by Alan Russell
“There’s a bone in the middle of its breast.” Baer demonstrated while he talked. “You feel for that. Once you find it, then it’s mostly a matter of peeling away. Pull the skin off the breast area and peel down to the legs. Then you want to take the legs off the bird. You can pull them off or cut them off.”
He demonstrated with two cuts of his knife.
“That gets you a thigh and a leg. All that remains is pulling the feathers off, and then you either cut or snap away the feet.”
He did his plucking in seconds, and then his cutting. In not much longer than it would take to remove the packaging that came with store poultry, half the bird was already dressed.
“Now you find its backbone,” he said, pointing it out. “After that it’s simply a matter of pulling the skin back and making a few cuts. Then you remove the bird’s neck and pull some feathers.”
Nina had always imagined plucking feathers to be an arduous process, but Baer pulled them away from the skin with what looked like minimal effort.
“You want to clean out the cavity. That means pulling out the heart and liver. We’ll keep them separate from the rest of the meat. For the sake of space, I’m going to cut out the breastbone and then pull away the meat.”
She watched him finish dressing the bird. In a little more than three minutes, it was dismembered and the meat bagged.
“Your turn,” he said. “Would you like a mallard or another goose?”
Neither, she wanted to say. During her years of being a vegetarian, she hadn’t eaten meat, let alone been involved in its butchering. Her stomach roiled at the thought of having to hold a still-warm animal.
“Goose,” Nina said, hoping she might remember some of what he’d just shown her.
“Smart choice,” he said. “It’s more work plucking out the pinfeathers of a duck.”
He wiped his knife clean with moss and then handed it to her hilt-first. Their eyes met, and she read his dare. She was now holding a weapon. Would she try and turn it on him? As tempting as that thought was, Nina knew she had little chance to hurt him. He was on the alert, ready for her to attack.
Her eyes turned to the goose.
“Cut the wings off at the joints,” he said. “Because we’re doing a quick field dress, we won’t be collecting the down. Normally I keep the feathers. I’ve seen how you like to wrap yourself up in that duck-and-goose-down comforter. Few blankets are warmer. Without that kind of insulation, it would be hard to survive the winter.”
She was grateful the knife was sharp. The blade easily sheared away the goose’s wings. She did as Baer told her, working as fast as she could, ignoring her bloody hands. It was easier not to think about the way Baer looked at her like she was an animal waiting to be butchered. With a few cuts here and there, anything could become skin and bones.
Like her finger, thought Nina. He had enjoyed describing his expert removal of it. Baer liked his butchery.
“Not bad for a first effort,” he said, and extended an open plastic bag her way. “Toss it in.”
She did as he asked.
“Knife,” said Baer, and she numbly extended it with the blade pointing at him.
He reached under her hand and, with his fingers on the hilt, took the knife from her. “While I make quick work of the rest of the birds, you can be fishing. Look for a clear area to cast. You want to set yourself up where it’s open and your line won’t get snagged.”
A cold mist hung over the lake. It wasn’t quite raining, but the air was thick with condensation. If it had been any wetter, you could have wrung water out of the air. Nina stopped at a puddle to wash her bloody hands. The water was just at the point of freezing over, and it stung her hands. She rinsed them clean and finished the drying by rubbing her clothes. Her fingers were red and puffy, and no matter how much she blew on them, they refused to warm up.
At the first promising spot, she stopped and cast her line. The earlier exhilaration she’d gotten from fishing had vanished. She worked the line slowly. After half a dozen casts, she moved on to another spot, but had no better luck there.
Third time’s a charm, she thought, and began walking along the lake frontage. Nina hadn’t gone far before being confronted by the sight of huge paw prints. She came to a stop in midstep, and for a moment her leg hovered inches above the ground. A current ran up and down her spine. Only a bear could leave paw prints so large. She found herself unable to move. She’d never considered the expression frozen in my tracks as anything other than a cliché, but that was before finding herself in just such a situation.
Baer was fishing maybe two hundred yards from where she stood. He had the shotgun and handgun. Nina studied the area around her. She had no idea whether or not the prints were recent. She took a few deep breaths and began backing away. She made sure she was going in the opposite direction of where the bear’s tracks had been heading.
What if the bear were watching her now? What if it was sizing her up as a meal? Before her arrival in Alaska, Nina had always felt so in control. She’d had command over her life, or at least that’s the way it had seemed. Now it was all she could do to survive another day. In this place, in these circumstances, she wasn’t even at the top of the food chain. That was a scary thought. She was out of her element, and vulnerable in an environment where missteps meant death.
Nina continued walking backward along the river. Baer and the dog were closer now. As far as she was concerned, they’d already caught and killed enough creatures for a day, but Baer was following the ant’s advice and not the grasshopper’s. He was preparing for winter.
The sooner they caught enough fish, she knew, the sooner they’d leave. She faced the river and cast a line, and immediately felt a bite on the end. Her luck seemed to have changed. She began reeling her line in. When she finally landed the fish, she felt more relief than excitement.
