She was visibly trembling with rage, a thing Liam had read about but never actually seen. “Fine,” she said. He had her by her right hand and her left foot, and she had to give a little hop to maintain her balance. Tight-lipped, she said, “Will you please let go of me?”
“Certainly.” All the same, he took a cautious step backward before he did. She turned and marched off to the borrowed Cub, parked precariously near the edge of the bluff and bearing all the signs of a hasty exit. She unfastened the cowling and became preoccupied with the engine, which Liam had reason to know was already in perfect shape. Her own Cub was parked more decorously at the opposite end of the makeshift airstrip.
He managed to get his grin under control before he returned to the tent area, and humor vanished as soon as he stepped inside the far tent and saw Don Nelson's body. He crouched next to it, elbows on his knees, hands dangling. Rigor had gone off; the joints were loose. Lividity was fully established. A rough guess would put Nelson's death somewhere in the past two days, sometime over the weekend, probably. Judging from the amount of blood at the scene, he'd been killed where he'd been found. The sooner they got the body to the M.E. to narrow it down, the better. It was hot, probably seventy-five, eighty degrees inside the tent, and even now the corpse was deteriorating. The smell wasn't as bad as it had been on board theMarybethia,but it was bad enough, and it would grow if the body was left there much longer, the decay that caused the smell taking precious evidence along with it.
Nelson's mouth was partly open. Liam leaned forward and pulled down gently on the jaw. There appeared to be a hole at the back of Nelson's throat, which would confirm what Wy had told him about Nelson's wound. It was too dark to make out details. He never carried his flashlight in the summertime, damn it.
“Here,” Prince said from the tent flap, handing him hers. Of course she would be wearing a full belt.
He thanked her and clicked it on. The light revealed a horizontal and surprisingly neat wound at the back of the throat. He peered beneath the skull and saw the exit wound, partially hidden by lividity and the hair at the base of the skull. It looked as if the weapon had been wider at the entry point and narrower at the exit. Rough marks not unlike that of an open hand planted palm down smudged the skin of Nelson's forehead and eyes.
“Looks like a knife wound, all right,” Liam said, getting to his feet. “And then somebody pulled it out.”
The owner of the four-wheeler had fallen asleep, his head sunk to his chest at an awkward angle. “You know this man?” Liam asked McLynn.
“No,” said McLynn, who looked pale and strained but alert. “Looks like he's from the village.”
“A village,” Liam said, agreeing, “but which?” He walked over to the four-wheeler and put his hand on the man's shoulder, giving it a gentle shake.
The man woke up with a phlegmy snort. “Whuh? Whazzat?” He blinked at Liam. “Who you?”
“I think that's my question,” Liam said. The man looked confused. “Who are you, sir? What is your name?” Start with the easy stuff first, the information they had no reason to lie about.
“Frank,” the young man said, willingly enough. He seemed less out of it that he had been when apprehended, although the smell of alcohol that emanated from his breath and clothes was still strong. His voice was low, and, like the Kulukak elders, he had the accent of someone who had grown up speaking Yupik at home and English at school.
“Frank what?” Liam said patiently.
“Frank Petla.”
“Where are you from, Frank?”
Frank took time out to remember. “Koliganek.”
Koliganek was a Yupik village halfway up the Nushagak River. “What are you doing so far away from home, Frank?” Liam said, perching on the four-wheeler seat, folding his arms and assuming the mien of someone who had all the time in the world to shoot a little breeze. It was after four o'clock, the afternoon sun was warm on their faces and a light wind was keeping the bugs off. His uniform was damp and uncomfortable, but he ignored it. He heard Prince shift restlessly behind him and turned his head to give her a warning look. Her eyes widened, and she subsided. Wy had moved from the borrowed Cub to her own, cowling up, head down in the engine, back turned to the others, the set of her spine a clear indication that he was still being ignored.
“Fishing,” Frank said. He could have added, What else? but he didn't. Liam's uniform, damp or not, had finally registered. “You a trooper?”
“Uh-huh,” Liam said peaceably.
Frank gave his wrists a futile tug. “You the one got me tied up here?”
“Yeah.”
Frank frowned a little, thinking. “You jumped out of a plane.”
“Sure did.” Although it was something he'd rather not think about.
Frank was impressed. “Jesus, man, you coulda killed yourself.”
From the corner of his eye Liam saw Wy's back stiffen. “I had to talk to you, Frank.”
“Jesus,” Frank said again. “You're worse'n the Mounties.”
Liam smiled. “Why, thank you, Frank. I don't think anyone's ever made me a nicer compliment.”
Frank's expression indicated that a compliment was not exactly what he'd had in mind. Awareness, and with it truculence, settled over him like fog down a mountain.
Liam did not depart from geniality. “What were you doing up here on the bluff, Frank?”
Frank tried bluster. “I don't know what you're talking about. I wasn't up here, I was minding my own business, riding my four-wheeler around, when you come flying out of the sky. You threatened to shoot my ass off,” he remembered suddenly. He became indignant, or pretended to. “Waving that gun around like nobody's business.”
“Speaking of waving a gun around-” Prince said hotly.
“Trooper,” Liam said. He didn't raise his voice, but she shut up, jaw closing with an audible snap. He smiled at Frank. “I've got this problem, Frank. Maybe you can help me.”
Frank eyed him suspiciously but didn't say he wouldn't.
“I've got a couple of people assaulted on this bluff, right here, less than two hours ago, by someone we think drove in on a four-wheeler.” He clicked his tongue. “I'm sorry to have to say it, but yours was the only four-wheeler around.”
Frank tried bravado. “That don't mean nothing. Hell, everybody's got a four-wheeler in this country.” He jerked his head in the direction of the air base. “The goddamn military's got a dozen, they're all over the place looking for stuff that falls off their planes. Not to mention shooting moose they got no right to,” he added bitterly.
“You're probably right, Frank,” Liam said, nodding. “Still, I have to say we did a pretty thorough search from the air, and yours was the only vehicle we saw anywhere near here.”
Frank hunched a shoulder. “Not my problem.”
“Probably not,” Liam said. He waited.
Frank grew uneasy in the silence. He tugged at the cuffs, and tried whining. “Man, can't you loosen these up? My hands are hurting.”
“I'm sorry, Frank,” Liam said, shaking his head sadly. “I can't do that.”
Frank tried belligerence. “Why not? You got no right to hold me, man, I'm a Native. You got to turn me over to my elders.”
“Your elders are about eighty miles northeast of here,” Liam said dryly, “and I don't think they're going to want to have anything to do with you anyway. Village elders don't hold with murder any more than the state does, Frank.”
Frank tried bluster again. “I don't know what you're talking about, man.”
Liam became serious. “I think you do, Frank. I think you know exactly what I'm talking about.” He saw the panic in Frank's eyes, and dropped his voice to a confidential level. “Look, Frank, I know how it is, you get a few drinks in you, you get in a fight with your girl, you climb on the four-wheeler and light out. You drive out over the tundra, you wind up here, you don't really know how, and you find a couple ofgussuksmessing with the bones of your ancestors.”