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

by So Sure Of Death(lit)

  Liam thought of all the various sounds he had heard from either the one raven following him around or the hundreds of ravens living around the Bay, one of which he seemed to see everywhere he went. Each raven utterance was a different sequence of clicks and croaks and caws, each sequence in a different series of tones. “Yeah, I've heard them talk.

  “They have different kinds of calls, and each call has a different meaning. Why shouldn't Supper's on the table, come and get it be one of them? Larsgaard shrugged and drank coffee. “Wolves have a language. Whales. Why not ravens?

  Why not ravens? Liam thought. “Walter, I want you to take me through it again, step by step this time.

  Larsgaard sighed and turned around to face Liam. “Why? I've already told you once. You already have it on tape. I'll tell Bill I'm guilty.

  “A magistrate doesn't sit on felony cases. Or she doesn't if I get the felon on a plane to Anchorage first.

  Larsgaard shrugged. He didn't look much the worse for wear for his night in prison. His hair had been combed and his eyes were calm, a marked contrast to the panicked expression on Frank Petla's face every time he saw Liam. “Whatever. I read about Spring Creek in the paper. I expect that's where I'll wind up?

  Spring Creek was the state's maximum security facility in Seward. “If there's room.

  “And if there isn't?

  “A prison Outside until there is.

  For the first time Larsgaard looked anxious. “I'd rather stay in the state, if I could. Close to my father. You understand.

  Again Liam thought of Charles, whom Liam couldn't wait to put on the first plane south, but he said yes to avoid an explanation that would only get them off track. “Humor me, Walter. Run through it again. One step at a time. When was the first time you slept with Molly Malone?

  Larsgaard flushed. “None of your business.

  “Okay, then tell me when you decided to kill her.

  “I told you, Larsgaard said, his voice rising. “On Sunday.

  “When did she break things off between you?

  “Last week.

  “What day?

  “I don't remember. II was pretty broken up about it. I don't remember much.

  A bad memory, always a convenient tool in the suspect's cache. “The twentieth?

  “I told you, I don't remember.

  “The seventeenth? Maybe the twenty-first? How about the fourth of July?

  Larsgaard drew his hands back from the mug and sat upright. He'd regained his composure, and his eyes became distant, his manner remote. “I told you. I don't remember. I'd like to go back to my cell now.

  Liam stood up, his six-foot-three frame filling up the little room. “Well, then, let's try something easier. Do you remember what you said to Evan Gray last night?

  “What? Larsgaard's eyes snapped back into focus, staring up at Liam, startled out of whatever inner hiding place he'd run to.

  “Last night did you tell Evan Gray that you didn't kill Molly Malone, that you loved her, that you could never have killed her?

  Liam watched the color drain from Larsgaard's face, and tried like hell to read the expression there. The closest he could come to was fear, which made no sense. Why would Larsgaard be afraid? Of what? He'd already confessed to seven murders, he would only ever see the sun again from behind a barbed-wire electric fence; what could he possibly fear now?

  There was a brisk knock on the door, and Liam cursed under his breath. “It's open!

  Prince opened the door and gave an apologetic cough. “Sorry, sir, but it's almost ten o'clock. We need to get in the air if we're going to get back in time for the arraignment this afternoon.

  “You're going back to Kulukak? The words forced themselves from Larsgaard's throat.

  They looked at him, curious. “Yes, Liam said.

  “Why? What for? He saw their expression and with the same visible effort at control Liam had seen before he pulled himself together. “I said I did it. You've got the bodies. You don't need to go back there for anything.

  Liam stared at him. “I'm beginning to think I do, Walter.

  “I don't understand, Prince said as she followed him the door. “We've got a suspect in custody, we've got his confession, he had means, motive and opportunity, we've even got a witness. What else are you digging for?

  The phone rang, saving him from trying to come up with an answer. “Brillo Pad. About time. What have you got?

  “It's Brilleaux, the voice said, made husky by the three-packaday and two-martini lunch habits he refused to quit no matter how much his wife and his doctor nagged him. “Bril-LEAUX, how many times do I have to tell you? He coughed heavily, and Liam involuntarily held the phone away from his ear.

