Nik Kane Alaska Mystery - 02 - Capitol Offense (20 page)

“Harry here was always impetuous,” he said. “And it’s probably getting to be a long time between drinks for him, which would make him jumpy.”

Kane saw the punch coming but made no move to block it. Instead, he hunched his shoulder, tucked his chin, and leaned in. Harry’s fist bounced off the shoulder, then glanced off the side of his head. Stars danced briefly before his eyes. Before either man could move, Sam jumped behind his partner and threw his arms around him.

“That’s enough,” he said, dragging Harry backward. He unlocked his arms, put a hand on Harry’s elbow, and steered him toward the door. “Since the senator here isn’t feeling talkative, we’ll leave.”

“Go get your story straight,” Kane said. “I’ll be filing an assault charge against Harry with your internal affairs office.”

Harry whirled and started toward Kane again but found Sam in his way.

“I’ll kick your ass, Kane,” Harry bellowed. “I’ll mop the floor with you.”

“Aw, Nik,” Sam said over his shoulder as he kept himself between the two men, “there’s no need to be filing charges.”

“Sam,” Kane said, “he hit me without reason. I’ve got you and the senator as witnesses. I figure that Harry gets one more black mark on his jacket and they’ll put him out to pasture, maybe without a pension. That’d suit me just fine. He’s big, dumb, lazy, and mean. He’s everything that’s wrong with the troopers. And he’s a drunk in the bargain.”

Harry made another try to get around his partner. Sam put his hand on Harry’s chest and shoved.

“We’re leaving now,” Sam said, shoving Harry again. “You should think hard about filing that complaint, Nik.”

The two men struggled through the door and were gone. When Kane was sure they wouldn’t be back, he walked over and sat in one of the chairs they vacated.

“What was that all about?” the senator asked him.

“I know those guys,” Kane said. “Known them for years. I solved a case for them, a mine robbery, last year. Sam is a good investigator, probably the best the troopers have got, so they get sent all over the state. But he’s been carrying his partner for years—Harry isn’t a good anything anymore. He’s a disgrace to his badge.”

The senator nodded.

“Why did you provoke him?” he asked.

“Provoke?” Kane said. “Me?”

Hope smiled.

“If you want me to tell you the truth,” he said, “you should tell me the truth.”

“Okay,” Kane said. “I provoked him so that he’d do something stupid. Now that he has, I can use it as leverage in case I need something from those guys. In fact, I’ve already got something in mind.”

“You’d let someone hit you for that?” Hope asked.

“Harry hits like a girl,” Kane said. Then: “You still want to take that walk? It’s too hot in here for the way I’m dressed, especially after doing the mambo with Harry.”

“I do,” Hope said and got to his feet. He pulled a pair of white wind pants over his wool pants, exchanged his slip-on shoes for a pair of lightweight hikers, and took a bright yellow shelled pile jacket from a hook.

“Let’s go,” he said.

The two men walked down the stairs and out a back door into the parking lot. Cars dotted the lot and ribbons of yellow crime-scene tape festooned the fire escape from the Senate Finance offices. They crossed a street and mounted a long flight of stairs past a former grade school that had been converted to offices for the legislative bureaucracy.

“What did the troopers want?” Kane asked as they climbed. For some reason, he found it hard to talk and breathe at the same time.

“They wanted to know where I was last night,” Hope said.

“If you…had…an alibi?” Kane panted.

Hope nodded.

“Do…you?” Kane asked.

Hope shook his head.

“Where…were…you?” Kane asked.

“In my office,” Hope said. “Then at home. Enjoying my freedom. Alone.”

At the top of the stairs, they crossed another street and started up another flight, longer and steeper, that ran between houses. Kane decided to save his breath for climbing. Hope seemed to be doing the same. Their efforts soon brought them to a more level road that led past a few houses, then around the shoulder of a still-higher hill. Ahead lay a seemingly undisturbed valley.

That’s Alaska, Kane thought. One minute city, next minute wilderness.

The sun shone brightly through broken clouds. A light wind cooled them as they walked. They followed the road, then turned off to a path that led over a bridge across a partially frozen creek. They found themselves on a well-traveled trail sandwiched between the creek and a steep hillside. Hope led the way in silence.

