Nik Kane Alaska Mystery - 02 - Capitol Offense (2 page)

T
om Jeffords leveled the Glock .45 and pulled the trigger. The automatic tried to kick upward, but Jeffords was a big man and held it level with ease as he fired again. When he’d run through thirteen rounds, he ejected the clip and laid it and the automatic on the counter in front of him. He removed his big hearing protectors and motioned to Nik Kane to do the same. The last shot still echoed in the big room, empty except for the two of them. Jeffords pushed a button on a pole next to his shooting station and a motor began to whir.

While he waited for his target to arrive, he said, “So you want to go out on your own.”

His tone made it sound as if Kane intended to do something distasteful.

“Yes, I do,” Kane said. “I’m bored.”

Jeffords nodded and examined the target. It was an outline of a man with a gun. All thirteen holes were within the kill zone. Jeffords might be a desk-bound bureaucrat who was pushing sixty-five, but he could still shoot.

The Glock .45 was the Anchorage Police Department’s standard-issue side arm, but the version lying in front of Jeffords was anything but standard issue. It was chrome-plated and had honest-to-God pearl handles with
TSJ
inlaid in ebony. A grateful salesman had given Jeffords the automatic after the department selected the Glock .45, and it went well with his $1,000-a-copy tailored uniform, his full head of well-barbered white hair, and his Maui tan.

It’s easy to mistake Jeffords for a show horse and his automatic for a show gun, Kane thought. But not if you watch him on the firing range.

Jeffords clipped a new target to the line and hit the button again.

“I’d think boredom would be preferable to the life you’ve been leading for the past several years,” he said. “I’d think you’d welcome some peace and quiet.”

Ah, Kane thought. The oblique reference. A Jeffords specialty. So much more elegant than using words like
drunkenness, killing,
and
prison.

“And if your life were more…exciting…you would be forced to carry a firearm,” the chief said.

Kane hadn’t carried a gun of any sort since the night he’d answered an officer needs assistance call on his way home from a bar and shot and killed a twelve-year-old. Of course, for seven of those eight years he’d been in prison, where they sort of frowned on inmates packing. He’d finally been exonerated when a witness recanted and admitted the dead boy had been aiming a gun at Kane, but he’d tried to steer clear of firearms since he’d gotten out anyway. Jeffords seemed to regard that as a form of weakness.

Jeffords put a fresh clip in the .45.

“A man in your line of work needs to carry a firearm for self-defense,” he said, as he waited for his target to reach the proper position, “even if his assignments are boring.”

The chief put the hearing protectors back on before Kane could reply. Kane did the same, then watched as Jeffords put another thirteen rounds right where he wanted them.

When Kane had gotten out of prison a little more than a year before, he had wanted to go back to his old job as a detective lieutenant with the Anchorage Police Department. Jeffords had put the kibosh on that, but had seen to it that Kane was hired by 49th Star Security, a firm in which he was a silent partner. Kane had had an interesting case or two, but mostly he’d been doing corporate background checks, some divorce work, a few pilfering cases, the kind of thing they’d left to the newbies when he’d been with the police department.

When his target returned, Jeffords regarded it for a moment.

If he had any emotions, Kane thought, that look might be satisfaction.

Jeffords took the targets up to the range master’s stand, returned with a handful of supplies, and began breaking down the automatic.

“Aren’t you a little old to be chasing after excitement?” he asked.

Kane laughed.

“I’m, what, seven years younger than you,” he said. “Are you too old to be bossing cops and politicians around?”

Jeffords shot Kane a look that said age wasn’t his favorite topic of discussion, then shrugged.

“If you are really thinking about going out on your own,” he said, “then this is a happy coincidence. I have a job offer for you.”

Kane laughed.

“And here I thought you just wanted to see my smiling face,” Kane said. “I’m heartbroken.”

“Very amusing,” the chief said, in a tone that made it clear he wasn’t amused. “There’s a woman in town named Mrs. Richard Foster. She has some work that needs to be done. I’d like you to do it.”

Kane had so many questions, he wasn’t sure where to start.

“You’d like me to do it?” he said. “You mean, this isn’t an order?”

“You aren’t with the department anymore, Nik,” Jeffords said. “I can’t give you orders.”

Just like Jeffords, Kane thought. We both know he owns the security firm, but he won’t admit it even to me. In an empty room, no less.

“Why am I hearing this from you instead of someone at 49th Star?” he asked.

“I’m told the firm can’t take this job,” the chief said.

He’s told, Kane thought. That’s rich.

“Why not?” he asked.

Jeffords was slow to reply.

“The reasons are…complicated,” he said at last.

