The room is suddenly filled with the sound of a wolf howling. Junior's cheeks flush.
"Is that your phone?" I ask.
He nods, taking his cell phone out of his pocket. He glances at the screen, and then puts the phone back into his pocket, his face turning a deeper red. If suspicion had a color, it would be red.
"Who's calling you?"
"Uh, Walter LaPonte."
"Why is he calling you?"
He shrugs.
I hold out my hand. "Can I talk to the representative of Alaska, then?"
He exhales, pulls out his cell phone, and hands it to me.
As far as I know, everyone in the LaPonte family is a lawyer, which might as well have been a long-term plan to make Walter a state representative and, if the rumors are true, the governor. Walter's sister, Zoë was killed over a decade ago by a stray bullet while she was on the side of the road changing a flat tire. I suppose I almost feel a kinship with Walter because we both know what it's like to lose a family member. Walter was even the one to find his sister. If I remember correctly, Junior was also there because the two of them are close friends.
"Hello, Representative LaPonte," I say as I answer the call.
"…Who is this?" Walter asks.
"This is Acting Chief of Police Grant."
"Oh, is Junior in some kind of trouble?"
"He's just answering some questions for me. I'm just wondering why you're calling him. Since it's Monday night, I would think you're pretty busy."
"I am. I was just returning Junior's call."
"Why did Junior call you?"
"Well, honestly, I think Junior was just being a true friend and didn't want me to be caught flat-footed by the news in the media, and the…well, parallels, that will inevitably be drawn between my sister's death and his niece's," Walter says. "Brianna's death is a tragedy. Absolutely. I know exactly how the Culls feel and I hope justice is served. But…I hope you can keep this quiet, Chief Grant, but Junior knows I'm going to announce my campaign for governor on Sunday, so he was concerned about that. Of course, that's not nearly as important as a murder. Junior was just looking out for me, though I think the shock of seeing his niece murdered messed with his state of mind. It's very bizarre that his first thought was my campaign, but don't judge him too harshly for that."
"Of course, Walter…" I say. "Thank you for your time and your honesty."
"No problem, Chief Grant. Your service to the town is appreciated."
I hang up and hand Junior his phone. Something bothers me about this whole scenario. A murder similar to Zoë's? Right before Walter's announcement to run for governor? Could Zoë's death have been less accidental than the police originally thought and now the killer is reliving her murder? Could someone be going after Walter by first killing his sister and now killing his best friend's niece? Or is there more involvement with Walter and Junior than people first suspected?
Greg doesn't think this killing is an accident, and I trust Greg's instincts, despite the fact that my father distrusted him purely for the fact that he has "Stalin" in his last name.
"Junior." I sigh. "Why don't I take you home now?"
Chapter Fourteen
Nick, 2015 (Monday night)
THE PLATE IN FRONT of me only has the last few remnants of my chili cheeseburger. After it's taken from me by Birdie, I take out my American history book, and open to the section on the Japanese internment camps in the United States. But I don't read, though I have a project due in two weeks, because I'm too busy keeping my gaze on Sarah.
It's not the first time I've done this, and I think Sarah enjoys it because once in a while she sneaks a glance at me, too. It gives me a little thrill to be right there, pretending to be zoned out over homework when I'm really just being there for Sarah, because she needs me, and I'll always be here for her.
"Hey, nerd." One of the popular kids from school sneers at me as he passes by.
I ignore him. A lot of the other kids in school snicker at me—about my donation clothes, my constant studying, my lack of social skills—but I don't care about any of them. The only person that matters in this town, in this world, is Sarah.
Everybody's been making a fuss over Sarah during her first night back at work, especially the guys who flirt with her, and the old men who leer after her because she's so nice and sweet. I know exactly what she thinks of all of them, because she's told me when we're alone together…as I get to touch her just like those bastards wish they could. Especially Junior. Perverted psycho. He probably would've tried to have his way with Sarah by now if her daddy wasn't the judge. There're rumors that Junior has his way with other waitresses—at least the ones who aren't related to him or don't have somebody like the judge at home.
