Murder at five finger light (5 page)
Upon docking in Ketchikan, he had traded anonymity for the assurance of close scrutiny and had stood leaning against the rail near the gangway as disembarking passengers passed him one by one. From there he had also been able to see cars, trucks, and one motorcycle leave the vehicle deck. A couple of senior citizens had also left from the vehicle deck: An old man with a cane had walked slowly beside his wheelchair-bound wife, who was pushed down the ramp and into the terminal by a steward.
For the three hours the vessel remained at the terminal he maintained his observation post, strolling away only when the lines had been cast off and the ferry drew slowly away from the dock to resume its journey, certain that the subject of his search had made no appearance. Though he expected to watch again in Wrangell and Petersburg, he was now convinced that the larger capital city of Juneau must be her intended destination.
Giving up wake-watching, Cooper abruptly pushed away from the cabin wall intending to stroll forward along the deck to the door that was closest to the cafeteria, another of his endless cups of coffee in mind. As he turned, a disturbance in the rain-dimpled channel caught his attention and he paused to watch as, perhaps half a mile away between the ferry and the distant shoreline, the distinctive “humped” dorsal fin that gives the humpback whale its name came into view above the surface as the giant mammal rose to breathe. As he watched, the huge animal blew a mist of spume into the air, though the spatter of the rain, thrum of the ferry’s engines, and splash of the water they were cutting through obscured the distant sound. In what seemed slow motion because of its size, the whale rolled forward until the giant flukes lifted clear of the water, then disappeared into the depths of the channel once more.
Cooper waited a few minutes to see if it would reappear. When it did not, he was about to resume his walk toward the cafeteria when against the far shore the vague shape of a boat appeared like a shadow, half hidden in the mist. Motoring slowly south close to land, as the fog thinned it gradually grew more distinct until he could see that it was not a fishing boat, as he had first assumed, but a recreational powerboat of some kind, large enough for extended travel with living space similar to a seagoing motor home. Some family of tourists on their trip of a lifetime, he figured, watching it with mild interest. In a moment or two the cloud that hugged the shoreline thickened and the ghostly vessel vanished, leaving Cooper to feel that the sighting had been a trick of his imagination. Shrugging, he swung toward the cafeteria and the continuation of his search.
If the woman he sought managed to leave the ferry undetected and found a place to stay somewhere in the north, he felt he could eventually run her to ground. Though Alaska was a huge state, the bulk of it was wilderness through which ran only a few roads and a limited rail network. Access to many of its towns and villages was restricted to air travel. To Cooper, this meant that its population was contained in a searchable number of communities, even if they were scattered and isolated.
He needed to find her soon—was running out of patience and the wherewithal to continue or extend the hunt. Following her as she attempted to elude him had seriously depleted his resources. But, one way or another, she could not be allowed to escape this time. He felt that he was closing in and savored the idea that when he found her, pleasant or not, he would collect the debts she owed—to him and to others.
CHAPTER FIVE
AS THE PLANE CAME DOWN, JESSIE COULD SEE THAT THE rain falling in Petersburg was lighter than what she had left behind in Juneau. The airport they taxied up to was several miles south of the town, and the terminal part of a line of buildings and hangars that included private charter companies that flew all kinds of support for locals and flight-seeing for tourists during the season. Through a window she caught sight of a sign for Pacific Wing Air Charters and two mechanics in coveralls working on a Temsco helicopter beyond it.
Most rural and many urban Alaskans take flying in large or small planes as much for granted as city dwellers do catching a subway or bus. But maintenance on any kind of aircraft is regarded very seriously, especially by those who fly in the south-eastern parts of the state and who know that making unscheduled landings—in country that is little but heavily wooded slopes, or abrupt rocky shores that descend steeply and immediately into the saltwater depths of the Inside Passage—are to be avoided at all cost. Strict and conscientious care
is
that cost.
is
that cost.