Great, Kane thought. Now we’re in the world of Jeffordsisms, answers that don’t answer anything. Kane had known the chief for more than thirty years. They’d come up through the ranks of the police department together. Jeffords, who had joined the department sooner and had a much better grasp of politics, was always a couple of rungs above him on the career ladder. Since he’d often worked under Jeffords, Kane had had plenty of reason to study him. He had watched the chief become the man he was, each year growing a little more devious and a little less human.

“You want me to take a job the firm won’t take, for ‘complicated’ reasons?” Kane said.

“Can’t take,” the chief said.

“Why not?” Kane asked.

Jeffords looked around to make sure no one had entered the firing range.

He probably arranged for this place to be empty, Kane thought. He didn’t want anyone else to hear this conversation, and he’s still not saying anything. I wonder who he thinks might be listening.

“The case involves a politician,” Jeffords said. “It would be…incongruent…for me, or the firm, to be involved with this.”

And that’s as close to an admission that he owns the firm as I’m likely to get, Kane thought.

“Incongruent,” Kane said. “I guess those word-a-day calendars really do pay off.”

He was silent for a moment.

“If you’re trying to lay low on this, why send me?” he asked. “All your political pals will figure you’re involved the minute they see me anyway.”

Jeffords’s job title was chief of police, but for the past decade or more he’d actually run Anchorage, stage-managing the elections of mayors and assembly members who did what they were told. Because so much of the money that made the city go came from the state and federal governments, he had made himself a force in state and federal politics as well.

“I’m not responsible for what people may think,” Jeffords said. “But if anyone asks, you can truthfully tell them that I am not involved in this case.”

Kane decided to let that go.

“This politician have a name?” he asked.

“His name is Matthew Hope,” Jeffords said. “He’s a member of the Alaska State Senate.”

Kane was silent as he thought about what Jeffords had said. Matthew Hope’s name had been all over the news in the past couple of days. He’d been arrested for the murder of a young woman in the state Capitol. The victim had been beautiful and “scantily clad,” as the newspapers and the TV newsreaders put it. She’d also been white, and Hope was an Alaska Native. The story had everything needed to crank up the media—sex, politics, violence, and race. The crime had even been given a tabloidy nickname—The White Rose Murder, for the flower embroidered on the front of the garter belt the victim had been wearing.

Maybe that’s why Jeffords is being so careful, Kane thought. A case this hot could burn anybody involved. Or even anybody in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“The White Rose Murder case is a lollapalooza,” Kane said. “Is Hope one of yours?”

The chief smiled.

“One of mine?” Jeffords said. “What do you think, Nik, that I have a stable of politicians who jump when I snap my fingers?”

Actually, that’s exactly what Kane thought, but he couldn’t see that saying so would get him anything but a lecture on how representative democracy worked. Instead, he asked, “Is he a friend of yours or not?”

Jeffords was silent for a moment.

“I think it’s fair to say that Senator Hope and I don’t see eye-to-eye on some things,” he said.

Jeffords was clearly not going to tell him anything useful about his relationship with Matthew Hope, so Kane changed the subject.

“What do you know about the case?” he asked.

Jeffords looked around the firing range, as if expecting to see a grand jury sitting in it somewhere.

“The newspapers have given it extensive coverage,” he said.

So he wants to be able to tell people he never discussed the case with me, Kane thought.

“If you don’t like this guy’s politics, why get involved?” he asked.

“I’m not getting involved,” Jeffords said with a thin smile. “You’re getting involved.”

Kane opened his mouth, but Jeffords spoke again.

“I really can’t tell you any more, “he said.

Can’t, or won’t, Kane thought. Either way, he knew trying to pry information out of the chief was useless.

Kane thought about what Jeffords was offering. He wouldn’t put it past the chief to dump him into a sticky situation just to show him that he’d be better off staying with the security firm. But the chief had too much at stake to send Kane blundering into the political world just to teach him a lesson. So this was probably a legitimate job, and it did sound more interesting than what he’d been doing. Of course, watching paint dry sounded more interesting, too. As long as Jeffords didn’t want him to do anything he just wouldn’t do. He watched as Jeffords’s fingers, nimble despite his age, danced just above the counter, reassembling the Glock. Then he began feeding rounds into an empty clip.

“So do you want me to try to get this guy out of the trouble he’s in or not?” Kane asked.

Jeffords’s thin smile became a grin. I’ll be damned, Kane thought. He might still be human after all.

“You know I’d never ask you to do anything but what you thought was right, Nik,” the chief said. “We both know that wouldn’t do any good. What I’d like you to do is go and talk with Mrs. Foster and, if you find it agreeable, work for her.”

He snapped the last round into the clip.

