Thin Ice Read online

  “She made me promise to tell her if she gets it right.”

  “Be prepared.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  When he seemed to fall into thought I asked, “Have you heard anything new on my case?”

  His attention popped back up to me. “No, nothing. I saw a television news clip of Detective Majors being interviewed by reporters as she was walking back into her precinct. But she didn’t offer up anything new, other than a possible van sighting. I haven’t tried to call her today and I haven’t heard from her.”

  “I talked to her earlier and I’m hopeful the van sighting will lead to something. I didn’t know the press was still interested; that’s probably a good thing. They haven’t forgotten about it yet. Detective Majors found a blanket out by where the van was sighted.”

  “Okay? Tell me more.”

  I brought him up to speed. He listened unemotionally, even when I mentioned my mother, the civilian and her curious nature, and with such a locked-in focus that I wondered if he was able to remember conversations word for word.

  “You doing okay?” he asked when I’d finished and he’d poured us both Styrofoam cups of coffee.

  “I think so. I don’t know. Probably not, but I can tell I will be okay someday.”

  “You’re alive. You’re safe. I’m watching manifests, et cetera. I’ve got this too, Beth. I’m watching.”

  I nodded and put my hands around the warm cup. “I know. I mean, I really do know that, but I can’t seem to control … me.”

  “That’s how it works. Don’t deny your body the right to get through its stuff either. I’m not saying you shouldn’t seek help, ask questions, I’m just saying that it’s all a process. And it will get better.”

  I looked at Gril. He needed a haircut and a shave. His glasses were probably beyond help. They would never be clean. He needed a new pair, one that wasn’t so bent and had some new lenses. His clothes were rumpled. He smelled like laundry detergent tinged with cigar smoke. I wondered where and when he smoked, and I wondered if Orin’s weed smell still lingered. Even though Gril’s glasses were grimy, the eyes behind them were not only intelligent, but kind. How did that work for him?

  “Detective Majors told me you came here from Chicago,” I said.

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “You were a police officer there?”

  “I was a police chief.”

  “It was a tough job?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “Why’d you leave?”

  “I saw too many kids get killed. Couldn’t take it anymore.”

  “Seems like a good reason to head for Alaska.”

  He smiled. “No, I did that because my wife wanted to come here. She loved fishing.”

  “Loved?” I asked, but sadness pinched the corners of his kind eyes.

  “She passed a couple years ago. This is home.” He looked out the window. “You might not believe it right this minute, but this place grows on you. If you stick around awhile, you’ll see.”

  “Yes, we’ll see.” I took a sip.

  “I wondered…,” he said. “I need something, and you mentioned…”

  “I’m listening.”

  “It’s about Linda Rafferty.”

  “I heard COD is suicide.”

  “Yes, that’s what the ME determined.”

  “But you still don’t think that’s correct?”

  Gril rubbed his stubbled chin and shook his head slowly. “I just can’t buy it, Beth.”

  “It’s hard to know what goes on in people’s lives. I read more about her son’s death in South Carolina.”

  “Right.”

  “What?”

  “Linda Rafferty wasn’t sad.”

  I blinked.

  Gril continued. “She wasn’t sad. She was … angry and wary sometimes, but never sad.”

  “Everyone handles grief differently.” I sat forward. “And anger can be part of grief. We can’t always see suicide coming; that’s the biggest tragedy, the awful hindsight we have to carry with us and second-guess.”

  “Yes, you’re right. And I know what you’re saying, but…” He paused, seemed to be silently building a case. “But that aside, you said you’re good with numbers, measurements?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right. Well, the ME is basing the COD on the numbers involved with the blood spatter measurements. She said that it’s completely reasonable to assume that Linda held the weapon that killed her. In fact, she concludes that it was most definitely suicide.”

  “I’m following, and I am good with measurements.”

  “Okay.” Gril reached for the folder. “I brought them and wondered if you could take a look.”

  “Just the measurements? Not the whole report?”

  “That’s correct.”

  I reached out.

  “This won’t be upsetting?” he said.

  “Numbers on paper? No. In fact, the whole report wouldn’t be upsetting and might be better for me to look at. But I’d be happy to take a gander at the numbers.”

  He handed me the file.

  Along with the numbers, there were a couple of quickly sketched diagrams. I studied the few pages for a few minutes before, and like riding a bike, formulas made it to the front of my mind.

  “This number right here tells me about the blood spatter.” I pointed with my finger. “This number is associated with the spatter on the other side of the wall from where the gun was located. Right?” I felt like I was speaking too simply, but I was doing that for myself more than him. The formulas might have come back, but the wheels in my mind that cranked them were definitely rusty and moving slowly.

  “Got it,” Gril said.

  “Okay, these numbers, the measurements of the spatter on the opposite wall, tell me that the gun, along with the distance of thirty-two centimeters,” I pointed the pencil, “that this spread could only have occurred this way if the gun was right next to her temple. I don’t see anything here about bullet angles, but the ME must have done some other measurements to be certain it was suicide.”

  “She said she did.”

  I looked at the numbers again and then back up at Gril. “I wish I had something else to offer, but if the ME did what she said she did and these numbers are correct, it does seem that suicide is a possibility.”

