So sure of death (29 page)

He'd killed them, he said in a monotone, with a rifle, a thirtyoughtsix.

“Where is that rifle now, Walter?

“Over the side.

“And then what?

“And then I set the boat on fire.

“What with?

“Gasoline.

“Where did you get it?

“I keep a spare tank on my dory.

“Where is that tank now?

“Still on my dory. I knew you could trace the rifle, but no sense in wasting a good gas tank.

“What did you do with the gas?

“Splashed it around. Lit a match.

“Where did you splash it around first?

“The galley.

“On the bodies?

“Yes.

“You'd already killed them, why burn them?

“I was hoping to get away with it.

“Cover up your crime?

“Yes.

“Why didn't you just sink her?

“I tried. I pulled the plugs.

Liam looked at the still, remote face across from him. Larsgaard had his hands linked behind his head, had leaned back so that his chair was balanced on its rear legs. “Why did you do it, Walter?

There was a pause. “She broke it off. He said the words slowly and carefully, as if it were an effort to get them out.

“Who? Molly?

“Yes.

“You were seeing her?

“Yes.

“Sleeping with her?

“Yes?

“At the Bay View Inn?

Larsgaard met his eyes briefly. “So you already know about it, do you? He shook his head. “There are no secrets in small towns. I told her and told her, I . . .

Liam waited, but Larsgaard didn't finish. “So you shot her because she broke off your relationship.

“Yes.

Liam kept his tone mild and inoffensive. “Why did you shoot her husband?

“He had her. I didn't.

“Her brother-in-law?

“He was there.

“That why you killed the deckhands? They were there, too? A shrug.

“And the kids? Michael and Kerry. Teenagers. They had to die because they were there, too?

“That's about it.

The muscles in Liam's shoulders were so tight he thought they might pop out of their sleeves. He saw Prince look at him, and willed himself to relax with only moderate success. “When did all this happen?

“What, the affair?

“When did you kill them? Liam said coldly.

“Sunday night.

“What time?

For the first time, Larsgaard hesitated. “I don't know. Midnight, maybe one o'clock. It was dark, or almost, so it had to have been late. Hard to tell because of the fog.

“How did you know where they were?

“I saw them during the fishing period.

“The fishing period was over.

“They'd had some engine trouble. Dave anchored up offshore to work on it, and I figured he'd still be there after the fog rolled in. He was.

Liam sat back in his chair. “So you fished next to them on Sunday afternoon, saw them anchor up offshore with engine trouble, marked the spot, went back into town, waited until dark, got in your dory, went back to Kulukak Bay, shot Molly Malone because she wanted to end your affair, shot the rest of them because they were there, tried to burn the boat to cover up your crime and when that didn't work tried to sink her.

“Yes.

They stared at each other for a long moment. Liam looked at his watch, said the time for the tape and terminated the interview. They put Larsgaard back in his cell. Frank Petla still wanted a smoke, and Moccasin Man was still playing solitaire.

It was five o'clock, and the sun had just barely begun its descent into the west. “I want a witness that puts Larsgaard and Malone in the Bay View Inn together. I've already talked to the owner, Alta Alta Peterson. She made the beds when Molly Malone stayed there and Alta knew Molly wasn't sleeping alone, but she never saw who she was sleeping with. Find someone who saw them together.

“Yes, sir. What about Frank Petla's alibi?

“I'll work on that. He thought again about Charlene Taylor. He'd have to ask her what areas of the Nushagak had been open for fishing on Monday. “I'm going to go down to the harbor and look at his boat.

“If it's there.

It was there, a tiny little bowpicker barely big enough to sport a one-bunk cabin on the stern, a reel in the bow and an open deck in between. Liam poked his head in the cabin. Except for the empty bottle of Windsor Canadian rolling around on the deck and the rumpled state of the bunk, the little cabin was surprisingly neat. He opened a few cupboards, looked under the miniature sink, tested the two-burner propane stove. The dishes were clean, the clothes folded neatly, the canned goods ordered and stacked. There was a picture in a green wooden frame nailed to the wall over the bunk. It was of a young girl with thick dark hair past her waist, standing next to Frank Petla. They were both looking at the camera, both with big, bright smiles and an Alaska Federation of Natives' Sobriety Movement poster on the wall in back of them. There was another picture, this one in a blue wooden frame, of Frank standing between Charlene Taylor and her husband the D.A., a short, skinny guy with bushy red hair, freckled white skin and a wide, wry grin. All three of them looked real proud of something.

