22

The cell phone chirped loudly on the bedside table. Kane groped around, snared it on his third pass, and put it to his ear. It chirped again. Sighing, he opened the phone and mumbled. No one answered. He peered at the phone. He was holding it upside down. He righted it and barked a hello.

“Rough night, Sergeant Kane?” Mrs. Richard Foster asked cheerfully.

“Lemme callya back,” he said. “Twenny minutes.”

He closed the phone, set it back on the table, and surged to an upright position, legs over the side of the mattress, feet on the floor. He peered at the clock. Seven A.M. He hadn’t gotten loose from Crawford until after eleven, and then, for some reason, hadn’t been able to get to sleep. He’d tossed and turned and thought about the case, his life, and how much he wanted a beer. Just one beer. Several times he’d been about to jump out of bed and head to the bar, but managed to convince himself to stay put. But with all that, it had been about 2 A.M. before he fell into a fitful sleep full of bizarre, awful, sexually charged dreams. He was grateful that he couldn’t remember any of the details. But the memory of the feelings the dreams had fathered lingered on as an ache beneath his ribs, imprinted on his heart like the aftermath of a charley horse burned into a muscle.

Kane walked into the bathroom, turned the cold water on full blast, flipped the selector, and stuck his head under the torrent that raced from the shower. The frigid water snapped him awake. He held his head under the water for as long as he could stand it and emerged blowing and shaking like a seal hauling out. He adjusted the temperature, showered, and sat on the bed in his underwear. He wanted to dress and find a cup of coffee, several cups in fact, but didn’t have the time. He arranged his pillows, lay down, picked up his cell phone, and dialed his employer.

“What can I do for you, Mrs. Foster?” he asked.

“You didn’t call yesterday,” she said.

“You’re right,” he said. “Sorry. Things got a little complicated.”

“They got a little complicated here, too,” she said. Anger crackled in her voice. “I got a call from Governor Hiram Putnam last night. An abusive, threatening call, about my involvement with Senator Hope’s defense.”

Ah, crud, Kane thought.

“I told his guy, Blair, that you’d hired me,” Kane said. “I guess I should have warned you about that. He had information I needed, and the only way to get it was to trade.”

“Trade?” she said, her voice rising. “You traded my privacy, even after I specifically told you I don’t want anyone to know about my involvement?”

Kane let the silence string out, then said in a mild voice, “I’m sorry if you’ve been inconvenienced. But you hired me to help Senator Hope, and that’s what I’m doing, the best way I know how.”

“I don’t see how telling—” the woman began, but Kane overrode her.

“You don’t have to see,” he said. “You hired me, you didn’t buy me. You can fire me, and all you’ll be out is some expenses. But you don’t get to tell me how to do my job, and you certainly don’t get to second-guess me. Those are the terms. You decide.”

This time Kane let the silence lie there until the woman said, “All right, we’ll do this your way. For now. Do you object to telling me what’s been going on?”

“Not at all,” Kane said, and recounted the previous day’s events, leaving out his disastrous dinner with Dylan and ending with his session with Crawford after the body had been removed from the Capitol parking lot.

“Men with guns?” she said when he’d finished. “A dead cat? Who would kill a cat to make a point? That’s so childish.”

Kane said nothing and, after a few moments, she continued, “The cleaner thing is interesting. Icky, but interesting. Any ideas about it?”

They discussed the question for a few minutes without really getting anywhere. Then the woman said, “Did you learn anything from the Juneau detective about the second death?”

“Nope,” Kane said, “except that he’s sure it will be taken out of his hands, too, and given to the troopers, on the grounds that it might be related to the Melinda Foxx murder.”

“Do you think it is?” she asked.

“Two deaths in the same office in a week?” Kane said. “I think there’s a good chance they’re related somehow.”

“But couldn’t this latest death be an accident?” she said.

“It could,” Kane said. “It was Stansfield’s habit to go out onto the fire escape to smoke, and I know firsthand that metal stairs were slippery last night. But until there’s conclusive evidence his fall was an accident, I’m going to proceed as if it weren’t, and that it’s related to the first murder, and I expect the authorities are, too.”

The woman started to speak, but Kane went on, “If I’m going to get anywhere on any of this, the first thing I need is cooperation from Matthew Hope. Have you spoken to him?”

