“Oh. She pushed her hair behind her ears and then shook it forward again, a habit she had when she was nervous. “Do you think about it a lot?
“Every day.
She bit her lip. “Me, too.
He turned off the computer and sat back. “What are you doing here, Wy?
She took a deep breath. “I didn'tI . . . hell. She squared her shoulders and looked him right in the eye. “Jo said something to me last night.
“Oh great, he said, remembering the last time he'd seen Jo, or rather she'd seen him, dancing around with his pants half off, in company with Diana Prince. “My new best friend, I'll bet.
“She called me a martyr.
“A what? he said, startled. It wasn't what he'd been expecting.
“She said that three years ago I sacrificed my happiness for yours. She says it's become a habit, and that I'm afraid that a relationship with you wouldn't measure up to our affair, and that's why I won't . . . why I won't . . . She made a vague gesture and lapsed into silence.
Liam digested this for a moment. “Is it true? he said finally.
She blew out a breath. “I've been asking myself that over and over again. I don't know.
He got up and came around the desk. “I can only speak for myself, Wy, but it's there, everything I ever felt for you. It's still there.
She regarded the buttons of his shirt. “There's a lot you don't know about me, Liam. A lot I never told you. Some of it . . . She hesitated. “Some of it could be hard for you to take.
“I can hear it all. I want to hear it all.
“You say that now. No, wait. Liam, I learned about catastrophe at an early age, and I've lived my life preparing for it to happen again. She looked up at him. “I looked at you and I saw another catastrophe coming at me like a freight train. Maybe that's why I couldn't say the words you needed to hear. And maybe that's why you couldn't make the commitment I needed you to make. She took a deep breath, met his gaze, held it. “Do you know what I wish?
“What?
“I wish that just one time I could kiss you on purpose. No, Liam, you know what I mean.
Liam, in the act of reaching out, halted. “No. I don't.
She made a frustrated sound. “Every time, it's like we jump on each other, a surprise attack, quick and dirty and then we're gone. Just once I'd like to kiss you and have started out meaning to kiss you. She took a step forward. “Bend down a little. Put your hands on my waist.
He obeyed. She was trembling, visibly, but she stood on tiptoe and brushed her cheek against his. He quivered at the feel of skin on skin but didn't make any moves. Her nose nuzzled his, she ran her chin along his jaw, her brow against his neck. Her lips came to rest against the pulse in his throat, which instantly accelerated. She raised her head and slid a hand behind his to urge it down. Her lips were full and soft, her breath light and warm. Her lips parted, her tongue flirted with his, her teeth nipped at his lower lip.
She pulled back and stood in the circle of his arms, staring up at him. It was late, and dim in the little office, but he could see her features clearly, her enlarged irises, the lovely flush of color in her cheeks, the quick rise and fall of her breast. “Like that, she whispered.
He understood. They'd gone at each other like they were starving, like they could never eat enough to fill themselves up. He sat down on the small couch behind the door and pulled her into his lap. “We never had time to play, he whispered back.
She put her head on his shoulder. “No. His heart beat steadily, reassuringly beneath her cheek. He ran his hand slowly, lazily up and down her spine, such a fine, firm arc of flesh and bone, supple, strong, sexy. He was convinced he could recognize it out of a thousand different spines by touch alone.
She raised her head and smiled at him. “I'd better get home.
“Me, too, damn it. I've got to get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a long day.
“I know. She lifted her face and kissed him again and he lost himself in it and in her.
He cupped her cheek in his hand. “Is it okay that I want more?
She smiled, the smile of every temptress since Eve. “It's more than okay.
They stood up and paused, both of them reluctant to say goodnight. “What next? he said.
She looked thoughtful. “I could say, we start dating.
“In principle, Liam said, “I like the idea. In practice, though . . .
She smiled. “I know. There really isn't anyplace to go on a date in Newenham.
“We could drive out to the dump and watch the bears, he offered.