  “This isn't official, okay?

  “Okay.

  “They were shot about two hours before they were burned. Maybe a little more, maybe a little less. Seawater fucks up all the time-to-decay stats, and the water's been colder than normal down there this year.

  “Who says?

  “Jesus, the weather fairy, who do you think? I called Jim over to the National Weather Service. Oh, and one other thing.

  “What?

  “Molly Malone was pregnant.

  Dr. Hans Brilleaux, having delivered his message and having no further use for the telephone in his hand, hung up.

  Liam put down the phone and looked at Prince. “Molly Malone was pregnant.

  She stared at him. “With whose baby, I wonder?

  “So do I. Tell me something, Prince, if you shot seven people and you wanted to cover it up, would you wait two hours before you tried?

  He could tell Prince was making an effort to maintain her professional calm. “I wouldn't shoot seven people, sir, she said carefully. “Do yousir, you don't think he didn't do it, do you?

  “No, I think he did it, all right, but he's not telling us the truth about why or how, and I don't want this case to unravel in court.

  “It couldn't, she said, shocked.

  “I have two words for you, he said. “O. J. Simpson. One word and two letters, actually, but what the hell.

  “But

  “Prince, we're not talking burden of proof or rule of law or even simple logic, here. We're talking juries, twelve individual people, each with their own boatload of biases and prejudices, and each as susceptible to the suggestions of the defense as they are to the evidence we hand off to the prosecutor. More so, if the judge comes down hard on reasonable doubt during instruction. I don't like leaving juries with any wriggle room. He grabbed his cap and headed for the door. “I want all the evidence there is to get before we turn this case over to the D.A. We need a signed statement from Chad Donohoe, too, and I don't think he's going to leave in the middle of fishing season to come into town and give us one.

  He paused, one hand on the open door. “Besides, Larsgaard doesn't want us to go back to Kulukak. I want to know why.

  TWENTY

  “I need a ride, Jo said.

  Steam was rising from their coffee cups as they sat around the kitchen table, watching the sun rise up over the mouth of the Nushagak and the Bay beyond. The kitchen of Wy's house was flooded in golden light, and Wy didn't have any flights scheduled to anywhere until that afternoon. She put her feet up on a chair and said lazily, “You buying?

  “The paper is.

  “Where to?

  Jo added half and half to her coffee and stirred in another teaspoon of sugar. “I came out here on a story.

  “I know, you told me, but you wouldn't tell me what it was.

  “Yeah. The guy who contacted me about it didn't want me to spread it around.

  “Who was it?

  “Don Nelson.

  Wy sat up with a bump. “The guy killed out at the dig?

  “Yeah.

  “You know I found him? Well, me and McLynn.

  “Yeah. I mean, not right away, I went in to say hi to Bill last night and she told me. Saw you at dinner, by the way. Jo's green eyes watched her over the rim of her mug.
/>
  “Oh, Wy said. She could feel the color rising up into her cheeks. “Yeah, well. We had dinner.

  “So I saw.

  “It was just . . . it was dinner, okay? His father was there, the new trooper, it was just dinner. The ingestion of food in return for a caloric warming of cell tissue.

  “Uh-huh. With a little footsie on the side.

  Wy drank coffee. “I went to see him at the post afterward.

  “Did you?

  Wy glared. “Oh, stop being so fucking smug, Dunaway.

  “Then stop being so fucking evasive, Chouinard. Jesus, you're worse than Bill Clinton when it comes to talking about your sex life. It's true what they say, denial is not just a river in Egypt.

  “It's not sex.

  “Not yet.

  “Do you want to hear this or not?

  Jo's smile was wide and salacious. “I want to, I want to.

  Wy fiddled with the sugar spoon, raising spoonsful of sugar and letting it fall back into the bowl. “Maybe you weren't wrong, some of those things you said the other night.

  For once, Jo maintained a prudent silence.

  “I told Liam what you said. Some of it, anyway.

  “What'd he say?