“I like a good nature hike as well as the next guy,” Kane said at last, “but I’m here under the impression that you have some things to tell me.”

Hope stopped in the lee of a small stand of spruce, turned, and said, “I’m being advised to tell you about my relationship with Melinda Foxx.” He paused. “But I’m finding it hard to do so.”

Kane unzipped his coat. The heat of the sun had warmed him too much during their walk.

“Why’s that?” Kane asked. “You must have checked by now to see if I’m trustworthy. If you didn’t think I was, we wouldn’t be here.”

A smile flashed across Hope’s face.

“It’s not you,” he said, “at least, not you personally. It’s just that…”

Hope stopped talking for so long that Kane began to fidget.

“I’m just a simple Indian,” Hope said at last. “I have to be careful.”

Kane laughed.

“You can forget that ‘many moons ago my people’ routine,” Kane said. “I’m not buying. You’ve been playing the political game for—what, ten years now? And pretty successfully, too, by all accounts.”

Hope opened his mouth to say something, but Kane continued, “But you’re making a mistake in dealing with me. I don’t care about the politics. I’m here to help you beat this murder charge, as long as you didn’t do it. And as long as you don’t tell me about any other crimes you may have committed, what you tell me stays with me. And even if I was inclined to blab, I’m constrained by attorney-client privilege because I work for your lawyer. So stop playing coy and tell me.”

The two men looked at each other for a handful of minutes.

“Melinda was giving me information,” Hope said. “Information about Senator Potter, about what he was doing.”

“You mean, like, about his shady contracts and illegal campaign contributions?” Kane asked.

Hope nodded.

“Why was she doing that?’ Kane asked.

“I’m not really sure,” Hope said. “She said it was because she believes in good government and what he is doing is wrong.”

“That’s it?” Kane asked. “She was just being a good citizen?”

“That’s what she said,” Hope replied, “but in politics, there’s usually more than one reason that things happen.”

“Do you know what other motivations she might have had?” Kane asked.

Hope shook his head.

“I don’t,” he said.

Kane stood thinking for a while, then asked, “Did you see her the night she was killed?”

“I did not,” Hope said. “She sent me an e-mail saying she’d meet me in our usual meeting place, that she had something important to tell me. But she never arrived. I went looking for her, and that’s how I found her. Her body.”

Kane looked carefully at the other man.

“And that’s it?” he asked. “She was helping you for reasons you don’t know. She had something to tell you, but she never showed up?”

“That’s everything I know,” Hope said.

The faint sound of a human voice made the two men look around. High above them, two people in brightly colored coats moved across the hillside. They seemed to be roped together. Kane couldn’t tell if they were men or women. Or children, for that matter.

“Why haven’t you told anyone about this?” he asked Hope.

“I don’t want anyone to know,” the senator said. “If my colleagues knew I had a spy in another senator’s office, it would cause me a lot of problems.”

Kane shook his head.

“So political decorum is more important than saving your neck?’ he asked.

“It’s more than decorum,” Hope said. “Much of what we do is done on faith, because we believe that someone will do what he or she says. And sometimes two people tell each other things that must be kept quiet, at least for a while. So trust is essential, and me having somebody spy on one of my colleagues is not exactly a trustworthy thing to do.”

“Did it bother you personally?” Kane asked. “Beyond the chance you’d get caught, I mean? Did it cause you moral qualms?”

He let the silence stretch out until he was sure Hope wasn’t going to answer, then said, “Never mind. Did you keep the e-mail?”

Hope shook his head.

“No, I erased it,” he said. “I didn’t want it sitting around where somebody might find it.”

The voice above them grew excited. Kane looked up to see the leading figure stop. Was he kicking at something, or just trying to keep his feet? Suddenly, the spot he was standing on began moving. He scrambled backward. Rocks came loose and bounded down the hillside toward where Kane and Hope stood.

Without a word, Hope pivoted and ran up the trail. Kane was close behind. They could hear the clatter of rocks coming down and the softer, deeper sound of the water-soaked, sun-heated hillside giving way, bringing ice and snow with it. They ran faster. Kane’s pulse pounded in his head and the rasp of his breathing mixed with the sounds of the avalanche. Ahead of him, Hope stumbled, twisted in the air, and came down on his feet like a cat. They ran on. Bits of earth and broken rock pelted them, when, suddenly, they turned a corner and the avalanche was behind them. They ran on another fifty yards or so and Hope fell to his knees. Kane caught a tree branch and stood there on shaky legs, bent over, panting. He could still hear the noise of the avalanche crunching down the hillside.

