He couldn’t believe she’d talked him back into the plane.
He couldn’t believe the plane had actually made it back into the air. He couldn’t believe it had actually managed to stay in the air over the river to Newenham. Most of all, he couldn’t believe it had brought them safely back to earth, rolling out down the length of the one runway the Mad Trapper Memorial Airport boasted with the engine vibrating like a three-legged washing machine.
He especially couldn’t believe it when she kicked an abrupt right rudder and they swung off the runway before they’d reached what he would have considered a safe taxi speed. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I don’t want anyone to see us. I got enough problems without filling out forms in quintuplicate for the goddamn FAA.”
He bit his tongue as they narrowly missed a Beaver tied down at the end of a row of small planes, swung in behind it and taxied briskly down to Wy’s shed.
When she killed the engine he sat there for a moment, staring at the sign nailed to the top of the shed.NUSHUGAK AIR TAXI SERVICE, and Wy’s phone number, beneath which new paint added in smaller letters,WWW.NUAIRTAXI.COM. He felt he’d never really looked at it before, noticed the brightness of the colors, even in the dark, the inventiveness in the arrangement of the words, the sheer artistry in the lettering.
In fact the whole night felt pretty damn good to him. He stretched out his legs and touched the rudder pedals. “What do these do again?”
“They push the rudder back and forth. Liam, don’t-”
“And what does the rudder do, exactly?”
“The force of the wind against the rudder pushes the plane in the direction you want it to go,” she said, dumbing it down for her audience.
“You’re so cute when you’re playing teacher.” He grabbed Wy and kissed her, hard. Since she was halfway out of her harness, this proved awkward, but doable.
“Whew!” she said, emerging. “What was that for?”
“General principles,” he said, and grabbed her again.
She squirmed. “We’ve got a perfectly good bed at home.”
“It’s a twin.”
“It’s a bed.”
“I’ve always wanted to lay you in a plane.”
“Don’t con me, Campbell; the only thing you’ve ever wanted to do in a plane is get out of it.”
He was fumbling at the buttons on her shirt. “We’re on the ground. Against all odds, against any realistic expectation, we were shot out of the sky and we made it home alive and in one piece. Gimme.”
She giggled. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard her giggle, if ever. They were always so everlastingly serious about everything. “I wanna have some fun,” he said. “I want you to have some fun. Come on, Wy.” There wasn’t a lot of room and the damn yoke kept getting in the way. He finally found the lever that pushed the seat back. It gave suddenly and his seat slid back with a bang. She was half-on and half-off his lap, half-dressed and half-not, and she was laughing so hard that she was no help at all.
“Shit.” He rested his forehead on hers. “What am I going to do with this?”
“No point in wasting it,” she said. In some fashion best known to pilots she managed to eel backward down into the rudder well, and he forgot the world.
“Oh, yeah,” he said lazily, a little later. “That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but it’ll do. I owe you.”
She snickered, buttoning her shirt up cockeyed. “You’ll pay, Campbell. Oh, yeah, you’ll pay. Come on, let’s get out of this bucket and go home.”
“I’ve got to check in,” he said.
“Why?” She almost wailed it.
He stepped from the Cessna and snatched her up into a comprehensive embrace. “Because it’s what I do. Come on.”
They drove to the post in the Blazer, and if the state of Alaska had been peering in the windows it would have been shocked at the behavior going on in the front seat of this vehicle, purchased and maintained for the purpose of enforcing the law and apprehending the violators thereof. Once Liam pulled off and for a few breathless moments Wy feared that they were going to do something Liam could arrest them for. A little farther down the road he drove into the ditch, churned through the snow, uprooted a birch and a couple of alders, and skidded back up on the road. “Keep your hands to yourself next time,” he said severely.
The post, not surprisingly, was empty, since it was nearly four o’clock. “Five minutes,” Liam said, giving Wy a brief, fierce kiss.
Inside, he found Prince’s notes in the computer and scrolled through them. The stuff on Karen was interesting. Mad about something in the will, was she? Something Betsy and Jerry and Stan Jr. got that she wanted? Something even loser Jerry noticed she wanted? Badly enough to confront one of them for it? Bad enough to start a fight over it, and lose?
And no visible means of support and a paid-up mortgage, or what looked like one. Although the Visa bill was odd.
The most likely scenario was that the person who had killed Lydia had killed Karen. Lydia had died of a blow to the head suffered in a struggle that could likely have begun without murderous intent, according to Brillo Pad. Lydia’s death could have been involuntary manslaughter, not murder.