Fishing wasn’t the same when you had to worry that you might be part of another creature’s menu. She scanned the area around her for a weapon. She was pretty sure a rock wouldn’t stop a charging bear, but that wasn’t the purpose for it she had in mind. In the American Museum of Natural History in New York, she’d seen stone tomahawks on display. That’s the kind of rock she wanted, a weapon that could bludgeon as well as cut. Finally, close to the riverbank, she spotted the perfect stone. It was as big as her hand, with a wicked-looking edge. By itself, the rock was an effective weapon. If she could find a way to secure it to a branch, she would have her tomahawk.
She made sure Baer wasn’t looking her way when she picked up the rock. It was heavy, weighing several pounds. She slid the stone into her pocket; the coat was bulky enough to hide her contraband.
Then she went back to her fishing. The cold sliced into her hands and made it difficult for her to hold onto the rod. Baer was still within shouting distance, but had kept moving away from her along the shoreline. She’d seen him pull in a number of fish; she hoped they were almost done.
Nina cast her line, and after only a moment felt a tug. She tried to reel in her catch, but her frozen fingers only seemed to work in fits and starts, and the motion was much jerkier than she would have liked. Somehow, though, she managed to bring the fish to shore. She grabbed a river rock and brought it down on the grayling’s head. She still wasn’t comfortable with the killing, but had grown better at it, and was glad when the flopping stopped. She huddled over her catch, blowing on her fingers. It was getting cold enough that she could now see her breath. A shadow slid over the fish. Her head twisted back. That’s when she saw the knife.
Nina’s scream didn’t quite emerge from her throat; it was choked off when she realized the knife wasn’t meant for her.
Baer picked up the fish she’d caught, quickly gutted them, and then added them to his string.
“There are bear tracks that way,” said Nina, pointing in the direction from which she’d come. “They’re less than a quarter of a mile away.”
He gave her a dismissive look and said, “There are bear tracks
a lot closer than that.”
“You saw them?”
“How could anyone have missed them?”
“Why didn’t you warn me?”
“You want a warning? Here it is. There’s always something out there. And you especially need to watch out for vegetarians. Every year moose hurt and kill a lot more people than bears.”
She didn’t know if he was telling the truth or mocking her, or maybe doing both. He slung the fish and poles over his shoulder, handed her the bag with the dressed birds, and began walking away from the lake.
Nina hurried to keep up with him. On the way back, she tried to memorize the route, but her untrained eyes were unable to pick out any of the landmarks that Elese had taken pains to point out. Everything looked the same. She offered up a mental apology to Elese: I’m trying.
As they walked, Nina could feel the weight of the stone in her coat pocket. With nighttime approaching and no idea where they were, it probably wasn’t the right moment to think about braining Baer. But what if there was never a better time?
She tried to choreograph in her mind how she might pull off the attack. There would only be the one chance. She considered the best place in which to strike him. It was too bad she couldn’t consult with him. Baer excelled in killing.
Maybe she could make it a trial run, Nina thought. She could practice taking him out. She quickened her pace, trying to close the gap between them, but he somehow managed to stay a few steps ahead. Finally she moved in right behind him, but the bell lap had already been called. Barking dogs alerted her that they were nearing the cabin.
The cabin made Nina feel equal parts dread and relief. For the moment she didn’t have to face up to murder. Hunger had been gnawing at her for hours; it would be good to eat, and good to get out of the cold. But she knew she wasn’t returning to a shelter. She was coming back to her prison.
“Do you need to stop at the library?” Baer asked.
“Library?” she said.
“The reading room,” he said. “The necessary, the backhouse.”
At Nina’s look of incomprehension, he said, “The shitter is down this path.”
She looked where he was pointing and could just make out the small dingy structure of an outhouse.
While she hesitated, Baer said, “Go or not. I’m feeding the dogs.”
He left with the fish, and Nina decided to use the outhouse. The closer she got to the structure, the more she thought it looked like an upright coffin. But it wasn’t a coffin you’d want to be buried in. There were cracks and holes in its walls, and she knew it would be drafty and inhospitable. She opened the door. There wasn’t much more to the room than a circular cutout in the shelving. Next to the hole was a pile of old magazines, although Nina couldn’t imagine a worse place to read.
Of course, it was possible the magazines had another use; she’d heard that in the aftermath of the depression, the Sears/Roebuck catalog had been a mainstay in farm outhouses. Nina supposed she should be grateful that there were a few rolls of real toilet paper in this outhouse. It was too bad that there wasn’t any disinfectant or soap, and no running water.
The dogs must have been busy eating, for they didn’t bark at her as she walked up the path toward the cabin. Baer stood waiting at the front door. Nina stopped short of where he was, keeping her distance.
“What’s in your right coat pocket?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said, and then patted outside her pocket and feigned surprise. She reached inside the pocket, removed the stone, and did a pretend double take.
How had he known? Her coat was bulky and should have easily concealed the rock.
“The bear,” Nina said, coming up with a story without any hesitation. “As soon as I saw its tracks, I picked up this stone. It was the best weapon I could find.”
She’d never been a good liar, but she knew it was important for Baer to believe her, or at least to not be certain that she was lying. The consequences for his disbelief, she was sure, would be severe.
