• 8:00 p.m., Tuesday, September 6 •
Arctic Inn, Chukchi
Denise Sheldon stood working at a keyboard behind the Arctic Inn’s front counter of polished red wood. Her crimson-streaked hair was pulled back in a neat, glossy ponytail. She wore a crisp, white collared blouse with a gold nametag.
In the empty lobby, a row of cup-shaped chairs in shades of light and lighter green were arranged in an arc. A mural of spruce trees covered a wall that curved around one side of the room. Piano music tinkled softly from somewhere among broad, pale green light fixtures that seemed to float against the ceiling like giant lily pads.
Denise looked up with a professional smile. “Good even—” The smile vanished at the sight of the three officers. Nearby, an elevator dinged to a stop. A housekeeper trundled a cart out and down a hall.
Kavik and Long hung back as Active leaned on the counter. “Ms. Sheldon, we’re looking for Paul Noyakuk. When’s the last time you saw him?”
“That day, was it Thursday? When you came by to talk to him? He was going to take Corey fishing on Saturday, all right, but he never show up. I never even hear from him.”
“We went by your house on the way here. Nobody answered the door.”
“My mom and Corey went up to Katonak yesterday to visit her sister. Why you wanna find Paul?”
“He may not be thinking clearly right now, and he could be a danger to himself or someone else.”
Denise’s eyes widened and her hands flew to her mouth.
“Do you have any idea where he might be? Who would he go to if he needed help?”
Denise shook her head. “I don’t know . . . no one, I don’t think. Except maybe Jesse?”
Tears spilled out, and she grabbed a tissue from a box beside the computer. The desk phone rang and she answered: “Arctic Inn, your home away from home in Northwest Alaska. How can I help you?”
Active stepped back from the counter and turned to his partner. “Who else does he have a connection with?”
“Nobody,” Kavik said. “Always been pretty much a loner, as far as I know.”
Long raised his eyebrows in agreement.
Active flipped through his notebook to the pages he had dog-eared while sitting in his rig by the bay, one dog-ear for every interview in which Paul Noyakuk’s name came up.
“Delilah, nope. Jesse, nope. Not Esther, nope. Wait—Loralei!”
“The mother of the little girl that died—the one he thought was his,” Kavik said.
“He didn’t even mention her when we talked to him—only his mom did.”
“Too much pain there?” Kavik said. “The daughter they lost. Maybe they can’t even talk to each other now?”
“I’m gonna go see her,” Active said. “You two stay here in case Noyakuk shows up. I didn’t want to alarm Ms. Sheldon, but he’s armed and she might be in danger.”
“But, if he’s at Loralei’s—”
“If I need help, I’ll call you.”
Active’s phone pinged. He took it out and read the text as he crossed the lobby toward the exit. nita safe at stacy’s! foster mom will look out for her till martha can pick her up in morning.
He studied the screen and frowned. martha? why? he texted back.
made the appointment, leaving for anchorage on morning jet, her next text read. you don’t need to come, something i have to do myself. sorry, baby.
He tapped call in the message window. It went straight to voicemail.
He stared at the screen, wondering when she had made the appointment and why she hadn’t told him till now and what she had told Nita and Martha and what else there was to say. He could think of nothing and tapped off the call.
A few minutes later, Active knocked on the door of a sky-blue cottage set a few yards back from the road, tucked between the airport and the lagoon. Clumps of aspen leaned in to the roof on both sides like frail arms trying to protect the little house.
A dog barked from across the road, then a second and third joined the chorus. After two or three minutes of knocking and yelling “Police!” and “Loralei Howell? It’s Chief Active!” without result, he stepped down the sagging front steps and headed for the Tahoe.
A woman dressed in black was walking in from the road. Raven hair slashed with blue was pulled up at the back of her head with a silver comb. She wore lipstick of a blue so deep it was almost black. A tiny star was tattooed at the outer corner of her right eye, and a spider web adorned her neck.
She planted her knee-high boots on the gravel of the driveway and put her hands on the hips of her skinny jeans. Sequins in a shape of a skull sparkled from her denim jacket.
“What he done now?” she demanded.
“Loralei Howell?”
She gave an impatient nod.
“Chief Active. Can we—”
“I know who you are.”
“Can we go inside and talk?”
“Why not?”
He followed the rolling hips up the steps and into the house. The interior was a single big room except for a walled-in bathroom at a back corner. Active could see a black and white striped shower curtain and a furry red rug.
A couch covered in fake blue velvet occupied the middle of the room. To one side was a double bed with a white iron frame. On the other side, a pile of stuffed animals on the floor surrounded a silver-framed photograph of a little girl with dancing black eyes and a mischievous smile set off by deep dimples. A shrine to the lost one, Active surmised.
