Stabenow, Dana - Liam Campbell 02 - So Sure Of Death

by So Sure Of Death(lit)

  It was enough. “Thank you, uncle, Malcolm murmured, and backed out of the building.

  “Don't ever be a Native, Moses told them. “Have you ever wanted to be a Native? he demanded of Bill.

  “God, no, Bill said.

  “Why not? Liam said.

  Bill took her time replying, polishing a couple of glasses with a bar rag and lining them up at attention. “I'm the laziest person on earth. I don't want to have to work that hard to get up to go.

  Moses gave a short bark of laughter.

  “Somebody explain, Liam said.

  Bill picked up a glass that didn't need it and started polishing. “What do you see when you look at me, Liam?

  A brief but mighty struggle kept Liam's eyes from dropping to her breasts, today enfolded in the loving embrace of a T-shirt touting Jimmy Buffett'sBanana Windtour.

  Moses growled. Liam felt the heat rising up the back of his neck.

  “After that, Bill said dryly.

  “Magistrate, Liam said. “Barkeep.

  “No, she said. “First off, before everything else, I'm white. I'm as white as you can get without bleach. Before I'm a woman, before I'm a bartender, before I'm a magistrate, before I'm a goddamn Alaskan, I'm white. And because I'm white, I wasbornat go. I don't have to work my ass off just to get that far.

  “And Malcolm does, Liam said to Moses.

  Moses raised his glass in a toast. “I may have to change my estimation of your intelligence, boy.

  “Gee, thanks.

  Bill wasn't done. “People look at boys like Malcolm, they see Native and think Fourth Avenue. Outside, they'd look at you and see a nigger. In South Africa they'd see a kaffer; in India, a Muslim; in Pakistan, a Hindu. The color of your skin isn't an asset, it's something you have to overcome. She gave the glass a final rub and held it up to admire the sparkle. “Whereas I, because my ancestors were so kind as to spend the last two thousand years terrorizing the people of color of this world into submission and servitude and too often downright slavery . . . She shrugged, and repeated, “I was born at go. She set the glass down and looked at Moses. “Only place in the world for a lazy person.

  She looked at Liam. “What's the charge on Larsgaard?

  “Who? Oh. Flight to avoid prosecution, Liam said.

  “Prosecution for what?

  “Mass murder, Liam said, and Moses erupted again.

  “Goddamn it, you are the worst I ever saw for jumping to conclusions! A son owes his father, goddamn it!

  Which reminded Liam that he had to get back to the post and call his father's office in Florida.

  Moses stared at him. “He's no different that any other stick-uphis-ass officer I ever ran across in the service, and I wasn't talking about your father, anyway.

  In spite of himself, Liam felt his dander rise, enough to blot out Moses' last words. “He's a career officer, he said, careful to keep any hint of defense out of his tone. “They are very . . .

  “Proper, Bill suggested, and he gave a grateful nod.

  Moses snorted. “ Proper. Yeah, right. If you can't stick to the point, boy, you've gone as far as you'll go in your service.

  Liam stood up. “Moses, I never know what the hell the point is when I'm around you, and I'm not sure I want to go anywhere in my service anymore. He tossed some bills on the bar. “Thanks for lunch, Bill. I'll be back in for dinner this evening, with my stick-up-his-ass dad.

  “See you then, she said, unperturbed.

  He walked toward the door, and behind him Moses said to Bill, “Malcolm won't ever come home, you know.

  “He goes to school, he's gone for good.

  SEVENTEEN

  “Doctors are lousy pilots, Wy said. “Pisspoor, actually. They don't listen worth shit. You can't tell them anything, they're used to doing the telling. Guy says he's a doctor, he's not driving my plane and I ain't riding in his.

  Tim committed this to memory, and handed her a socket wrench.

  “Thanks. Wy tightened down the nut, wiped her hands on the legs of her overalls and closed the cowling before descending the stepladder perched at the nose of the Cub.

  “How about troopers? Tim said.

  Wy looked at him, and he grinned. “Yeah, okay, smarty, she said, “it was fine, she didn't hurt our baby any.

  “She better not've. Tim sounded cocky and threatening and very proprietary as he put the wrench back in the red upright toolbox.