Sarah has shown me recordings of some of the things Junior watches when he's supposed to be working, and how he keeps them playing when the waitresses go back to the office. He doesn't even try to claim it was an accident. What are the waitresses going to do anyway, sue for sexual harassment? I know for a fact there aren't a lot of jobs in Wyatt and there are a lot of people looking for work—people who can't pick up and go work in fishing or oil, or have the means to commute to a cashier or waitress job in Anchorage, assuming they could find one there.
Brianna hasn't turned up, which worries me a little—even if Brianna's never gone out of her way to be nice to me, she's never been an asshole either. Junior hasn't come back either, but that's good because I think he's begun to suspect something's going on between Sarah and me, and he's the type to see any other male as a rival. I can only hope something bad happened to him—a car crash, a heart attack, a random moose gouging him with its antlers.
The doors are locked from the inside as the restaurant begins its ritual of closing up. The last few patrons finish their meals and leave. Sarah tells Birdie to go home since she's been here all day. Birdie takes her siblings, and they walk out of The Charcoal Grill.
"I'll be with you in a minute," Sarah murmurs as she passes me. She takes a rag and begins to wash down the tables, humming some pop song that I don't recognize.
I stand up. "I can help you."
She smiles. "You can help me by helping me with my project. What topic from World War II should I choose? I was thinking of women during World War II, but that seemed too obvious, so I thought maybe I would do the Nuremberg Trials."
I sit back down. "The Nuremberg Trials are a great topic. I wish I had thought of it. Justice seems to suit you."
Sarah seems incredibly brave to me for wanting to record Junior, for wanting to build a case against him, and get him thrown in prison for sexual harassment. And I think she's doubly brave for knowing she'd have to bring the suit herself, outside of her father's jurisdiction. She knows the judge won't do anything to Junior because of his old man. Everybody loves Junior's old man, and practically everyone sees The Charcoal Grill as his sainted legacy.
To me, it's just a restaurant that happens to have good burgers. And Sarah.
"What do you know about them?" she asks.
"The executions were carried out by hanging," I say. "And some say that the US Army purposely allowed the Nazis to slowly be strangled to death instead of dying quickly from a broken neck."
"Good. They deserved a slow death."
"Yeah, I wouldn't include that in your paper. It's not an opinion piece."
She turns her head as if she heard someone else speaking, but then she just shakes her head and looks back at me.
"It's raining out," she says. "Do you want me to give you a ride home instead of you pedaling home on your bike?"
"No, I can bike home."
She smirks. "Come on, Nick. You don't need to be a tough guy. You're not any less masculine if a woman drives you home."
"I know, but sometimes I feel like your dad can tell that we've been…you know, doing stuff together. I saw him at the bank the other day and he just glared at me the whole time."
"Okay, the glaring thing is just his face," she says. "Tha
t's how he looks all the time."
"I'd rather not die. So, I'll just bike home then there's zero chance he'll see us together."
"Mmm. Okay," she says.
She leans toward me, her breasts less than an inch away from my chest and she kisses me. It's not the innocent kind of kiss you would expect from her, but firm and intense. I reach forward, my hand cupping her breast. She breaks the kiss and stands straight up again. I can't read her expression—actually, most of the time I can't read her expression.
"You better start biking, Nick. If Aaron finds out you're not home by now, he'll probably think you've become a full-blown drug addict within a three hour time frame."
I glance at the clock. She's right.
"I'll see you later." I give her a quick kiss, though I yearn to repeat the kiss we just had.
"Text me," she says. "I've heard from a few patrons that they've seen police cars all over today, and everyone thinks something must have happened. If it's something big, this is when you could get the revenge you've been waiting for."
I nod. "Slow strangulation."
