Meghan emptied her head. She lay on her back and stared at the blackness overhead. She had a million ideas, a thousand questions. So far, they had one solid piece of evidence: Murder.
Meghan opened her eyes when she heard the light snoring from the sofa. She checked the time on her smartphone. It was after four in the morning.
Twenty-four hours earlier, Meghan was in a quaint hotel suite in downtown Anchorage. It was a million miles from the rural and rugged city of Noorvik. She planned to visit the little town sometime during her tenure as police chief. There weren’t enough hours in the day, not enough days in the week.
Meghan used the glow of the smartphone to climb off the cot and made her way to the tiny bathroom. It wasn’t much bigger than an aircraft lavatory. It didn’t have a mirror and no paper towels after she washed her hands and face.
Meghan had toiletries in her backpack leftover from the trip. She had a change of underwear and the police department laptop. Armed with the public works WiFi password, Meghan converted the tiny bathroom into a makeshift office. She wrote her report and sent an email to her contact at the Anchorage branch of the Alaska State Troopers. The preliminary report included a collection of digital photos she took with the smartphone.
Once Meghan reread the email addressed to Detective Gregory Anderson, she sent it and felt a lot better. After a slice of greasy pizza and a couple of hours of sleep, Meghan had focus she lacked upon arrival.
She hated not carrying a sidearm. Her one major complaint about village public safety officers in Alaska had to do with the lack of weapons. They had pepper spray and handcuffs. The Borough prohibited guns for her and the team. The department had one taser. She left it with Lester. Likely, they wouldn’t need guns. Unarmed in Noorvik, Meghan relied on her experience and common sense. However, that didn’t make her feel any better knowing that someone out there killed an old lady. That kind of crime had a lot to unpack. Everyone in Alaska, Meghan felt like, had a gun except her.
***
The morning coffee was black and dense, not the kind of morning beverage to hand a grieving woman. However, Barbara accepted the steaming mug and waited.
Lester and Eric left Meghan alone with Barbara in the office to conduct the interview. They checked the house and the storage container.
“So, I think we need to establish what your mother did on Friday,” Meghan started delicately. “Is your mother close to anyone? Does she have someone who visits her regularly?”
Barbara made eye contact with Meghan, looking up from the swirling black liquid. Her jaw muscles flexed. She had a lot more respect for the woman over the short time they had together. Barbara was a level-headed pragmatic person. Now Barbara was the child of a victim. Whatever their past, it went away the moment they had a combined interest. The lingering animosity bubbled in Barbara’s russet color eyes. Perhaps it had nothing to do with the past between them. It wasn’t something Meghan needed to address. The woman had to come to terms with her feelings.
Barbara cleared her throat. It was as if she swallowed the contempt.
“Let me explain something about my mom. She wasn’t a well-liked person. You’ll find out that soon enough when you talk to more people.
“It took a lot for me to come back to Noorvik. I distanced myself from here because nothing I did was ever good enough for my mother. Do you have a good relationship with your mother?” Barbara asked.
Meghan wanted to share the first rule of interrogations with the woman: never answer personal questions from witnesses or suspects. However, she saw similarities between them from the admission. Meghan felt if she bridged trust with the woman, perhaps the openness was what she needed to move forward.
“My mother passed some years ago. But she made it clear that my life choices were not in line with what she expected of me.” Meghan kept it vague without being disingenuous.
Barbara appeared satisfied. “My mother didn’t go out of her way to make enemies. She’s been aloof her whole life. I’ve been trying to understand who would do something like this; no one comes to mind.
“She didn’t make a lot of friends, but she never left here. That made my mother a prominent member of the community. She had opinions about what she thought mattered. My mother believed secession from the United States would save Alaska.
“I don’t want to paint my mother as a woman who harbored hatred. But if you saw the scars on her back, you’d know they came from the teachers at the school my mother attended as a child.”
Barbara put down the mug. She sat back in the swivel chair at the desk in the office. Meghan leaned against the counter during their conversation.
“I don’t know how much you know about our heritage and culture, Chief Sheppard. But we’re Native Americans, and that comes with the stigma. We saw the same persecution as the rest of the indigenous people in the lower-forty-eight. Except for Alaska, it happened later.
“My mother saw what it meant to be Native American in the twentieth century. After World War II, the BIA—you know what that is?” she asked.
Meghan spent a lot of time reading about Alaska before accepting the position in Kinguyakkii. “It’s the Bureau of Indian Affairs.”
The Department of Interior created the BIA in 1824. Along the way, the United States made more mistakes with Native Americans than anything noble. While the rest of the lower-forty-eight indigenous people had territorial sovereignty allowing