“I haven’t,” the woman said, “but I will. I’m not sure that I can convince him to talk to you. But I’ll try.”

“Please try soon,” Kane said. “Right now would be good.”

“All right,” she said. “The moment we hang up, I’ll call Senator Hope.” She hesitated, then continued, “I’m sorry if I lost my temper. It’s just that…tomorrow is the anniversary of my husband’s death, and I miss him so. And it’s so wrong that a good man like Matthew Hope is in trouble. And listening to that sleazeball Putnam threatening me, I got angry, really angry. I felt like sending Winthrop down there to see him.”

“If you do, let me know,” Kane said. “I’d like to watch.” He paused, then resumed, “I’ll make a real effort to keep in better touch.”

“Please do,” the woman said and hung up.

Kane spent a moment speculating about his employer’s motives. She seemed far more concerned about Matthew Hope than an interest in politics might justify. But then, politics were a lot more compelling for some people than for others.

Maybe if I understood the attraction, I’d be doing better on this case, he thought. As it is, I’m just stumbling around, as uncertain in the investigation as I am on the ice.

He closed his eyes for a moment and, when he bolted upright in the bed again, the clock read 11:30 A.M.

Aw, crap, he thought. He dressed and hurried to what he now thought of as his coffee shop for breakfast.

He was just swallowing his last bite of bagel when his cell phone rang again.

“Mr. Kane?” a man said. “This is Matthew Hope. I’m at my office in the Capitol. How would you like to go for a walk?”

“That’d be fine with me,” Kane said. “Are we walking far?”

“Just around a trail they call the Flume,” Hope said, “but dress warm.”

“In that case,” Kane said, “I’ll have to go back to my hotel and put on more clothes. Say, half an hour?”

“Fine,” Hope said. “Just come up to my office when you get here.”

Kane got another cup of coffee to go and walked back to the hotel. In his room, he stripped off his clothes and put on lightweight polypropylene long underwear. He put jeans and a flannel shirt on top of that, then covered his feet in a pair of polypropylene hiking socks. He really needed better shoes, but with the ice grippers they’d probably do. He put a wool hat in one coat pocket and gloves in another. He was halfway out the door when he stopped, went back into the room, and removed his coat. He threaded the holster onto his belt so that it rode on his left hip. He retrieved the automatic from the towel and clipped it into the holster. Then he put his coat back on and left the room.

The steps of the Capitol were crowded again, and another man was giving another speech. Kane recognized him as the cadaverous-looking man who had been talking with the Potters at the Defenders of Alaska Families reception. His speech was full of derogatory comments about gays and “the servants of the devil who helped them in the legislature.”

One part of his audience was carrying antigay signs and applauded every time he stopped to take a breath. Another, smaller group held signs supporting equal rights and greeted the speaker’s rhetorical sallies with boos and catcalls. A half-dozen Juneau police officers stood between the two groups. Dylan, Samantha, and Alma Atwood stood a little apart from the second group, watching the proceedings. They were talking to one another and laughing. A big band of reporters was off to one side, filming and taking notes.

Hoping for a riot, Kane thought. Make a better story.

The whole assemblage had the entry to the Capitol thoroughly plugged, so Kane waited until the speaker had finished. A man carrying a Bible came forward to lead the protesters in a long prayer full of references to the Old Testament. The counterprotesters tried to drown him out by singing “We Shall Overcome,” but they didn’t have a sound system and didn’t seem to know the words very well.

The prayer ended and the crowd began to break up. There were isolated scuffles, but the police dealt with them swiftly. Kane mounted the stairs to the Capitol. As he reached the entryway, the cadaverous man reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Friend,” he intoned, “why are you encouraging evil?”

The reporters who had pressed close to interview the man shifted their attention to Kane.

“Friend,” he said, his voice hard, “take your hand off my shoulder.”

“You threaten me?” the cadaverous man said. “As the Sodomites threatened Lot and his visitors? I warn you, they were struck blind for their evil.”

Kane reached over, grabbed the man’s wrist, and pulled his hand away.

“A guy who is trying to incite ill feeling toward gay people really shouldn’t be pawing another man in public,” he said, and started into the building.

Somebody in the clutch of reporters tittered. The cadaverous man started screaming, “We know who you are. We know that violence is your way. Be careful lest righteous violence overwhelm you.”

Kane stopped and walked back to the cadaverous man.

