He wondered how long and what it took to make her come. He wondered if she screamed when she did. Well, he kind of knew the answers to both those questions now.
He stifled a groan and rolled over on his back.
He wondered if he was ever going to get laid again in his lifetime.
Why her? he asked himself for what might have been the thousandth time. Why this one stubborn, independent, irritating, exasperating woman? She was certainly far too short, especially for him. They’d look like Mutt and Jeff. Where had all the tall blondes in his life suddenly gone? The tall, charming, amenable, accommodating blondes, the ones who were waiting for him when he got to their houses and who let him go again without question the morning after?
The ones who cared as much for him as he did for them.
He remembered again that day in September when he and George had flown into George’s hunting lodge south of Denali and had found Kate Shugak, covered in blood and dirt, keening a dirge to the lifeless body of her lover clasped in her arms. No one had ever loved him that much.
Tell the truth, Chopin, he thought. You never knew it was possible until you saw Kate with Jack. You thought it was something you read in a book or saw at the movies. You never thought it could happen in real life.
He kicked free of the sleeping bag, feeling through his T-shirt the heat of the wood burning in the fireplace.
He was, he realized, circling perilously close to the L word. He’d stared down men with.357s with less fear. He thought of his parents, those two strangers in the split-level house in San Jose, one staring at the television, the other logged onto the Internet, looking for the next cruise they could take. They had been married for forty years, and he couldn’t remember an outward sign of affection more passionate than a chaste kiss, usually on the cheek. He supposed they loved each other, but he had long since decided that if that was love, no thank you. If he’d caught them groping each other in the kitchen, just once, maybe he would have looked at life and relationships a little differently. He didn’t know.
He didn’t know a goddamned thing.
Kate shifted and murmured something.
Except that he had a ferocious and apparently perpetual itch that it seemed only this woman could scratch. He raised his head. “Kate?” he said softly. “You awake?”
“No, she isn’t awake, you moron,” Bobby’s voice hissed from the far corner, “and if you don’t fucking shut up and settle down, I’m going to toss you outside on your goddamn ear.”
It was a long night.
He was shoveling in Dinah’s ambrosial French toast and Bobby’s caribou sausage links the next morning about nine o’clock when Dandy Mike came rushing up the steps.
Jim hung his head over his plate, wishing Dandy away. “No,” he said.
It didn’t work. “Jim!” Dandy said. “You’ve got to come!”
“Haven’t we done this before?” Jim wondered out loud.
“You have to come! John Letourneau is dead!”
There was an electric moment. Jim’s eyes met Kate’s. “I beg your pardon?”
“John Letourneau is dead!” Dandy said again, impatient. “Come on, you have to come!”
Jim, still holding Kate’s gaze-did she look as heavy-eyed as he felt, or was it just his imagination?-said, “John Letourneau is dead? Where?”
“At his house,” Dandy said, calmer now. “I went over to borrow his grill for a party I’m throwing this afternoon, and when he didn’t answer the door, I went around the back to find the grill, and I saw him through the window.”
“You’re sure he’s dead?”
Dandy flushed. “Yes. I checked this time. His heart’s not beating and he’s cold.”
“Anybody with you when you went?”
“Scottie Totemoff.” Naturally. Scottie Totemoff was Dandy Mike’s boon companion. He wondered how Demetri and Billy, both hardworking, responsible men, good providers, good husbands, good fathers, had managed to produce two of the biggest layabouts the Park had ever seen. “He was going to help me with the grill. And the party.”
“Of course he was,” Jim murmured. Undoubtedly, and the drinking.
“I left Scottie to keep watch, make sure nobody gets in to contaminate the scene.” He waited to see the effect caused by this mastery of the language of his newly adopted profession.
“There’s no hurry, then,” Jim said mildly, and drank his coffee. “I might as well finish my breakfast.”
Scottie was waiting for them on the deck, pacing back and forth. “About time you got here,” he told Dandy. “I’m freezing my ass off.”
“Why didn’t you go inside?”
“There’s a dead guy inside!”
“You’ll have to get used to that if you want to work with us,” Dandy said importantly. “Right, Jim?”
“What?” Kate said.
“Let’s take a look,” Jim said, and went inside.
John had been hurled backward out of his chair by the force of the blast, which had sheered off the left side of his chest. The room was spattered with most of it. Dandy’s tracks between door and body were very clear.
The shotgun had fallen with him. His finger was still hooked inside the trigger guard.
“Didn’t put it in his mouth,” Jim said.
“Sometimes they don’t,” Kate said. “Usually it’s because they don’t want to mess up their faces.”
“John probably didn’t want to mess up his hair,” said Jim. Kate looked at him. “Sorry. Cop humor.”
She pointed. “He left a note.”
“I see it.” It stuck out of the old typewriter like a banner. Jim bent over to read it. “ ‘I killed Dina Willner. I’m too old to go to jail.” “
“Wait a minute.” Kate stepped up to peer around him. “That’s it? What the hell kind of suicide note is that? He doesn’t say why?”
“He doesn’t even say how.” Jim stood up. “So, okay. This totally sucks.”
In Kate’s opinion, it could not have been better put, even if it would have sounded more appropriate coming out of Johnny’s mouth.
Rigor was well established and Letourneau was difficult to move. Getting him into the back of Dandy’s truck was bad enough, but Jim thought he was going to have to break one of Letourneau’s legs to get the body into the Cessna. He was inexpressibly relieved when he didn’t.
After forming an honor guard escort to the airport, Dandy and Scottie had peeled off to the Roadhouse, where, in spite of sworn promises to the contrary, he knew they were fast spreading the word. “I’ll fly him into Ahtna,” Jim said to Kate. “Get the body off to the lab.”
“Do you doubt that it was suicide?”
Jim shook his head. “I doubt big time that he killed Dina Willner and assaulted Ruthe Bauman. I don’t doubt that he killed himself.” He thought about it. “Was he sick, do you know?”
“What, you mean like crazy?” Kate snorted. “Like a fox. John Letourneau was one of the saner men I’ve ever met.”
“I don’t mean like crazy, I mean like cancer, something like that.”
“Not that I know of.”
“Was he broke?”
“Not that I know of. Park rats say John’s got the first dime he ever made.”
Jim shook his head. “Then I don’t get it. What makes a man confess to a murder he didn’t commit and then kill himself?”
There was a short silence. “He wanted us to stop looking,” Kate said slowly.
“Bingo. I’m really thinking Riley didn’t do it now, Kate. But I’m going to need a shitload of proof, and I’m going to need it fast.”
Kate turned to him. “From the state of the rigor, I’d say he did it not very long after we left.”
“Less than an hour would be my guess,” Jim said.
Kate nodded. “Me, too. What did we say to trigger this?”
He said quickly, “It doesn’t have to be us. He could have made up his mind to do it before we got there. We could have held him up.”
She flapped an irritated hand. “Calm down. I don’t feel responsible.” He looked at her. “I don’t, Jim,” she said in a quiet voice, her eyes meeting his without reservation.