“I was too scared to scream,” she said. “Those paw prints were five times the size of my own hand. I almost ran to you, but I was once told you never run in the presence of a bear. I heard doing that can trigger a bear into attacking you. So I backed up slowly.”
“And you thought that rock would protect you?”
“It was the only weapon available to me. I figured if a bear charged, I could at least throw the rock and hope that might distract it. And if that didn’t work, I was going to play dead. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do if a bear attacks you?”
Instead of answering her, he said, “And how is it that the rock just happened to remain in your pocket?”
Nina shrugged her shoulders. “I forgot about it.”
“Really? How much do you think it weighs?”
Nina hefted it. “Not very much,” she said.
“I’m guessing it’s about three pounds.”
“It doesn’t seem that heavy.”
“That’s not what your body was saying. On the walk back, you were leaning to your right. That seemed a little curious to me. Hunters have to notice those little things. Anything out of place tells a story.”
“If I was leaning to my right, I’d guess it was because the bag with the bird meat was slung over my right shoulder.”
Nina had put the bag down while removing the rock from her pocket, but now reached down and lifted it up, demonstrating its heaviness.
“There’s probably fifteen pounds of meat in here. Is it any surprise I was listing to one side, with all that meat slung over my shoulder?”
She tried to leave no room for doubt in her explanation or in her body language.
“A boulder wouldn’t stop a charging bear,” he said.
She looked at her stone and shrugged. “At the time it seemed a lot better than nothing.”
“Had you thrown your stone at a bear, it would only have provoked it.”
“I’ll have to remember that.”
“On the other hand, I imagine that stone would be a very effective weapon against an unsuspecting human. Look at its wicked edge. If you brought that rock down hard enough, I imagine it would cleave a skull.”
Nina said nothing.
“And with a stone even smaller than that, Goliath was brought down, wasn’t he?”
“That’s what the Bible says.”
“So if that’s what the Good Book tells me, why shouldn’t I be in fear for my life?”
Nina tossed the stone aside. “I simply forgot the stone was in my pocket. Next time I see bear tracks, I’ll move closer to you.”
“Next time,” he said, “if I suspect you of smuggling a weapon, I’ll strip-search you before I let you into the cabin. And if that prospect doesn’t daunt you, imagine the weather being thirty or forty below. Just think how fast you’ll experience hypothermia. On a scale of things to fear, frostbite should be about as scary to you as a grizzly. You’ve already lost one finger. You don’t want to lose more, do you?”
Nina shook her head.
Baer stepped aside and she scurried into the cabin.
CHAPTER TWENTY
For four months of the year, Seward was cruise central. Huge ships came into port bringing thousands and thousands of tourists. It was hard for the locals to not feel they were on display just like the wildlife. They were “quaint.” But it was those tourist dollars that kept Seward going.
Hamilton slapped the folder down on his desk. He was nuts even thinking about taking Carrie on a cruise. Still, he’d been promising her a nice trip ever since they got married, but money was tight, their kids needed them, their jobs needed them—it was always something.
If they were going to do it, this was the time to do it. Every year her doctor prescribed antidepressants for her seasonal affective disorder. Carrie had even gotten this bright light that mimicked daylight. Still, every year, the ever-shorter days made Carrie blue.
His desk phone rang, and Hamilton picked up. The voice on the o
ther end of the line said, “It’s been a month since Nina Granville disappeared.”
He didn’t like Greg Martin’s prompts, but by now he was almost used to them. “Wasn’t it Einstein who said time was relative?”
“Apparently Einstein missed his calling as a cop.”
“You calling about theoretical physics?”
“I’m calling about the Nina Granville case.”
“Why are you calling me?”
“Because the detective’s not in. He’s never in.”
“Maybe he’s working the lead I passed on to him yesterday.”
“What lead?”
“Those flyers that were circulated got a potential bingo by a resident of Tanana.”
“That’s near to Manley, right?”
“They’re about forty miles apart. Unfortunately, the ID is secondhand.”
“What do you mean?”
“A villager in Tanana saw the poster. According to him, his second cousin was acquainted with Tomcat. He said that on one or two occasions, Tomcat flew this cousin to Tanana. He claimed this same cousin had a conversation with Tomcat about this mountain-man client of his who lived in the wilderness somewhere southeast of Tanana.”
“How do we talk to this second cousin?”
“We wait for the troopers to find him, or we wait for him to turn up. He’s an Athabascan, like most Tanana villagers, and apparently he likes to come and go. His cousin says he worked on a fishing boat this summer, but no one knows where he is now. My contact said he’d call me when his cousin shows up.”
“You got to be kidding.”
“I’m hoping AST will decide to track him down.”
“Let me guess: they didn’t promise anything.”
Hamilton didn’t say anything.
“Would it help if I flew us to Tanana for a face-to-face interview with your caller?” asked Martin.
Hamilton considered the offer for a moment. “I don’t think we’d learn anything more in person. I get the feeling my contact is more comfortable talking by satellite phone. He might not even be inclined to open his door to a cop.”
