A Cold War

by Alan Russell

  Greg Martin offered a weary nod. “I read for an hour and then fell asleep.”

  “We now have statements from two passengers who saw you leaving the ship in the late afternoon.”

  “They’re wrong.”

  “That’s all you have to say about it?”

  “That’s all there is to say about it. Maybe they got the day wrong. Maybe they mistook me for someone else. What the hell should I say about it?”

  “You’re a smart man, Mr. Martin. You’re a scientist. I’m sure a smart guy like you hates to make a mistake. So when you woke up and realized your marriage was a huge mistake, you decided to do something about it. Does your wife have an insurance policy, Mr. Martin?”

  Martin nodded.

  “How much?”

  “Half a million. I bought policies for both of us. We weren’t going to wait to have children. It made sense for each of us to have insurance.”

  “Did it?”

  “I know you’re trying to catch me in some kind of lie. But I haven’t lawyered up, have I, Sergeant? The only thing that’s kept me sitting here is concern for my wife and the hope that I can prod you into doing everything possible to find her. I only pray that all the time you’ve wasted hasn’t put Elese in jeopardy.”

  Hamilton deliberated for a moment, then said, “We’ve had a chance to circulate your wife’s photo and talk to some of the clerks and store owners in town. Mrs. Martin was apparently looking at jewelry and art all over Third and Fourth Avenues. Employees place her at The Alaska Shop, Starbird Studios, and the Resurrection Bay Gallery. From what we can determine, she was in those stores between three and four.”

  “And no one’s seen her since then? What about security footage?”

  “There are very few security cameras in Seward. My AST colleagues have looked through what footage there is. She seems to have dropped out of sight around four o’clock.”

  “And what does the ship’s security show?”

  “They’re still looking through footage, but from what they’ve been able to determine thus far, your wife never returned to the ship.”

  Hamilton’s phone rang again. He watched Martin jump a little. He’d grown tenser with every ring. Maybe he was afraid of the news; maybe he was just a good actor.

  This time, when Hamilton heard what one of the deputies had uncovered, he got to his feet and carried the phone out of the small office. He spoke softly, keeping his voice low so as to not be overheard. When he returned, he studied the seated man.

  “What is it?” Martin demanded. Hamilton wasn’t sure if he sounded defensive or nervous.

  “I thought you told me that you’d never been arrested?”

  “What I said was that I had never been convicted of a crime.”

  “But you were arrested?”

  “Those charges were dropped.”

  Hamilton gave Martin his unblinking stare. “Tell me about your arrest.”

  “I was falsely accused of a number of things. My accuser recanted when she became entangled in her own web of lies.”

  “Accuser,” said Hamilton, deliberately drawing out the word. “That accuser was your first wife.”

  “Our marriage was annulled.”

  “You told me that your marriage to Elese was your first.”

  “That’s how I think of it.”

  “You know what I think of that? It strikes me as being deceptive.”

  Martin’s neck flushed red. “I was afraid you would make a mountain out of a molehill. You should be concentrating on my wife’s disappearance instead of—”

  “Lies tend to muddy an investigation.”

  “I wasn’t lying.”

  Hamilton kept his expression neutral. “Did Elese know that your first wife accused you of assault and battery, domestic violence, and a host of other charges?”

  “Those were all proven false!”

  “Your first wife said the reason she reluctantly withdrew those charges was that your legal team scared her, but that you scared her even more.”

  “The truth scared her.”

  “Your wife—”

  “Do not call her that. My first marriage was a sham. I was young and dumb. I had no idea she had a borderline personality disorder and liked taking OxyContin too much. I married in haste and did all my regretting in leisure.”

  “The time frame suggests you also married Elese in haste.”

  “I fell in love. Do you understand that? Everything was right. I wanted to be with Elese for the rest of my life.”

  “Did you tell her about your first marriage and its subsequent troubles?”

  Martin looked away, shook his head, and sighed. “Things were perfect between us. Can you understand that I didn’t want to jinx that?”

  “So what happened when she found out?”