Karen’s death was murder, though. He thought again of her body’s outline on the kitchen floor. A murder that had been made to look as if it had been done by someone caught in the act of robbing the house. Thereby suggesting a stranger. Which, ergo, suggested no such thing.
He sat down at his desk and pulled a sheet of paper from the printer. He penciled a square in the center and labeled itLydia. He penciled another square just below it, labeled itKaren and connected the two with a line. He made three other squares and labeled themBetsy, Stan Jr. andJerry, and connected them to Lydia and to Karen.
In the upper right-hand corner he made another square and labeled itthe boyfriend and connected it to Lydia.
The boyfriend hadn’t come forward. Could be scared. Could be guilty. Could be nonexistent; witnesses had been wrong before, and Sharon hadn’t seen the boyfriend, only his flowers. Or flowers Lydia said had come from him. Had Prince tracked down those flowers yet? He found a note in the file. She’d called Alaska Airlines Goldstreak; they hadn’t gotten back to her.
He made another box and labeled itblackmailer? and connected it to Karen. Karen lived a pretty high and free lifestyle, according to just about everyone. So far as he could tell, he was the only functional male in the bay who hadn’t slept with her. Ripe for blackmail. Look at that Visa bill, at total odds with the paid-up mortgage and bills. If she had money, and it wasn’t going to pay her Visa bill, where was it going? Except then there was the bank account, a very healthy ten grand. And why would her blackmailer kill her, thereby killing his cash cow? And it wasn’t like she tried to hide what she did, and she didn’t have anyone to hide it from, no husband, no children, and her family didn’t seem to care one way or the other.
Odd, that. Lydia was Yupik, at least part, and the Yupik had some of the strongest cultural ties to family that Liam had ever seen. The Three Musketeers could take lessons; it really was all for one and one for all on the Yukon-Kuskokwim River delta. Still, there were dysfunctional families of every race, color and creed. And the Tompkinses weren’t dysfunctional, exactly, just not that close. It wasn’t a sin, it wasn’t all that unusual, and it certainly wasn’t a crime.
He looked at Lydia’s chair, and remembered what Clarence had said over the chessboard.That girl had boys buzzing around like mosquitoes, wanting to suck that juicy little thing dry.
He tried to imagine a teenage Clarence, and failed. He tried to imagine a teenage Lydia, and was more successful. Stan Tompkins Sr. must have been one hell of a guy to come out ahead of the bunch chasing Lydia. She was seventy-four when she had died, which meant she would have been a teenager during World War II. He doodled some numbers. She would have been born in 1926. A kindergartner in 1931, sweet sixteen in 1941, able to vote in 1946.
“Liam?” He looked up and saw Wy yawning in the doorway. “I must have dozed off,” she said. “What are you doing?”
“Oh, hell, Wy, I’m sorry,” he said, shoving the grid to one side and standing up. “I started doodling and I lost track of time.”
“It’s okay.” She slid into his lap and tucked her head beneath his chin. Her firm, soft weight felt very sweet. She looked down at the grid. “Oh, you’re doing that square thing you do.” She pulled it toward her. “Lydia was born in 1926? God. I wonder what the world was like then. About all I know is they couldn’t use boats with engines to fish for salmon on Bristol Bay. Plus we were a territory, not a state.”
He stared down at the grid, something tickling at the back of his brain, something he ought to be seeing.
Wy stirred. “She was born in Newenham, right?”
“Yeah. It’s on her birth certificate.”
“She has a birth certificate?”
“Why wouldn’t she?”
“A lot of people her age who were born in the Bush don’t have birth certificates. No hospitals and damn few doctors back then. It’s hard for Native elders to get social security sometimes because they can’t prove they were born in the U.S.” Her finger traced the line to the box where he had written Lydia’s milestone dates. “Sixteen in 1941. Wasn’t that the year that C-47 augered into Carryall Mountain?”
He stared at the top of her head.
“I was wondering if you could have seen the crash from town,” she said. “It isn’t that far away, and if it was a clear night…”
“I need to get a new job,” he said.
“What?” She blinked up at him, soft-eyed and sleepy.
“Filing at City Hall ought to be just about my speed.”
“Liam-”
“I love you,” he said, and kissed her hard.
She blinked. “Okay.”
