Silvia patted Lester’s arm again on the tabletop. “You know, you might want to think about getting your own husband, now that you’re sticking around.”
The idea made Meghan laugh. “I can handle one crisis at a time. I’m not too concerned about my love life right now.”
“When did you want to go?”
“I want to pick up Oliver and leave as soon as we can.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Building material wasn’t readily available above the Arctic Circle. People who had money to build remote cabins didn’t put them where they went unused and inaccessible. When it came to hunting cabins, it was in title only and ended up as something resembling a piecemeal shack fixed together with manila rope, bungee cords, and duct tape. Walls of recycled exterior and interior paneling and drywall with floors of wood pallets, it kept the elements out but wasn’t made for extended times of comfort.
It was the kind of place where people went when they didn’t want to be noticed, because the sort of things they did inside the hut weren’t legal on the North Slope.
Lester and Oliver knew about the cabin. The place where Eugene said he and Nate went to drink their shared bootlegged prizes. They borrowed the flat-bottomed boat with the two-chined hull from Lester’s friend.
The inlet had less ice than the bay, which had something to do with the undercurrent from the sound. It allowed for easy mobility through the waters in the dark. Meghan wore a life vest and allowed her sergeant and lieutenant to track the waterway to the cabin. It came up like a yellow beacon on an otherwise black shoreline in the dark. Meghan knew that was a good sign of life. Occupants lit the fire throughout the night to keep warm, stave off the saturation from the riverbank.
“Who else knows about this place?” Meghan asked. She whispered because in the dark on the cusp of June, sound traveled.
“Most of the people who come out here use it for the same reason as Eugene,” Lester said. “I think it’s been here since the ‘80s. I know people add layers and reinforce it when they find additional construction material.”
“I knew it was here,” Oliver said. “I never come out this way.”
“You think someone’s home?” Meghan asked.
“Yeah, they wouldn’t leave the fire burning otherwise.”
“We can wake up whoever’s inside. Does this land belong to anyone?”
“Nope, it’s state land.”
“So, the cabin doesn’t belong here.”
“No one complained before,” Lester said.
“Did you have any idea people came out here to get drunk?” Meghan asked.
“I suspected. I never followed up.” Lester stared at her in the dark. “I had more pressing matters in town than worry about what happened out here.”
“Do you think the bootleggers use this as a hub for distribution?”
“I doubt it. Everyone knows about it. Sometimes people come out here salmon fishing. It’s too exposed,” Lester said. “We can see it from here.”
Meghan gauged they were almost a kilometer from the location. She saw something floating in the water. It clunked against the hull. She plucked it out of the water and tossed it in the boat. It was an empty, plastic whiskey bottle.
Meghan pointed at it. “This is something the three of us need to put a stop to,” she said. “We’ve got to find out who supplies the town.”
“Do you think Eugene will give away where he got the booze if he got a reduced sentence?” Oliver asked.
“I think murder and child molestation are a lot more severe than bootlegging. We’re better off doing this and see what happens. Anywhere else, we’d have surveillance and watch who came and went.”
“What about a couple of trail cams?” Oliver asked.
“There’s nowhere to mount them. You’d have to drive posts into the ground. I don’t think they’d stay upright. You’d risk losing the equipment.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
Lester cut the motor, and they used the momentum to coast along the shore. Oliver kneeled in the bow and used the oar to guide them closer to the shoreline.
“What if they got guns?” he asked.
“Everyone has guns,” Meghan said. “We hope they’re not stupid enough to use them.”
Once they found a place to step out of the boat and haul it ashore, Meghan crouched, watching the flicking shape of the hut. It didn’t have a pitched roof, more of a lean-to, which redirected the rain using vinyl and aluminum siding as roofing bits and pieces. Meghan saw details of the place as they huddled near the boat. People used it as a dumping ground, throwing away trash that eventually made its way to the inlet. The currents finally dragged everything out to sea.
“What are they using for fuel?” Meghan asked.
“It depends. By the look of it, it’s either a propane stove or some open-source fire,” Lester said. “You ready.”
“What are you going to do?” Oliver asked.
Then two people burst from the door on the other side of where they huddled. They got confident and too loud. As Oliver jumped up to give chase, Meghan halted him.
The rev of the snowmachine meant the strangers had a way to make it overland. The snowmobile allowed them to use the swampy terrain as a platform. As long as the driver kept the momentum and the throttle up, the heavy machine wouldn’t sink into the melting tundra. Meghan thought stalling in the muck might help their cause. It was impossible to walk over the ground without snowshoes or something to keep from sinking into the mire.
She trudged through the thick mud to the open door, cautiously watching for anyone still hiding inside the cabin. It smelled like seal oil and urine. Meghan saw the oil lamp inside.
“That makes sense,” Lester said. “I didn’t think about using seal oil.”
“It’s a firetrap,” Oliver said.