She pretended to consider, and shook her head. “Too early in the season. There's still salmon in the streams.
“Well, then, I could take you to dinner at Bill's.
“We just did that.
“Right, right.
“I could take you on a flightseeing trip to Round Island, she said.
“Round Island? Where's that?
“It's a state game sanctuary fifty-plus miles south of Kulukak Bay. Walrus haul out there in big herds. It's quite a sight. Her nose wrinkled. “And smell.
Liam remembered the walrus head on Walter Larsgaard's kitchen wall. “Walrus, huh? And since it's a sanctuary, I suppose you can't hunt them there.
Since he seemed interested, she obliged. “Not until recently. Around 1960 the state government declared the area off limits to everyone, Native or non. Pissed off a lot of people, because it was sort of a ukase from the czar, they did it without any hearings held in the area. It was pretty drastic, but there was some justification.
“Why? The walrus go the way of the otter?
“Pretty much. It had been hunted nearly to extinction, not by Natives but by Yankee whalers in the 1800s, and not for their meat or hides but for their ivory.
Liam thought again of the walrus head, the long, curving tusks of smooth, glowing ivory. A tempting target, all right.
“The population has come back since then; you can see thousands of walrus hauled out on this one particular beach alone.
Liam thought of what Ekwok had told him about Larsgaard Senior. “So the state was forced to reopen the area to hunting.
“Depends on how you define hunting. Wy's voice was very dry. “Native hunters only, of course, and no hunting at all until a ten-page agreement had been drawn up and signed between state and villagers, detailing where the boats could go ashore, how the animals could be shot and allowing for tissue samples to be collected from each kill. Observers from both federal and state governments were on hand to witness the event, hand out permits and videotape the results.
With a smile, Liam said, “You flew some of them in.
She nodded. “A whole plane full of observers and equipment. So. You want to go?
“No first dates that involve flying, Liam said firmly. “I'm better at making my moves when I'm not airsick. How about you cook me dinner tomorrow night? I'll bring a movie to watch after.
“Tim will be there.
“I know.
She smiled, this time a sweet smile full of promise. “It's a date.
NINETEEN
Liam rose early, stood post and practiced all sixty-four movements of the form with what he was sure was exquisite grace and superb style, showered briskly and was at his desk, whistling while he worked, by seven-fifty-nine. He called the medical examiner's office in Anchorage and left a message on the machine for Brillo Pad to call him. He went through the evidence he'd collected from the archaeological dig at Tulukaruk. Don Nelson's journal made very interesting reading, but there was nothing in it that Liam identified as pertinent to his murder. He reviewed his notes on the interview with Alta. Molly and Larsgaard's last meeting had been the previous Monday. One week alive and loving, the next dead and buried. Sounded like a line from a country-and-western song.
He got Bill out of bed at eight-thirty, and heard an irritated Moses complaining in the background. Everybody got some last night but him, but the thought did not depress him as much as it might have.
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“Dick Ford? she said. “Nice guy. Good fisherman, too, but he's such a soft touch that he never hangs on to any money. A four-wheeler? I don't know, Liam, he's never driven it into the bar.
He called Dick Ford's phone number. No answer. He saddled up the Blazer and galloped purposefully down to the harbor, pulling up in front of the office door for Seafood North. Tanya paled when he walked in the door, and then looked relieved when he said, “Is Dick Ford a fisherman of yours?
“Yes.
“What's the name of his boat, and do you know its slip number?
Of course she did. She even accompanied him out to the dock to point out the boat. “Right there, theSelina Noel,slip number one-eighty-seven. Pretty name, isn't it?
“Thanks. He waited until she had turned to go and said, “Oh, one more thing.
Her back was almost as nice as Wy's, slender, straight and at the moment vibrating with tension. “Yes? she said, looking over her shoulder and narrowing her eyes against the still-rising sun.
“You were meeting David Malone at the Bay View Inn, weren't you, Tanya. He made it a statement, rather than a question.