“I believe she’s prepared to offer you quite a lot of money,” he said. “You do need money, don’t you, Nik?”

“Everybody needs money,” Kane said.

The truth was that Kane was doing pretty well financially. He was drawing a salary from the security firm and a pension from the police department, and since he wasn’t drinking he didn’t have any expensive habits. But wanting to go out on his own was part of an effort to gain greater control of his life. Working, as he saw it, was a matter of trading his time for money and, as he got older, time got to be more and more important. More money would buy him more time to do what he wanted. If he could just figure out what that was.

“I’ll have to hand off my part of a surveillance,” Kane said. “Then I’ll go see this Mrs. Richard Foster and I’ll try really hard to take the job.”

“Good,” Jeffords said. He slapped the clip into the automatic and holstered it. “Wait here.”

He went back to the range master’s stand, returning with a much plainer automatic, a couple of clips, and a black fabric belt holster. He laid them all on the firing table.

“You should have a little practice,” Jeffords said.

Kane looked at the gun for a long moment, then shook his head.

“I don’t think so,” he said.

Jeffords blew air through his lips in exasperation.

“Then at least take the weapon with you,” he said. “It’s a gift from me.”

Kane could see that saying no would start an argument. It was easier just to take the gun.

“Okay,” he said, picking up the automatic and accessories from the stand and stowing them in various pockets. “But I don’t see why you’re so concerned. If this case is political, what’s the worst that could happen? A nasty campaign ad?”

Jeffords gave him another real smile.

“You have no idea,” he said.

K
ane was sitting at his computer, reading up on the White Rose Murder, when his cell phone rang.

“You have to come and get your things out of the house,” his ex-wife, Laurie, said.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” Kane said. “How are you?”

He could hear her take a deep breath and exhale with a sigh.

Great, he thought. Just ten seconds on the telephone, I’m pissed off and she’s long-suffering.

“Nik,” she said with obvious patience, “we’ve talked about this. We’re not married anymore and it’s time to make the separation complete. We’ll both be better off.”

“I haven’t got anyplace to put that stuff,” he said.

Oh, that’s good, he thought. Be childish. That’s appealing.

“Don’t be like that, Nik,” she said. “You’re making good money now. Get out of that crappy apartment and get a house big enough for your things. Build that cabin in the woods you always used to talk about. Rent a storage locker. Move on with your life, and let me move on with mine.”

Kane bit back a smart-ass remark and waited. He still didn’t understand what had happened between them. For twenty-five years Laurie had been, in addition to everything else, his best friend. She’d stood behind him during his trial and his years in prison, raising their kids, visiting him every week, toughing it out. Then, less than a month after he’d gotten out, she’d announced that she wanted a divorce.

She’d gone out and gotten one, too. Kane couldn’t bring himself to fight it, couldn’t see rewarding her for all she’d done by being a jerk about it. But he’d dragged his feet, not signing the final papers until she’d gone off on him like a nuclear explosion. And, for some reason, he was unable to clear out of the house and finish the job.

The house, their house, where they’d fought and sat companionably and made love and raised children, was just hers now, and she wanted him to remove his camping gear and guns and tools and everything else that reminded her of him, of them. She’d already removed everything inside the house, the gifts he’d given her and the photographs he was in, even the dishes they’d eaten off of. She’d covered the floors with new carpet and the walls with new paint. Laurie had erased him from her life, except for those few belongings still in the garage.

He didn’t think she was being unreasonable, really, to want him out, to remove the last of his clutter from her life, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. And he didn’t understand why.

“My analyst says you’re trying to hold on to me,” Laurie said. After all their years together, she had a spooky ability to tell what he was thinking. “She says leaving things here is an attempt to exercise control over me and our relationship.”

Kane laughed.

“Well, that’s really working, isn’t it?” he said. He could hear the self-pity in his voice and it made him disgusted with himself.

“Nik, please,” Laurie said. “You’re just making this harder for me. And for yourself.”

Kane sighed. She was right, of course. And she was entitled to the life she wanted, even if it was without him. He knew that he couldn’t keep them together on his own. He knew that the right thing, the honorable thing, was to wish her luck and let her go. He thought of himself as a pragmatist, was proud of his ability to face facts without wincing, and yet…and yet he just wasn’t able to do the pragmatic thing here.

Maybe I am a control freak, he thought, just like Laurie and her goddamn analyst say.

“Okay,” he said. “I may be going out of town on a case, but if I do I’ll come and get that stuff first thing when I get back.”

“Do you think it will be long?” Laurie asked.

“I don’t know,” Kane said. “I’m going to Juneau. It’s that case of murder in the legislature, the young woman who was killed there a few days ago. It could be a while.”

