Fire And Ice Part 21

"I might," she agreed. She was very much in control of herself and in command of the situation--a selfpossessed young woman, with a natural dignity and a solid presence. "I imagine you want to talk to him about the shooting at the post office yesterday morning."

In Liam's professional experience, very few people were as forthcoming as Ms. Choknok without having an agenda of their own to put into motion. "I might," he agreed cautiously, and pulled out his notebook.

"Kelly's an idiot," she said in a tone of dispa.s.sionate observation, "and he is especially idiotic when he has been drinking."

"And had he been drinking yesterday morning?"

"I'd say he'd been drinking pretty much all night," she said coolly. "He started out at Bill's, as I understand it, and then continued on at Tasha's."

"Tasha's?"

"It was a party at a friend's house. Tatiana Anayuk." She spelled it for him and gave him the friend's phone number. "He had been drinking before I got there, and when I left, he still was."

"About what time was that?"

"A little after eleven. My curfew is midnight, and Tasha lives on the bluff south of town. I didn't want to be late. My parents worry."

"I see," Liam said, making a note. "Ms. Choknok, do you have any idea why Mr. McCormick would take it into his head to shoot up the post office?"

For the first time she hesitated, glancing back at the house. "Like I said, he'd been drinking. And when Kelly's been drinking, pretty much anything goes."

There was something she was not telling him, but that was all she was prepared to say at the moment, and by the stubborn set of her very firm chin he knew there was no point in pursuing it. One thing he couldn't resist. "Why are you telling me all this, Ms. Choknok? I had heard--" He hesitated.

She stood up and brushed off the seat of her pants. "You had heard that Kelly McCormick was my blue ticket out of Newenham."

"Well, yes."

She offered him a chilly smile. "He was. My parents are so scared I'm going to marry him that they offered to send me away to the University of Washington."

Out of curiosity, Liam asked, "Where were they going to send you?"

"At first, nowhere--they didn't want me leaving home. Then, when I insisted on going to college, they decided on the University of Alaska." The chilly smile broadened, just a little. "Kelly McCormick's alma mater, or would have been, if he hadn't dropped out last year. He told my folks he still had friends there, that they'd look after me."

Not just intelligent, Liam thought, positively Machiavellian. "Well, I wish you the very best of luck, Ms. Choknok." Not that it looked like she needed any, being the kind to make her own. On impulse, he said, "What are you planning on studying?"

Her expression didn't change. "Psychology."

"Of course you are," Liam agreed cordially. "I understand they have an excellent psychology program at U-Dub."

"That is my understanding as well."

Liam folded up his notebook. "Oh, I almost forgot. One more thing, Ms. Choknok. Can you tell me the name of Kelly's boat?"

"Certainly," she said. "The Yukon Jack. She's a--"

"--white thirty-six-footer with a red trim line looks like it should be on a Nike sneaker," Liam said resignedly.

"Why, yes. She's parked right next to--"

"--the Mary J.," Liam said. He tucked his notebook into his pocket. "Thank you for all your help, Ms. Choknok. Good-bye, and good luck."

She inclined her head once, with all the graciousness of a queen at home on her own court.

THIRTEEN.

He went back to the office and called Tatiana Anayuk's number. A breathless, girlish voice with a permanent giggle implanted in it answered. "Yes, this is Tatiana Anayuk. Who is this?"

"This is Liam Campbell, Ms. Anayuk. I'm--"

"Tasha."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Tasha. Everybody calls me Tasha."

"Oh. Ah. Well, uh, Tasha, then. This is--"

"You have a wonderful voice--has anybody ever told you that? Deep, and low, and kind of growly. I like it."

"Thank you," Liam said. "My name is Liam Campbell. I'm with the state troopers, and I'm--"

"Oh, I love your uniforms!"

"Pardon me?"

"Especially the hats. They make you all look like Mounties." Giggle. "And Smokey the Bear."

"Thank you," Liam said dryly, "you're not the first person to say so. Ms. Anayuk, I've just come from talking to Candy Choknok."

"Oh, Candy, sure. She's my very best friend." A momentary pause. "She's not in trouble, is she?"

"No, I just wanted to ask her a few questions about a friend of hers. She said the last time she saw him was at your house last night."

"Oh gosh, I guess you mean Kelly?"