The deck had been hosed down but there was evidence that fish had been there, in the form of scales. Liam wet a forefinger and touched one. It felt dry. No telling how long it had been there. The net was dry on top. Liam managed to wedge a hand in a layer or two and thought he felt dampness, but that probably didn't mean anything, either; rolled on a reel, it would take a long time for a net to dry out. The dampness he thought he felt could have been from a period last week, or one in June, for that matter.

He canvassed a few boats. Most were already out in the Bay, hauling in as much fish as they could find. Bad summer or not, missed forecasts or not, they still had to try. They had mortgages, insurance, grocery bills, college tuition to pay.

They had Windsor Canadian to buy. Liam stood on the slip next to a big seiner and yelled, “Hello theDeirdre F! There was a thud and a curse and someone stuck his head out the door. “What?

“Liam Campbell, Alaska state trooper, I'm wondering if you saw theSarah Pcome into the harbor.

“TheSarah P? The man squinted, looking as if this were the first time he'd seen daylight in weeks. “I don't even know which boat that is.

“The little one, right over there. Liam pointed.

“I don't know, Iwait, what day?

“Anytime this weekend.

“I didn't get in until yesterday afternoon. Blew the goddamn drive shaft. And I'd like to get back to it, okay? he added pointedly.

“Okay.

Further inquiries proved equally fruitless. Liam plodded on up the gangplank. It was getting close to six o'clock. Time for dinner with Dad. Oh joy.

EIGHTEEN

Force of habit made him check his uniform before he went inside, except he wasn't wearing his, which had him at an automatic disadvantage. No help for it. He squared his shoulders and pulled open the door.

Charles was already there. Seated across from him was Diana Prince, who had changed into civilian clothes herself. She looked very nice in a dark red sweater and a string of pearls. Her hair had been ruffled up from its neat, restrained daytime style in that way women do that indicates they are off duty and on the hunt.

“Yeah, well, being found not guilty of driving an oil tanker onto Bligh Reef while drunk is not necessarily the same thing as being innocent of doing the same thing, Charles was saying as Liam came up.

Liam winced. The investigation of the grounding of theExxon Valdez,like the deaths in Denali the previous winter, was one of those cases troopers didn't like to brag about.

It apparently wasn't bothering Prince, who laughed. Before her time.

“Liam, Charles said, looking up. “I've invited Diana to join us. I hope you don't mind.

“Not at all, Liam lied courteously, and, choosing the lesser of two evils, sat down next to Prince.

“You've had a busy day, Charles said genially, signaling Bill, who sent Maria, the server who had taken Laura Nanalook's place, over to take orders. Maria was in her mid-twenties and looked like she practiced bulimia as a religion. Her clavicles held up her T-shirt like a hanger, and her blond hair was so fine you could see her pink scalp between strands. Her lips didn't have enough flesh to stretch over her teeth in a smile, but she took Liam's order, whirled to the bar and was back in two minutes flat.

Liam, who had the feeling he was going to require backup, had ordered a Glenmorangie, a double. Charles raised his eyebrows. Liam had always hated those eyebrows. “Bill keeps it in stock for me.

Prince was nursing a glass of white wine, Charles a beer. “What did you find out? Prince said.

“Not now, Liam said, more curtly than he'd intended. He opened his mouth to apologize, and felt someone standing next to him. He looked up. It was Wy.

For the first time since he'd seen her again in May, her hair was loose, the same tumbled mass of bronzed blond curls he remembered from those days in Anchorage. She was wearing a teal-blue T-shirt tucked into her jeans and wide gold nugget hoops in her ears. His eyes lingered on the hoops for a moment.

Her glance, when she met his, was direct and somehow questioning. Liam was burningly aware of two things: his memory of their in-flight stopover on the gravel airstrip the day before, and that his hip was touching Prince's. Carefully, he edged away.

