Nik Kane Alaska Mystery - 01 - Lost Angel (19 page)

“Hello, Nik,” said the man who had spoken. “I guess you’re right, but it’s hard to remember sometime, isn’t it? Especially when you know a kid with a badge is only going to fuck things up.”

“Now, listen . . .” the trooper began, but the two men turned and walked single file toward another Explorer parked some distance up the road. The man Kane had called Tony moved with a noticeable limp.

“Was there anybody else with this car?” Kane called.

“Charlie Simms,” Tony threw back over his shoulder. “He took a hell of a whack, and they’ve got him in the infirmary.”

The two men reached the other Explorer, got in, and backed up the road and out of sight.

“What are you doing here?” the trooper snapped.

“I’m here to help you,” Kane said, “and if you’ve got any sense at all, you’ll let me.”

“Just stay out of my way,” the trooper said, opening the door to his car. A blast of warm air from the cruiser’s heater washed over Kane.

“How do you know those guys?” the trooper asked, taking a small camera from the passenger seat. “They more washed-up ex-cops like you?” He closed the door and started taking pictures.

“I don’t know the one guy,” Kane said, “but the other one, Tony Figone, used to be on the Anchorage force with me. He was a good cop, until he tore up a knee and medicaled. If you keep at it long enough and you’re smart enough, you might hope to be as good a cop.”

The trooper grunted and kept shooting.

“Not much of a camera for crime-scene photos,” Kane said.

“Digital, gramps,” the trooper said, then moved off to shoot from another angle. Kane followed along, as much to keep moving in the cold as anything else. The trooper made a complete circuit, snapping away.

“I can just load these onto my computer and send them to crime-scene interpretation in Anchorage. For all the good that’ll do. Those clowns tracked all over, and the road’s packed too hard and been traveled too much for tire tracks to tell us anything. If there’d been some fresh snow, we might be able to see something.”

The trooper moved closer to the body, watching where he put his feet. The exit wounds in Lester’s back were the size of softballs. Slade moved gingerly around the body, taking close-ups. When he was finished, Kane knelt next to the body and put his palm on the back of Lester’s neck. It was already cold to the touch.

“Going to be tough getting a time of death,” he said.

“More like impossible,” the trooper said. “I called for a doctor on the way here, but the closest one’s in Rejoice and doesn’t have any medical examiner experience. So it’s a good thing we’ve got an eyeball witness.”

“Can I roll him over?” Kane said.

“Don’t see why not,” the trooper said.

Kane did. Rolling Lester over wasn’t easy; the body was stiff with cold. But when Kane finally had Lester lying on his back, he and the trooper could see the dead man’s chest clearly.

“You ever handled a murder before?” Kane asked.

“No,” the trooper said, “but I know the procedures.”

Kane could hear the defensiveness in his voice.

“Okay,” he said, leaning over to look closely at Lester’s chest.

“Two shots, large caliber. Tap, tap.” He rolled the body over. “No obvious powder marks around the wounds, so the shooting wasn’t point blank, but the entry wounds are close together, which argues for either close range or a very skilled shooter. There’s no telling where the bullets went after they passed though Lester. I suppose if we were to examine every tree within range we might find something.”

The trooper snorted. Kane rolled the body over once more and looked into Lester’s face. His lips were pulled back in a sick caricature of a smile and his eyes stared unseeing at the sky.

Maybe he’s looking at God right now, Kane thought. If so, I’ll bet he wishes he’d led a better life.

“You should get on the horn and call for a helicopter,” he said aloud. “Get the body to a competent ME and criminologists as soon as possible.”

“Right,” Slade said sarcastically. “We’ve got the budget to be flying dead people around.”

For an instant, rage reddened the edges of Kane’s vision. He fought it back, stood up, and looked at the trooper.

“Listen, kid, and listen good,” he said. The trooper took a step back. He could hear the anger in Kane’s voice, too.