"Kelly McCormick," Liam confirmed.

"Poor Kelly," Tasha said. Another giggle. "That boy sure tied himself one on, and when he does that--look out!"

"How late did he stay last night?"

"Golly, Lee--"

"Liam," Liam said before he could stop himself.

"Liam--isn't that a nice name; is that like Liam Neeson? I just think he's the absolute most. I cried and cried when I saw Schindler's List, and wow does he look good in a kilt! Only I don't think he wore a kilt in Schindler's List, did he?"

"Tasha, do you remember how late Kelly McCormick was at your party last night?"

"Gosh, I don't know. Mickey Boyd was over, and, well, you know." Tasha's giggle was kittenish and appealing, but Liam was growing tired of hearing it. "We're throwing another party tonight, Liam. You guys have to go off duty sometime, right?"

There were days on the job when Liam thought the larger part of his salary subsidized his patience during witness interviews. Other days he couldn't decide which was worse: a lying witness, or a flirtatious one. "When was the last time you remember seeing him?"

"Gosh, I don't know. After eleven, anyway."

"Why after eleven?"

Again with the giggle. Liam gritted his teeth. "That's when the flatfoot contest was."

"Flatfoot contest?"

"You know, flatfooting pints. Kelly flatfooted a pint of Everclear. Candy said he was going to go blind, but then she's always been such a party p.o.o.per."

"A shame," Liam agreed gravely, and made a mental note to offer Ms. Choknok a ride to the airport to catch her university-bound plane when the time came. "And Mr. McCormick left following the, er, flatfooting contest."

"Yeah," Tasha said regretfully. "Larry Jacobson started puking his guts out right after; it was so gross. We would have made Kelly take him back to the boat."

"Larry Jacobson?"

"Yes, him and Kelly are friends. I think they fish together or something, too," she added vaguely.

Liam remembered the lump in the starboard bunk of the Mary J., the lump named Mac. Son of a b.i.t.c.h. He said, "But you couldn't send Mr. Jacobson home with Mr. McCormick because Mr. McCormick was already gone, is that the deal?"

"That's it! Gosh, you're smart, aren't you?"

"And that was the last time you saw him?"

"Who, Kelly? Sure." The giggle was back. "Of course, we all heard about the shoot-out at the U.s. corral."

"Tasha, do you know why Mr. McCormick would want to shoot up the U.s. Post Office?"

"Well, sure, doesn't everybody?" she said in surprise.

"I don't," Liam said hopefully.

"That's right, you haven't been around here long, have you?" she said in a kind voice. "I remember, I heard there was a new trooper coming." She paused, and said uncertainly, "There was some story about some trouble--but that can't be you, you're too nice. And anyway I can't remember it all."

Good, Liam thought. "So why would Kelly McCormick shoot up the post office, Tasha?"

"Because he doesn't want to be a born-again," she replied promptly.

Liam blinked. "What?"

He heard another voice in the background. Tasha squealed with delight. "Benny, hi! I'm so glad you could come over! What's that you got? Oly? Great! No, I'll be right there, I'm just talking with a friend." She returned her attention to Liam. "I'm sorry, Liam, I have to go."

"No, wait, Tasha, I need to know about Kelly McCormick--"

"I told you," she said, impatient with his slowness. "He shot up the post office because he didn't want to go to church."

Liam said stupidly, "Which church?"

"The Trinity Born Again Unto Christ Chapel, of course," she replied promptly. "None of us want to go, but it makes it h.e.l.l on getting your mail if we don't." Liam heard a door slam and another voice. "Hey, Belle! Listen, Liam, this party's just getting started, you come on over later, you hear? I've always got house room for another good-looking man." She giggled, and then dropped her voice to a confidential murmur. "But don't wear your uniform, okay? That kinda puts people off sometimes, you know?"

There was a click and Liam was left holding a dead receiver. He replaced it carefully in the cradle.

So far, his encounters with Bush villagers were running against type. Generally speaking, you couldn't find an Alaska Native woman who would say boo to a goose. In the s.p.a.ce of two hours Liam had interviewed two who had plenty to say and no fear whatever of speaking their minds. True, one was an airhead, the other eighteen going on eighty, but the difference between these two young women and the village women he had been briefed on in trooper school was vast.

