Dana Stabenow - Whisper to the Blood

He peered below again. Three snowgos meant three people. All three, displaying a prudence beyond what their current activity would suggest, remained inside the tents.

He decided that he'd tested the limits of aeronautical safety enough for one day. He put the Cessna's nose on three-one-five and let the ground fall away from him as he flew down the broad plateau of the valley.

He had a little time to think over what he should do next. It was vital to lay hands on Howie Katelnikof as soon as possible, but there was nowhere flat or long enough for him to sit down that was near enough to the camp for him to get to them before they took off, which they would do because they'd hear him land and because they had ground transportation and he didn't.

The trailer and its rudimentary airstrip sat in the middle of a very wide valley that he estimated was a minimum of four to six miles across. If he put her down there and waited, they'd just go around him. Aerial bombardment was pretty much all that a Cessna in the air could do to stop a snow machine on the ground, and Jim was fresh out of grenades.

The mouth of the valley widened to a slope that fell gradually down to the east bank of the Kanuyaq River, the southwest-facing hill well treed but nowhere impassable by snow machine. If he set down in one place, top or bottom, they'd simply go another way. They would have recognized the white Cessna with the gold stripes and the gold seal on the fuselage, so they would be doubly wary coming out.

There was no point, he decided, in trying to apprehend them from the air. Now that they knew he was looking for them, they'd probably leave the kill to the ravens and the wolves and the rest of the Park's carnivores. He couldn't swear it was Howie he saw running for the tent, and while he had recognized Howie's Ski-Doo, Howie could always ditch it and say it had been stolen. It wouldn't be the first time.

No. He had to think up some way to make Howie come to him.

Movement a thousand feet below caught the corner of his eye and he banked the Cessna a little to see George Perry's Cub take off from next to the GHRI trailer. Had he dropped someone off? Someone like Talia Macleod, perhaps? He changed channels. "Piper Super Cub at Suulutaq, that you, George?"

There was a burst of static. "Jim? Where you at?"

"On your six, a thousand feet."

A pause as George looked up and back. "Oh yeah, I gotcha. Where you coming from?"

"Up the valley. Sightseeing. Did you just drop somebody off at the Suulutaq trailer?"

"Yeah."

"Macleod?"

"I wish. No, one of her caretakers. Poor bastard. They're marooned out here for a week at a time, with only a bunch of Debbie Does Dallas DVDs for company."

"But I hear she pays well."

Jim could hear the smile in George's voice when he replied. "That she does."

"Think I'll go down and say hi." "Guy makes lousy coffee."

"I have been warned. Cessna seven-nine Juliet, out."

"See you back at the ranch, Jim. Super Cub one-three Tango, out."

Jim dropped down to a hundred feet, buzzed the trailer to alert the occupant of his imminent arrival, and landed.

Gallagher was waiting in the open door. He didn't look happy when he saw Jim coming, but he was civil. "Sergeant Chopin, isn't it? Dick Gallagher."

"That's right, we met at the Club Bar in Cordova, didn't we?"

"That we did, sir. What can I do for you?"

Jim shrugged. "Just stopped by for a cup of coffee."

Gallagher didn't believe him, but he stepped back and let Jim inside.

George was right, the coffee was awful, but then Jim, who ordered his Tsunami Blend direct from Captain's Roast in Homer, was something of a coffee snob. He hid his wince and said, leaning against the counter, "Nice job you scored here."

"Pays well," Gallagher said, sitting behind the desk.

Jim nodded at the desk. "You heard what happened here, I guess. We always try to keep that kind of thing quiet while the investigation is ongoing, but…" He shrugged.

"Yeah," Gallagher said with feeling, "I heard, all right. I had to clean up the mess. Jesus." He seemed to grudge the mess more than the murder.

"You're new in the Park, aren't you?" Jim said.

Gallagher went wary again. "Yeah. Couple of months."

"New to Alaska, too, I take it."

Gallagher shrugged.

Now, it was a maxim of Alaskan etiquette never to ask where somebody was from, but Jim had a badge that said he could ask anyone anything anytime. "Where you from?"

" Arizona," Gallagher said promptly.

Jim smiled. "Jeez. It's a lot warmer there come this time of year. What brought you north?"

"Heard there were jobs here."

Jim gestured at the trailer. "You heard right."

"Yeah," Gallagher said. "It pays well."

"It must, you said that twice," Jim said. "Maybe I should quit troopering and hire on with Global Harvest."

Gallagher grinned, but it seemed forced. "Maybe you should. Although I hear state employees do okay in Alaska."

Jim laughed. "We do all right," he said. "Wonder if you could do me a favor."

Whatever Gallagher was expecting, it wasn't that. "Sure. I guess. If I can."

"Might be some guys driving snow machines down the valley later on. Two, maybe three of them. If they stop in, be helpful if I knew who they were."

"I don't know many people round these parts," Gallagher said, "not yet, anyway. But if they stop in, I can ask."

"Appreciate it," Jim said, and set the still full mug on the counter. "Thanks for the coffee."

"Anytime." Gallagher showed him out without haste. He even waited in the open doorway to wave as the Cessna rose into the air.

Jim circled the trailer as he gained altitude and waggled his wings in a friendly good-bye, but as he straightened out and put the nose back on three-one-five, he was sure of one thing, and maybe two.

Gallagher was nervous about something.

And he sure didn't like cops.

The weather held, granting an ephemeral warmth outside if you were bundled up in dark clothes and standing still, but Kate was almost constantly in motion, visiting the downriver villages of the 'Burbs, in order-Double Eagle, Chulyin, Potlatch, and Red Run.

Ken Kaltak had taken to carrying his rifle with him wherever he went. He listened with a stone face as Kate pleaded for time to find the robbers, but she could see he wasn't listening to a word she said. His wife Janice, the lone schoolteacher for the Double Eagle School, which had ten students in seven grades, sent her husband outside on the pretext of getting some moose out of the cache and said bluntly, "Times are tough, Kate. Ken says he's never seen so many fish go up the river, and he's never caught less. Fish and Game gives preference to sports and subsistence fishers and by the time the drifters are allowed to put a net in the water the fish are all up the river. We've got a fish wheel and we catch enough to eat most years, but we rely on what we catch driftnetting in Alaganik to pay for groceries and fuel. We had almost a thousand dollars' worth of food on that sled." Her eyes filled up. "How are we supposed to eat this winter?"

Ken saw Kate to her snow machine, where he exchanged cautious greetings with Mutt (they'd howdied but they hadn't shook), and said, "You know who did this, Kate. Why waste time? Why don't you just head straight for Tikani?"

Kate settled onto the seat. "Can you identify any of your attackers, Ken?"

His lips tightened. He didn't answer.

"Didn't think so," Kate said. "They were wearing helmets, is what I understand."

"Yes."

"So you didn't see their faces. And you didn't recognize the machines."

"No."

She pressed the starter. "When there is evidence that points toward Tikani, I'll go there."

In Chulyin Ike Jefferson was incandescent with rage and treated Kate with something that bordered on contempt. It would have hurt her feelings if she hadn't been so shocked. "Where the hell have you been?" he said. "These guys have pretty much turned the river into a free-fire zone, and you've been where? Because it sure as hell hasn't been anywhere around here!"