Well. No point in letting the food go to waste, especially if it tasted anywhere near as good as it smelled. He reached for one of the burgers, unwrapped the foil, and bit in. It was lukewarm but juicy and had just the right ratio of onion to meat. The fries were good, too; real potatoes, heavy on the salt and greasier than the bilge of a boat.
Wy looked startled, and then, fleetingly, amused.
There were one or two exclamations of disapproval from the remainder of the crowd, as if there was something intrinsically profane in ingesting nourishment in the presence of the dead, but after some hesitation, a little muttering, and a few pointed glances at the mound beneath the blue tarp, they began to drift away, to their homes and kitchens. It was dinnertime, after all.
Liam took another bite of burger and motioned to Gary Gruber, still hovering indecisively around the periphery. Liam couldn't decide if Gruber had remained because the death had happened on his watch on property for which he was responsible, or out of a perverse fascination with the act itself. From his expression, half appalled, half inquisitive, it was probably a combination of both. "Have you called an ambulance?" A thought struck him and Liam swallowed a mouthful of burger. "Newenham does have an ambulance, don't they?"
Gruber nodded. "Yes. I called the dispatcher and she said she'd find him and send him on."
"Only one?"
Gruber nodded, watching with fascination as Liam munched steadily through burger and fries and washed everything down with the large Coke Wy produced from the truck's cab. It was a fountain Coke, and a good one. Liam was going to have to cultivate this Bill guy.
" Gary?" Wy said. "I need another spotter." None of them looked at what was left of her last one, which might not have been the best incentive for accepting her offer of employment. "Can you take a day? I pay the standard percentage."
"I told you, Wy," Liam said, "you can't take this plane up. Not right now. It may be a crime scene."
"I've got another plane," she informed him, and couldn't hide her pleasure at his surprise. "It's a 180, so it won't be as good for spotting as the Cub is, but it'll do." She saw his expression and said, urgency back, "I've got to get in the air, Liam. The whole fleet's out now, waiting on an announcement from Fish and Game to put their nets in the water. The herring season only lasts until they catch the quota, and I'm spotting for the high boat in the bay. And Cecil Wolfe didn't get to be high boat with his spotter on the ground," she added with feeling.
"No shit," Gruber said with equal feeling.
"All right," Liam said. "You can fly, but first let's take another look at that p-lead." He would have waited for the forensics team to show up and dust everything for prints, but since this wasn't NYPD Blue there would probably be an awfully long wait.
The two of them crowded into the open door of the Cub. "Can you unhook it or unscrew it or something?" Liam said.
"You aren't afraid I'm going to destroy evidence that might convict me of murder?" Wy said sarcastically.
Liam gave her a steady, unsmiling look. "All right," she muttered, and reached beneath the dash. A moment's fumbling, and two pieces of thin plastic-coated wire were resting in the palm of Liam's hand.
"It's been cut," Wy said, staring.
It was true. Normal wear and tear would not have produced the neatly severed ends of the little wire.
"Somebody must have reached up under the control panel and pulled down the lead and nipped it with a pair of wire cutters, and then shoved it back up again," Wy said. The tightness was back in her voice.
Liam allowed his free hand to give her shoulder a quick, reassuring squeeze. For a moment, for a brief, halcyon moment, he felt her relax into his touch. In the next second, she had tensed and pulled away.
He would have gone after her this time, even with Gruber watching, even if the crowd had still been there, even if somebody had been selling tickets, but a construction orange Chevy Suburban V-8 Turbo Diesel roared up to skid to a halt five feet from the Cub. The door opened and the grizzled old frowner from the Anchorage flight yelled, "You the new trooper?"
"Bad news travels fast," Wy muttered.
Liam shot her an unfriendly look and said to the man, "Yes, sir. What can I do for you?"
"Some drunk's shooting up Bill's," the man said. "Get in."
Liam, out of uniform and unarmed, said, "What about the local police?"
"We just lost two officers to the goddamned troopers," the man said, "two more went fishing, and we've got two left to do a six-man job. The one on duty right now is on the other side of town trying to keep Nick Pauk from killing Johnny Wassillie, and the wife of the other one flat won't wake him up from the first good sleep he's had in a week. You coming or not?"
Liam looked at Wy. He looked at the body lying on the ground in front of the Super Cub, which had no useful advice to offer. He looked at Gruber. "You stay here, watch the plane and the body, see that no one interferes with them. All right?"
Gruber, pausing in the act of jamming a fresh wad of bubble gum into his mouth, said blankly, "What?"
"Nobody touches that plane until I get back. When the ambulance shows up, tell the paramedic he can load the body but to wait here for me."
"What?"
"I'm deputizing you for the duration. Nobody else touches anything." Liam looked over at Wy. "Nobody. Got that?"
She looked up at that, and said with a trace of defiance, "I'll stay, too."
"I thought you had to get in the air."
"You just co-opted my spotter," she said, jerking her chin at Gruber. "And the Cub is my plane. I don't want anyone messing with her, either."
Good, Liam thought. Should the subject arise later, for whatever reason, Gruber could testify that Wy had gone nowhere near the Cub while Liam was gone.
"Goddammit, get the lead out!" the grizzled man said testily.
"One minute." Liam buttoned the severed p-lead into an inside pocket and went to the terminal to find his bag. Another police officer would have carried his weapon on board, but Liam was always afraid it might accidentally discharge in the cabin and blow up the plane. He located his bag-the rest of his stuff was being shipped-strapped on his regulation Smith and Wesson automatic, and went back outside to find that the old man had pulled up to the door. Liam climbed into the passenger seat and the old man slammed the Suburban into first and they pulled forward with a jerk. Liam slapped a hand on the dash to brace himself against the man's careless shifting, not improved by the many and deep potholes on the road between the airport and town. It was a jolting, bouncing ride. "They ever grade this road?" he said above the noise.
The man grunted. "Every week." He thrust out a ham-sized right hand. "Jim Earl. I'm the mayor of Newenham."
"Oh." Liam took Earl's hand. Hizzoner had a firm, callused grip. "Liam Campbell."
"I know. Thought that was you when I saw you in the Anchorage airport. We heard you were coming."
"Oh," Liam repeated, and wondered what else they had heard. A crater the size of Copernicus loomed up in front of them. Jim Earl drove right through it. When he came down off the ceiling Liam wedged himself into the corner as firmly as he could, one hand gripping the back of the seat and the other pressing against the glove compartment. "What's the situation with the local cop? Should we maybe detour over there first, see if he needs backup?"
"Shit no." Earl spit out the window, fortunately rolled down. In retaliation, a large blast of wet, cold air flooded the cab. "The way I hear it, Amy Pauk thought Nick was safe out fighting for his share of herring, so she invited Johnny Wassillie over for the morning. Johnny and Amy got this thing going," Earl added parenthetically. "They think nobody knows about it." He snorted again. It seemed to be his favorite expression. "Fine, fine, most of us could give a shit who's screwing who, and I'm all for a quiet life anyway. Only trouble is Nick's boat broke down and he had to limp back into the harbor early. Goes home to grab some grub, catches Nick and Amy in the sack, goes for his rifle, starts a little ventilating. Dumb bastard." The mayor shook his head. "It's too early in the day for that shit."