  “Elese didn’t find out.”

  “I imagine she felt betrayed. She couldn’t have liked it that you deceived her. Your wife had to have experienced some grave doubts about the man she married.”

  “That never occurred!”

  Hamilton tilted his chin and watched as Martin followed the direction of his nod. Martin’s right index finger was pointed like a gun, and his left hand was clenched in a fist. Hamilton watched Martin reclaim control and relax his hands.

  Elese’s husband had a temper, even though he did his best to keep it in check. And he also had a guilty conscience, thought Hamilton. He wasn’t going to be an easy nut to crack, but time was on the cop’s side.

  CHAPTER ONE

  THREE YEARS AFTER ELESE MARTIN’S DISAPPEARANCE

  “Yes, another mimosa would be nice,” said a giggling Dana Belzer to the flight attendant.

  She turned to her seatmate. “Do you know that I’ve never flown first class before? I love it that your fiancé upgraded my ticket. I love being part of your fairy tale.”

  It wasn’t only the world at large that thought Nina Granville had won the SuperLotto. Even her friends thought it. One month ago Nina’s engagement to Terrence Donnelly, of the Donnelly family, had become official. The Donnelly family was the closest thing to being “America’s royals.” They were also a political dynasty, with Terrence their heir apparent to the Oval Office.

  Nina had never lacked for attention in her twenty-eight years, but since becoming Terrence’s fiancée, her life had become a three-ring circus. She’d grown up in a well-off family, but not Donnelly well-off. After graduating from college, she had worked as a publicist and then in corporate relations, before landing her current position as senior associate of philanthropic endeavors for the Cambridge Foundation, one of the largest private charitable trusts in the country. Her title was a mouthful; on the job she did a lot of networking with the rich, or what she called “trolling for dollars.” She had met Terrence Donnelly while working a fund-raiser.

  At their first meeting, he’d had a beautiful woman on his arm. The next day Terrence had called her under the pretense of philanthropic giving. They set up a business lunch, which was where his ulterior motives became apparent. Because Nina proved immune to his bedroom eyes and high-wattage teeth, for perhaps the first time in his life Donnelly was forced to pursue a woman. But what Nina remembered most about that first lunch was that Terrence, a la the Donnelly Family Endowment, had agreed to collaborate with the Cambridge Foundation in several philanthropic endeavors. Despite Terrence’s attentions, Nina hadn’t lost her head; she’d remembered her job. That memory made her smile.

  “Thank you,” said Dana, taking the mimosa from the flight attendant. To Nina she said, “This really is a great way to start the day.”

  “I’m surprised that this time you passed on the warm nuts and chocolate chip cookie.”

  “I don’t want to be full when they serve the mac-and-cheese and lobster. Or maybe I’ll have the petite filet. I suppose you’ll be having a salad.”

  “I like salads.”

  “I hope it comes with gold leaf or truffles.”

  “Don’t start believing those Cindere
lla stories.”

  Dana laughed. “Which one? In the past month I’ve read about you in Vanity Fair, People, Entertainment Weekly, and Time.”

  “Yes, and all I was missing was my picture with a sooty face.”

  “They loved you, Cindy!”

  Inwardly Nina groaned. “They loved the fantasy. I was having a lot more fun when I was flying under the radar and no one was watching what I was wearing or taking note of what I was saying or doing.”

  “Or eating,” Dana added.

  In an older and more proper voice, Nina mimicked, “When you become a Donnelly, you must be mindful of noblesse oblige.”

  Dana gave her a quizzical look.

  “That’s what Marilyn Grant told me. She’s Terrence’s media relations director. I sort of felt like Eliza Doolittle all the while she explained to me how as Terrence’s wife I’ll need to demonstrate the obligations of a ‘generous spirit.’ Everyone in Terrence’s inner circle has been offering me pointers on how I need to appear when out in public.”

  “I suppose that means not drinking multiple mimosas early in the morning.”

  “I’m sure Sarge—Sergeant Wood is Terrence’s deputy chief of staff—would have frowned at my having cream and sugar with my coffee.”

