A Grave Denied Part 19

She was as uncomfortable as he was, which, perversely, made him relax a little. "My stuff still there?"

"Everything's just like it was." One of the reasons she was finding it hard to move inside.

He took the decision from her hands, pushed the door open, and ran upstairs to what had been his bedroom. "It's all here, Kate! My Nintendo and everything!"

"Good," she said.

"What?"

"I said that's good, Johnny." She closed the door behind her.

The next thing she knew she was standing outside the door of Jack's bedroom.

A cold nose thrust into her hand, and she looked down to see Mutt looking up at her. "Yeah," she said, and went back downstairs to drop her bag in the spa.r.s.ely furnished guest room.

The bed had about as much give to it as bedrock, but the relief she felt was palpable. "Okay, let's go," she told Mutt. In the hallway she yelled, "Okay, we're outta here!" and Johnny came clattering down the stairs.

She went through the connecting door to the garage, where sat Jack's Subaru Forester. Johnny brightened. "This mine, too?" She smiled. "You bet. But for now, I drive." "Aw, Kate, come on, I can drive. I've driven your truck." Kate opened a door and Mutt leaped into the back seat. "Get in the car, Morgan."

He was still arguing with her as they were backing out of the driveway.

Gary Drussell hadn't been in the phone book but he was listed. He wasn't exactly friendly when she called, Kate noted, but he did give her his street address and directions on how to get there.

He lived in Muldoon, in back of the Totem Theaters. This was way too close to Jane, who lived across Muldoon off Patterson. Johnny said nothing, but Kate noticed he slid down in his seat until his eyes were barely at dashboard level. She quelled a craven impulse to do the same. She wasn't afraid of Jane, but she was afraid of losing Johnny, and she was terrified of letting Jack down.

The Drussells were living in one of the zero-lot line homes that had gone up like weeds in Anchorage during the oil boom of the early '80s, most of them built on filled-in wetlands. This last made for either a damp bas.e.m.e.nt or an unstable foundation or both, but by the time this was discovered the developers had long since decamped to Maui or Miami with their profits and their trophy blondes, leaving homeowners with a choice: bail or bail. Many more than Anchorage lenders were comfortable admitting to had simply turned in their keys and walked away. The rest invested in small pumps and garden hoses, and during especially rainy Augusts you could go into any one of these neighborhoods and count by tens the green plastic lines snaking from downstairs' windows, emptying the water out of bas.e.m.e.nts as fast as it seeped back in again. Ear, nose, and throat specialists reported a radical increase in upper respiratory complaints during such seasons, mostly from the mold and mildew that resulted.

It made Kate proud that the Park had no such tiling as a Planning and Zoning Commission. Not that she had anything left to plan or zone.

Gary Drussell answered the front door before the recollection had time to plunge her into remembered gloom.

It was Sat.u.r.day, with weak sunlight filtering through a broken cloud cover. His hair had darkened and his skin lightened since the last time she'd seen him. Instead of overalls covered in fish scales, he was dressed in sweats, dark blue with white piping, clean and neat. "Hi, Kate," he said, and stepped back. "Come on in."

"Hi, Gary. This is Johnny Morgan. Mutt okay in your yard?"

Gary cast a wry look at the street. "I think the question is, is the neighborhood okay with Mutt on the loose?"

"Stay," Kate told Mutt, who gave a disgruntled sigh and plunked her b.u.t.t down on the wooden porch.

"Morgan, huh?" Gary said, leading the way through a cluttered living room. A girl lay sprawled on the couch in front of a blaring television, remote in hand. She looked up, and Kate felt Johnny pause. She didn't blame him; the girl was lovely, with a rich fall of dark hair, dark blue eyes, and new b.r.e.a.s.t.s pus.h.i.+ng out the front of her cherry red T-s.h.i.+rt in a way no adolescent boy could ignore.

Gary led them into the kitchen without introducing them. He nodded at Johnny. "Any relation to Jack?"

"His son."

"Nice to meet you. I liked your father, few times I met him. Not a lot of bulls.h.i.+t going on there, for a cop."

"Thanks," Johnny said.

"Heard he was dead. h.e.l.l of a thing. Want some coffee?"

"Sure." Kate settled herself at the kitchen table, covered with a faded print cloth and a small Christmas cactus, which was for some inexplicable reason best known to itself blooming in May. The refrigerator was covered with snapshots and honey-do lists. The counters were crowded with a toaster and canisters and a knife block and a little brown clay bowl with feet for legs holding three heads of garlic, one of which had begun to sprout.

A cat wandered in and did the shoulder-dive thing against Gary's leg. He reached a hand down and gave its head an absentminded scratch. The resulting purr nearly drowned out the sound of the television.