The noise had stopped by the time they caught their breath. The two men walked unsteadily back and looked around the corner. The trail was buried in dirt, rocks, ice, and snow for what looked like a hundred yards.

“Damn,” Hope said. “Damn. We could have been killed.”

Kane nodded and scanned the hillside. There was no sign of the two figures that had started the avalanche.

He turned to look at Hope. The senator had his head down and was mumbling something that sounded like a prayer of thanks. When he was finished, he looked at the detective.

“Did you see those two men?” he asked. “Are they all right?”

“No sign of them,” Kane said. “Either they’re under all that or they’ve gotten out of sight. Too bad. I’d like to know if that was an accident.”

Hope looked at him in surprise.

“Do you think they might have caused the avalanche on purpose?” he asked. “That they were trying to kill us? That seems a little far-fetched.”

“Far-fetched?” Kane said. He was surprised at the anger in his voice. “Two people are already dead, Senator. This is a serious business. I’d advise you to treat it that way.”

Hope was shaking his head.

“An avalanche as a murder weapon?” he said. “I find that hard to believe.”

Right then, Kane wanted to take the other man by the shoulders and shake him. Instead, he took his cell phone from his pocket. It told him he had no signal.

“Come on,” he said. “We’ve got to hike back to where I can call 911. They’ll have to close the trail, and somebody may want to search for the people who caused this. And if they find them alive, I’ll have a few questions of my own to ask.”

T
hink we should have tried to find those men if they were buried?” Hope asked as they trudged back to the city.

Kane shook his head.

“What would we have dug them out with?” he asked. “Our hands?”

Hope nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, “and there’s no telling how unstable that hillside still is. We could have started another slide and gotten buried ourselves.”

Kane wondered if he was rehearsing his answer, in case some reporter asked him why he hadn’t played hero. Not that it mattered. They really had no way to be of assistance.

They walked along in silence for a while, each of them with his own thoughts. Kane was thinking about how good it was to have escaped the mixture of human stupidity, or malignity, and indifferent nature. When he reached a spot where his cell phone worked, Kane dialed emergency and reported the avalanche. He told the operator about where it was, and that he had seen two people on the hillside before the avalanche but not after. She took down the information, including his name and telephone number, and thanked him.

By the time the call was complete, the two men had reached the top of a long flight of stairs that took them past some houses to a street. The street led downhill some more, past the city cemetery, then up and around, past the governor’s mansion, a turn-of-the-twentieth-century structure complete with columns.

“So that’s where you want to live?” Kane asked.

Hope stopped and turned to look at the detective.

“Is that so unlikely?” he asked. “Why shouldn’t I want to be governor? Why shouldn’t a Native be in charge of the state that is so much more important to us than it is to most of you?”

“Whoa, slow down there,” Kane replied. “I think anybody who wants to be governor is an idiot, no matter what color he is. Politics makes no sense to me at all.”

Hope turned and started walking again.

“Politics is all we have,” he said, “the only way we have to shape what our state will become. It’s how we sort out our differences and find compromises. It’s how we try to decide who we will be as a people and what legacy we will pass on to those who come after us. It’s very damned important, and there’s no shame in wanting to use it for good ends.”

Kane shrugged.

“Everybody thinks their ends are good,” he said, “even when they are completely opposed to somebody else’s good ends. Take this civil unions bill of yours. Your side says that gays should be able to establish their relationships legally. Your opponents say recognition like that only helps them lose their souls to sin.”

“That’s just bigotry,” Hope said.

“Maybe,” Kane said, “but maybe the bigots don’t think so. They think they are protecting their own rights and trying to help those who have made a bad choice. And I don’t see how all the politics in the world will find an acceptable compromise between that position and yours.”

“Civil unions are a compromise,” Hope snapped, then walked awhile in silence. When he resumed, his voice was softer. “People have a lot of different ideas about gays, a lot of different ways to look at them. For myself, the way I look at them is as a group being discriminated against. I’m a Native in Alaska, so I know all about being discriminated against. I think discrimination is wrong, and that by allowing it against one group we encourage it against other groups. That’s why I’m trying to get the civil unions bill passed, to break people of the bad habit of discrimination.”

