“What can we do you for, Liam?” Donohoe said, but his eyes were wary.
He would rather have interviewed them separately, but the interaction between witnesses could also prove useful. “I’m guessing you’ve heard about Erik Berglund.”
“Yes,” Donohoe said. “Shame.”
“Shame,” Jefferson repeated, equally without conviction.
“Pudgy little fucker,” Houten said, and thumped the end of the diamond willow cane that was holding him up for emphasis. This close Liam could see that the handle had been inlaid with jade, and the striations of the bark were starkly dramatic. It really was a beautiful piece of work. If Liam ever needed a cane he wanted one exactly like that.
Then Houten’s words caught up with him and he blinked, because Erik Berglund had been more lean and hungry than pudgy. “It appears that the last time Mr. Berglund was seen alive was at Gabe McGuire’s party on Monday night. I understand that all three of you were in attendance.”
Everyone waited for someone else to speak first. No one did. “Are any of you aware if Mr. Berglund had any enemies? Anyone he had annoyed at work, for instance?”
Donohoe rolled his eyes, Jefferson maintained his glare, and Houten snorted. “He said he’d quit his job to come home, but if you check I bet you’ll find they fired his ignorant little ass.” Houten’s voice was high and indignant and wavery in a way that Jefferson’s was not.
“There was almost no one in the Bay area that Erik hadn’t made an enemy of,” Donohoe said.
“Including yourself, Mr. Donohoe?”
“It’s Aiden, Liam, and sure, I was pissed off at him. Have you seen RPetCo’s rig parked up the Bay?”
“Yes.”
“We’ve got a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to build a resource extraction industry in the Bay that will provide hundreds of jobs, which is not a small deal for a community our size. And if they actually find oil that could be thousands of jobs, direct and support, for decades. And then along comes goddamn Erik Berglund, insisting with literally zero proof that the Bay should be declared off limits to resource extraction of any kind at least until he can prove his thesis. For what? An old trail that might or might not have existed that isn’t even in use now?”
“I did see some of the artifacts he had discovered,” Liam said.
With obvious patience Donohoe said, “We all saw them, Liam, including Hilary here, who has a lot more time on the job than Erik had, and Hilary says they don’t date back more than a century.”
“Mr. Houten?”
“Two at the most,” Houten said in his high, quavering voice, “but that’s pushing it beyond the bounds of scientific credibility. We argued about it. He laughed at me.” It was clear that the memory stung.
Liam, whose experience with science was more along the lines of crime scene investigations, didn’t know enough to argue with Houten. “The night of the party,” he said, “did Erik have any arguments with any of the other guests? A quarrel loud enough to draw attention?”
“Come on, boy,” Jefferson said. He looked older than Houten and sounded younger, his voice deeper and steadier. “There was almost no one at the party that didn’t have a beef with Erik. Boy might not have known his bones but he did know how to make enemies. Including the host.” His stare was challenging.
“You mean about vacating the right of way that led to the beach and Mr. Berglund’s dig? Yes, Mr. McGuire told me about that.”
“Hah! I’ll just bet he did. Those Outside slickers got every base covered and all the money in the world to pay for ’em.”
“You don’t think I should believe him?”
“Don’t put words in my mouth, boy. Where’d you say you were from, anyway?”
“I didn’t, sir, but Newenham, most recently.”
“Hah! You born in Alaska?”
It was a question an Alaskan old fart always asked, always at the beginning of any acquaintance. Alaska old farts could and would bury you with time served. Even if you had been born in Alaska, they could always trump you by having been born in the Territory, with chapter and verse on statehood and how they didn’t vote for it, although let the record show that in 1958 Alaskans did vote for statehood six to one. “No, sir, I was born in Germany. We didn’t move here until I was two years old.”
“Army brat?”
“Air Force.”
“Hah.” It was beginning to sound more like a verbal tic than a judgment and Liam relaxed a little. “You never served?”
“No. Law enforcement was more my style.”
“You one a them flying troopers?”
“No.” God forbid. “But I can handle an ATV pretty well.”
He was going for the joke but Jefferson didn’t take it that way. “How about a boat?”
“Never owned one.”
“Hah.”
Liam judged the job interview over, and said, “Gentlemen, as I said, I’m investigating the death of Erik Berglund. He was, in fact, murdered.”
“How?”
“His body is with the medical examiner in Anchorage. It may be that the guests of Mr. McGuire’s party were the last to see him alive. Did anything unusual happen that evening? Did he argue with anyone there? Did he leave with someone?”
“He was still there when I left,” Donohoe said, and the two old men nodded agreement. “Look, Liam, here’s the thing. Yes, he pissed off, well, pretty much everyone in the Bay, including a bunch of husbands, but murder?” He shook his head. “Besides, killing fights don’t generally show up around here until February, along with cabin fever.”
“And sure as hell nobody at that party would do something so goddamn foolish,” Jefferson said. “All of ’em got way too much to lose.”
Hilary Houten thumped his cane in agreement.
He asked them when they’d left the party and checked their departure times against Gabe and Len’s recollections. He didn’t find any glaring discrepancies. Donohoe said he and his wife had driven straight home, and their two teenagers were still up when they got there. Jefferson said he and Houten