For a moment, one very brief moment, her shoulders slumped. She turned to face him fully, looking naked and defenseless in the bright morning light. “Yes.
“Once every couple of weeks for the past three months.
“And last summer. Yes.
She offered no apologies and no explanations, and he admired her for it. “You don't have to worry, I'm not going to tell anyone, and if Alta Peterson down at the hotel hasn't by now, she won't be, either. The fact that you were having an affair with David Malone had nothing to do with his or his family's death, and it doesn't matter to the investigation.
“It matters to me, she whispered.
She looked very young and very defenseless, and he had a sudden vivid memory of Wy's face the day she'd walked away from him in Anchorage. Pain, loss, guilt, shame, more than he could put a name to, all of it reflected in the young face before him now. “Move on, he said.
“I can't, she said.
“You can't do anything else, he said, and went down the gangway, leaving her standing on the end of the dock, staring out at the Bay.
Dick Ford wasn't on board theSelina Noel.Well, shit. Well, then, how about Max Bayless? He knew what Prince would say, that he was tracking down useless leads, that they already had a confession in one case and an alibi with holes big enough to drive a truck through in the other. He should be in the office, doing paperwork, wrapping things up.
Instead he went to the only other bar in town, the Breeze Inn, which sat on the exact opposite edge of town from Bill's Bar and Grill. It was half the size of the other bar and twice as noisy, mostly because there was a television hanging from every corner of the room and two over the bar, all of them on at once. The bartender was a fat man with three strands of black hair stretched carefully across his otherwise bare scalp. He didn't say much. He shook his head when Liam asked him if he'd seen Max Bayless. He shook his head again when Liam asked him if he knew Max Bayless. The two guys nursing Bloody Marys while they watched ESPN didn't know Max Bayless and hadn't met him lately, either. Nobody'd seen Max Bayless, not Tanya, not Bill, not anyone; Max Bayless was the original invisible man.
He went back to the office and dialed Wiley Jim's number. It rang eleven times before Jim picked up. “I don't know who this is and I don't care, if you want to live you'll let me go back to sleep.
“One more name, Jim, Liam said. “I'll fix your next ticket.
Jim drove a white Desert Rat Porsche convertible around Anchorage, even in winter, at no known and certainly no legal speed limit. A feminine complaint could be heard in the background but it didn't grate as much on Liam as it had the night before, and he grinned at the opposite wall. “Max Bayless. Come on, Wiley, I know you never turn that computer off. Just stagger into the office and type in the letters. M-A-X
“I got it, I got it, Jim said, “and fuck you.
“Thanks, Jim, I knew I could count on you.
He waited. Five minutes later Jim said, “He's in jail. Cook Inlet Pre-Trial.
“What for?
“Selling cocaine.
“Where was he arrested?
“Anchorage. Wait a minute. Click, click, click. “Fourth Avenue, the Hub, if you can believe it.
“How long's he been in custody?
“Eleven days. Can I go back to bed now?
“With my blessing.
“One ticket?
“One.
“Oughtta be three.
“One, Liam said firmly. “Say goodnight, Jim.
So, Dick Ford owned the four-wheeler Frank Petla had been riding on, and was presently nowhere to be found. Max Bayless had threatened to kill David Malone, but he'd been in jail too long to have actually done it, and it was a year-old threat, anyway.
The phone rang and he snatched it up. “Brillo Pad, is that you, you old bastard, what took you so long?
“You watch your mouth, mister, or I'll come over there and wash it out with soap, Mamie Hagemeister said primly.
Liam sat up. “I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else. Mamie?
“Yes.
“There's nothing wrong with the prisoners, is there?
“No, but one of them wants to talk to you.
“Which one, Petla or Larsgaard?
“Neither. Mr. Gray has asked me to ask you to stop by when you have a moment.
“Gray? Whooh. What does he want?
“He says he has some information for you. She gave a discreet cough, and added in an even primmer voice, “There was some mention of a deal.
