Nik Kane Alaska Mystery - 01 - Lost Angel (30 page)

 
1 SAMUEL 17:50

 
 
 
 
KANE TOOK THE HANDCUFFS OFF LITTLE JOHN AND locked him in the cell.

“But you promised to leave me alone if I told you about the girl,” Little John said as Kane closed the cell door.

“Looks like I lied,” Kane said, taking a seat in front of Slade’s computer. Ignoring a steady stream of questions, complaints, and demands, he pecked away at the keyboard. When he’d finished, he printed out his page and went upstairs to make coffee. He was back at Slade’s desk working on his second cup when the trooper came in.

“Burglary my ass,” he said to Kane. “There wasn’t anything worth stealing in that dump. Guy probably trashed the place when he was drunk and forgot he’d done it.”

He took off his coat and hung it on a hook.

“What’s this?” he asked, motioning with his head to Little John.

“That’s a citizen’s arrest,” Kane said. “Turns out he is running a house of prostitution.”

“No,” Slade said. “Who knew? Are you breaking the law, Little John?”

“Fuck you guys,” Little John said. “What are you, comedians?”

Kane handed Slade the piece of paper he’d typed.

“We just want to keep this guy away from telephones while we go see his old man,” he said. “This affidavit should be enough to hold him.”

Slade read the page and shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Look,” Kane said, “the old man is the toughest of this crew and he knows the most. We don’t want him running, and we don’t want him warned, not with all the guns he’s supposed to have. What do we care if some judge says this wasn’t legal in six months?”

Slade looked at Kane, then at Little John.

“He does look good in there,” the trooper said. “You ask him anything about the mine payroll robbery?”

“Nope,” Kane said. “Figured I’d leave that to the authorities.”

Slade pondered for a moment.

“If he was involved in the robbery, it’s a felony murder rap, two counts now,” he said, “so we can’t question him while he’s locked up on this.” He shook the paper. “It might be enough to keep him inside for twenty-four, but anything he says about the robbery won’t stand up in court.” He paused. “Christ, I hate all these rules and lawyers and shit.”

“Welcome to the wonderful world of police work,” Kane said. “Do you know where the old man’s cabin is?”

“Yeah, it’s out a dirt road north of town,” the trooper said. “Harding Drive, the old bastard calls it.”

“Fine, let’s go see him now,” Kane said. “If anybody was involved in the robbery, it was the old man. This one doesn’t have the sand to do anything by himself. We’ll brace his father and see what happens.” He thought for a moment. “We’ll take my rig. You’ll hide in the back. I’ll try to talk my way in. If I do, you can sneak out and cover my play. If I don’t, no harm done. We’ll come back, turn this one loose, and start grilling him. Unless . . .”

He got up and walked over to the cell.

“Listen up,” he said. “We’re going to see your old man now. We’re going to find out what he knows about Faith, and about that payroll robbery at the mine. If you’ve got anything you want to tell us about those things before he gets to talk, now’s the time.”

Little John laughed.

“You’re wasting your time,” he said. “You won’t get anything out of my father.”

“Okay,” Kane said. “That’s not your best move, but if that’s the way you want to play it.”

Slade rode most of the way sitting next to Kane in the pickup’s cab.

“He tell you anything about videotapes?” the trooper asked.

“Yeah,” Kane said. “He said his old man has them. Claimed he doesn’t know where they’re kept.”

Following Slade’s directions, Kane turned off the highway onto a narrow road that led through the trees. The road had been plowed, and polished in spots to glare ice. Kane drove slowly. After they passed two or three side roads, the trooper told him to stop.

“Time for me to get in the back,” he said. “The road you want is the next left. It takes off just where this one starts to climb to the right.”

He got out of the truck and, carrying his shotgun, got into the back.

The road to Big John’s cabin was even narrower and hadn’t been plowed. Kane followed old tire tracks along it.

The cabin was a big log A-frame. The front door faced uphill, toward a large clearing filled with snow. A new four-wheel-drive pickup was parked under some spruce trees off to one side. On the other was a tall woodpile. Smoke curled from the cabin’s chimney. It was full daylight, or as full as daylight got, and Kane could see that the A-frame’s windows were covered with wooden shutters.