Kane nodded.

“Okay, fine, if that’s all there is to it,” he said. “But some people say you’re just using the issue to rally the troops for your run for governor.”

Hope laughed.

“Those people must think I’m truly stupid,” he said. “The people I’m supposedly rallying are already with me. In electoral terms, all I’m doing is rallying my opposition.”

“Then why are you doing it?” Kane asked.

They rounded a corner and the Capitol rose in front of them.

“I’m doing it,” Hope said as they crossed the street, “because it’s the right thing to do.”

They stopped in front of the building’s main doors. Hope mounted a couple of steps and turned.

“We’ve all become very cynical about politics,” he said, sweeping an arm in a gesture that seemed to take in the whole state. “We come down here and spend money and pass one bad bill after another, beating up on people who can’t fight back. But when it comes to standing up against the powerful, or trying to protect the weak, we look the other way. I’m done looking the other way. I’m going to do everything I can to give gays legal protection. I’m done looking the other way.”

Kane heard something in the other man’s voice that sounded like sincerity. Since setting foot in Juneau he’d heard and seen a lot about how the political machinery worked, and about the calculations of politicians with one eye on the main chance and the other on reelection. These were the first words he’d heard that were at all inspiring, and he found himself admiring the man who spoke them. For the first time, getting Matthew Hope out of a jam was more than just another job.

“Okay, then,” he said, “but watch yourself. A lot of people are working pretty hard to sideline you, if not put you away for murder. So be careful.”

Hope nodded at that, turned, and walked up the steps into the Capitol. Kane watched until he was out of sight, then continued toward the coffee shop.

Maybe that’s the attraction to politics, he thought, the chance to do something noble. When he’d been on the police force, he’d sometimes thought of his job that way, although he never dared say anything out loud. The other cops would have kidded him right off the force. But he knew that he yearned to be part of something bigger than himself, and lots of other people did, too. He could see that was at least part of the attraction of religion and of politics, and he supposed that’s why some people became parents, to make their mark on the world and join in the chain of family that reached backward into history and forward past their time on earth.

Religion doesn’t work for me, Kane thought. Maybe politics would. But the thought was quickly followed by doubt. Even if he decided to believe in Matthew Hope’s noble causes, there were plenty of people like Senator O. B. Potter, Governor Hiram Putnam, and even Chief of Police Tom Jeffords to make politics the soiled and unappealing process it had become. Institutions are no better than the people in them, he thought, and this cast of characters doesn’t inspire much confidence.

The coffee shop was full of hippie-looking young people working on laptop computers, playing guitars, or chattering away. He got a coffee and a big cookie and sat down at the only empty table. As he ate, he wondered what one of these youngsters would say if he asked them what claimed their allegiance. Most likely, none of them would have an answer. When you’re young, he thought, life spreads out in front of you like a long, long picnic. You’ve got your youth and your infinite possibilities. You don’t need anything bigger than that.

As he walked back to the hotel, he thought about what he needed to do next. Finding out about what Melinda Foxx had wanted to tell Hope might help. And learning whether Ralph Stansfield had been pushed. So talking with the people in Potter’s office seemed to be a good idea. And getting his hands on the rest of the autopsy. At least he had an idea about how to do that.

And then there was Dylan.

Sitting on his bed in the hotel, he looked through a little pocket legislative guide and tried Potter’s office. No answer. The same was true at Representative Duckett’s office.

I guess they knock off early for the weekend, he thought.

He didn’t have Dylan’s home number. He called Laurie to get it. No answer there, either.

If everybody had already scattered for the weekend, he wouldn’t be able to do much. But the last thing he wanted to do was waste a couple of days sitting around in a hotel room. He picked up the telephone directory, dialed the number for the troopers, and asked for Sam. The woman who answered the phone didn’t want to tell him anything, but he finally wheedled a cell phone number out of her. Sam answered on the first ring.

“It’s Nik Kane, Sam,” Kane said. “I’d like a look at Melinda Foxx’s autopsy report.” He listened. “That won’t cut it, Sam,” he said. “I know you’ve got it.” He paused. “You don’t need to know how I know. You just need to know that how you handle this request will affect whether I file a complaint against your partner.” Pause. “Now, Sam. Blackmail is such an ugly word.” Pause. “That’s up to you. I’ll meet you anywhere.” Pause. “Here? Sure.” He gave his room number, then: “Twenty minutes? See you then.”

