Dana Stabenow - So Sure Of Death

“Young.”

“Oh.” She thought. “That's interesting.”

“How so?”

She hesitated. “Nobody actually said anything…”

“Yeah, but?”

“Well, I get the feeling there was something going on between Larsgaard and Molly Malone.”

Liam remembered Larsgaard's hesitation in speaking of Molly Malone. “I got that feeling, too, when we were all up at the Malones' house.”

“Shall I interrogate him on it?”

“We both will. We're flying back in tomorrow morning.”

“Eight, right?”

“Ten,” he said firmly, and repressed a chuckle at her expression. “I've got some phone calls to make. The M.E. might have some preliminary findings, and I want to talk to him before we leave.” He drained his mug. “That all you got?”

“I haven't been able to track down Max Bayless yet.”

“I've got someone working on that for me. Anything else?” She hesitated. “Well…”

“What?” He stretched, yawning. “I'm bushed. It's been a long day. Time to hit the rack.”

Her triumphant smile stopped him. “I found a witness, sir. A deckhand on a boat that broke down in Kulukak toward the end of Monday's period.”

That caught him in midstretch. “You're kidding.”

“No. Chad Donohoe, from-”

His tone was deceptively mild. “And you didn't think this was information important enough to tell me first?”

Her smile slipped. “Well…”

He met her eyes. His face didn't change expression but hers did. “Next time? Just run it down in order of importance. Especially at this time of night.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, subdued. She flipped to the appropriate page in her notebook. “Chad Donohoe, from Mount Vernon, Washington State. He was deckhanding on board theSnohomish Belleand she broke down just as the period was ending, about five-thirty. The skipper-Anders Ringstad-had to call in an order to Newenham-Reardon Marine-and have it flown into Kulukak late that night, about ten o'clock.” She added parenthetically, “That strip must be rated for after-dark operations. I'll have to check. Of course, if you're not flying passengers, the rules aren't as stringent. Anyway, Ringstad sent Donohoe to Kulukak in the skiff. Where they were fishing is about an hour from the village by skiff. He should have been back by midnight, twelve-thirty at the latest.

“But…” Prince looked at Liam over the top of her notebook. “It seems that Donohoe has a girlfriend in Kulukak. Among other places.”

“Aha.”

“So it was about three a.m. when he got back to theSnohomish Belle.”

Liam cut to the chase. “What did he see?”

“He says it was real foggy out, first of all. Worse than it was this morning.”

Liam groaned. “Oh great.”

“Yeah, that's what I thought, and it was right down on the water, too, he couldn't see but fifty feet off the beam-what's a beam?”

“Beats the hell out of me.”

“Anyway, he couldn't see fifty feet off the beam in either direction. But he says a New England dory-what's a dory?”

“A skiff. A big skiff.”

“Oh. Donohoe saw this New England dory pass real close off to starboard-that's right-about ten minutes before he got back to theBelle.Almost sideswiped him, he said, it was that close. He never would have seen it otherwise. He could hear the engine, of course.”

“Why of course?”

“Sound carries in a fog.”

Liam thought of the various noises he had heard in and around Kulukak that morning, the rifle shots, the boat engines turning over, the landing plane. “Yes, it does. Did he see the person driving the skiff?”

“He saw a man, he said. He didn't know who he was.” Prince looked up, triumph in her eyes. “But his description sounds a lot like Walter Larsgaard.”

Liam thought about that for a few moments. Prince waited, her expression indicating a willingness to leap into the Cessna and fly down to Kulukak this minute to make an arrest.

Liam wasn't so sure. He'd seen Molly's picture; all right, maybe she did have a face-and a body-that would launch a thousand dories, maybe even one that might get her husband killed.

But her children? Her brother-in-law? Her husband's deckhands? Herself, ostensibly the object of her lover's affections?

He shook his head. Prince looked disappointed and Liam said, “Just thinking to myself. Here's a little piece of information for you. A fisher named Darrell Jacobson saw a New England dory leave Kulukak harbor at about ten p.m.”

“Who was driving it?” she said eagerly.

“He didn't know, he's not from Kulukak, but Jacobson was headed for Togiak, so we can pull him in for an identification if need we need him.” He could almost hear Prince's tail thumping the floor and held up a hand, palm out. “Look, we've got a couple of pieces of information, and we'll use them when we need to, but let's not jump the gun. Larsgaard fishes where he lives, I think he's his father's sole support, and he's tribal chair besides. He's not going anywhere. We'll brace him tomorrow, ask him what he was doing out on the Kulukak at that time of night. If it was him, maybe we can surprise an answer out of him.” He stood up and put his mug in the sink. “Now I'm hitting the rack, and I suggest you do the same.”

Prince handed her mug over without protest. “Sir-”

“It's Liam,” he reminded her, taking the mug.

“Is it okay if I bunk here for the night, Liam?”

“No.” He wasn't aware that he'd barked the word until he saw her flinch.

She nodded at the bunk opposite. “You've got the room, and as you know, I haven't had time to-”

“No. Well, I mean… well, I mean, no.”

“But-”

“I mean, no, you can't sleep here. I-it isn't a good idea. I don't-I can't-”

“But Liam-”

He realized, first, that he was babbling, and, second, that his forehead was beaded with sweat. He whipped around and slid the hatch back. “Goodnight, trooper.”

She sighed. “Goodnight, Liam.”

“Maybe you better call me sir after all.”

“All right,” she said, submissive. “Goodnight, sir.”

He gave her a sharp look. Submissive didn't seem quite in character for Trooper Diana Prince.

“Goodnight,” he said, and stood stiffly as she slid past him and up the stairs to the deck. Her hair nearly brushed his nose. It smelled good, some kind of fruity scent. He didn't want to be smelling her hair. He slid the hatch smartly closed behind her, and waited as the boat tilted and righted itself again as she stepped to the slip.

Some sound came to him a few moments later, which might have been that of muffled laughter, but it might also have been the sound of water lapping against the pilings. He went back to bed without trying to figure out which.

The next morning dawned early, like all summer mornings in the Bush. The sun would be officially up by six-fifteen, although it had been light out for hours before that. By the end of July they were losing four minutes and twenty-four seconds of daylight every day. You'd never know it by the extended sunrise.

The advantage was that there were very few times of day or night during the summer when you couldn't see your way down the path. It was a steep one, carved into the crumbling side of the bluff, a length of manila line looped between wooden posts the only thing between Wy and disaster. Some of the steps were large rocks, flat sides up, set into the dirt. Others were reinforced with scraps of wood left over from various building projects, onebytwelves, two-by-fours and one piece of metal grating. On normal days she rather enjoyed testing the limits, seeing how fast she could get down to the beach, but this morning she walked slowly, one hand just touching the rope, tapping each post with her fingertips as she passed it.