Which only went to show that even the mighty Alaska State Troopers were p.r.o.ne to error on occasion. A sobering thought, which reminded Liam that while interesting, this kind of speculation wasn't getting him any forrader. Kelly McCormick had shot up the post office because he didn't want to go to church. Taking a gun to a federal building seemed to Liam an extreme reaction to an aversion to organized religion, not to mention unproductive. Why not just shoot up the church?

Liam caught himself. He'd been in Newenham for three days, and apparently the location was beginning to rub off on him. The obvious course for Mr. McCormick, if he didn't want to go to church, was simply not to go to church, rather than to get out a gun and- He paused. What had Tasha Anayuk said? Something about not going to church making it h.e.l.l to get your mail?

What was the name of that church again? Trinity something? Liam got out the phone book and looked in the yellow pages. For a city of only two thousand permanent residents, there seemed to be a large per capita percentage of religious establishments. There were churches Roman Catholic and Baptist, Mormon and Moravian, Seventh-Day Adventist and Jehovah's Witness, Russian Orthodox and a.s.sembly of G.o.d.

And there was the Trinity Born Again Unto Christ Chapel, Pastor the Right Reverend Richard Gilbert, presiding, a large boxed entry touting two separate Sunday services, Sunday school, Bible study on Tuesday and Thursday evenings, family services on Wednesday and Friday evenings, and ladies' ministry (whatever that was) on Sat.u.r.day evenings.

He paged back. Newenham had nine churches, and only two bars, an interesting ratio. Most Bush towns he'd been in, it would have been eleven bars, one nondenominational chapel, and the Catholic priest would have flown in from Kodiak to conduct Ma.s.s in somebody's bas.e.m.e.nt before flying on to the next town to do it all over again that afternoon. Maybe Newenham served as the religious center for the district, and people flew or boated or snow-machined in for services.

He put the book to one side and drew out the sheet of paper covered with neatly penciled boxes, each enclosing its own name.

The man with the limp he'd seen talking to Wy at the airport when he returned from Bill's that first day was Darrell Jacobson. Darrell was Larry's father, who was a friend and possibly a business partner of Kelly McCormick's. He drew another box, and added Kelly McCormick's name.

Kelly McCormick had shot up the post office, where the Right Reverend Richard Gilbert moonlighted as the postmaster.

The Right Reverend Richard Gilbert was married to Rebecca Gilbert, who had demonstrated great grief at the news of Bob DeCreft's pa.s.sing, and whom Liam had last seen bolting through the front door of Bob DeCreft's house.

Bob DeCreft was Wy's observer.

Full circle.

His sheet of paper now looked like a circuit diagram for the control panel of a 747. Doing the box thing, as John Barton so elegantly put it, was not helping him on this case, as everything and everyone seemed connected to everything and everyone else, a curse of life in a small town.

He looked at the calendar. It was still Sunday. He opened the phone book again. The ad in the yellow pages had thoughtfully provided a map, showing the location of the church, so as to guide poor sinners unerringly to redemption and reclamation of the soul.

And it was right on the way to the small boat harbor.

The church was a large, traditional building, white clapboard with a steeple, a bell, a wide porch leading up to a pair of handsome double doors, and two lines of rectangular stained gla.s.s windows marching down each side. Liam pulled up across the street and parked discreetly behind a stand of alders now coming into bud.

He was just in time; Sunday evening services were letting out. The family of five Liam had seen on the plane led the way, the baby still wailing at its mother's breast. A dozen others emerged and scattered in various directions. Religion in Newenham seemed to be in good shape, as witnessed by the fond farewells the congregation took of its pastor and the warmth with which those farewells were received.

Religion didn't interest Liam; he'd neither felt that leap of faith nor envied it in others. As far as he was concerned, faith was just a euphemism for confidence, as in confidence game, an att.i.tude he'd inherited from his father, who had told him early on, "Never mind praying; make your own luck and don't go whining to some invisible creator when you don't work hard enough to get it."

This opinion was manifestly not shared by Newenham's mayor, the Honorable Jim Earl, the last one out of the church. He paused at the top of the stairs and his voice came clearly through the open window of the Blazer. "I don't know that I ever looked at Leviticus that way before, Reverend. It's always so hard to get through, all them d.a.m.n, uh, darn laws. Doggone it, and we were just talking about chapter five, verse one, too. Shoot. I'm sorry."