“Doesn’t look all that welcoming,” he said to himself as he pulled up. He parked the pickup so that Slade could slip out the back without being seen from the door, got out, climbed the steps, walked into the Arctic entryway, and knocked.

No answer.

He pounded this time, his gloved fist making the door rock as he struck it.

“Knock that off,” a voice called from inside. “Get off my porch and get off my property, or you’ll wish you had.”

“John Wesley Harding,” Kane called. “I’m here to talk to you about Faith Wright.”

“Go away,” the voice called.

“That’s not going to happen,” Kane called back. “I’m staying until you talk to me.”

No answer. Kane pounded on the door some more, keeping up a steady battering until the door slid open and a gun barrel poked out.

“You got more guts than brains,” a voice said. “Who are you?”

Kane put his hands out to the sides to show that they were empty. Behind the gun barrel he could make out what might have been white hair and a white beard surrounding a lined face.

“My name’s Nik Kane,” he said. “Faith Wright’s father hired me to find her.”

“What makes you think I know anything about this Faith whatever-her-name-is?” the voice asked.

“I’ve talked to your sons,” Kane said. “I know she was turning tricks at the roadhouse for you. I don’t care about your whorehouse, but I need the answers to some questions about Faith.”

The voice was quiet for a moment, then said, “You’re a complication. I don’t need no complications right now. I could shoot you, but the ground’s too froze for burying.” The voice laughed. “Come on in.”

The gun barrel disappeared and the door swung open with a creak.

“Just keep your hands where I can see ’em, and walk on in here,” the voice said.

Kane did as the voice instructed. The interior of the cabin was dark and he couldn’t make out much.

“Push that door shut and lock it,” the voice said from the shadows.

Kane turned and pushed the door shut, then fiddled with the lock. A hand shoved him out of the way.

“Just get over there,” the voice said. Kane moved away, then turned. He heard the lock click into place and saw the old man straighten. The gun in his hand was an Army-issue .45. From where Kane was standing it looked like you could drive a Mini Cooper down the barrel.

“Rightee-ho,” the old man said. “Now, take your coat off, careful like, and let it fall to the floor.”

Kane did, then followed the gun barrel’s instruction to turn slowly in a circle. That seemed to satisfy the old man.

“Well, you ain’t got a gun, at least not one easy to get at,” he said. “Walk over there to that chair and sit.”

Kane’s chair seemed to have been made from willow poles, the cushions made of caribou hide and stuffed with God knew what. He sank into them like he wouldn’t stop until he hit China.

The old man snapped on a lamp, and Kane got his first good look at the place. It was all done up in rustic, the walls covered in wood paneling, a big wood stove blazing in the fireplace. There was even an honest-to-God grizzly rug in front of the fireplace.

Big John seemed to go with the room. He was of average height and build, with broad shoulders and a big head framed in a lot of white hair that didn’t look to have been washed recently. His face was deeply lined and his mouth turned down at the corners in a permanent frown. He was wearing Carhartt pants held up by suspenders and a flannel shirt rolled at the sleeves to expose long underwear. He had some sort of moccasins on his feet.

If Kane hadn’t known better, he’d have thought the man was some harmless, worn-out old prospector. But the glint in his eye and the .45 trained on Kane said different.

The old man took a similar chair across from him.

“Rightee-ho,” he said, “ask your questions.”

“Do you know where Faith Wright is?” Kane said.

“No, I don’t. I truly don’t. But you know, these hookers aren’t too stable.”

“Uh huh. Why did you change your mind and put her to work?”

Big John smiled.

“Oh, that. I like to help enterprising young women.”

“So it didn’t have anything to do with the fact she’s Moses Wright’s granddaughter?”

The old man’s smile grew.

“I didn’t say that. Sure, I like the fact the old fraud’s granddaughter was doing the dirty for money. After all the wrong he’s done me all these years.”

Kane looked at the old man.

“You tell him what she was up to?”

Big John’s smile disappeared, replaced by a poker face.

“Now, why would I want to do that?”

