Season of Death (50 page)

“What about the widow Farrell?”

Ray couldn’t help laughing. Widow Farrell? That made Janice sound like a poor, lonely old woman who lived in a retirement home. “The
widow
is pleading not guilty.”

“Thank she’ll get off?”

Chewing the old fashion, Ray said, “I doubt it. According to the DA, they now have evidence that she accepted money in return for faking the site at Red Wolf.”

“Ah …” Billy Bob took a gulp of coffee.

“The Feds in Fairbanks said a federal grand jury indicted the management from Digidine, the Hunan branch in San Francisco. They’re planning to go after the parent company in Hong Kong. But it’ll take a while to fight through all the red tape.”

Billy Bob nabbed a cinnamon twist. “The goons are being prosecuted too, right?”

“Chung and Chang? Yeah.” Ray took another bite of donut before shooting the remaining U into a nearby trash can. “Hunan tried to have them extradited under the pretense that it was an internal Chinese matter. But the DA told them where to put it. They’ll be doing time in a federal pen.”

Across the room, Margaret turned around, made a face, shook her head at the inefficiency. Ray gestured at the open donut box. Lifting it for her perusal, he wiggled his eyebrows. Margaret licked her lips and held up a palm: in a minute.

“Kinda disappointin’ that old Headcase got away,” Billy Bob lamented.

“He didn’t get away. We made a deal.” Ray sighed. They had discussed this at length on several occasions. Billy Bob was always quick to remind Ray that he had allowed a dangerous gunman, the man responsible for shooting him, to “get away.”

Massaging his leg, the cowboy added, ‘’Seems like such a shame. Fella shoots a policeman and gets clean away.”

“He didn’t get clean away,” Ray argued. “I told you what happened. He had a shotgun pointed at me. It was either deal or die.”

“Wall … In that case, ya made the right choice.”

In that case
… Ray was about to lay into the cowboy when Lewis came trotting around the corner. His white dress shirt and tie were stained with dark brown splotches.

“Aiiyaaa!” he bellowed. “Dat machine. It spray me good.”

“We told you it spit.”

He glared at them, then at his shirt. “I gotta change. Can’t work like dis. How much longer we gotta wait?”

Margaret was one woman away from the window.

“Not long,” Ray said. “At least, not long enough to go home, wash a shirt, dry it, and come back.”

Lewis scowled. “You don’t think I got extra clean shirts?”

“No.”

“? got one extra. Christmas present from Mama. Still in da wrapper.”

“That’s the only reason it’s clean.”

Billy Bob laughed, bunny teeth jutting out of his mouth.

“Dat funny, huh? I tell you what funny: you, Ray, me hunting da Bush.”

“That’s not funny, Lewis,” Ray said. A shiver ran up his spine. “That’s scary.”

“Next weekend.”

“Even if we were stupid enough to follow you into the wilderness again, which we are not, it’s too late in the season. The caribou are gone. The bears are hibernating.”

Shaking his head, Lewis announced, “Wolf. On snow machine. ‘Member, Ray? We used to do it when we was kids, back in da village.”

“Oh, I remember. I remember almost freezing to death one time because we got lost and you forgot to pack food and a map.”

“Not my fault.”

“It was your fault. I was in charge of transportation and weapons. I borrowed Grandfather’s snowshoes and his rifles. You were supposed to bring food and a map.”

“Long time ago … I forget who did what.”

“That’s when I quit trusting you, Lewis.”

“Trusting me? You still trust me. We work together. I’m real great cop.”

Ray shook his head. “That’s what’s so bizarre. On the job, there’s no better guy to have as a backup. But in ‘da Bush’ … I’d just as soon go ice fishing.”

“Ain’t that kinda borin’?” Billy Bob asked. “Sittin’ in the cold, waitin’ on a bite?”

“Boring is better than dangerous.”

“You want icefish?” Lewis asked enthusiastically. “I know good place on floes.”

“I was kidding. We’re not going out on the floes with you, Lewis.”

“Serious. Dis a secret. Nobody knows how real great it is.”

“Except you. And the polar bears.”

“Aiiyaa. Not many polar bears. Besides we carry 300s. It be good … real great.”

Ray was about to debate the matter, when he realized that Margaret had finally reached the front of the line. She was talking to the clerk, exchanging paperwork, signing something … A minute later she strode toward them angrily, cheeks flushed, eyes burning.

The three men rose.

“This place drives me crazy!” She paused to grimace at them. “Sit down …” When they did, she continued. “They are so slow! I’ll bet half the patients go into labor before they check in, even if they’re only here for a pregnancy test.”

Ray lifted the box. “Maybe these will help make up for the inconvenience.”

Frowning, she grumbled, “I can’t. My bladder’s so full it’s about to explode.”

“Ladies’ room is right around the corner,” Billy Bob offered politely.

Margaret shook her head at him. “We’re supposed to go into room 4. And wait for the technician.” She yanked Ray up by the arm. “Come on.”

Lewis and Billy Bob saluted them with their cups.

Ray followed Margaret into room 4 and closed the door. It was dark except for the glow of a single fluorescent light recessed into a rack of electronic equipment. Margaret sat down on the bed and started crying, something she had been doing a lot of recently.

Ray put his arm around her. “What’s the matter, honey?”

“… Nothing …” she managed between sobs.” … Everything …”

“Oh.” He decided not to push. Margaret had warned him that the mood swings would be erratic, emotional, without a tangible connection to daily events.

“I’m worried.”

Ray nodded. “That’s natural.”

“But what if something’s wrong with the baby? Or what if the baby comes between us and we stop loving each other? I’m just …”

He took her hands in his and squeezed them. “It’ll be okay.
We’ll
be okay.”