  The nickname “Sarge” brought up the image of some gruff but avuncular military man, but Nina found Wood to be stiff and, well, wooden. He was probably only in his mid- to late thirties, but his manner made him seem older. Sarge was certainly loyal to Terrence, perhaps to a fault.

  “Terrence’s inner circle looks out for him, which is a good thing. They have to deal with his image and with his political enemies. They don’t want me to give those enemies any ammunition.”

  In fact, Sarge didn’t seem convinced that she wasn’t one of those enemies. He was Mars and she was Eros, and their uncommon denominator was Terrence.

  “I think Henry Higgins Donnelly is lucky to have you, Eliza,” said Dana.

  Nina wasn’t sure which was worse, being likened to Cinderella or to Eliza Doolittle. But that didn’t stop her from having fun with her friend and workmate.

  “‘The rain in Spain stays mainly on the plain,’” she said in her best Audrey Hepburn imitation.

  “‘By George, she’s got it! Now once again, where does it rain?’”

  Nina sang, but not loud enough to be heard by anyone except Dana. “‘On the plain, on the plain!’”

  And then both women started laughing in a way Nina was sure was not in keeping with the Donnelly image.

  Nina used her phone to take a short video of Dana snoring. The mimosas had done her friend in. She’d show her the video later and threaten to blackmail her.

  They were now making their way over so-called flyover country. Nina stretched out in her seat and wondered about the lives of those living on the prairie. Thirty thousand feet below her was a mostly open landscape. She’d read an article in Forbes profiling the ten states where people were happiest. North Dakota and South Dakota had topped the list, and not far behind were Minnesota, Montana, Iowa, and Nebraska. She’d never visited any of those states. She’d never been to Alaska, either, until now. Fairbanks, the state’s third largest city, only had about thirty thousand residents. On the East Coast that would have been considered a midsize town.

  It was only because of her engagement to Terrence that the Cambridge Foundation had invited her to join Dana in representing them in Alaska. The director of the foundation was more delighted with her celebrity than she was. Nina still wasn’t sure how she felt about her notoriety. For years she’d worked hard and advanced all on her own. Now doors everywhere seemed to be opening magically for her.

  The Cambridge Foundation, in collaboration with the Donnelly Family Endowment, had provided funding to the American Museum of Natural History in New York for its purchase of several important native artifacts. The pieces that were going back to New York predated the arrival of western traders: a raven mask, elaborately carved from a mammoth tusk; a scrimshaw hunting charm with drawings of fishermen chasing a walrus; an Inuit basket made from wild rye beach grass; an extremely rare wooden Indian hunting helmet; and a detailed sculpture of a pregnant woman carved out of walrus ivory. All of the artifacts would be placed in the museum’s Northwest Coast Indian permanent exhibit.

  When she’d been offered the opportunity to travel to Alaska, Nina had been betwixt and between about the long business trip—but that was before Sergeant Wood had lobbied against her going. Sarge thought she needed more “seasoning” when it came to public appearances. But Nina wasn’t going to let her fiancé, or especially one of his underlings, dictate what she could or couldn’t do. In the end she’d agreed to make her trip without any fanfare or alerting of the media. Nina had pretended to compromise, but the truth was she hadn’t minded the idea of traveling as herself, and not as the future Mrs. Donnelly.

  Because Sarge took care of Terrence’s security arrangements, he had reason to be watching out for her as well. Still, before their engagement announcement, Nina had felt much like a potential vice-presidential candidate being vetted for the ticket. Sarge had been open about his reservations as to whether she was the right wife for Terrence. Nina didn’t like to admit it, but there was a part of her that thought the same thing. But was it wrong that she had dreams and ambitions that didn’t start and end with Terrence Donnelly?

  While Dana continued snoring, Nina pulled out her tablet. She had a June wedding with the world’s most eligible bachelor to look forward to. But instead of making wedding plans, she found herself compiling a very different to-do list. There was no particular order to her entries, but even without a designation or heading, it was clear Nina was making a bucket list. She used her stylus to write, and in some cases draw, on the screen.