  Wy eyed his back for a moment. “You want to learn?

  He looked around. “Learn what?

  She hooked a thumb at the plane. “You want to learn to fly?

  He stood straight up, the toolbox drawer left open. “Learn to fly? His voice scaled up and ended on a squeak of disbelief.

  “Yeah.

  He stared from her to the plane and back again. He looked dazzled. “You'd teach me?

  “Yeah.

  “To fly?

  She grinned. “Hey. It's what I do.

  A warm wave of color washed up over his face. “You're just kidding, he said gruffly. “Aren't you? I'm too young. Aren't I?

  “Younger than me when I started, she agreed. “But then I started awful late. I was practically an old lady.

  “How old? he demanded.

  “Sixteen.

  “Do you mean it? he said again.

  He threw the question down like a gauntlet, a challenge to her to take it up. Promises had been made to him before, many promises over the twelve long years of his young life, promises made and promises broken. “Yes, she said soberly. “I mean it.

  He still didn't quite believe her, she could see it in his eyes. “Next Sunday morning, she said, turning back to the plane. “I don't have anything booked until four that afternoon. We'll take the Cessna up. She's got dual controls. She thought about mentioning ground school, and left it for later. If she could get him hooked on flying, he wouldn't have a choice.

  After a moment or two, she heard him wheel the toolbox back into the shed.

  There was a shed just like it in back of every one of the light planes drawn up at the edge of the tarmac at Newenham General Airport, but theirs was the only one currently in use. The open door revealed shelves packed with tools and parts, as well as camping and fishing gear. A fifty-five-gallon Chevron fuel drum, cut in half, sat in one corner, filled to the brim with Japanese fishing floats made of green glass. Wy picked them up whenever she made a beach landing and sold them to tourists for as much as the traffic would bear.

  “Wy?

  “Yeah? Wy was in the shed, smearing Goop on her hands, trying and failing to get the oil that invariably migrated beneath her fingernails.

  The possibility of slipping the surly bonds of earth had faded from his face. “You remember the Malones?

  Her hands stilled, and she looked over her shoulder. Tim had one hand on the Cub's right strut, watching an Alaska Airlines 737 bank left out over the river in preparation for landing. “You mean the people who were killed on the boat in Kulukak?

  “Yeah.

  Wy reached for a rag and went out to stand next to him. “I didn't know them, Tim. I don't think I ever met them. I don't think I ever flew them anywhere.

  The 737 lined up on final.

  “I knew the boy. Mike.

  “Did you?

  “He played basketball.

  “What position?

  “Guard.

  “Like you.

  “Yeah. I had to guard him last time the Kulukak team was in town. Our last game of the season.

  “When was that, March?

  “Yeah.

  Wy thought back, in her mind trying to distinguish one adolescent from another on a court that seemed remarkably full of them. “Number twenty-two, right? Hands like catcher's mitts, arms that stretched from here to Icky, and a good sport?

  “Yeah.

  Mike Malone had guarded Tim like Tim was Bastogne and Mike was the entire 501st Airborne. “You played really well against him.

  Tim's shoulders rose in a faint shrug.
“Have to, against a guy like that.

  “Did you meet his sister, too?

  “Yeah. He introduced me once. A pause. “She was a cheerleader, traveled with the team.

  “Pretty?

  “Yeah.

  The 737 touched down just inside the markers in a runway paint job, the engines roaring immediately into reverse so they wouldn't miss the first taxiway. Hot dog, Wy thought. Definitely the sound of someone not flying their own plane.

  “Liam says they're dead. He looked at her.

  Wy finished with the rag and turned to pitch it, accurately, in the wastebasket just inside the door of the shed. “Yeah. She turned back. “When did you talk to Liam?

  “This morning. I went over to the post. When you left to take the mail to Manokotak.

  Bless the U.S. Postal Service, Wy thought automatically. A mail contract was the difference between red and black on the bottom line to a Bush air taxi. “Oh.

  “You didn't say I couldn't.

  “No, she agreed. Did he ask about me? she wanted to say, but managed to refrain from anything that sophomoric.

  “So they're dead, he repeated.