  “Not much. Wy let the spoon fall. “He just wants me, Jo. Just flat out wants me, all of me, marriage, kids, for better or worse, so long as we both shall live, until death us do part, everything, the whole nine yards.

  “Kids?

  Their eyes met. “I haven't told him.

  “You'll have to.

  “Not yet, Wy said, a plea in her voice.

  “I'm not your mother, Wy, or your conscience. Jo drained her mug. “I don't have to be, you've got enough conscience for any ten people I know. You want to be happy with him for a little while before you lower the next boom, okay, I get that. But not telling him now means you don't trust him enough to understand and accept. He won't like that. And it is a lousy way to start any relationship, let alone this one. She stood up. “In the meantime, I want to take a look at that archaeological digwhat did you call it?

  “Tulukaruk.

  “Everything around here starts or ends with ak,or both, Jo said, grumbling. “Tulukaruk, Kulukak, Manokotak, Stoyahuk, Koliganek, Egegik. Anyway, I want to see the place with thek's where Nelson died.

  “What did he write to you about?

  Jo hesitated. “He said he'd found something that would make a great story. It had to do with a government cover-up.

  “Government? Their eyes met. They both knew what kind of government institution was closest to Tulukaruk.

  Wy was silent until they got to the airport. As they were strapping into the Cub, she said, “When did Nelson first contact you?

  “I got his letter four days ago.

  She pulled the throttle, adjusted the mixture and started the prop. The headsets crackled into life. Wy got clearance to taxi and the Cub rolled off the apron and down the runway. Just before they took off, she looked around at Jo. “Colonel Campbell has been here almost a week.

  “I know, Jo said.

  The flight to Kulukak was uneventful, not so much as a bump of clear-air turbulence to mar the journey. As usual, Kulukak was fogged in and, as usual, not enough to abort an approach and a landing. Liam noticed that Prince didn't take the care that Wy did in a landing; they came down hard, smack, so that the plane shuddered and water washed over the floats. She didn't let up on the throttle, either, taxiing flat out to the float slip and running the plane well up onto the boards.

  “Thought you were going to take us right up the gangway and into town, Liam said, dry mouth forming the words with difficulty.

  “Just get her down, Prince said, switching off the mag and opening the door in the same motion. “Just get her down in one piece, and in good enough shape to get her back in the air again, that's all that's important.

  Liam wondered what the maintenance bills were like for the Cessna, and decided it was something he didn't need to know. That was the difference between flying your own plane and someone else's. Sort of like driving a rental car. A rental car three thousand feet up.

  It was the twenty-forth, a Thursday, and judging by the number of boats idle in the harbor, the Fish and Game had not counted enough salmon going up the various rivers and streams. Men were hanging and mending gear, scrubbing down decks, working on engines, readying themselves and their craft for when the Fish and Game renewed their contact lens prescriptions and could see well enough to count fish. It was probably Liam's imagination but it seemed like a silence fell as they approached, and gathered in strength behind them as they passed. Prince put it into words. “I feel like I've got a bull's-eye painted on my back.

  “Larsgaard is the tribal chief, Liam said. “He is probably a popular man, and even if he wasn't, he is still an important one. Liam cast a look over his shoulder. Action, momentarily suspended, resumed with immense vigor. “And he is a local boy. No matter what he has done, a local boy is still a local boy first and foremost, especially in a Bush village. We work for the state government, remember.

  “I think I remember you saying that about five or six times in the past twenty-four hours, yes.

  They reached the foot of the gangway. “Okay, Liam said, “you track down Chad Donohoe and get his statement. What's his boat again?

  “Snohomish Belle. Prince pointed. “Right over there.

  Liam squinted at the trim forty-footer moored near the mouth of the breakwater. “Okay. I'll head up to Larsgaard's, talk to his father.

  “How you going to make him let you in?

  “Innate charm, Liam said.

  The tide was low and the gangway at a steep angle. Liam hoofed it to the top in long strides. A man stood at the dock, blocking the way. “Excuse me, said Liam, who like any other man had an excess of pride in his physical abilities and was trying not to puff too heavily.

  The man moved a half step back. “You're the trooper, aren't you?