  “Possibility?”

  “Well, someone could have been forcing Linda to hold the gun there, or if someone else was holding it, they might have done so without contributing fingerprints and holding it at the right angle. Did she leave a letter?”

  Gril frowned and fell into thought. “No.”

  “That always leaves questions…”

  “Again, though, only a possibility?”

  “Yes. It’s probably too late for me to investigate the scene?”

  “It is. It has been cleaned.”

  “Well, without that and without an investigation of Linda’s life, talking to the people she knew, I can only say it was a possibility. There must be a reason that the ME is sure.”

  Gril frowned at me, but it took a minute for me to read his thoughts.

  “You think maybe she was being lazy?” I said.

  “Not lazy so much as in a hurry.”

  I nodded. “I know the type. I’m good with this stuff, but you knew Linda. What has George said?”

  “That he walked in on his wife’s body, lost his mind, and left. He can’t remember his time in the woods. The next thing he remembers is someone honking a horn. Donner said that was you.”

  “It was. That was all he said?”

  “Yes.”

  “He can’t remember any of his time in the woods?”

  “Correct, except that he’s certain he was on his own. He’s sure no one abducted him.”

  “Well, if anyone can understand trauma-induced amnesia, it’s me, I suppose.”

  Gril squinted and looked at me a long moment. “Do you want to remember?”

  “Yes and no.” I wasn’t going to
continue, but then I did. “He kept me tied up a lot, even in the van, tied to the seat, I just remembered that part recently.” I swallowed hard and then my throat tightened. “He wanted to own me, I think, but I can’t quite understand how I know that or what it means. Maybe I will someday. There’s no evidence that he … raped me, but…”

  Gril leaned toward me, resting his elbows on his knees. “That’s good, but he was still an evil son of a bitch.”

  “Yes.”

  “He will be found and taken care of.”

  Neither of us needed further clarification.

  “I hope so.”

  “I’m sorry, Beth. I’m so sorry,” Gril said.

  “I appreciate that. Anyway,” I waved away the conversation, “what about gunshot residue on Linda’s hand?”

  Gril sat back in the chair. “Yes, there was some, but she was a hunter, and she’d been out hunting that morning. Doves.”

  “Right.” I thought about my quick visual of the inside of the Rafferty cabin. I remembered the colors, the dingy wood walls, the wood floors.

  “A barrel burn on her head?”

  “She had a hat on.”

  “I see.”

  “George and Linda were solid from what I could see,” Gril said. “A good couple. Not over the top lovey-dovey or anything, but if you’ve been around long enough, you pick up tells. There’s a choreography that goes along with people who genuinely care about each other. It’s the space between them, you know. You can read the space—it seems comfortable or not—and you can figure out the couple from there.”

  “You’re intuitive?”

  Gril smiled. “I’m old.”

  “What about their background? Their son? That had to be a terrible time.”

  “They came from South Carolina, used to own a watch shop.” Gril continued the story I’d read with Orin just a short time ago. “Until Linda’s death, I’d never had a conversation with either of them about their son. I’d heard about the tragedy, but I respected their privacy. I asked George if he thought that’s why Linda killed herself. When I asked the question, it seemed like he had to remember it happened. It was three years ago, but you never forget something like that. He said it might have contributed to her wanting to end her life, but he didn’t say much more than that.”

  “What about the baby? Serena stopped by to place an ad about her knitting class and she told me about the baby pattern Linda was interested in knitting. She said she told you.”

  “She did. I asked George and he said he didn’t know anything about any baby.”

  “That’s strange,” I said.

  “You think so? Maybe they didn’t listen to everything they said to each other. I asked for Linda’s email, but he said she didn’t have one.”

  “That’s strange too.”

  Gril laughed once. “Not really. Internet access isn’t easy up here.”

  “Maybe a paper letter somewhere?”

  “Maybe, but we jumped in quickly and searched the house for evidence. We didn’t find anything to help us, including a letter about a baby. In fact, we didn’t find anything written anywhere. No clues on her cell phone either.”

  “What about Linda and Donner?”

  “What?”

  I opened my mouth to tell him what Benny had told me, but he stopped me with a hand up in halt. “You talked to Benny?”

  “Yes.”

  “Benny says that stuff just to stir things up. She’s not a troublemaker really, she just likes to keep things interesting.”

  “I’ll get used to her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hmm. Okay, well, I think I’ll try knitting.”

  “We all have. Wasn’t my cup of manly, hot, strong coffee, you know?” Gril puffed his chest and smiled.

  “Yeah, I get it.”

  I liked this man, this officer of the law who was smarter than he looked. He was kind and cared about the people in his community. I hoped I never had to test his skills, his real strength. He wasn’t a young man, but some good things came with getting older. Orin seemed so different from him, but I noted to myself how I’d quickly grown somewhat fond of these two men who had visited me today.

  Friendships and trust are formed fast in Alaska, Francis had said.

  “Thanks for your help, Beth.” Gril stood and gathered the papers and the folder, and I walked him to the door.

  “Thanks for…,” I said.