Sam arrived with a briefcase and a sour expression.

“This is low, Nik,” he said, opening the briefcase. “When I walk out that door, we’re quits.”

“If that’s the way you want it, Sam,” Kane replied, “but I’m not the one who saddled you with a political investigation and a bad partner.”

Sam took a report from the briefcase and handed it to Kane.

“You’ve got to read it here,” the trooper said. “I’m not making any copies, and neither are you.”

Kane sat down at the table. He made a show of reading the front of the report. No sense letting Sam know he already had it. What the coroner found when he opened Melinda Foxx up was routine until he got to the last page. He read the pair of paragraphs closely, then whistled.

“Any idea who the father is?” he asked, looking at the trooper. Sam was standing stiffly with his back to the hotel room door. He hadn’t even taken off his coat.

“What you get is what’s there,” he said. “That’s the deal. Nothing more.”

Kane took out his notebook and made a few notes. Then he closed the report, got to his feet, and handed it back to Sam, who returned it to his briefcase and turned to go.

“If you’re smart, you’ll get Harry to retire,” Kane said to the trooper’s back. “He’s just an accident waiting to happen.”

“You should know all about that, Kane,” Sam said and went out the door.

Kane picked up his cell phone and punched in a number. After listening for a minute, he said, “Doyle? It’s Nik Kane. Call me back on my cell. I have something you’ll want to know.”

He broke the connection, looked at the legislative directory, and dialed Hope’s number. No answer. Probably just as well, he thought. I should talk to Doyle first.

Kane sat back down on the bed, propped some pillows behind his head, and stretched out. He tried thinking about the case, pushing the facts around in his head to see if they formed a pattern. But there were too many missing pieces. So he tried instead to think of a way to approach his son.

What was it that Montaigne wrote? Kane got off the bed to get the Frame translation that was never far from his hand. Here it was: “I would try by pleasant relations to foster in my children a lively and unfeigned affection and good will toward me, which is easily won in a wellborn nature…”

But when he lay down again to figure out just how to do that, he fell asleep instead.

The telephone brought him to. After all the walking, running, and stair climbing, his legs felt like a couple of sticks of wood. He had no idea of the time, although by the darkness it was late. Oil Can Doyle was talking a mile a minute, sounding like a gerbil on speed. Kane let him wind down and told him what the autopsy report said.

“Why, the minx,” Doyle squeaked. “Any indication of who the father was?”

“None,” Kane said, “although I think somebody had better ask our client about that. He was having secret meetings with her.”

“What do you mean?” Doyle said. “What secret meetings?”

So Kane told him about his conversation with Matthew Hope. When he finished, Doyle said, “Good work. Let me talk to Hope about this other thing. I’ve got to establish a better relationship with him somehow, and maybe this will help. I’ll call him and see what he says, and change my ticket to be back Sunday night. Maybe we should meet. In the bar there at the hotel?”

They set a time and Doyle hung up. Kane lay there for a minute, feeling hungry and slightly disoriented. He heaved himself to his feet, stripped, showered, and dressed again. His hand was on the doorknob when his phone rang again. It was Alma Atwood.

“I’ve got everything for a pretty good dinner,” she said, “if you aren’t busy.”

Kane didn’t have to think long about the offer.

“What can I bring?” he asked.

“Just yourself,” Alma said. “And maybe a toothbrush.”

“I’ll run right over,” Kane said. “I’ll be there in about thirty seconds.”

That brought a laugh from Alma.

“See you soon,” she said and broke the connection.

Kane put a few things in his coat pockets and took the elevator down to the lobby. He thought about calling Cocoa, then about all the guff he’d have to take when he revealed his destination. A cab was discharging passengers at the hotel, so he grabbed it instead.

“Where can I get flowers this time of night?” he asked.

The cabbie took him to a supermarket, where Kane picked up a couple of bunches of flowers. Then he gave Alma’s address. As they made the drive over to Douglas Island, he found himself smiling.

Careful, he thought. You can’t go around with your heart on your sleeve all the time.