The fisherman in the seat beside her had not even moved when the wheels hit the runway with a bump. When they had stopped at the terminal, Jessie nudged his shoulder and he sat up, rubbed his red eyes, and yawned before reaching down to retrieve his jacket. The young woman on the aisle was already on her feet and, evidently as anxious to get off quickly as she had been to get on, paid no attention to her seatmates. By the time the departing passengers around them had begun to collect their carry-on baggage and move forward, she had crowded ahead of several people and was already headed toward the exit with her black bag.
Space was limited inside the small terminal and the conversation of many people loud, as arriving passengers greeted friends and relatives while they waited for their checked luggage to appear, joining the throng of others who had formed a haphazard sort of security line to board the continuing flight to Seattle. Hating crowds and not in any particular hurry, Jessie avoided both and found a semiclear space on the opposite side of the room to wait till the worst of the crush had either claimed their bags and vanished through the front door, or had been allowed to board the plane. When the room had almost emptied she retrieved her duffel and approached the ticket counter to inquire about transportation to downtown Petersburg. A friendly agent gave her the number for a local taxi and pointed out a pay phone near the door.
Fifteen minutes later, she was waiting on a bench under an overhang outside when a brown, semi-antique Chevy four-door sedan with one gray fender pulled up in front of her, with a rattle and screech of brakes, and a girl of around twenty, wearing jeans and a bright yellow sweatshirt, bounced out and came around to offer her hand with an eager grin of welcome.
“Hey. You must be Jessie Arnold, right? Are you really the Iditarod musher? Oh, hell—I know you are. I’ve seen you on television and in the paper enough times to recognize you easy. I’m Connie, the local cab jockey—when my brother Dave isn’t doing this job. Welcome to Petersburg. Hop in.”
Snatching up the duffel, she trotted to the rear of the Chevy where the trunk, lacking a mechanism to secure it, was held shut with a purple bungee cord, and tossed the bag in with a thump that made Jessie glad she was carrying her camera equipment in her daypack. Opening the rear passenger door, she waved Jessie into the backseat with a flourish, slammed it behind her, and, still talking, hurried around to fling herself behind the wheel.
“Okay,” she said, revving the engine to life and shifting into a gear that screeched in protest. “Where do you want to go? Downtown—yes? Or are you staying with some friends while you’re here?”
“The Tides Inn,” Jessie informed her, managing to get a word in edgewise while catching her balance with a grab at the back of the front seat as Connie let off the clutch with a jerk and made a quick U-turn. Clearly, her driving was as enthusiastic as her nonstop conversation.
“Cool,” she approved, tossing the words back over her shoulder. “Tides Inn is a good place—great people and close to downtown. But then everything is close to downtown. Petersburg is so small you can practically see it all in an hour. Be prepared for Scandinavians though. The place is overrun with Norwegians and most of them like to dress up as Vikings and have parades as often as possible. I’m a Swede myself, but they’re generous and let me live here anyway.”
As Connie continued with a wealth of details on the attractions of Petersburg, a fishing and logging community that had come into being in the 1890s, Jessie turned her attention to what they were passing. While fall had definitely come to her home in the Mat-Su Valley, gilding the birch leaves and scattering them in a ground-covering carpet, she was pleased to see that here the leaves on the trees were still green and there were beds of late flowers blooming in the yards of the houses that sped by the windows of the car. It would be a while longer before winter made an appearance in Southeast Alaska, which was more prone to rain than to snow.
“How far is it into town?” she interrupted Connie’s continuing monologue to ask.
“Oh, not far at all—couple of miles. We’ll be dropping into it in just a few minutes. Nothing’s far from anything else here—even the airport. That’s why the cab doesn’t have a meter. We just know how far everything is from everything else. It’s impossible to get lost because—”
“That
is
a grocery store, isn’t it?” Jessie asked, seeing that they were passing what appeared to be a large modern supermarket, prominently labeled HAMMER & WIKAN.
is
a grocery store, isn’t it?” Jessie asked, seeing that they were passing what appeared to be a large modern supermarket, prominently labeled HAMMER & WIKAN.
“Oh yeah. That’s our new one. You want something there? We can stop if you want. I got some stuff I could pick up anyway, so I won’t charge you any more.”
