“I trust you know how she likes it, Ms. Petroff? And where to buy it?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Then please tell the judge I’ll see her then, and thank you again.”
“You’re welcome, sir.”
Liam grinned at the door. For once in his life and, Liam was certain, entirely without intending to do so, it looked like Barton had done Liam a honking big favor.
Seven
Tuesday, September 3
HE RETURNED FROM LUNCH IN A thoughtful mood and sat in his truck outside the post for a few moments, reviewing the meeting just past. The Blewestown chief was in his mid to late fifties, bulky but not fat, head shaved, dark blue uniform all present and correct. He greeted the waitstaff by name; they in turn called him “Chief” or “Chief Armstrong” and were polite but not friendly.
To Liam, the chief was polite but not genial. When asked, he revealed that he’d lived in Blewestown all his life bar four years in the Marines. He revealed that he was still in the reserves and had seen time in the Sandbox, not a full tour, no, but active service. His parents had been commercial fishermen and he had been a drifter himself and fished across the Bay when his off time coincided with an opener. He was divorced with two children, both out of college, one an LPN at the local hospital, the other a biologist with the Alaska Department of Fish and Game in Anchorage.
“You’re out of uniform,” he said before Liam’s butt had even hit the seat of his chair.
“It’s being shipped,” Liam said, and tried not to feel annoyed.
Armstrong answered Liam’s questions directly, usually in simple declarative sentences. He didn’t ask the same questions of Liam. Either he didn’t care or he already knew, probably the latter. Liam was just a tad notorious in Alaska law enforcement, but Armstrong made only one remark that acknowledged that. “I followed the Gheen case.”
Liam waited.
“I’m acquainted with Nina Stewart’s family.”
It took Liam a moment to remember. Nina Stewart had been Rebecca Hanover’s staunch best friend. “I remember her on the news.”
“Yeah, you don’t fuck with Nina.” Without changing expression or added emphasis, Armstrong said, “You should have killed the son of a bitch.”
Liam swallowed the rage that rose every time someone said that to him. Many had. “I’m a state trooper, not an executioner.”
The air cooled even further. Lunch arrived—okay burgers and soggy fries—and they ate without commentary. Afterward, Armstrong worked a toothpick around his teeth and said, “We haven’t had a trooper assigned here for decades. Usually your people are dispatched out of Soldotna. If we need them.”
The implication being they didn’t. Liam had wondered if he was about to be handed his hat and shown the door, metaphorically at least, and waited warily. Usually local law enforcement in Alaska was ecstatic for any kind of help, but Blewestown was on the road system and one of the state’s larger communities, which bred a larger and more autonomous police department, mostly because it was easier to get help. It took something extra to live and work in the Bush; it took nothing extra to live and work on the road system. “I’m aware,” he said.
The chief nodded. “Our area of responsibility only extends to the city limits. You, on the other hand, are responsible for everything that happens on the other side of those limits.”
“Well.” Liam tried a smile. “Not everything, I hope.”
The chief did not smile back. “There are three Old Believer villages. They’re pretty self-sufficient. They almost never call in. But there are an awful lot of people living out in the boonies who could use a little attention.”
“I am aware,” Liam said again.
“You’ll need a four-wheeler.”
“I’m told I’ll have one, and a pickup with four-wheel drive.”
The chief nodded. “A plane?”
“I don’t fly.”
“You’ll need a pilot on call then.” He jerked his head toward the view of the other side of the Bay, visible outside the window they were sitting next to. “Those folks generally keep themselves to themselves but they do need help on occasion.”
Please god not too often, Liam thought.
“We should exchange phone numbers,” the chief said. They did, and the chief picked up his hat.
Liam stood up with him. “Any ongoing cases of which I should be aware?”
The chief pulled on his cap. “Nothing to speak of.”
Liam had followed him outside and watched him drive away.
Very odd, he thought now, tapping the steering wheel. He’d spent the morning looking at detachment dispatches, the files Barton had left him on a Google Drive file password-protected to the level of Defcon 5, and a map he could zoom into of the lower Kenai Peninsula. There were plenty of hot spots. If it had been him, he would have welcomed the help instead of actively distancing himself from it. “Was it something I said?” he said out loud.
Someone tapped at his window in time with his own fingers tapping on the steering wheel. He jumped, and turned his head.
Standing on the other side of the driver’s door was the tiniest, oldest woman he’d ever seen in his life.
She was also naked.
She smiled at him, looking as if she might sprout wings at any moment (and certainly there was nothing in the way to preclude that) and said something he couldn’t hear. He rolled down the window. “I beg your pardon, ma’am?” he said, because it was the first thing that leaped to mind.
She smiled even more seraphically. “I knew just by looking at you that you would have good manners.” She sniffed. “Or any manners at all. I wonder, could you give me a ride to Barney’s? I’m going to be late for my first set, and Elmer gets so upset when that happens.”
“Sure thing, ma’am.” He groped for the jacket on the seat next to him.
He managed to talk her into his jacket, which reached her shins, and from there into the office. To oblige him she agreed to enthrone herself on one of