“Who are you?” he asked.

The cadaverous man didn’t reply.

“He’s Jimmy Joe Carlisle,” one of the reporters said, “the executive director of Defenders of Alaska Families.”

“Well, Mr. Carlisle,” Kane said, “perhaps if you were more comfortable with your sexuality, you wouldn’t be trying to make trouble for your fellow citizens.”

Carlisle started ranting again. Ignoring him, Kane walked into the building, past an excited-looking security guard, and into the elevator. He punched the button for the fourth floor.

I guess they never search anybody, he thought as the elevator made its slow way upward. You could bring a machine gun in here easy. Might do the state some good with it, too.

Hope’s receptionist looked upset.

“Senator Hope is expecting me,” Kane told her.

“He’s in there now with somebody,” she replied softly. “The troopers.”

Kane thought for a moment and said, “I’m sure he won’t mind if I join them.”

He opened the door to Hope’s inner office and walked through.

A couple of men got to their feet as he entered. They were big men, Kane’s size, and not young.

“What the…” one of the men said.

“Why, if it isn’t my favorite state troopers,” Kane said. “Hello, Sam. What’s it been? A year? A little more. And you, Harry. Still on the job? The shooflies must be asleep at the switch.”

“Look, Kane,” the one he’d called Harry said, taking a step toward him, “get your ass out of here or I’ll throw you out.”

Kane laughed.

“What is it the tough guys say, Harry?” he said. “Don’t let your mouth write any checks your ass can’t cash?”

The other trooper, Sam, stepped between Kane and his partner.

“There’ll be none of that,” he said. “Nik, you know better than to interfere in an investigation.”

“Investigation?” Kane said. “You guys are investigating something? That’d be news to everybody in this building.”

“Hey,” Harry began, but his partner cut him off.

“What’s happened so far means nothing to us,” Sam said. “As of today, we’re investigating the Melinda Foxx murder, and the mysterious death of Ralph Stansfield. We just started this morning.”

“Great,” Kane said. “You don’t mind if I watch, do you? I might pick up a few pointers.”

He started toward an unoccupied chair. Harry stepped into his path.

“Take one more step and I’ll arrest you for obstructing an officer in the performance of his duty,” he said.

Kane gave him a big grin.

“That’s a good one, Harry,” he said. “I’ll have to remember that one.” To Sam, he said, “I don’t see any cuffs on the senator, so you haven’t arrested him. We’re in his office, and he invited me here. I’m certain he won’t talk to you without his lawyer present, anyway. Will you, Senator?”

Hope had been silent, watching the other three men like they were putting on a play.

“No,” Hope said, “I’d just explained that to these gentlemen, and was listening to that one,” he nodded toward Harry, “threaten me with all sorts of awful things if I didn’t answer his questions.”

Kane took another step to put himself nose-to-nose with Harry.

“Harry here was always impetuous,” he said. “And it’s probably getting to be a long time between drinks for him, which would make him jumpy.”

Kane saw the punch coming but made no move to block it. Instead, he hunched his shoulder, tucked his chin, and leaned in. Harry’s fist bounced off the shoulder, then glanced off the side of his head. Stars danced briefly before his eyes. Before either man could move, Sam jumped behind his partner and threw his arms around him.

“That’s enough,” he said, dragging Harry backward. He unlocked his arms, put a hand on Harry’s elbow, and steered him toward the door. “Since the senator here isn’t feeling talkative, we’ll leave.”

“Go get your story straight,” Kane said. “I’ll be filing an assault charge against Harry with your internal affairs office.”

Harry whirled and started toward Kane again but found Sam in his way.

“I’ll kick your ass, Kane,” Harry bellowed. “I’ll mop the floor with you.”

“Aw, Nik,” Sam said over his shoulder as he kept himself between the two men, “there’s no need to be filing charges.”

“Sam,” Kane said, “he hit me without reason. I’ve got you and the senator as witnesses. I figure that Harry gets one more black mark on his jacket and they’ll put him out to pasture, maybe without a pension. That’d suit me just fine. He’s big, dumb, lazy, and mean. He’s everything that’s wrong with the troopers. And he’s a drunk in the bargain.”

Harry made another try to get around his partner. Sam put his hand on Harry’s chest and shoved.

“We’re leaving now,” Sam said, shoving Harry again. “You should think hard about filing that complaint, Nik.”