  “Don’t worry about it. Call me if you need me,” he said.

  I cleared my throat. “You still don’t believe she killed herself, do you?”

  “No. I’m stubborn though. Maybe I just need to give in to the so-called experts.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe not. My grandfather never did, from what I remember.”

  “See you later, Beth.”

  “Later.” I watched him walk to his truck and then left the door unlocked as I went back to my desk. A few moments later, I got up and locked the door. I’d keep working on me, but I wasn’t ready for an unlocked door. Maybe tomorrow.

  Nineteen

  I decided to skip breakfast the next morning, but not because I finally wasn’t hungry. I was just as famished as I’d been for days, but I wanted to get something done early. I pulled out a burner phone and called Donner, who answered with, “Who’s this? How can I help you?”

  “Beth Rivers. I really need a truck.”

  We were both silent a long moment, but he came back with, “Give me fifteen minutes. I have an idea. It’s not the best, but it might serve the purpose. You’ll need cash. About a grand.”

  “I can do that. I’m at the Benedict.”

  “No, we call it the House, not the Benedict. I’ll come pick you up.”

  “Oh. Okay. Thanks.”

  True to his word, Donner was there when he said he would be.

  “Bringing one over on the ferry from Juneau is usually the way to go, but I did think of one idea that might be quicker. You sound like you wanted it today,” he said after I hopped into the passenger side.

  “Today is good.”

  “All right.”

  “Ruke is a Tlingit,” Donner said as he steered his truck toward the ocean. He pronounced it Klink-it. The ocean grew bigger, wider as we approached. Under a temporarily sunny sky, the horizon seemed a universe away. “His father was good with herbs and medicine, and recently passed, but Ruke carries on.”

  “A medicine man or a shaman?”

  “I don’t think those are titles that are still used, though I think they used to be. I just call him Ruke. His father, Tenet, was a good man. Ruke is too, but he’s young. It will take some time for him to be as talented as his father was.”

  “How young is he?”

  “Thirty-five.”

  “I thought you were going to say teens or twenties.”

  “No. You’ll see. Ruke’s sister drove the truck I want to show you, but she recently married and moved, didn’t want to take it with her.” He sent me a quick look and then continued, “The Tlingits have tribes. Marriages must bring together two tribes. You’re not allowed to marry within your tribe.”

  “Ever?”

  “That’s the tradition. Anyway, it’s a bad-looking truck but it’s reliable. For another couple years, I think.”

  “Interesting. Okay, I’ll take the truck.”

  “Well, you should look at it first.”

  “Right.” I looked at Donner’s profile. He wasn’t the same irritated man who’d picked up a potential felon from the small airport. I was going to buy the truck even if it was loud and barely moved. Barely was still better than the bicycle. “Can I ask you some questions about Linda Rafferty?”

  “Only if you’re okay if I choose not to answer.”

  “Were you good friends with Linda Rafferty?”

  Donner sent me a quick look. “What do you mean?”

  “Were you two friends?”

  “Yes, we were friends. Why do I think you’re asking something else?”

  “Benny said it was
rumored that you and Linda had an affair.”

  “What?” Donner laughed. “No. I’m not going to dignify this with any further comment.”

  “Got it. Thanks for answering.”

  Donner shook his head. “Damn Benny.”

  I thought I’d heard the same sort of thing said about Benny’s sister. Maybe the two of them did just like to keep things lively, but I sensed there was something more substantive there.

  “Gril still doesn’t believe she killed herself,” I said.

  “No. Me either. There was nothing that I knew about Linda that made me think she could kill herself but I know she and George saw tragedy back in South Carolina.”

  “Their son.”

  “Yeah. I know it was horrible and painful, but I still don’t know much. They never talked about it. Even when Gril asked George about it—you know, when he woke up from that weird sleep—George didn’t say much. It was different—they were upset, but … well, it was like they’d worked to forget about it and didn’t like being reminded.”

  “Something might have reminded Linda, and the pain was too much.”

  “That’s possible, but I still don’t think so.”

  “Do you think Linda was scared of anything, anyone?”

  “Interesting question.” Donner thought a moment. “She did act jumpy sometimes, like she was looking over her shoulder. Not always, but I did notice it sometimes. In fact, I noticed it recently.”

  “What were the circumstances?”

  “Yeah.” Donner fell into thought. “I don’t know off the top of my head. I can’t quite remember the moment. It’ll come to me. I’ll probably tell Gril before I tell you.”

  “That works for me.”

  Donner laughed. “Not going to be the type of reporter who goes for the jugular?”

  “I’d prefer just to help illuminate the truth.”

  Donner laughed again. I smiled.

  “Sounds over the top when I say it that way, but I do mean it,” I said.

  “Alrighty then. Illuminating truth is good.”

  We’d moved even closer to the ocean. A muddy beach led the way out to dark water. My stomach fell with what seemed like a never-ending depth. I smelled something briny, but I didn’t know if it was a real scent or my imagination.

  Something occurred to me at that moment—not a memory so much as a realization. My imagination. It had been wild, out of control all my life. I hadn’t noticed it was any different than anyone else’s until a friend had mentioned it right after my first book hit big.