"Slow strangulation," she repeats, the faintest smile on her face.
Chapter Fifteen
Aaron, 2015 (Monday night)
JUNIOR'S HULKING FIGURE disappears into his log cabin. The whole drive back to his house, Junior seemed anxious—fiddling with his hands, chewing the inside of his cheek, drumming his fingers against the center console—but I can't be sure if that's just how he's dealing with his grief and the shock of seeing his niece with part of her skull missing, or if it's guilt seeping out. As he stepped out of my car, I told him to call if he heard from Brianna's parents. He promised he would, but he ran into his home as fast as he could.
The uncomfortable thoughts that had come up during the conversation with Walter LaPonte remain with me. I know if this case gets linked to a political smear campaign against Walter, the FBI is going to get involved. A threat to a representative is concern enough, but one who's running for governor would surely get them into a frenzy.
I also know, unless I'm really lucky, I'm not going to stumble upon whatever link there is between Brianna's murder and Walter's campaign until so much noise is made that the FBI involves themselves with the case, and by that time, things could get quite out of control.
And, I simply don't have the resources the FBI does.
I take out Teresa's business card and seeing her name fills me with an ache, which seems to penetrate straight through my sternum and travels into the marrow of my rib cage.
FBI Anchorage
101 East Sixth Avenue
Anchorage, AK 99501
Phone: (907) 276-4441
I call their number, intending to give them a heads-up on the situation, and ask for their advice.
"FBI," a woman's voice answers.
"Hey, this is Acting Chief of Police Aaron Grant from Wyatt," I say. "I just need to talk to Rhoda Chen about a possible case the FBI could have coming to their desks."
"Is it an emergency?" she asks. "Because Chen isn't here."
"No, it's not an emergency. I can just leave her a message."
"Okay, I'll transfer you to her voicemail," she says. "It was nice talking to you Acting Chief of Police Grant."
Beep.
"This is Special Agent Rhoda Chen from the Anchorage FBI office. If you have an emergency, please call nine-one-one. If you would prefer to send a tip electronically, you can also do that through e-mail at [email protected]. Otherwise, please leave a message after the beep and I will get back to you as soon as I can."
"Hey, Special Agent Chen," I say. "This is Acting Chief of Police Aaron Grant from Wyatt. I just wanted to inform you that I believe there may be a plot against Representative LaPonte. I don't have any evidence at this point, but I have a gut feeling. His friend's niece was murdered today and it was a similar MO as his sister's murder. That could also mean we have a serial killer on our hands. Just giving you the heads-up. You can call me at my private number if you want to talk about it—907-357-2119. Since it's a small town, I don't want too much conversation going on at the station. I trust my officers, but it just takes one of them to tell his wife, his wife tells her friends, and it's all over town the next day, creating a scandal. Anyway…thanks for your time. Have a good week."
I hang up, dial Greg's number, and then place the phone to my ear. If there's one officer I trust above all of the rest, it's him. Besides, his wife is a timid woman that I can't see gossiping about anyone.
"Hey, Aaron," he answers. "How did interviewing Junior go?"
"I'm not sure about Junior, but Walter LaPonte called during the interview. Apparently, he planned to announce that he's running for governor next week."
"Hmph," Greg says. "I never really liked that guy. I might have to vote just so he doesn't become governor."
"Don't you think that's weird though?"
"What? That he's running for governor? I think that's pretty normal for representatives."
"No, I mean, don't you remember how his sister was murdered?"
"I think so. She was the one shot by a tourist right?"
"Beside her truck…with a rifle," I say. "Does that sound familiar?"
"…The same way Brianna was just killed," he says. "So, do you think it's a serial killer? It's a long time for a serial killer to wait to murder their second victim."
"I don't know," I say. "I called the FBI and left a message. I figured we should get advice from them first."
"You mean that you talked to your girlfriend."
I grimace. "No. I'm going through proper channels. We can't half-ass this, Greg."