She was already swinging a right turn into the parking lot as Jessie, amused, agreed. As they turned, she glanced out the window at the road they were leaving. Not far along it, a figure was walking toward town with a small black suitcase in one hand—the young woman from the plane, without a doubt, for her auburn hair was a dead giveaway. Though the rain had all but stopped, she walked with her shoulders hunched, had turned up the collar of her jacket, and had her free hand thrust into a pocket of her jeans.
She must live here,
Jessie thought—but forgot to wonder as they pulled up in front of the grocery and parked with a lurch.
Jessie thought—but forgot to wonder as they pulled up in front of the grocery and parked with a lurch.
“Take your time,” Connie said as the automatic doors swept open in front of them at the entry. “I’m in no hurry.”
Wheeling a cart through the aisles, it wasn’t long until Jessie, remembering that Laurie had promised to feed the working crew, had collected the few things she wanted to take to the island. Still, she thought snacks were a good idea, as were two cases of soft drinks, fruit, cheese, salad greens, and a couple of tomatoes. She added a box of her favorite peppermint tea, milk and sugar for it, and picked up a few candy bars at the check stand, where a friendly woman was waiting to tally up the bill. When Jessie asked if her purchases could be packed in a box or two, explaining that she was going out to Five Finger Lighthouse, the clerk improved on the idea.
“We can put all this in the cooler and deliver it to the dock tomorrow if you’ll let us know when and where. No charge. It’s a service we provide—mostly during the summer for boat people, tourists, and fishermen.”
Handing her a credit card, Jessie gratefully agreed, glad to be relieved of carrying the groceries to the hotel—to say nothing of getting them, along with her personal gear, to the dock to meet Jim Beal and his boat the next day. Knowing she might like some later in the evening, she put the box of tea, a couple of candy bars, and a box of cookies into a plastic bag to take with her, then helped carry Connie’s purchases to the taxi.
Back on the road, they were shortly headed downhill into Petersburg and soon pulled up at the front door of the Tides Inn on the corner of First and Dolphin Streets, a block from the main street, Nordic Drive. Connie had the duffel on the sidewalk before her passenger could make it out and close the door of the Chevy.
“Thanks,” she said as Jessie handed her a large tip along with the fare she quoted. Trading the cash for a battered business card from the same pocket of her jeans, she handed it over. “If you need wheels while you’re here, just call me at this number.”
“I might need a lift to the dock tomorrow if it’s very far. But I don’t know where the boat will come in yet.”
“Probably the public dock, but maybe not if, as you said, he’s picking up construction materials. Anyway, the hotel has a complimentary van that could take you—could actually have picked you up at the airport for that matter—but call if you need me. Or Dave, who will probably decide to drive if he knows you’re the passenger.” She grinned impishly. “Maybe I just won’t mention that then, will I?”
“Thanks, Connie,” Jessie said, laughing. “And for the grocery stop.”
“You bet. Anytime. If I don’t see you, have a good trip. A week at Five Finger Light! Wow. You’ll get to see a lot of whales.”
She was gone, a hand raised to wave out the window, before Jessie could respond.
Hefting the duffel, Jessie walked into the hotel, where she was met by the smell of coffee that filled the air from a pot on a low table across the room. The coffee was, she could see, accompanied by paper cups and packets of sugar and creamer. As she filed away this visual information as a source for a morning brew, a short dark-haired woman came out of a rear office to stand behind the counter with a welcoming smile.
“Have some if you like. It’s fresh. Can I help you?”
“Yes, please. You have a reservation for Jessie Arnold?”
The woman’s smile grew broader and she held out an eager hand to shake Jessie’s with some excitement.
“Oh
yes,
we certainly
do
. The whole staff’s been looking forward to having
you
here, Jessie. We’ve seen you in the Iditarod reports—and the year you ran the Yukon Quest—though we could only get part of it. You’ve got some real fans in Petersburg, including all of us here at Tides Inn.”
yes,
we certainly
do
. The whole staff’s been looking forward to having
you
here, Jessie. We’ve seen you in the Iditarod reports—and the year you ran the Yukon Quest—though we could only get part of it. You’ve got some real fans in Petersburg, including all of us here at Tides Inn.”
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