“I don’t give a shit if you’re happy in your job. I could care less if you like me, or wish I was a thousand miles away. But here are the facts. I know a lot more about this sort of thing than you do. More than that, I make one phone call, and you’ve got the brass crawling up your ass asking why you didn’t take the advice of a veteran police officer. Probably be the end of your short, unhappy career in law enforcement. So get on your telephone and order that chopper. I’m going up to the mine, and I’ll send those guys you ran off back down to guard the scene. When they get here, you can come on up and ask Charlie Simms some questions, if he’s in any shape to answer.”

The trooper opened his mouth to say something. Kane cut him off.

“And if you give me the slightest reason, and I mean the slightest reason, you’re going to be sitting in a little office in Anchorage answering questions from internal affairs, or whatever it is your team calls the shoo flies, about why you blew off the Faith Wright investigation.”

Kane and Slade looked at each other for a long moment, until the trooper dropped his eyes. The two men walked back to the cruiser and got in. Kane sat in the passenger’s seat, soaking up heat and listening to the trooper’s cell phone call requesting a helicopter. He was surprised at the way he’d attacked the kid, but something about being involved in an investigation, two investigations now, the return of the old rhythms and procedures, made him feel more confident.

“They’re laughing at me,” the trooper said, putting his hand over the mouthpiece.

“Give me the phone,” Kane said, digging out his wallet and removing the card the trooper brass hat had given him. He broke the connection and punched in the number on the back of the card.

“This is Nik Kane,” he said. “We met a couple days ago. I’m out in Devil’s Toe now. Somebody hit the mine payroll and killed one of the guards. Maybe you knew him? Lester Logan? Used to be APD? Anyway, the body needs to get back to Anchorage right away for processing, and whoever is answering the phone at trooper headquarters in Anchorage”—he put his hand over the phone and said, “You did call Anchorage, right?” and the trooper nodded—“yeah, in Anchorage, is being a dickhead about sending a chopper.” He listened for a minute. “Of course this is going to cause some shit,” he said. “We shouldn’t be wasting time talking about the obvious.” He listened some more. “Okay,” he said, and hung up.

“There’ll be a chopper in the air within five minutes,” he said.

“Who was that?” the trooper asked.

Kane ignored the question.

“I just thought of something else that needs attention,” he said, getting out of the cruiser. The trooper did the same. Kane walked around to where he could see the crime scene.

“From the grooves in that berm beside the road, it looks like somebody pulled up alongside and forced them off,” he said. “So the perps must have had four-wheel drive.”

“Fat lot of good that does,” the trooper replied. “There’s hardly anybody out here who doesn’t.”

“Yeah,” Kane said, “but maybe this one left some paint behind. Let’s look.”

The two men walked over and examined the left side of the Explorer.

“Nothing,” the trooper said.

The two men stood there for a moment.

“I’m headed up to the mine,” Kane said. “Come on up when you’re relieved.”

He walked back toward his truck.

“Hey,” the trooper called, “you’re the one who should be staying here.”

Kane ignored him, got into his pickup, drove off the road, around the cruiser and the crime scene, then back onto the road and up to the mine. He found the front gate open and nobody in the box. He drove to the trailer where Simms had his office and walked in. He walked past the secretary, who called, “Wait a minute.” He ignored her, opened the door to the conference room, and walked in. For the first time since he’d gotten out of prison, he was feeling like he was in his element, in control.

Richardson, the mine manager, was sitting at the table with a couple of other suits and the two men the trooper had run off.

“Take your pal here, Tony, and go back down and secure the crime scene,” Kane said. “Then send the trooper on up here.”

“You taking over, then, Nik?” Tony asked him.

“Just temporarily,” he said, “until somebody with more experience shows up.”

Tony and his companion got to their feet.

“Wait a minute,” Richardson said, “where do you two think you’re going? I’m in charge here.”

A slow smile spread across Tony’s face.

“That’s the way you want it, fine,” he said, “but if you want the payroll back, your best bet is to let all of us do what we know how to do.”

The mine manager looked from Tony to Kane to the other suits. Finally he looked at Kane again.

“You sure you know what you’re doing?” he asked.

Kane waved a hand at Tony and his companion.

“Take off,” he said, “and don’t let anybody touch anything.”