"What's this about, Kate?" Gary said, offering her a can of evaporated milk.

She took it and poured with a lavish hand. "It's about Leon Duffy." She looked around to offer the milk to Johnny, but he seemed to have vanished. She heard a murmur of voices from the living room.

"Don't believe I've had the pleasure."

"You knew him as Len Dreyer."

"Oh. Of course. Len. Sure. Best hired hand I've ever had." Gary c.o.c.ked an eyebrow. "What about him?"

"You may not have heard. He's dead."

He raised both eyebrows this time. "Really?"

His surprise seemed minimal. "Yeah. Someone took out most of his chest with a shotgun."

"That's gotta smart." Gary drank coffee. "A shame."

Kate couldn't help but note that Gary's regret seemed even less than his surprise. "Why's that?"

"Well." Gary shrugged. "Like I said, he was first-cla.s.s when it came to hired help. Never bid what he couldn't deliver. Never said he could do what he couldn't. Always showed up on time. Usually finished on schedule and on budget. Your basic home improvement dream team of one." He looked at her, face guileless. "Why are you taking to me about him, by the way?"

It was Kate's turn to shrug. "You're a name on a list of people who had Dreyer do work for them in the days preceding his death. What'd he hire on for, anyway?"

If she hadn't been watching him so closely, she wouldn't have seen the infinitesimal relaxation of his guard. She did see it, noted it, drank coffee, and smiled an invitation for him to continue.

He did, relief making him a little more loquacious. "I was putting the house up for sale, and I wanted to spruce it up a little before I did. Get the best price out of it. You know."

She nodded.

He became more expansive. "We remodeled the bathroom, ripped up that old linoleum and replaced it, stripped the kitchen cabinets and refinished them. That kind of stuff."

"Sure," Kate said, nodding some more. "Makes sense. What made you decide to move to Anchorage, anyway? I thought the Park had its hooks in you permanent."

"So did I." He watched coffee swirl around the inside of his cup for a moment before raising his eyes. "I been fis.h.i.+ng the Sound since I could walk the deck of a boat. I inherited Dad's permit when he died. I didn't think I'd ever be doing anything else." He sighed. "I swear, Kate, there's more fish going up the river today than I've ever seen in thirty years of fis.h.i.+ng, and at the same time the commercial catch is the lowest it's ever been. What the h.e.l.l is up with that?"

He already knew but Kate answered him anyway. "Used to be the commercial fishermen had it all their own way, Gary. Now you've got subsistence fishers and sport fishers wanting their share, too."

"And then the market went to h.e.l.l, what with the RPetCo oil spill and the farmed fish coming out of British Columbia and now Chile." He was silent for a moment. "You hear they caught an Atlantic salmon out of Southeast?"

"No."

"Fact." He nodded once. "Absolute fact. Before you know it, the escapees from the B.C. fish farms are going to be interbreeding with wild Alaska salmon stock, and then what'll happen?"

"I don't know."

"I'll tell you. We lose what market we do have because who the h.e.l.l wants to eat that dry, diseased fish the farms produce? Fresh fish, my a.s.s. I'll tell you what else will happen, too-more guys like me, who used to fish for a living, will be forced to move into the G.o.dd.a.m.n city and find a G.o.dd.a.m.n indoor job where we have to wear a G.o.dd.a.m.n tie."

They brooded together for a moment over the demise of commercial fis.h.i.+ng in Alaska. The television was a steady drone from the living room.

Kate stirred. "Turns out Len Dreyer wasn't his real name."

He looked at her.

"His real name was Leon Duffy." She sat up straight in her chair and took a deep breath. "Gary, there's no easy way to say this, so I'll just come straight out with it. Before he moved to the Park, Leon Duffy was arrested and jailed for molesting an eleven-year-old girl here in Anchorage."

He stared at her without speaking. She couldn't read his expression.

"He served five and a half years of an eight-year sentence. He got time off for good behavior. He disappeared off everyone's radar screen after he was released." She paused. "His next known whereabouts were the Park."

The silence stretched out between them. The television was staying on one channel for a change, although the music, if you could call it that, resembled something between a pig squealing and fingernails on the blackboard. Kate winced. The barely discernable backbeat sounded like it needed a defibrillator. Maybe Bobby was right, maybe there had been no rock and roll recorded worth listening to since the '70s.

Gary stirred and she looked up. "He was never alone with my girls," he said. "That's what you're asking me, right? If he molested my girls."

The dogged way he said it nearly broke her heart. "Gary-"

"He didn't. He was never alone with any of them. He worked with me. I was always with him. You get it? You see?"

