A Hard Case Page 10
I sat in the shade of the small spruce trees that surrounded the shed. I needed to think, but thinking came hard. My mind still listened for Mary’s voice.
“So, you heard it too?”
I jumped to my feet, ready for fight or flight.
“Helen!”
She appeared out of the shadows, a finger held to her lips. “I saw you walk up here, so I came another way,” she said. “I don’t want anyone to know I’m here. Believe me, even these trees have ears.”
Then she was in my arms with a full-length body press, her face tilting up and her mouth searching for mine. We kissed deeply, and I became aroused thinking not only for the moment, but remembering the previous night. Still connected at the hips, we drew back from each other and I swam in those slit-blue eyes. Finally, I looked down at the rest of her. This time she was dressed casually in a red sweatshirt and blue jeans. The loose fitting top had an advantage to it. No bra. My hand automatically moved up inside the sweatshirt and cupped her breast. She leaned her head against my shoulder.
“I thought you would appreciate that,” she said.
I groaned, my eyes closed at the memory of last night.
“Oh, I do, baby, I do.”
She took a deep breath. “Leo, I have to leave for a few days. I have to go to Anchorage to see about a job this winter.”
My hand continued its roaming. “You sure you have to?”
She nodded on my shoulder and began to tremble.
“Leo . . . what you do to me. Yes, I have to go.”
“Does this mean we’ll be together this winter?” I asked. “I’m only supposed to be here a month you know.”
“I don’t know. Maybe. We’ll see.” She answered. “I’ll get in touch with you when I can. Now, before anybody sees me . . . I must go. Bye, love.”
She was gone. Back into the shadows of the spruce trees. I stood there, wanting and needing. Talk about lust. But, she had called me “love.” That meant something, didn’t it?
I turned and walked back to the shed. I hesitated at its door. Did I want to hear Crazy Mary again? Definitely not. I did need a place to think, that is, if I could get Helen out of my mind. What a woman! I entered the shed’s darkness again; maybe it would reveal more of its secrets. I half-expected to hear or even see Crazy Mary. But if she was there, she was unwilling to show herself. I squatted down on my haunches in an unused corner and tried to think.
To begin, while I had just feelings to go on, intuition told me one John Justus had most likely been killed. There had been no suicide. So who was responsible? Ivan was a real white man hater, but I had to have a lot more than that. Being a hater of white men was no big deal in this country. If Justus was murdered, where was Charlie when it happened? That might be worth looking into, but most likely he had an alibi, otherwise the State Troopers would have picked him up. Maybe the whole village had something to do with it. In a way, since most everybody knew what was going on, that made everybody guilty, right? Even Jean and Jeanette at the post office. I thought they were friends. My little voice told me they might be friends of a sort, but I was not family. A family who had been together for possibly hundreds of years.
There was another aspect to this village. One that may have contributed to Justus’s death—the dig along the river. Were most of the artifacts going to a drug dealer? Was Justus a dealer? After all, he had opted to stay past his scheduled time to leave. I shook my head at all the improbabilities and stood up. My eyes searched the deep shadows of the shed. In my mind, I could still see her that day, skipping and singing her song. “Song, song, hung, hung . . .”
I lifted my hands to my ears. Enough! I had to get out of there! The next moment found me outside of the old building staring back at the open doorway. The memory of Mary faded. I didn’t really want to come here again, but something told me that I would. Even the buildings in this town played their part.
Chapter 12
His eyes were glacier-ice blue, which matched his summer uniform. If there was a picture of what an Alaska State Trooper was supposed to look like then Trooper Wattle was it. One look from those eyes could no doubt send an evildoer scrambling for the hills. I mean the man tried to be friendly, but I wasn’t fooled for a minute. He was there to find something, or anybody.
“You say you took a walk at 2:00 o’clock in the morning?”
That was the third time he had asked that very question. I had already gone through the story of finding Mary entangled in the willows. Either he thought I was hiding something, or else he was really dumb and was all show and no go. I had sat under fire before, so I wasn’t too worried about this surreal showpiece sitting before me. Still, it was interesting how he thought he was maneuvering around me.
He’d already tried the old silence routine of trying to wait me out, but I’d been through that routine in therapy many times. He tried a new angle, a slightly friendlier one.
“What do you think caused Mary’s death?”
I decided to be completely honest. “I don’t know.”
“Oh, come on, an intelligent man like yourself must have some idea,” he said.
“Thank you,” I said, “but I really don’t know. I’ve only been here a short time. Someone will probably say she was on drugs or alcohol, but who knows? Maybe she was running from the same bear I did only he chased her into the water where she drowned.”
He nodded and uncrossed his legs for what must have been the tenth time. I became amused by the thought he might have to go to the john. We were sitting in my room back of the post office. The only facilities, of course, was my red painted can with the yellow flowers. Perhaps it was too feminine for him.
“Do you have anything yet from the autopsy report?” I asked.
He shook his head and crossed his legs. “No, it’s not finished as yet. I happened to be in the area, so I thought I’d stop by.”