  Liam stopped and took a long, he hoped subtle breath. “Yes. Corporal Liam Campbell, Newenham post.

  The man looked at his plaid shirt and jeans with a puzzled expression, then seemed reassured when he saw the trooper badge on Liam's ball cap. He was a thin, wizened man with bandy legs that looked like they'd just stepped down from a mustang. He took two quick steps for every one of Liam's strides. “Name's Greasy Rust. I'm the oil man.

  “I beg your pardon.

  Greasy waved a greasy thumb in the direction of the small tank farm on the hill. “I work for Standard Oil. I sell fuel to the boats.

  “Yeah. Liam's stride didn't slow. “Nice to meet you, Greasy, but I've got to talk to somebody, and I'm in kind of a hurry, so if you'll excuse me

  “You really think Walter killed those folks?

  “The case is still under investigation, Liam replied with exactitude.

  “Yeah, but you've got him in jail in Newenham, right?

  Liam paused at the end of the dock to get his bearings. Larsgaard's house was up the hill on the right, as he remembered. “Mr. Larsgaard is helping us with our inquiries, yes.

  “I can't believe I sold him the gas to go out there, Greasy said.

  Liam looked down at Greasy, the top of whose balding head came barely to his shoulder. “You sold Walter Larsgaard gas last Sunday?

  Greasy had inquisitive brown eyes veined with red like a map of downtown Los Angeles. He preened a little now that he had Liam's full attention. “Yeah. Well, I fueled them all up, you know.

  “No, I don't know, Greasy. Tell me.

  “When the fleet came in from fishing the period. Even if they haven't pulled that many fish, everybody always tops off the tanks afterward, just in case the Fish-and-goddamn-Game pulls their thumb out in time for another period the next day. You don't want to be caught at the dock with an empty tank if that happens, believe me. I remember old Mick Kashatok got caught that way one day a couple of years back, missed the biggest run of reds Kulukak has seen in the last ten years because he'd come in from the p
revious period running on fumes. By the time he'd fueled up, the fleet was an hour ahead of him, and by the time he'd gotten to the fishing grounds, everybody had their nets in prime water and no room left for him. He tried to cork Nappy Napagiak and of course old Nappy don't put up with that for a New York minute and he run his prop right over Mick's gear. Cut Mick's corkline. Course it fouled Nappy's prop and neither of them got much fish that period. Bob Halstensen said he'd never seen such a Chinese fire drill in his life, and then he got into it because both boats were without power and they drifted across the markers and the Fish-and-goddamn-Game got into it

  Liam, fascinated though he was with this flow of reminiscence, had to break in. “That's all very interesting, Greasy, but you say you refueled everyone, the whole, er, fleet on Sunday afternoon?

  “Yeah. Greasy shifted a lump from one cheek to another and spat a wad of tobacco juice, accurately hitting the area where the upright on the dock railing intersected with the crossing two-by-four. “Everyone who'd been out fishing that day. Which was pretty much everyone, including a bunch of jerry cans for outboards. Except maybe Alan Seager. Seeing as how theCheyennesunk at the dock the week before. It was my busiest day this month.

  “So it wasn't out of the ordinary for you to refuel Walter Larsgaard, too.

  Greasy's brow creased. “Well, no. I guess not.

  “Okay, Greasy. Thanks for the information, we can use all the help we can get. It was wise for Liam to build relationships with as many members of the local populations of the villages in his district as he could, and the fuel man in a marine community would see more of the populace more of the time than most. After all, he never knew when he might be back in Kulukak on another case.

  “You're welcome, Greasy said, wiping his palm carefully down his pants leg before accepting Liam's hand. “Always glad to help out.

  “Good to know, Liam said. He smiled and eased his hand free. “Be seeing you.

  “Anything you need to know, you ask, Greasy called after him. “I been here forever, and I ain't going nowhere.

  Five minutes later Liam was knocking on Larsgaard's door. There was no answer. He knocked again. Still no answer. He tried the knob. It turned and he stuck his head in the door. “Mr. Larsgaard? Sir? It's Liam Campbell, the trooper from Newenham. I need to ask you a few questions.