“Aw, jeez, Nik,” Tony said, “who do you think you’re talking to?”

The two men left the room. Kane took a chair.

“Do these two know about the payroll-shipment arrangements,” he said, nodding at the other suits, “or should we be talking alone?”

“They know,” Richardson said.

“Great,” Kane said. “How many others?”

“Just us,” the mine manager said, “and, of course, Simms. It’s only the people who need to know. Reynolds here is the chief accountant, and Lewes is the head of employee relations.”

“Uh huh,” Kane said. “I don’t suppose that their secretaries might have found out, or anybody else who works in the office?”

“We keep the information to ourselves,” the one called Reynolds said. He didn’t sound very convincing.

“Never mind,” Kane said. “Tell me about the arrangements for this shipment.”

The mine manager hesitated, looking at the other two suits.

“Look,” Kane said, “you want your best chance at recovering the payroll, talk. Otherwise, don’t.”

Richardson sighed and started talking.

“We used to deliver the payroll the same way every time. Armored car from a bank in Fairbanks. But a few months ago, Charlie suggested we start changing up. He was getting nervous about being so predictable. ‘It’s a four-hour trip, and there’s lots of places to waylay that armored car,’ he said.

“It made sense to change up the arrangements, so we did. We still use the armored car from time to time, but we’ve flown the money in in a small plane, and had it driven down in an unmarked car. The four of us pick a method the day before the shipment, and that’s how it’s delivered.”

“How was it delivered this time?” Kane asked.

“Airplane,” Richardson said. “Simms and Logan met it at the landing strip.”

“Wait a minute,” Kane said, “I drove by the landing strip coming from Rejoice. I didn’t see anybody waiting.”

“That’s a different strip,” Reynolds said. “The Devil’s Toe strip is up the highway a ways.”

“How much money did they get?” Kane asked.

Reynolds looked at a printout that lay in front of him.

“One hundred thirty-seven thousand, three hundred thirty-four dollars and seventeen cents,” he said.

“Not much for an operation this size,” Kane said.

“Some of the men have their salaries deposited directly into the bank,” Reynolds said.

“And we’re down to a skeleton crew right now,” the mine manager said. “Gold prices are kind of soft.”

“Still,” Kane said, “if whoever did this had waited until summer, they could have gotten—what?—twice that? With enough overtime, three times?”

“True,” Richardson said, “but a hundred thirty-seven thousand dollars is nothing to sneeze at.”

Kane was silent for a moment.

“Any idea who might have done this?” he asked.

The three men looked at one another and all shook their heads.

“I know Simms was worried that somebody inside the mine would be involved,” the mine manager said.

“So he must have thought it would be one of you three,” Kane said, “since you keep the payroll information so secret.”

The three men looked at one another again.

“Look,” Richardson said, “the truth is, I don’t know who might have known about the shipment. This office isn’t all that big, and the walls aren’t all that thick.”

Kane got to his feet.

“So you’ve got—what?—seventy, eighty people working here now, and any of them might be involved?” he said. “And some of them have got families who might have heard, and others get drunk at the roadhouse and might tell anybody? What were you people thinking?”

No one said anything.

“Okay,” Kane said, looking at the mine manager, “why don’t you show me where Charlie Simms is?”

Richardson went into his office and came out wearing a coat. Kane followed him out the door and across to a prefab wooden building.

“Look, it won’t do any good to stress the negative,” Richardson said as they walked. “It’ll only make trouble. For your friend Simms, as well as everyone else.”

Kane followed the mine manager into the building, down a short hall, and into what could only be a clinic. Charlie Simms lay on an examining table under a light blanket, an IV dripping something into his arm, and wires running from his body to a couple of machines. A small black man with a trim goatee sat on a chair next to him, making notes on a clipboard.

“This is Divinity Aaron, our medic,” the mine manager said to Kane.

“Mr. Aaron,” Kane said, “how’s the patient?”

“He took a heck of a blow,” the medic said. “Seems a little concussed but otherwise okay. His pulse is strong, and so’s his blood pressure. I’ve got fluid running to keep him hydrated.”