The three front walls, painted pistachio-green, were adorned with more photos of the girl. In what looked to be the most recent, she crinkled her nose and grinned, showing the gap from a missing front tooth.
“Have a seat,” Loralei called from behind an open refrigerator door in the kitchen corner. “Want a soda?” The walls there were sunflower yellow.
“No, thanks,” he answered, blinking against the color overload. He sank down into a corner of the blue couch.
She returned with a tall red-and-black can of punched Rockstar, plopped down beside him, and set the can on the floor.
Active pulled out his notebook and pen. “When’s the last time you saw Paul Noyakuk?”
“Why you asking about him?”
“You said, ‘what’s he—’”
“I meant Benton Nelson, my boyfriend. My sometime boyfriend. When he’s not being an asshole. Which is always.”
“Oh, Benton Nelson.” Active pulled up the memory of a tall, good-looking kid with a Pittsburgh Steelers hat and a shiny slash of bare skin through his left eyebrow where someone had cut him with a knife. He had never been in major trouble, just minor fights and property damage, except for when he had set an abandoned house on fire. And, even then, the owner had thanked him for getting rid of it.
“This isn’t about Benton. I’m looking for Paul Noyakuk. Have you been in touch?”
“Not since we had the memorial at Easter for our baby, our little Hershey.”
Active maintained a respectful expression at the sound of the name. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss. Can I ask what happened to your daughter?”
“This last winter she come down with some kind of cold, a bad one, always coughing, sound like a seal barking. I take her to the clinic, the doctor say she doesn’t need to go in the hospital, just put her in the bathroom, run the shower, let her breathe the steam. I did that couple times, but she get worse and pretty soon she almost can’t breathe. I take her to the emergency room and they rush her in the back. Then after while the doctor come out and say, ‘Sorry,’ and that’s it. She’s alive when I bring her in and then she’s dead.”
She told the story with a deadpan face, like she was talking about a TV episode that wasn’t too interesting. Maybe Esther had been right. Maybe Loralei didn’t care about the girl like a normal woman would. But, then again, he had never seen grief look the same twice.
“Did Paul know she was sick?”
Loralei took a drink of Rockstar, put a hand on her chest and gave a slight burp. “No. Paul never find out till he’s back from Iraq and then she’s already dead. That’s why we have the memorial service, because he want to say goodbye.”
“How did he take it?”
Loralei set the drink down and her face became serious, eyes wide. “He was so mad at first. He’s smashing stuff and throwing things, make me real scare. Then he just don’t talk to no one no more.”
“He was angry with you?”
“No. He was angry with that doctor. He blame the doctor for everything. He say that doctor is like those naluaqmiut in Iraq, blow up that school with all them little girls in it. He say that doctor don’t care about little girls if they’re not white. He say he wish he could blow up that doctor.”
“What was his name?”
“Arii, what was it? That cute one. Dr. Todd.”
“Todd Brenner.”
“Yeah, that’s him.”
“Did Paul say how he would blow him up?”
“Nah, Paul was always saying crazy things after he got back. He wasn’t right no more, you know? I never talk to him much since he get like that. I have a job now, cleaning offices. I gotta go on with my life.”
“Do you have any idea where he might be right now? Where he’s staying, maybe?”
“Nope.”
She took another drink.
Back in his rig, Active punched up Kavik on his phone.
“She know where Noyakuk is?” Kavik asked.
“No idea,” Active said. “But listen to this: she says he wanted to quote, unquote ‘blow up’ Todd Brenner because he blamed Todd for his daughter’s death.”
“Shit. That’s motive.”
“Yeah. What’s the situation there?”
“Quiet until a couple of minutes ago. Some irate lady guest is giving Denise hell about something.”
“Ah, the pleasures of the hospitality industry. Look, I need to swing by the house and check on Grace. Call me if something breaks, otherwise I’ll be there in fifteen minutes or so.”
Active steered the Tahoe slowly around a curve and the lagoon came into view. He had just pulled up in front of the house and was bracing himself for what lay ahead when his phone sounded off. It was Kavik.
“Chief, that irate guest. She was complaining about someone in the next room smoking in what’s supposed to be a smoke-free hotel.”
“Uh-huh?”
“Thing is, Denise says that room’s supposed to be vacant. But the lady insisted, said she saw a guy in there when she knocked on the door to complain about the smoke aggravating her asthma. He cursed her out and slammed the door in her face.”
“Did you get a description of this phantom smoker?”
“Yep. Native guy, goatee, camo jacket.”
Active gunned his engine and spun the Tahoe in a half donut to head back to the Arctic Inn.
“I’m on the way. Stay with Denise till I get there. Find out the number and location of that vacant room and which rooms are occupied on that floor right now. Then get the manager to take those guests to the lobby. Quietly.”