  “Yeah. Her hand settled on his shoulder and squeezed, as the 737 popped its hatch and let down its rear air stair.

  “It'sit'sitstinks, he said, and his eyes when he raised them were dark and wounded.

  “It stinks to high heaven, Wy agreed. “Tim. Did you ever meet the rest of Mike's family? His mom? His dad?

  Tim shook his head. “No. Just Mike. He hesitated.

  “What?

  He colored, and looked at his shoes. “One time, it was like the first time we played the Wolverines, I remember Mike got benched for fighting.

  “What about?

  His color deepened and he wouldn't look up. “Somebody'd said something about his mother.

  “What?

  He said gruffly, “Said she slept around on Mike's dad. Called her a whore. So Mike beat him up, and the coach benched him. He added wistfully, “That was the only time all year we beat them.

  “Who said that? Who did Mike beat up?

  “Arne. Arne Swensen. He plays guard, too. He's a senior this year, so he'll probably start even if he doesn't deserve to. He looked up. “That stinks, too.

  Wy smiled and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah.

  He pulled back and anxiously patted his glossy black locks back into their previous perfect order. The last person off the 737 was a big, bulky man wearing a parka and mukluks. In July. “Tourist, he said.

  “And how.

  “Mom?

  He'd called her Mom from the first day she brought him home from the hospital, a direct and determined repudiation of his birth mother. Now that he felt more secure, he used Mom and Wy interchangeably. She did notice that when he was particularly bothered about something, he usually called her Mom. She steeled herself. “What?

  He fidgeted. “They weren'tthey didn'tKerry and Mike . . . nobody, well, hurt them, did they?

  It only took Wy a second to understand. Tim had grown up among a succession of people who had regarded his body as their personal punching bag. “No, Wy said.

  “Are you sure?

  “Yes, Wy said. “I'm sure.

  She wasn't, of course, she knew nothing about the condition in which the bodies had been found, but she was willing to lie herself blue in the face before she contributed one more scene to Tim's recurring nightmares. Imagining how Mike, a boy he'd admired, and Kerry, a girl he might have had a secret crush on, had been tortured before being killed was not going to lessen their frequency or ease their intensity.

  The 737 started loading passengers for the return trip to Anchorage. First on board was a skinny little blond kid in a blue nylon jacket, jeans and sneakers, clutching a silver briefcase almost as big as he was. He looked purposeful, on a mission. Wy wondered what was in the suitcase.

  A shout distracted her attention, and she looked around to see Professor Desmond X. McLynn bearing down on them. “I'm outta here, Tim muttered, and he grabbed his bike and shot off. Wy didn't blame him.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. McLynn? Wy said as the professor came trotting up.

  “Do? You can fly me out to my dig, is what you can do. Where have you been all day? I was here at nine o'clock and you were gone! You've contracted to be my air support for the summer, and then you disappear when I need to fly! Give me one good reason why I shouldn't hire another pilot!

  Wy, one of the more reliable pilots on the Bay, bit back an invitationfor Professor Desmond X. McLynn to do just that, didn't say that she'd contracted to fly him in and out once a week, not twice, and plastered a smile on her face. “I do have other contracts to fulfill besides yours, Professor McLynn, butshe overrode his protest“I'm here now. We can be in the air in ten minutes.

  McLynn blustered for a few moments before giving in. They were in the air in the promised ten minutes. It was their fastest flight to the dig yet. “Are we back on a normal schedule? Wy said, when she had him and his gear on the ground.

  “What? Yes, yes, pick me up Friday evening.

  “Certainly, sir, Wy said to his retreating back. She was in the air before he reached the work tent. She left his gear where it was.

  Some jobs didn't pay enough. Some jobs wouldn't pay enough if you were making a thousand dollars an hour. Still, a job was a job, a paycheck was a paycheck and a lawyer's fee was most definitely a lawyer's fee. Wy brought the Cub around and headed back to Newenham.

  Liam went back to the post to find Prince had left a note, saying she'd gone to lunch and that she'd be back in time to sit in on the interrogations. So they were interrogating suspects this afternoon, were they? Liam picked up the phone and dialed his father's number in Florida. It rang five times and he was just about to give up when someone picked up. It was a woman's voice, very young and breathy, which made “Hurlburt Field Strategic Operations School sound like phone sex. “Hi, I'm Liam Campbell, Colonel Campbell's son, he said. “Is my father in?