“It wasn't even half a lid, Moccasin Man said.
“Tough luck. Unless you've got a medical prescription to smoke dope, possession is still illegal in Alaska, and punishable upon conviction by time in jail.
“That's such crap.
“Hey, you're preaching to the choir, Liam said, spreading his hands. “If I had my way, all drugs would be legalized and taxed. If I had my way, we'd buy all the coke, opium, heroin and crack there is and pile it up on street corners, free for anybody who wanted it. Next morning I'd go around with a front-end loader and haul the bodies off to the dump, a gain not only to the state but to the gene pool. Not to mention which it'd cut down on my overtime something considerable. Liam leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. “But I don't have my way. It's still illegal to be in possession of marijuana in the state of Alaska, which substance you were caught with by a sworn officer of the law. Liam leaned forward and flipped open the file in front of him. “Officer Roger Raymo, in fact, on Saturday night. Seems he saw your truck pulled off the side of the road about halfway to Icky.
“The dope wasn't mine.
Liam smiled and closed the file.
“It wasn't, goddamn it, Gray muttered. “It was hers.
“Who is her?
“May Hitchcock. The broad who was with me.
Liam opened up the file again and perused it slowly, to Gray's increasing impatience. “She had it on her. She must have dropped it on the floor and kicked it under the seat when that dick Raymo pulled up behind us in his dickmobile.
Liam clicked his tongue. “Now, now, Evan, you're not going to get anywhere with me by bad-mouthing a fellow officer. So, you say the dope was May's. She buy it from you in the first place?
Gray met his eyes full on and lied like . . . well, like a trooper. “No.
“Of course not. Liam closed the file again. “Tell me, Evan, how do you make your living?
“A little of this, a little of that.
“Uh-huh.
“Look, it doesn't matter how I make my living, this charge is bogus. Get May in here and I'll prove it.
“Officer Raymo let May go, did he?
Gray snorted. “It was an answer to his favorite wet dream, catching me holding.
“What do you want, Evan?
“I want out of here. I want the charge against
me dropped. His grin was cocky, as cocky as Charles's had been the night before. “I want a hot shower and my own bed and a good-looking woman in it, in that order.
All trace of humor had vanished from Liam's face. His eyes were cold and steady, his hands flat on the table, muscles in his arms taut as if he were about ready to get up and go. “What have you got to trade?
Liam sent Gray back to his cell and brought Larsgaard into the interview room. He got him a cup of coffee, heavy on the cream and sugar. Larsgaard took the first sip and looked surprised that Liam had gotten it right. “I watched how you fixed it at your house, Liam said. He blew on his own coffee and sipped.
The window was open and that damn raven was sitting on the branch of a mountain ash right outside the window, looking as if he had been carved from a single piece of the darkest obsidian. Liam didn't really know anything about obsidian except that it was a rock of some kind that was black and shiny, but he liked the sound of the word and it was what that black bastard looked like he was made of, from his enormous curved beak to his black beady eyes to his fat black tailfeathers. Although he didn't look so black this close up, more a mixture of green and blue and dark brown. Sort of like snow and how it wasn't really white.
Larsgaard followed his glance. “Raven, he said. “My favorite bird.
“Really? Liam gave the raven an unfriendly glance. “Why?
“They're smart.
“If they're so smart, why don't they fly south for the winter?
“And they're loyal.
Liam raised his brows. “Loyal?
“Sure. Larsgaard gestured with his mug. “When one of them finds something to eat, say a moose or a caribou or a bear, anything, they wait and watch it, sometimes hours, sometimes even days to make sure it's dead, and then they call in their friends and relatives for a feast. They're like wolves with wings. He paused. “The elders say that a raven will lead you to your moose, because he knows when you're done butchering out, there will be some left over for him. He saw Liam's skepticism and said, “It's true. Have you heard them talk?
Stabenow, Dana - Liam Campbell 02 - So Sure Of Death Page 24