“Oh,” Laurie said. “I read about that in the newspaper. The White Rose Murder, they’re calling it.” She paused. “Are you sure you want to get mixed up in all that?”

Kane heard trouble in her voice.

“What is it, Laurie?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, Nik,” she said. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Kane waited. She’d tell him. She was too honest not to.

“Dylan’s down there,” she said.

It took Kane a moment to make sense of what she’d said.

“Dylan?” he said. “Our son, Dylan? He’s in Juneau?”

Dylan was the youngest of their three children, the only boy. He’d been twelve when Kane went off to prison, and he’d taken his father’s departure hard. He was at college when Kane got out, and when the boy returned for the summer he’d refused to even speak to Kane. As a child Dylan had been mercurial, happy one minute and weeping the next, full of enthusiasms that died out as quickly as they were born. In his father’s case, though, he seemed to have settled on hatred.

Kane hadn’t been surprised. He knew all about hating your father. He’d planned to try to get through to his son during the summer, but Dylan had taken a job at an arts camp at the university in Fairbanks and Kane hadn’t seen him again.

“What’s he doing there?” Kane said. “Shouldn’t he be in school?”

Laurie’s voice was sharp with exasperation.

“I told you all about this, remember?” she said. “His school has a junior-year sabbatical, where the students go out for a semester and work. Dylan’s working for a member of the House of Representatives. Tom Jeffords helped him get the job.”

I suppose she did tell me, Kane thought, but I was probably thinking about something more important. That’s the kind of father I always was and, apparently, still am.

“Well,” Kane said, “I’ll look him up when I get there, maybe buy him dinner.”

Laurie was silent, then said, “Hmm.”

“Hmm?” Kane said. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Laurie sighed again.

“What that means is that you should be careful with Dylan,” she said. “He’s still got a lot of anger at you for leaving us.”

Kane could feel his self-control slipping away.

“Leaving you?” he said. “I didn’t leave anybody. They put me in fucking prison. It wasn’t my choice.”

“You made choices,” Laurie said, her voice rising, “and your choices led to prison.”

Kane gripped the cell phone so hard his hand hurt.

“I don’t need any secondhand analysis from you and that quack you’re seeing, Laurie,” he said. “Or any advice on how to get along with my kids.”

He could hear her taking deep breaths.

“Fine,” she said in a calmer voice. “Just come and get your things. I’ll give you two weeks. If you haven’t picked them up by then, I’m giving them to the Salvation Army.”

“Don’t you dare,” Kane began, but the click of her hanging up stopped him. He closed his cell phone with great gentleness and put it into his shirt pocket. He sat thinking about the conversation, about how poorly he’d handled it.

When he’d first gotten out of prison, Kane was in many ways still institutionalized. He wasn’t used to having choices, so he wore the same clothes every day. Large spaces made him nervous. The world was dangerously unpredictable, full of people doing whatever they wanted.

Intellectually, he knew that these were responses conditioned by his years in prison. He knew that, with work, he could overcome them. But emotionally, he didn’t want to have to work at it. He wanted them to go away on their own. He wanted to just step back into his old life, back into his job on the police force, back into his marriage, and pretend that he’d never been in prison.

That didn’t happen. Jeffords had refused to take him back on the force. Laurie had divorced him, saying he was not the man she had married. His children were strangers to him. He was fifty-six years old and living in a furnished apartment, without any significant ties to another human being. Whenever he was in the grip of self-pity, he even felt that life was better in prison, where he’d known everyone and they’d known him. He supposed that blighted sense of community was what kept some cons coming back behind the walls.

He fought the self-pity and all the other feelings—shame and anger and uncertainty—that tried to take control of him. He wore different clothes and went into crowds and tried to relate to the people at work. But his job and his family had been his identity. His job and his family and, if he were to tell the truth, drinking. And now he had none of them, and that left a big hole where his life should be. He was having a hard time figuring out how to fill it. All he’d decided so far was that he needed to take control of himself and his life, and stop trying to crawl back into the dark hole of passivity that, even today, beckoned to him.

If I can just get my feet firmly planted, he thought, I can try to make up for my mistakes, to both Laurie and the kids. Maybe he could start with Dylan.

It wasn’t any surprise that his son was mad at him, and he had every right to be. What was it the Bible said? “The fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children’s teeth are set on edge.”

Kane shook his head and looked at his watch. If he left now, he could make it to his gym, have dinner, and still get to his surveillance on time.

He might be an aging, isolated, dry alcoholic, and a sorry excuse for a husband and father, he thought with a wry grin, but he could still beat the crap out of a heavy bag.