  Learn to surf.

  Go on one of those cross-country skiing excursions where you ski from lodge to lodge, stopping for a getaway in each.

  Take scuba diving lessons. Get good enough to look for hidden treasure.

  Work to save an endangered species (preferably something cute—is that silly?—yes, but still find something that’s cute).

  Have kids? I think so, but have only two, and don’t start popping them out until I’m thirty-five.

  Tango in Argentina.

  Participate in an archaeological dig.

  Do something that matters.

  She underlined the last entry. And then underlined it again.

  Nina looked at what she’d written and was surprised by a few obvious omissions. She hadn’t written Marry Terrence or First Lady. She raised her stylus to make those entries, but stopped short of writing them down. She didn’t want her bucket list to read like a curriculum vitae. And maybe deep down, she still had reservations about committing to those words.

  Thoreau had written: “The price of anything is the amount of life you exchange for it.” Nina had discovered that saying as an undergrad, and it had resonated with her. It was an economics lesson and a life lesson, and she tended to weigh big decisions by those words. She knew she was far luckier than most, with many more first-world options, but like everyone else, she still had to ante up that price of a piece of her life, be it big or small. Because she was a long-distance runner, that kind of measurement appealed to her mentality. She liked the idea of plotting out her life as she might a race.

  Unbidden, Nina remembered one of her grandmother’s favorite quotes: “God laughs when we make plans.”

  There was a short layover in Seattle, but it was long enough for Nina and Dana to sit down over an obligatory cup of Seattle’s Best Coffee.

  For the third time Nina played the tape of Dana’s snoring, and for the third time they laughed.

  “Those mimosas knocked me out,” said Dana. “I’m a cheap date.”

  “That’s what I heard.”

  “Biatch,” said Dana, making them laugh some more. “I blame you and the congressman. Now that I’m used to first class, maybe I’ll try and crash it like Kristen Wiig did in Br
idesmaids.”

  Terrence had been able to upgrade Nina to first class for the last leg of their flight to Fairbanks, but not Dana.

  “You’re making me feel guilty,” said Nina.

  “That’s the point,” said Dana. “So, did your fiancé also get you the presidential suite at our hotel?”

  “Am I going to be hearing your version of Oliver Twist for the rest of this trip?”

  Dana contorted her face, and in her best cockney accent said, “Please, sir, I want some more.”

  “Are there no prisons or workhouses?”

  Nina knew she was mixing up her Dickens novels, but that didn’t matter. The two of them were too busy laughing.

  “Listen,” said Dana, “I’m happy living vicariously through you, Cinderella.”

  On the last leg of the flight, Nina found herself sitting next to an oil-company executive. Early on in the three-and-a-half-hour flight, the man began drinking. “This is how I prepare for business trips to Alaska,” he joked, swirling a few ice cubes.

  “It’s not your cup of . . . tea?” asked Nina.

  “You’ve never been?” he asked.

  “This is my first trip,” Nina said.

  “Business or pleasure?”

  Nina decided to tell a white lie. It was easier remaining anonymous, and she didn’t want to explain her business to a stranger.

  “I’m meeting up with an old college friend,” she said. “We’ll be doing a lot of sightseeing together.”

  “Well, there’s not much to see in Fairbanks, but the rest of Alaska is a different story. There are parts of the state that are jaw-dropping gorgeous.”

  With a conspiratorial swivel of his head, he leaned over to her and whispered, “It’s almost pretty enough that you can overlook the locals.”

  At Nina’s perplexed look, he elaborated. “Business brings me to Alaska half a dozen times a year. I fly in, and I fly out. It takes a certain kind of person to live in Alaska year-round. You’ll find that most of the locals couldn’t fit in down in the Lower Forty-Eight. That’s why they ended up in The Last Frontier. That’s the state nickname. Misfits feel right at home. There are a lot of colorful characters in Alaska, that’s for sure.”