Margaret threaded her arms around his waist and clung to him. They were poised for a kiss when a woman whisked through the door.

“How are we today … Mrs …” She flipped pages on a clipboard. “Attla?”

“Fine,” Margaret answered.

“Please lie back on the bed and pull up your shirt,” the woman directed, her attention on the equipment. She flipped switches and turned knobs, sending the bank of electronic devices into a frenzy of blinking lights. “Okay …” Turning toward the bed with what looked like a computer scanner in hand, she gave Ray a cursory glance and gestured to a chair in the corner of the room. “Dad … if you’ll make yourself comfortable right over there … You can see what we’re doing in the monitor.” She punched a button and a TV screen flashed to display a blank blue screen.

Ray took his assigned seat and watched as the woman squirted something on Margaret’s taut, extended belly. After smearing the substance around, she began pressing the scanner-thing on the exposed flesh. On the monitor shadows and irregular-shaped patterns of gray light sloshed around.

“There’s the baby,” the woman said happily.

Ray squinted at the screen, trying to make a baby from the images. It reminded him of underlit home movies from space, the moon as captured by a drunken astronaut.

“Here’s the spine. It looks good.” She moved the device. “Here we see the arms. This is the head.” She used a pencil to trace a circle on the monitor.

“Where’s the head?” Ray wondered.

But the woman was moving the device again. Audio static surged in a pulsing rhythm. “That’s Baby’s heartbeat,” she said nonchalantly.

Ray listened, hypnotized by the sound. A heartbeat? There was something living inside of Margaret? He had known, of course. Yet knowing and actually hearing the child, hearing blood pulse through a new life … Extraordinary.

He looked at Margaret. She was glowing, transfixed by the pictures and sounds. Ray tried to take a mental snapshot of it all: the sparkle in her eyes, the curve of her stomach, the tiny butterfly thing on the screen jerking in time to the accelerated train engine.

“Do you want to know the sex?”

Margaret looked at him, grinning. He shrugged back. “Can you tell?” she asked.

“Well, if it’s a boy, sometimes it’s pretty obvious.” She fiddled with the scanner, adjusting and readjusting it. “Mmm … Hard to say. Fifty-fifty chance either way …” She tried another angle. “If I had to guess, I’d say … girl. But don’t hold me to that.”

Margaret was nodding. “I think it’s a girl too.”

The technician abruptly ended the guided tour of Margaret’s womb. Extinguishing the equipment, she turned on the overhead light, blinding them. “Everything looks good. The doctor will want to look at the video.” She ejected a VHS tape from one of the machines. “Then it’ll be yours, for a souvenir.” Gathering her notes, she chirped, “Good luck,” and hurried out the door.

After wiping away the gel and tucking in her shirt, Margaret changed temperament like a sports car shifting gears. “I wish you hadn’t invited the whole gang. It was just an ultrasound. It makes me uncomfortable having Billy Bob and Lewis here.”

“They wanted to come,” Ray said, trying to duck the mood swing.

“It’s not their baby. It’s ours, Ray. This is something personal, just between the two of us. When the baby comes, we’ll share her with our friends. Until then …”

“Gotcha.” Ray nodded, ready to please. “Your wish is my command.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Are you making fun of me?”

“No.” He reached for the door and held it open for her.

“You’re not funny, you know.”

“I know.”

“I’d like to see you do this. Next time you get to carry a baby around for nine months. We’ll see how you like it.”

Lewis and Billy Bob stood. “How’d it go?” the cowboy asked.

Ray waited for Margaret to respond. He wasn’t sure if the appropriate answer was “good” or “bad” or “none of your business.”

“Fine,” she answered.

“Eh …” Lewis prodded. “What it gonna be?
AnutAiyaaq? Or agnaiyaaq?”

Ray half expected Margaret to belt him. To pummel all three of them, just for being men. Instead, she smiled. “A girl … we think.”

“Wall, shoot fire,” Billy Bob exclaimed. “There goes my idear for a name.”

“What
idear
was that?” Ray asked.

“Why, Billy Bob, a-course.”

Even Margaret laughed at this.

“Got
agnaiyaaq
names?” Lewis asked.

She winked at Ray, as though, suddenly, inexplicably they were friends again. “I have a couple in mind.”

“You do?” Ray asked. The night before Margaret had thrown the book of names at the wall and declared tearfully that there were no suitable girl names. “Like what?”

“Well … My favorite is Keera.”

Ray’s mouth fell open.

“Keera
,” Billy Bob drawled. “That’s real perty. And different.”

“Dat Inupiaq?” Lewis asked.

“I don’t know,” Margaret said. “I had a dream a couple of months ago … Right after I found out I was pregnant. And there was a beautiful little girl in it. Her name was Keera.” She gave Ray’s hand a squeeze. “What do you think, honey? Do you like it?”

Ray was dumbfounded.

“Honey? You like it … don’t you?”

“What? Oh … yeah …
Keera
… Uh … it’s … it’s great. It has a nice
familiar
ring to it.”

AUTHOR’S NOTE

B
ACK TO ALASKA
. Once again I’ve been afforded the opportunity to visit the Great Land, if only in my mind’s eye, and would like to thank those who made the journey possible: my editor, Lyssa Keusch; the crack staff at Avon Books; Karen Solem at Writers House; and my supportive family, especially my wife, Melodie.

It should be understood that I have taken artistic liberties in the telling of this story. While I attempted to depict the residents and wilderness of northern Alaska as realistically as possible, the characters, events, and some of the locations herein are imaginary and should be taken as such.

My hope is that the following mystery will not only keep you turning pages and guessing “whodunit,” but foster a sense of respect for the Native people of Alaska and the fascinating, beautiful, sometimes unforgiving land they inhabit.