They sat looking at one another for a few moments.

“You know, you and Moses Wright look a lot alike,” Kane said. “You related?”

“Nope,” the old man said. “People are always asking me about that. Must be that we’re both so godly.”

He laughed at that.

“You got any more questions?”

“Yeah, I do,” Kane said. “Who are you so afraid of?”

“What makes you think I’m afraid?”

“You’re hunkered down here with your cabin buttoned up tight and a gun in your hand. Seems like fear to me.”

The old man shook his head.

“Just being cautious. You never know what you’ll run into out here in rural Alaska. Now, I think it’s time you was going.”

“I’m not done,” the detective said. “You think one of your sons had anything to do with Faith’s disappearance?”

Big John laughed at that.

“Not likely. My oldest boy don’t have the backbone, and his brother was in love with the little whore. She probably took off somewhere like they do. Or one of her clients wouldn’t take no for an answer. Or maybe them Angels found out what she was up to and is punishing her some way. Ain’t nobody more ruthless than a righteous man with a Bible in his hand.”

“You mean, like Moses Wright? Why would he hurt her? She’s his granddaughter.”

“I ain’t saying it was the old fraud,” Big John said, “or any other one of ’em. I’m just saying all the sin in these parts ain’t sitting here in this room. Now, if you’re finished . . .”

Kane nodded and started to get up.

“Wait a second,” the old man said. “Ain’t you going to ask me about the robbery?”

“What robbery?” Kane said.

Big John just smiled.

“You mean the mine payroll?” Kane asked. “I’m not investigating that.”

“That’s not what I heard,” the old man said. “I heard you was one of the first on the scene and was kind of running things.”

Kane nodded.

“That’s right as far as it goes,” he said. “But if you know all that, you should know that a couple of trooper investigators showed up and took over. Told me to butt out.”

Big John shook his head.

“Nope, I never heard that part. But if you’re saying it, it must be true. You cop types never lie, right?”

“You’re a fine one to talk. I’ve been lied to more times than I can count, and by better liars than you. I figure you haven’t said two true words since I came in here.”

The old man gave him a sarcastic smile.

“Then I don’t see any more reason we should be talking,” he said. “Do you?”

“Guess not,” Kane said.

He put his palms on the chair’s arms and levered himself to his feet. The gun barrel wavered as Big John started to do the same. Kane dove at him. The .45 went off, the bullet going God knew where. Kane got his hands on the old man’s wrists and rolled off the chair, bringing the old man with him. When they stopped rolling, Kane was sitting on Big John’s chest, pinning his arms to the floor. The old man threw his head to the right and tried to bite the hand that held the gun down. Kane let go of Big John’s empty hand and clipped him on the jaw.

“Knock it off,” he growled, “or the next punch puts you out. Let go of the gun.”

The look the old man gave Kane was feral and full of hate. But he gradually relaxed his grip on the .45. Kane took the gun, rose, stuck it in his belt, and offered Big John a hand. As the old man reached his feet, he lunged at Kane and tried to knee him. Kane turned his leg and took the knee on his thigh, then pivoted back, using his momentum to put some zip into the slap he landed on the side of Big John’s head.

The old man staggered back a couple of steps and fell back into the chair. Kane was right on top of him when he pulled a small-caliber automatic from under the chair cushion. The detective swiped the gun away and landed a short, sharp punch to the old man’s jaw. Big John’s body went slack, but Kane wasn’t taking any chances. He dragged the old man to the middle of the floor, away from any convenient hidey-holes.

A shotgun blast blew the front door open and Slade came through like he was storming Omaha Beach. Kane stuck his hands straight up in the air.

“Just be calm,” he said. “It’s all over.”

The light went out of Slade’s eyes, and he lowered the shotgun’s barrel.

“I heard the shot,” he said after he’d collected himself. “I was all the way around at the back of the house. I thought maybe something had happened.”

Then he smiled.

“Heard gunfire,” he said. “Probable cause.”

“You’re learning,” Kane said. “Now why don’t you keep an eye on this fellow while I conduct an unofficial, unrecorded search of this place? And be careful. The old boy is dangerous as a wolverine.”