The two men struggled through the door and were gone. When Kane was sure they wouldn’t be back, he walked over and sat in one of the chairs they vacated.

“What was that all about?” the senator asked him.

“I know those guys,” Kane said. “Known them for years. I solved a case for them, a mine robbery, last year. Sam is a good investigator, probably the best the troopers have got, so they get sent all over the state. But he’s been carrying his partner for years—Harry isn’t a good anything anymore. He’s a disgrace to his badge.”

The senator nodded.

“Why did you provoke him?” he asked.

“Provoke?” Kane said. “Me?”

Hope smiled.

“If you want me to tell you the truth,” he said, “you should tell me the truth.”

“Okay,” Kane said. “I provoked him so that he’d do something stupid. Now that he has, I can use it as leverage in case I need something from those guys. In fact, I’ve already got something in mind.”

“You’d let someone hit you for that?” Hope asked.

“Harry hits like a girl,” Kane said. Then: “You still want to take that walk? It’s too hot in here for the way I’m dressed, especially after doing the mambo with Harry.”

“I do,” Hope said and got to his feet. He pulled a pair of white wind pants over his wool pants, exchanged his slip-on shoes for a pair of lightweight hikers, and took a bright yellow shelled pile jacket from a hook.

“Let’s go,” he said.

The two men walked down the stairs and out a back door into the parking lot. Cars dotted the lot and ribbons of yellow crime-scene tape festooned the fire escape from the Senate Finance offices. They crossed a street and mounted a long flight of stairs past a former grade school that had been converted to offices for the legislative bureaucracy.

“What did the troopers want?” Kane asked as they climbed. For some reason, he found it hard to talk and breathe at the same time.

“They wanted to know where I was last night,” Hope said.

“If you…had…an alibi?” Kane panted.

Hope nodded.

“Do…you?” Kane asked.

Hope shook his head.

“Where…were…you?” Kane asked.

“In my office,” Hope said. “Then at home. Enjoying my freedom. Alone.”

At the top of the stairs, they crossed another street and started up another flight, longer and steeper, that ran between houses. Kane decided to save his breath for climbing. Hope seemed to be doing the same. Their efforts soon brought them to a more level road that led past a few houses, then around the shoulder of a still-higher hill. Ahead lay a seemingly undisturbed valley.

That’s Alaska, Kane thought. One minute city, next minute wilderness.

The sun shone brightly through broken clouds. A light wind cooled them as they walked. They followed the road, then turned off to a path that led over a bridge across a partially frozen creek. They found themselves on a well-traveled trail sandwiched between the creek and a steep hillside. Hope led the way in silence.

“I like a good nature hike as well as the next guy,” Kane said at last, “but I’m here under the impression that you have some things to tell me.”

Hope stopped in the lee of a small stand of spruce, turned, and said, “I’m being advised to tell you about my relationship with Melinda Foxx.” He paused. “But I’m finding it hard to do so.”

Kane unzipped his coat. The heat of the sun had warmed him too much during their walk.

“Why’s that?” Kane asked. “You must have checked by now to see if I’m trustworthy. If you didn’t think I was, we wouldn’t be here.”

A smile flashed across Hope’s face.

“It’s not you,” he said, “at least, not you personally. It’s just that…”

Hope stopped talking for so long that Kane began to fidget.

“I’m just a simple Indian,” Hope said at last. “I have to be careful.”

Kane laughed.

“You can forget that ‘many moons ago my people’ routine,” Kane said. “I’m not buying. You’ve been playing the political game for—what, ten years now? And pretty successfully, too, by all accounts.”

Hope opened his mouth to say something, but Kane continued, “But you’re making a mistake in dealing with me. I don’t care about the politics. I’m here to help you beat this murder charge, as long as you didn’t do it. And as long as you don’t tell me about any other crimes you may have committed, what you tell me stays with me. And even if I was inclined to blab, I’m constrained by attorney-client privilege because I work for your lawyer. So stop playing coy and tell me.”

The two men looked at each other for a handful of minutes.

“Melinda was giving me information,” Hope said. “Information about Senator Potter, about what he was doing.”

“You mean, like, about his shady contracts and illegal campaign contributions?” Kane asked.

Hope nodded.

“Why was she doing that?’ Kane asked.

