks crowded into Birdie Pingayak’s office and shut the door. Ned Jasper got through to Lieutenant Warr on his cell phone on the second try. He put the call on speaker, then gave a quick rundown on what he knew, which wasn’t much. To his credit, Warr listened without peppering him with questions until the end.
Birdie spread a map of western Alaska across her desk blotter. The area between the Yukon to the north and the Kuskokwim to the south formed a delta as they flowed toward the Bering Sea. She pointed to the black star that represented Stone Cross and traced a line with her finger about eight miles upriver to Chaga Lodge.
“No sign of the caretakers?” Warr asked.
Aften spoke up. “This is Mrs. Brooks, a teacher here at Stone Cross. Sarah Mead is my friend. I haven’t been able to contact her by radio since day before yesterday. My husband dropped off some caribou meat that same day, but as far as I know, that’s the last time anyone has seen Sarah or her husband.”
Ned Jasper said, “Vitus says the lodge looks abandoned. The generator’s off. Stove was cold when he got there.”
“Didn’t Hagen have a girlfriend in Stone Cross?” Warr asked. “That Swanson girl?”
“Marlene,” Birdie said. “And her old boyfriend, James Johnny, wasn’t too happy about that.”
“Ned,” Warr said. “See if you can locate James. Don’t approach him until we get there. Just find out where he is.”
Red Fox held up his hand, like a student waiting to be called on.
Ned nodded.
“This is Melvin Red Fox, Lieutenant,” he said, introducing himself, leaning toward the phone to make sure he was heard. “James Johnny left to go hunting yesterday afternoon. He usually stays gone a couple days unless he catches something, so nobody thinks anything of it. I can see if his uncle has heard from him.”
“Okay,” Warr said. “Check with him, but let’s keep the details of this to ourselves.”
“That leaves the body to recover,” Ned said. “And the crime scene. Not to mention the missing caretakers.”
Aften Brooks clenched her eyes shut, stifling a sob. “Somebody took them.”
The line fell quiet for a time, with nothing but the ruffling of papers on Warr’s end of the call. Cutter could picture him bent over a map of his own. “What’s the weather look like out your way?” he asked.
Ned walked to the window.
“Pea soup fog,” he said. “Twenty, thirty feet of visibility, maybe, and getting worse.”
“That’s what I thought,” the lieutenant said. “We’re looking at the same conditions. Earl’s stuck in Nightmute on that body pickup. He’s telling me this pattern is supposed to stick around for another day. Planes are grounded here. Even the Alaska Airlines flight tonight is on a weather hold. I’ll see about a chopper from Anchorage, but they’d have to fly through the Lake Clark Pass in the fog at night, so I’m not hopeful on that account. This damned river can’t decide if it wants to be ice or water. It’ll be dicey, but I’ll work on getting a couple of troopers up to you by boat. In the meantime, Ned, do you think you’ve been in Stone Cross long enough to get familiar with the river?”
The VPSO grimaced. “I’ll do my best, L.T.”
“All I can ask,” Warr said. “Secure the scene if you can make it out there. I’ll check with the Aniak post, upriver. They might be able to get as far as the lodge, coming in from the north. Wait for them. I don’t want you going after the Meads unarmed.”
“I grew up here,” Birdie Pingayak said. “I know the river. If you want, we can take you up in my boat.”
Ned Jasper gave a sigh of relief. “That would be good.”
Cutter said, “Anything we can do to help, just say the word.”
“Honestly,” Warr said, “the body isn’t the problem. He’ll still be dead when we get there. But if David and Sarah Mead are missing, they’re either suspects or victims. I could use a few sets of eyes on scene if you don’t mind trying to get out to the lodge with Jasper.”
Cutter shot a glance at Lola, and then the judge. The threat was still a problem.
“One of us will go,” Cutter said.
“Thank you,” Warr said. “I need to call and brief the captain. Ned, check in with me at regular intervals.”
“Copy that,” the VPSO said, and ended the call.
Birdie Pingayak grabbed her coat and hat off the willow hook in the corner of her office. She reached below her desk and came up with a pair of brown rubber boots, holding the corner of the desk with one hand while she kicked off her Nike runners. “Ned,” she said, pulling on the boots. “How long do you need to get your gear ready?”
“I’m always packed,” the VPSO said. “Just need to stop by my house. I’ll meet you at t
he river.”
Pingayak looked at Cutter. “How about you guys?”
“Good to go,” Cutter said. “We haven’t had a chance to unpack.”
Aften Brooks took a half step forward. “I’m coming too.”
“I know you want to go,” Birdie said. “But I need you to do me a favor and stay here and look after Jolene. We’ll figure out what happened with Sarah. I promise.”
Birdie turned to get a pair of glasses off the low credenza behind her desk.
Cutter turned to Lola. “We’re going to have to split up.”
Lola closed her eyes and gave a resigned sigh. “I saw this coming already. You want me to stay here and watch—”
Judge Markham gave an emphatic shake of his head. “And watch over me. That’s not necessary. I’ll be fine.”
“I’m sorry, Your Honor,” Cutter said. “But that won’t work. There hasn’t been time to discuss it with you, but after we landed, we received information about a person of interest in Stone Cross related to your threat.”
“The woman at the airport who was looking at me so hard?”
Lola nodded, obviously impressed that the judge had noticed anything beyond the fact that the marshals were crowding him.
“Yes,” Cutter said. “The point is, there are a lot of pieces of the situation to consider. Deputy Teariki will go over it all with you and come up with our next steps—”
“Let me get this straight,” Markham said. “You think that woman on the four-wheeler wrote the letter threatening to hold my beating heart?”
“Makes sense, Your Honor,” Lola said. “The letter came after your trip out here was publicized in the papers.”
“I . . . I just suspected the threat was tied to the arbitration,” Markham said. “A stunt to dissuade me from coming out.”
Ned Jasper checked his watch, beginning to get antsy. “We should get on the river.”
“Your Honor,” Cutter said, “any other time, I’d suggest flying you out tonight.” He paused, thinking over his options before turning to Lola. “Honestly, as much as I want to assist the Troopers, I should stay back here too.”