"Agreed. Though, I can't believe you're advocating going through proper channels. Did you have a fight with your girlfriend or something?"
"I don't want to talk about it." I sigh. "Where are we at?"
"Well, I'm at the morgue…which you know is full of a lively bunch without any repugnant smells at all. And I'm watching Lyra Blair examine Brianna's head. I'm glad I ate awhile ago."
"Do you want me to come down there?"
"Nah," he says. "Watching Lyra and a deceased body is hard work, but I think I can handle it. You should go home and get some sleep. You've got that foster kid to watch over, don't you? I'm pretty sure that Child Protective Services gets pissed off if you're not around often enough."
I close my eyes. I never called Nick. I am the worst parent ever. "Right. I'll call you in the morning, Greg."
"Sounds romantic," he drawls.
I hang up and start my car. Nick better be home when I get there or I may finally fall into insanity. Losing touch with reality seems like a comfortable state of mind, because when I can't touch reality, reality can't dig its nails into me.
Chapter Sixteen
Nick, 2015 (Late Monday night)
RAGE HAS BEEN my best friend for as long as I can remember. I can't even recall how young I was when I began dealing drugs for my dad. He used to send me to different places with a paper bag, which looked like I was carrying my lunch, and I thought it was normal when I handed it to men who couldn't stand still or women with scabs on their faces. I only learned later that the paper bag had drugs in it. Around my preteen years, I began to realize I was being used and that's when a child's anger transformed into a more quiet fury.
Which is how I feel as I hear Aaron's car pull into the driveway.
It may be irrational, but I hate him more than I hate my parents. I'd begun to trust Aaron when he visited me all of the time, but two years ago, he disappeared. He explained to me that his family had died in a fire, but that seems like a better time to reach out to his other family—me. But, apparently, in the grand scheme of things, I wasn't that important. But, I can't let him know that I hate him. First, Aaron's home in Wyatt is a damn sight better than living in a foster home and none of my foster siblings gives a shit about me anymore since I get to live alone with a foster parent. Second, I'm still trying to come up with the perfect revenge. Sarah's been helping me
come up with a plan. She has me document everything Aaron is doing, so if we do something illegal, we'll know how to cover our tracks. We'll know exactly where he is, who he's with, and who would become suspicious if something happened to him.
Sarah Latham. Popular Sarah Latham—the girl of many men's dreams, who could have any guy she wants—wants me. It's a bit of a letdown that I can't tell anyone or that I can't kiss her in front of all of the jocks that drool over her. She says it's because it's so new, her dad would kill us, and people wouldn't understand—just like they wouldn't get how much Sarah hurts inside. She can hurt with me. If anyone understands hurt, it's me.
The door swings open and Aaron steps inside. He glances at me as my fingers scramble over a video game controller and a man with a machine gun obliterates three men with AK-47s.
"Don't they say those kinds of video games make you violent?" he asks, sitting next to me on the couch.
"Uh, not any more violent than if you were raised by drug dealers and spent your time around angry crackheads."
"Touché."
He leans back against the couch. "I noticed you weren't home before."
"I told you I might go out to eat."
"Yeah, I just thought you would be home by eight," he says. "Were you with the judge's daughter?"
I straighten up, turning toward him. The video game version of me dies in a splatter of blood from an enemy hidden behind a barrel of gas. "How did you know I was seeing her?"
"It's a small town, Nick," he says. "People talk. I don't mind. You've been busting ass in school, so as long as you keep your grades up and you don't get in trouble, you can see whoever you want."
"Okay." I gaze back at the TV screen and select Area 7 to fight in—a nuclear waste dump. Aaron doesn't move, which can only mean that he wants to vent to me.
"I need to tell you something important," he says.
"Okay," I repeat, furiously shooting at zombie aliens.
Devil's Dawn (A Grant & Daniels Trilogy Book 2) Page 6