He put his pen down and began to drum his fingers on the desk. No doubt he was getting really uncomfortable. As for him “just happening to be in the area . . . ,” that was a laugh. We were a few hundred miles from nowhere. Did he come to just ask about the untimely death of Mary? I wondered. Unfortunately, he had dropped out of the blue unannounced, so I had no time to put the sentinel on the shelf away. I’m sure he saw the bottle but pretended he hadn’t. Perhaps he viewed it as being on federal property and therefore not his worry. Another drumbeat of fingers. Then the big question came. The real reason he was here.
“Have you heard or found out anything new on the postmaster’s death?”
I sat a few seconds and gave him the old eye to the forehead look.
“So that’s it,” I said. “You aren’t here for Mary’s death, are you?”
The ice-blue eyes changed from cold glaciers to friendly skies. Now it was the “gosh-for-shuckens-country-boy look” of, “you caught me.”
He cleared his throat and uncrossed his legs and attempted to smile. “Well, the pressure has been mounting for us to find something that would explain why he committed suicide. The family, you know.”
“Yes,” I murmured, “I see, the family. Does this mean you are going to spend some time around here?”
His fingers stopped drumming and he got up and walked around the room, no doubt to relieve his discomfort. This time he stopped and made a point of staring at the bottle.
“No, we’ve already made our official investigation. It was an apparent suicide, but his family . . .”
“Thinks he was too good a person or whatever to have done this?” I asked.
“Yes, something like that.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know. I suppose he could have been involved in the drug scene. Maybe he wanted too much for keeping his mouth shut. Was his autopsy clean?”
The friendly skies returned to glacier blue. “That’s not for you to know.”
“Oh, come on now, I’ve been asked by my boss to keep my ear to the ground about this death. My life could be in danger and you can’t tell me?”
“Sorry, but I can’t say.”
For some reason I believed him. He may have been a regular jerk, but like me, he was caught in what for him was a political mess. His career might even be on the line. I almost felt sorry for him. Careful, I told myself, or soon you’ll be reaching for a handkerchief.
“Well, I have nothing new to add. As I’ve said before, I’m like you, a white man from the big city. An outsider.”
He nodded and continued to walk around the room, hands behind his back. His eyes weren’t looking now. He was lost in thought, probably wondering how he was going to word his report. After what must have been a full minute he stopped and sighed.
“I’m afraid I have to go. I have to talk to Charlie about Mary. I would like you to continue to keep your ear to the ground. If you hear anything let me know. We’re aware, of course, of the drug problems here. In fact, there may be a drug bust coming.”
He turned and looked me in the eye, the full intensity of his ice-blue eyes turned on. I had a feeling he was letting me know I had better not get mixed up in the local drug scene. I looked back at his forehead until he looked away, satisfied, I hoped, that I was still innocent. He walked over to the table and carefully put on his Smoky Bear hat, making sure the rear band fit just so around the back of his head. Then came the dark sunglasses. Now he was even more official and he smiled with the look officers have just before they give you a ticket.
“By the way, I was flying over the river and saw a bunch of people doing something along there. Have any idea what they’re doing?”
“Search me,” I answered as deadpan as I could. “Maybe they were rigging up a fish trap?”
“Yes, perhaps that’s it,” he said.
I stood up and he reached forward to shake hands—to show that we were on the same team. I wasn’t sure we were, but it was a sleeping dog I would leave alone.
“Have a safe flight back,” I offered.
“Thanks, I will,” he said. And with that he was off with his five-feet, eight-inches carrying all the dignity of his office. Most likely, his eyes were already roving, looking for those evildoers. I smiled at this thought. But only a small one. His image was necessary. Call it a personal shield, or what you will. He was law and order.
I escorted him out the front door and in doing so saw the old man at his usual station by the stove. After giving a final wave I turned back to see if the old boy was asleep. That was a silly presumption on my part, for as soon as I did his head jerked up.
“What did he want?”
It was a command and I had better report all the details. Ordinarily I would have given him a roundabout answer, a mumble-jumble of some kind. But he may have saved my life along the river dig that day not so long ago, so command or not, I decided to be as truthful as I could.
“He asked about Mary, and how I thought she died. I told him I didn’t know. Maybe drugs, maybe she was running from the same bear I was. Evidently, he doesn’t have the autopsy report back as yet. Oh, yeah, he asked about all those people along the river.”
The old man nodded once and stared down at his hands, the CEO coming to a decision. “And the postmaster?” He asked softly.
I sighed and turned away to look out the front window. I should have known he would ask and because of the situation I was in, I had to tell most of the truth. The old man was a cornerstone of my existence here in the village.
“Yeah, he asked about the postmaster, wanted to know if I had heard anything more about his death. His family is influential in federal politics. They think he was murdered.”
I turned to look at him. He was still looking at his hands now shaped in a pyramid before his face. He slowly shook his head. “Why won’t they believe us and leave us alone?”
I shook my head in return. “Because people don’t like to believe their loved ones are hurting so bad they want to kill themselves. Evidently, this John Justus, was a bit of an asshole. Because they knew that from previous experiences, they think he had to have been murdered, that maybe suicide was simply not in his makeup.”
The old man snorted. “Huh, he killed himself.”
