Dana Stabenow - So Sure Of Death

Liam did not depart from geniality. “What were you doing up here on the bluff, Frank?”

Frank tried bluster. “I don't know what you're talking about. I wasn't up here, I was minding my own business, riding my four-wheeler around, when you come flying out of the sky. You threatened to shoot my ass off,” he remembered suddenly. He became indignant, or pretended to. “Waving that gun around like nobody's business.”

“Speaking of waving a gun around-” Prince said hotly.

“Trooper,” Liam said. He didn't raise his voice, but she shut up, jaw closing with an audible snap. He smiled at Frank. “I've got this problem, Frank. Maybe you can help me.”

Frank eyed him suspiciously but didn't say he wouldn't.

“I've got a couple of people assaulted on this bluff, right here, less than two hours ago, by someone we think drove in on a four-wheeler.” He clicked his tongue. “I'm sorry to have to say it, but yours was the only four-wheeler around.”

Frank tried bravado. “That don't mean nothing. Hell, everybody's got a four-wheeler in this country.” He jerked his head in the direction of the air base. “The goddamn military's got a dozen, they're all over the place looking for stuff that falls off their planes. Not to mention shooting moose they got no right to,” he added bitterly.

“You're probably right, Frank,” Liam said, nodding. “Still, I have to say we did a pretty thorough search from the air, and yours was the only vehicle we saw anywhere near here.”

Frank hunched a shoulder. “Not my problem.”

“Probably not,” Liam said. He waited.

Frank grew uneasy in the silence. He tugged at the cuffs, and tried whining. “Man, can't you loosen these up? My hands are hurting.”

“I'm sorry, Frank,” Liam said, shaking his head sadly. “I can't do that.”

Frank tried belligerence. “Why not? You got no right to hold me, man, I'm a Native. You got to turn me over to my elders.”

“Your elders are about eighty miles northeast of here,” Liam said dryly, “and I don't think they're going to want to have anything to do with you anyway. Village elders don't hold with murder any more than the state does, Frank.”

Frank tried bluster again. “I don't know what you're talking about, man.”

Liam became serious. “I think you do, Frank. I think you know exactly what I'm talking about.” He saw the panic in Frank's eyes, and dropped his voice to a confidential level. “Look, Frank, I know how it is, you get a few drinks in you, you get in a fight with your girl, you climb on the four-wheeler and light out. You drive out over the tundra, you wind up here, you don't really know how, and you find a couple ofgussuksmessing with the bones of your ancestors.”

“Yeah,” Frank said, eyes locked to Liam's. “Messing with my ancestors, man.”

“So you lose it. You coldcock one, you let off a couple of rounds at the other, winging him-nice shooting, Frank, by the way.”

“Thanks, man,” Frank said involuntarily.

“So you did shoot him,” Liam said softly.

Frank tried panic. “No! I didn't shoot nobody! I don't even have a gun!”

Liam looked surprised. “You don't? Well, gee, Frank, who does this rifle belong to, then?” He picked up the.30-06 he'd leaned against the left front tire. “You had it when I caught up with you.”

“I found it,” Frank said. “It was laying on the ground.” Inspired, he added, “I almost ran over the top of it with my four-wheeler, man. Somebody must have dropped it.”

“Maybe a hunter,” Liam suggested. “Sure,” Frank said eagerly. “A hunter.” Liam scratched his chin. “Well, maybe that's so, Frank.” He paused, and looked skyward for revelation. “It's a pretty nice rifle, guy what owns it must take pretty good care of it. Doesn't look like it's been laying out too long.”

Frank hunched a shoulder.

“What do you think he was hunting?” Liam said.

“What?” Frank said. “Who?”

“The man who lost the rifle,” Liam said patiently. “What do you think he was hunting?”

“I dunno,” Frank said, bewildered. “Ducks, I guess. Geese? Plenty of those around, this time of year.”

“Well, sure,” Liam said, warmly congratulatory. “Ducks and geese.” He paused, and added reluctantly, “Of course, they aren't in season at the moment. Another month or so to go before you can even buy a duck stamp.”

Frank forced a smile. “That don't mean nothing out here.”

“No,” Liam agreed. “You're surely right about that, Frank.” Frank brightened, until Liam added, “Of course, I don't believe a lot of hunters go after ducks and geese with a thirty-ought-six, now, do they? You'd have to be a mighty fine shot to do that, wouldn't you?”

“I dunno.”

“A shotgun would be more likely for someone looking to bring home some birds for the stew pot, now, wouldn't it?”

“I dunno,” said poor Frank.

“And I think any hunter worthy of the name takes better care of his firepower than to leave it lie in a swamp somewhere.” Liam shook his head disapprovingly. “Lousy thing to do to a fine piece of equipment like this here Winchester.”

“It's a Remington,” Frank said. “A two-eighty. Oh.” He looked wildly around for support and found none.

“It's your rifle, isn't it, Frank?” Liam said sorrowfully.

“I guess so,” Frank said, looking ready to burst into tears.

“And you shot this man and hit this trooper with it, didn't you?”

Too late Frank realized what he'd admitted to and tried desperately to backtrack. “I never shot nobody!”

“I can see how it would happen,” Liam said, ignoring Frank's outburst to paint a revised scenario. “You're fishing out of Newenham, you're between periods, you borrow a four-wheeler and you come here to visit the village. Maybe your folks come from here, and you've come to pay your respects.” Liam folded his hands and did his best to look pious. “But maybe you had a few before you came, and when you got here you found two people poking their noses in where they didn't belong.”

“Now, wait just a minute!” McLynn exploded. He was on his feet, and feeling much healthier, if the look of outrage on his face was any indication. “This man was grave-robbing! I got here and he was stuffing all the artifacts that I had excavated over the summer into a bag!” He pointed, triumphant. “That bag right there, tied to the handlebars!”

Liam looked thunderstruck, and slid the drawstring of the dark blue nylon stuff sack from the right handlebar to hold it aloft. Its contents pressed against the sides to cause interesting bulges in the thin fabric. “This bag?”

“That exact bag!” McLynn stood where he was, glaring. “I was going to stop him and he shot me!”

“Frank,” Liam said, his heart broken. “This can't be true.”

“I didn't shoot anybody,” Frank said obstinately.

Liam emptied the contents of the sack on the ground.

McLynn pounced. “There, there's the carvings we found in two-E, probably amulets. This is the needle we found in five-F, and this is the awl we found in six-C.”

“And this?” Liam held up what looked very much like a knife carved from a translucent length of bone. It had a short hilt, carved with figures long since worn to little more than faint ridges, and a short, wide, slightly curved blade that came to a sharp point. There was blood on it, dried brown and flaking, but it was something Liam had seen too often to mistake now.

Frank looked frightened. He said nothing.

McLynn hesitated.

“That's a storyknife,” Wy said from behind Liam.

He'd known she was there and didn't jump, but Prince and McLynn did. “What's a storyknife?”

Too interested in the artifact to maintain her attitude of frozen fury, she took the knife and held it up. “I've got one of these. Mine's made of ivory. It's much smaller, though. This is beautiful. Look at the carving on the hilt. And it's old, too.” She lowered the knife and looked at Prince. “It's a toy used by young Yupik girls. They take their younger siblings down to the riverbank and carve stories into the sand. Teaching stories, mostly, about kids who disobey their parents and are subsequently killed and eaten by monsters.”