  There was a brief silence, and the voice said brightly, “I'm sorry, Mr. Campbell, but Colonel Campbell has been reassigned.

  Has he indeed? Liam thought. “Could you tell me where?

  “I'm sorry, sir, I'm not allowed to give out that information.

  “Oh. Liam waited for a moment, letting the silence gather. “I really need to talk to him about some family businesswhat was your name again? Valerie? That's a pretty name. Are you single, Valerie?

  Valerie giggled. “You're not very subtle, are you, Mr. Campbell?

  “I don't play hard to get, he purred, shamelessly dropping his voice down into its best lower register, sexy-guy-picking-you-upina-bar accents.

  She giggled again, sounding very young. “I don't know . . .

  “I'm his only son, Valerie, and it really is important that I reach him soon. Kind of a family emergency. Just a phone number. I won't even say I got it from you.

  He hung up a minute or two later. Definitely a threat to national security there, he thought, dialing the number he'd scribbled on his desk calendar. This time he was unlucky; an answering machine picked up. The message on it was illuminating, though.

  At three o'clock he was back at the jail. He showed Mamie the warrants Bill had sworn out, and she copied them and filed them away. “There's an interview room in the back, she told them.

  There was: four walls, a barred window, a table and four chairs, so tiny there was barely enough room to inhale. Liam reached through the bars and opened the window. A raven's croak was the first sound he heard, and he craned his head for a look. Nothing. Big black bastard ought to mind his own business.

  He caught himself. There was a word for that, anthropomorphizing, the assigning of human feelings to plants, animals and inanimate objects. Like giving your car a name and begging it not to stall out at a red light in February. Like telling the Chugach Mountains they looked beautiful all dressed up in alpenglow. Like talking back to a raven.

  Newenham wasn't just hard on his
uniforms, it was hard on his sanity. There was a reason the inhabitants referred to it as Disneyham, strictly among themselves, of course.

  He turned and sat at the table, Prince on his right with a lined pad and a pencil, Frank Petla across from him. Frank was sucking on a Dr Pepper. “Can't you guys get me a cigarette, man? I mean, one lousy smoke?

  “Secondary smoke, it's a killer, Frank, Liam said, and started the handheld recorder. He gave the date, the time, said who was in the room and then set the recorder to one side. Frank Petla looked at it with the eyes of a rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. “You've waived your right to an attorney, Frank, is that right?

  Frank nodded.

  “Say so for the recorder, please.

  “Yeah.

  “You're sure about this? Yesterday afternoon you said you wanted a lawyer.

  “I'm sure. Don't need no damn lawyer.

  “All right. You want to tell us what happened out at the dig yesterday?

  What had happened out at the dig yesterday was that Frank Petla, a completely innocent man, had been out for a peaceful ride on his four-wheeler on a sunny summer day, when he had accidentally driven his four-wheeler into this hole in the ground. In the hole in the ground were a bunch of things that Frank, a completely innocent man and an Alaska Native, instantly recognized as family heirlooms. He had collected them in a bag, as any completely innocent man, Alaska Native and traditional tribal member would do, to return them to their rightful owners, his village elders.

  “That's what you were going to do, Frank? Liam said. “ Return them to your village?

  Frank had been, and he was indignant at the suggestion that he might have been going to sell them. He strenuously denied ever having been to the dig prior to yesterday, and when commanded to look at Prince and try to remember the last time he, Frank, had seen her, hazarded a guess that it might have been last October at AFN. “Didn't we dance at the Snow Ball? He hadn't hit anybody, he hadn't shot anybody and he most certainly hadn't stabbed anybody with anything, least of all with something that he, a completely innocent man, an Alaska Native, a traditional tribal member and a signatory to the AFN Sobriety Movement, recognized as a storyknife. “It's a girl thing, that storyknife, he said confidentially, as if it were a secret. “Only girls could play with them. They would take it down to the river-bank and draw pictures in the mud and tell stories to their brothers and sisters.