“Well,” I said, “I don’t know how you’re going to prove it. Maybe a witness or two, who can pass a lie-detector test, I don’t know. I do know I wish I wasn’t here right now. I came here to be a simple postmaster. Instead I find myself in the middle of something I know little to nothing about. I don’t know you or your people. I thought I did, but I don’t.”
I stopped talking. I was revealing too much about my inner feelings. The old man was now calmly lighting his pipe. He put the match out and regarded me with what I took to be a friendly look for a few seconds through the smoke now curling upward. I waited on him to speak, but he once again became the drugstore Indian, and I knew I would wait until the polar ice cap melted before he said another word. After a few seconds of silence, his eyes moved from me back to staring at the woodwork. His mind was locked, I presumed, on the many twists and turns his people might take. Since there was obviously nothing more for me, I decided to go back to doing something I knew about—moving people’s mail.
Chapter 13
I slammed the phone down. Damn Fred, anyway. I turned and stared at the half empty bottle on the shelf. It was the last one. The vodka bottles were long gone. I hadn’t been here two weeks and things were starting to look pretty damn bleak. Fred was an acquaintance of mine at one of the supermarket chains in Anchorage. I had hoped I could count on him to slip in a case or at least a few bottles of “Old Jack” into a food pallet destined for the village. It shouldn’t have been a big deal. Happens all the time, but Fred had just gotten a promotion and smelled big times ahead.
“Sorry, Leo, but you understand. I got a wife and kids at home. I can’t jeopardize my career.”
It was useless to argue. He wasn’t going to do it and me calling up old Nam experiences wasn’t going to make him.
“Leo, Nam was a long time ago.”
Like hell it was. But, I let him go. Funny, what age can do to some people. I looked away from the shelf and its occupant and swallowed hard. Much as I didn’t want to, there was only one thing to do. Never mind what the village thought or the boss for that matter, I had to make a fast trip to Anchorage. I could say an emergency had come up with family or something. The boss would know it was a crock, but the village wouldn’t. Besides, it would be on my nickel, right? I could do what I wanted in my spare time. My mind was made up, I would leave Friday on the mail plane. The two women could handle the mail. To hell with what they thought. I was the boss, right? Damn right.
It turned out to be easier than I thought. I helped the two women empty the mail plane; in silence of course. Seemed like I was still on their down list. I then dug out my R.O.N. kit and told them I would be back Monday. It gave me pleasure to see their mouths drop open. I looked at Jeanette and handed her my business card.
“Jeanette, you’re in charge. If you run into trouble, call this number. I’ll check for messages from time to time. Any questions?”
She gave me a hard look.
“No, sir.”
“Good, see you Monday. Bye, bye.”
There was no answer. I climbed on the wing and took the empty seat. I didn’t look back as the plane lifted into a dark, cloud-filled sky.
* * *
It was a late soft summer evening by the time I got off the plane in Anchorage. Soft, late summer evenings, especially warm ones, doesn’t often happen in Anchorage. Usually in late summer, it’s raining or misting and foggy. But not tonight, it was 65 degrees!
During the cab ride to my apartment, I could see the streets were busy, reflecting how people felt about warm nights and TGIF. I could barely wait for the cab to pull up at my address. For one thing, I needed a drink. There was that desperate hope I had a bottle stowed somewhere, but oddly enough, I couldn’t remember where. Free of the cab and
its talkative driver, I bounded up the stairs like a kid of twenty. I do this because it makes me think I’m still in shape.
Once inside the apartment, I threw my R.O.N. kit on the sofa and prowled the place making sure everything was okay and hoping there might be a dash of booze somewhere. Of course, there wasn’t any—my foolish hope. That meant I was going to have to go out on the town. Too bad. Ha, ha.
Fifteen minutes later found me in my car making like a love-struck elephant for Fourth Avenue. That’s where the booze and bars were, and maybe some action. No, I’m not talking about a woman, because I had mine. Nope, I’m talking about life and conversation with strangers in a lonely bar. I needed to talk, and who else is there but a stranger in a bar? Somebody who can give their full undivided attention, but in a day or two won’t remember much about you or the conversation. The bar was my church, the barstool my pew, and the shelves of liquor behind the bar my holy of holies.
Ten minutes later, I was in my church mingling with the congregation. Watching, listening to the mixed working-class crowd of whites and natives. Some were drunk, some were sober, but it didn’t matter. It was the sights and sounds I was after and the taste of bourbon sliding down my parched throat.
Two quick doubles later and I was temporarily satisfied. Now I could look into the bar’s mirror, to hear and see what the congregation was singing. Was it ever singing! The noise was deafening! Drunks of every color were doing their best to out-talk the other. I loved it. I sipped slowly on my third drink, taking time to enjoy it for I was in communion now with my kind of people.
“Hello, honey, where you been all my life?”
Still facing the holy of holies, I made a quick side-glance out of my eyes. What I saw did not inspire me. It was Mrs. Housewife out on the town. Maybe her husband had done her wrong or the kids had driven her over the edge. I didn’t know. I did know I wasn’t looking for the kind of action she was. I turned on my stool, gave her a hard look and growled.