“No, I mean it, I love you, but it’s just that right now I love you because you have the one working brain between us.” All thoughts of sleep vanished and he dumped her unceremoniously off his lap and pulled a fresh sheet of paper to him. “Look.” He drew a grid this time, and put a list of dates down one side. “Lydia was sixteen in 1941. On the night of December twentieth, 1941, a C-47 crashes into Carryall Mountain. Suppose it was clear enough between here and there to see the crash? What would you do if you saw something like that?”
She leaned against the desk, crossing her arms and hugging them to her. “I’d go look.”
“You bet your ass you would. Maybe you went looking to aid survivors, maybe you went just to see what you could see, but you would go look, and so would anyone else who saw it happen.”
“I’m sorry, what does this have to do with Lydia?”
“Wy. The wreck is found one day, and the next day Lydia is murdered in her own kitchen, with no signs of forcible entry, which means she most probably knew her attacker. And in Newenham, that could be someone she has known a long time. I was just talking to Clarence down to the bar and he has some very fond memories of Lydia in high school. So did Moses. I wonder who else did?”
“I am really, really tired,” Wy said. “You’re going to have to explain better than that.”
“Okay, try this on for size. It’s December twentieth, 1941. Nineteen forty-one, hell, I didn’t even think of that! Pearl Harbor was attacked ten days before. We were at war, and Alaska was way too close to Japan. They practically started building the Alaska Highway the next day.”
“I still-”
“Think a minute!” He actually gave her a little shake. “The attack had been ten days before, and it was so kick-ass that the military from Nome to San Diego was expecting an invasion at practically any moment. They would have alerted every American coastal community on the Pacific Ocean to be on the watch.”
“So, if somebody saw the C-47 go into the mountain, they might have thought it was the beginning of an invasion?”
“Why not? The blood wasn’t dry from Pearl. Midway hadn’t happened yet, and Japan looked invincible. So say a guy was out with a girl-Clarence told me the big deal was to get hold of a truck and drive your girl and your friends and their girls to Icky and have an all-day party on the beach at One Lake. That’s forty miles closer to Carryall Mountain and Bear Glacier.”
“An all-day party on the beach at One Lake,” she said, considering. “I hate to rain all over your parade, Liam, but I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“It was December.”
“Oh. Oh. Well, hell. Okay, maybe not. Damn it.” He couldn’t stand it; he had to pace. He rose to his feet and began to quarter the office. “Okay, then they saw it from Newenham.”
“Liam, I’m willing to stipulate that they saw the plane go in. They weren’t that long out of Nome and they were probably pretty heavy with fuel, so it probably went off with one hell of a bang. I just don’t know,” she said pointedly, “what all this has to do with Lydia.”
“If I’m right, it has everything to do with Lydia. Listen, Wy.” He sat down again and pulled a third sheet of paper toward him. “Here is Lydia, sweet sixteen, out on a date with one of her many swains.” He drew two boxes, one Lydia, one swain. “It’s evening-what did they say; they think the plane went in around midnight. Maybe they’re parking and making out.”
“Did they make out in 1941?”
“Thenboom! and fire on the mountain. They’re curious, so they go take a look. The plane is a total loss, but something has been thrown clear.”
“What?”
He looked at her. “Gold.”
She snapped her fingers. “The coin!”
“What if there were more of them?” He drew another square and put all Lydia’s kids inside it. “One thing that’s been bothering me, all the Tompkinses have enough money not to work. I know the bay used to be a bonanza for salmon fishermen, but I don’t see anyone else in Newenham with a lifestyle like theirs. Most of the old-timers, their houses are paid off and some of them their boats, but they’re still out there hustling for anything with fins that swims into range. Lydia, yes, I could understand her being provided for, but the kids, too, and so well? Well, what if the money came from Lydia, not Stan Sr.? What if it came from what she and her date found at the crash site?”
“She could have gone up there alone.”
“Then she’d still be alive.” He sat back. “And then, sixty years later, the wreck resurfaces. I bring the arm to Bill’s and everybody sees the coin.”
Wy was still puzzled. “I still don’t understand. Why was Lydia killed?”
He was sitting in Lydia’s chair, and he thought of her again as he had seen her the evening he met her, feisty, strong, independent, with a bawdy eye and a fearless spirit. “Maybe she wanted to tell the truth, that they’d stolen the gold from the crash site. Maybe he didn’t want her to.”
“Who, Liam? Do you know who?”
He looked down at the sheet of paper, and traced over the outline of the box markedswain.
“Yes,” he said.