“I’m not really sure,” Hope said. “She said it was because she believes in good government and what he is doing is wrong.”

“That’s it?” Kane asked. “She was just being a good citizen?”

“That’s what she said,” Hope replied, “but in politics, there’s usually more than one reason that things happen.”

“Do you know what other motivations she might have had?” Kane asked.

Hope shook his head.

“I don’t,” he said.

Kane stood thinking for a while, then asked, “Did you see her the night she was killed?”

“I did not,” Hope said. “She sent me an e-mail saying she’d meet me in our usual meeting place, that she had something important to tell me. But she never arrived. I went looking for her, and that’s how I found her. Her body.”

Kane looked carefully at the other man.

“And that’s it?” he asked. “She was helping you for reasons you don’t know. She had something to tell you, but she never showed up?”

“That’s everything I know,” Hope said.

The faint sound of a human voice made the two men look around. High above them, two people in brightly colored coats moved across the hillside. They seemed to be roped together. Kane couldn’t tell if they were men or women. Or children, for that matter.

“Why haven’t you told anyone about this?” he asked Hope.

“I don’t want anyone to know,” the senator said. “If my colleagues knew I had a spy in another senator’s office, it would cause me a lot of problems.”

Kane shook his head.

“So political decorum is more important than saving your neck?’ he asked.

“It’s more than decorum,” Hope said. “Much of what we do is done on faith, because we believe that someone will do what he or she says. And sometimes two people tell each other things that must be kept quiet, at least for a while. So trust is essential, and me having somebody spy on one of my colleagues is not exactly a trustworthy thing to do.”

“Did it bother you personally?” Kane asked. “Beyond the chance you’d get caught, I mean? Did it cause you moral qualms?”

He let the silence stretch out until he was sure Hope wasn’t going to answer, then said, “Never mind. Did you keep the e-mail?”

Hope shook his head.

“No, I erased it,” he said. “I didn’t want it sitting around where somebody might find it.”

The voice above them grew excited. Kane looked up to see the leading figure stop. Was he kicking at something, or just trying to keep his feet? Suddenly, the spot he was standing on began moving. He scrambled backward. Rocks came loose and bounded down the hillside toward where Kane and Hope stood.

Without a word, Hope pivoted and ran up the trail. Kane was close behind. They could hear the clatter of rocks coming down and the softer, deeper sound of the water-soaked, sun-heated hillside giving way, bringing ice and snow with it. They ran faster. Kane’s pulse pounded in his head and the rasp of his breathing mixed with the sounds of the avalanche. Ahead of him, Hope stumbled, twisted in the air, and came down on his feet like a cat. They ran on. Bits of earth and broken rock pelted them, when, suddenly, they turned a corner and the avalanche was behind them. They ran on another fifty yards or so and Hope fell to his knees. Kane caught a tree branch and stood there on shaky legs, bent over, panting. He could still hear the noise of the avalanche crunching down the hillside.

The noise had stopped by the time they caught their breath. The two men walked unsteadily back and looked around the corner. The trail was buried in dirt, rocks, ice, and snow for what looked like a hundred yards.

“Damn,” Hope said. “Damn. We could have been killed.”

Kane nodded and scanned the hillside. There was no sign of the two figures that had started the avalanche.

He turned to look at Hope. The senator had his head down and was mumbling something that sounded like a prayer of thanks. When he was finished, he looked at the detective.

“Did you see those two men?” he asked. “Are they all right?”

“No sign of them,” Kane said. “Either they’re under all that or they’ve gotten out of sight. Too bad. I’d like to know if that was an accident.”

Hope looked at him in surprise.

“Do you think they might have caused the avalanche on purpose?” he asked. “That they were trying to kill us? That seems a little far-fetched.”

“Far-fetched?” Kane said. He was surprised at the anger in his voice. “Two people are already dead, Senator. This is a serious business. I’d advise you to treat it that way.”

Hope was shaking his head.

“An avalanche as a murder weapon?” he said. “I find that hard to believe.”

Right then, Kane wanted to take the other man by the shoulders and shake him. Instead, he took his cell phone from his pocket. It told him he had no signal.

“Come on,” he said. “We’ve got to hike back to where I can call 911. They’ll have to close the trail, and somebody may want to search for the people who caused this. And if they find them alive, I’ll have a few questions of my own to ask.”