"Yes," Kate said gently, "I see." She paused, and closed her eyes momentarily, gathering the strength together to ask the next question. "Gary, when was the last time you saw Len Dreyer?"

He gave a mirthless laugh and drained his mug. "The last time I saw Len Dreyer was the day we finished putting the hardware on the kitchen cabinets."

"Can you remember what day it was?"

"Nope. Sometime last May, just before we packed up and moved." He rose to his feet. "If that's all, I've got things to do."

"Knock it off!" she heard Johnny exclaim, and walked into the living room to see him on his feet, an inch from the door, and if she was not mistaken caught in the act of zipping up his jeans. His face was beet red and he couldn't meet her eyes.

"Okay," she said, "gotta go. Gary, thanks for the coffee."

His expression when he looked at his daughter, flushed, rumpled, and defiant, was half in sorrow, half in anger. "Anytime, Kate. Good to see you again. My best to Billy and Annie, and Old Sam, and Auntie Vi."

"I'll tell them."

Fran and the two older daughters drove up as Kate and Johnny left the house. There were all slim and dark-eyed, with the same s.h.i.+ny dark hair and the same inimical expression when Gary reminded them who Kate was. "Good to see you, Fran," Kate said.

"You, too, Kate," Fran said, white to the lips.

The family stood watching as they backed out of the driveway and headed down the street.

They were stopped at the Bragaw light before she broke the silence. "What was going on back there, Johnny?" She glanced over at him.

He had his face turned to the pa.s.senger side window. His voice was choked. "I don't want to talk about it."

The light changed, and Kate put the Subaru into gear. She drove slowly, while she searched out the right words to say. "I respect your privacy, Johnny, but what happened back mere might have something to do with Len Dreyer."

They were caught again at the Lake Otis light. She admired the raven-stealing-the-sun-moon-and-stars sculpture on the southwest corner of the intersection, the only decent piece of public art in the entire city. A real raven perched on top of a light pole and directed traffic with a series of boisterous clicks, croaks, and caws.

"She made a move on me," Johnny said at last, face still turned away.

"Yeah," Kate said. "Tell me about it."

"I don't want to."

"Tell me anyway. I mean it, Johnny, this is important."

Johnny had gone into the living room and introduced himself to Tracy who had made room for him on the couch. "At first she seemed really nice. She's a senior at Bartlett, and we even know some of the same people from when I went to middle school when I was staying with Mom, kids who are at Bardett now." He fell silent.

"Then what?"

His voice was m.u.f.fled. "Then she-then she-she kind of scootched over next to me, and the next thing I know she's kissing me. Well, I kissed her back!" He whipped around and glared at her.

"Okay," Kate said. "Then what happened?"

He looked away again. "She started touching me. I mean really touching me, Kate. G.o.d, her father was right in the next room. And you, too!" His voice scaled up with his indignation.

Kate drove a while in silence. s.e.xual promiscuity was a cla.s.sic symptom of an abused child. At last she sighed. "Johnny, I think maybe she might have been molested."

"Well, that doesn't give her the right to molest me!"

"No, it doesn't."

"I don't ever want to see her again. If you have to go over there again, you go without me."

"Understood."

They went the rest of the way downtown in silence. Kate pulled into a reserved s.p.a.ce in back of the building.

Johnny cleared his throat and said, "Won't we get a ticket?" Kate laughed.

13.

Did you manage to scare up Duffy's arresting officer?" Brendan was a big-bellied man with thinning red hair he didn't bother to coerce into a comb-over. Shrewd blue eyes looked out over a fleshy nose and a mouth that was always kicked up on one side in something between a sneer and a smile, kind of like Elvis, only with more charm. His suit was rumpled, his loosened tie stained with what might have been breakfast, and his enormous feet, crossed on the desk between them, were clad in a pair of waffle-soled, lace-up leather boots that looked suitable for climbing Denali, if they'd had any heel left to them.

By contrast, his office was neat to the point of making your teeth ache. This was an office that would not tolerate any doc.u.ment misfiled, any folder mislabeled, any filing cabinet overcrowded. There wasn't so much as a speck of dust on any horizontal surface, and Kate got the feeling that if Brendan had the temerity to track mud into the room that a broom and a mop would follow immediately on his heels. His pencils were razor sharp, none of his pens were out of ink, and his telephone sat at a precise angle from his computer, with the fax, printer, and PDA cradle lined up like soldiers next to it. "Got a new secretary, Brendan," Kate said, and it wasn't a question.

He nodded, his expression of woe belied by the look of relief Kate glimpsed in his eyes. "Yeah, Janice, you saw her on the way in. I live in fear. About the arresting officer."