“Well, helloWy, isn't it? Charles said. He looked from Wy to Liam and back again. “Are you meeting someone? Wy shook her head. “Then why don't you join us? He moved over and patted the bench next to him.

Still without speaking, Wy slid in next to him. Her knees brushed Liam's. They both jumped.

An awkward silence developed, broken when Maria appeared. “Uh . . . wine, Wy said. “Red.

“Cabernet or merlot?

“Cabernet. In an obvious move to make conversation, she said to the others, “Merlots are sometimes too sweet. Same reason I don't drink white.

Prince looked down at her glass. “I guess I like sweet.

Wy shrugged. “To each her own.

Liam drained his glass in one gulp. Everyone reordered. Silence until the new drinks came.

Charles said, “What about

Prince said, “Charles, why are you

Wy said, “How is the

Liam said, “When are you leaving, Dad?

A brief silence. “I don't know, Liam, Charles said. “I'll be around for at least another week, I think. There was a clear invitation in his smile when he looked at Prince, and a corresponding sparkle in Prince's eyes.

“What are you doing here, precisely? Prince said. “You haven't said. Where are you stationed?

“Florida, Charles said easily. “Hurlburt Field.

Really, Liam thought. Somebody tell Hurlburt.

“And I'm here to see what the Air Force can do about turning over some of our disused buildings to the local communities. He ran the same spiel by them he had run by Liam the day before, and, as they were supposed to, Wy and Prince looked politely impressed by the Air Force's commitment to public service.

Another hiatus in the conversation. Liam was trying hard not to stare across the table at Wy, was trying even harder to pretend he wasn't sitting next to Prince, although Charles had made his interest clear. For the first time in his life Liam was grateful for Charles's invariable habit of chasing the best-looking woman in every town he visited. Liam abandoned any concern for Prince's tender feelings; Charles was right, she was a grown woman, and besides, Liam was not about to appear protective of another woman in front of Wy.

His legs, too long for the booth, cramped, and he stretched a little, bumping again into Wy's. Their eyes met. Hers widened. His mouth went dry. He alleviated the problem with single-malt scotch, but refused a refill when Maria reappeared to take their orders for dinner. Since the only thing on the menu was beef, and since the choices were New York strip, rib eye or T-bone, they all had steak. Liam and Wy chose New York and rare, Charles and Prince T-bone and well done.

Until their salads came, Charles entertained them with an account of his tour in the Gulf, with an emphasis on sand. “It got into everything, your hair, your eyes, your mouth, your shorts, you name it. Not to mention the engines. You haven't lived until you've tried to change out the engine on an F-15 in the desert. Prince listened, rapt, Wy said something noncommittal about engine maintenance and Liam contributed an occasional grunt and tried to remember when he'd last seen a bird colonel in the Air Force change out his own engine. He greeted his salad with relief and kept his mouth full. It seemed like a strategic decision worthy of Alexander.

He felt a foot press against his, and he looked up sharply. The last time he'd felt her foot, it had been hard against his shin, right before she slugged him. This time, she winked at him. His fork remained suspended in midair as Maria arrived with the main course. She whisked away the salad plates and replaced them with metal plates in wooden frames loaded with red meat. Wy dropped her eyes, Liam dropped his fork and Maria, nothing loath, fetched him a new one.

In the meantime, Charles had shifted the subject to Alaska and his experiences in the air over Elmendorf. He missed the Cold War, it seemed. He told of the time he'd taken a rubber mask in the shape of Ronald Reagan and worn it on patrol.

“Could the pilots in the Russian planes see you? Prince asked, grinning.

“Hell, yes, or what was the point? Charles laughed. “Next time we went up, one of theirs was wearing a Brezhnev mask.

Prince laughed, obviously enchanted. Charles wasn't sleeping alone tonight. Unlike himself, Liam thought mournfully, and looked at Wy, who was listening with every appearance of interest to Charles and Prince's conversation. Eventually Prince realized that they hadn't heard from the other two guests. “How long have you been a pilot, Wy?