Northern Conspiracy

By RL Coffield

Finally, the Missing, Middle Book in the Ben Thomas Trilogy is Here!

For five years, readers of the Ben Thomas trilogy have impatiently awaited the long-overdue second title in the series, a top-notch, brutal mystery where murders, drugs, sex, and unbounded avarice will keep fans turning the pages in this superb, sexy mystery.
Set in the same northern environment as the wildly popular, award-winning Northern Escape, the book provides all the missing links that connect the three novels, plus introduces a host of unforgettable, loathsome villains.

Meet the notorious, despicable Bill Passkey; find out how Chloe Littlebird ends up in Phoenix; watch Detective Ben Thomas solve Alaska’s crime spree of the century. And what about Mack?
“If you weren’t a Ben Thomas fan before, you will be now!”
Jere D. James, author of Saving Tom Black and Apache

• Language: English
• Publisher: Moonlight Mesa Associates
• Release date: Jul 25, 2012
• ISBN: 9781938628061

Book preview

NORTHERN CONSPIRACY

R.L. Coffield

Copyright R.L. Coffield 2010

Moonlight Mesa Associates, Inc. owns exclusive rights to publish and distribute this title.

PUBLISHED BY

Moonlight Mesa Associates, Inc.at

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www.moonlightmesaassociates.com

[e-mail]

ISBN 978-1-938628-06-1

LCCN: 2011905517

Any references to real people, living or dead, and real events, organizations and locales are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity.

All names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is entirely coincidental.

CHAPTER ONE

She smelled blood permeating the air even before she entered the room. Detective Chloe Littlebird had whisked down to Thomas Bay from Juneau in a copper chopper, but now wished she’d taken a boat, even though it would have taken much longer. If the weather kicked up, the copter would have to leave, and she needed to stay at the crime scene as long as possible. She didn’t want to make mistakes her first time as lead detective. Miraculously, almost too miraculously it seemed, this assignment offered her the opportunity to redeem herself from the disgrace she’d experienced earlier in the year, and she certainly didn’t want to leave the scene prematurely because the weather turned sour. She knew her every move would be meticulously scrutinized.

The murder scene, a cabin set at the south end of Thomas Bay, was a typical, rustic Forest Service cabin. This one appeared larger than some, but still remained just a one-room, simple A-frame structure. As she stood on the porch glancing about, Chloe could see that the area had been compromised already with too many sets of footprints running in all directions around the house. Any leads outside were now probably history. Hopefully, the inside hadn’t been compromised also.

The room quieted as Chloe entered after showing her badge to the officer guarding the entry. Three uniformed men gathered in the corner looked her way, their badges, like a tattoo, identifying them as members of the Petersburg office. The men’s scrutiny thickened, nearly suffocating her as she stood in the doorway, trying to take in the scene as a seasoned veteran would, but in reality feeling very small and inept.

Who arrived first on the scene? she asked, trying to sound officious.

I did. John Richardson. And you are…?

Detective Chloe Littlebird. Alaska State Trooper. Criminal Investigation. I’m officially taking charge of this case. Chloe struggled to maintain eye contact during this exchange, even though she wanted to apologize for issuing orders to someone obviously older and probably far more experienced than herself, yet one who nevertheless had allowed the crime scene to be compromised with tracks in all directions.

It’s all yours, lady.

That’s Detective, she corrected.

"It’s all yours, Detective."

What’s happened so far? Chloe asked, choosing to ignore Richardson’s insubordinate tone.

Dispatch in Petersburg got a call from the guy who discovered the body. We headed right over but had some rough seas. Took a bit longer than usual, but I’d say we were here within two hours of the 9-1-1.

Where’s the man who called you?

He and the gal with him were pretty shook up, so we put ‘em on the boat to wait. Richardson read from his notepad, His name is Duane Marcum, out of Juneau, and her name…

Chloe interrupted. Duane Marcum, the Assistant D.A from Juneau?

Didn’t ask what he did.

Okay. Go on.

Her name is Terri Scovell. Also from Juneau. They were coming here for the weekend. The guy said they were supposed to be here yesterday, but he got held over because of a meeting, so they didn’t make it until today. He’s feeling if he would’ve been here on time that maybe it wouldn’t have happened.

Yeah…or maybe he’d be dead too, Chloe added.

The vic’s ID. says he’s Charles Curtis, 57, lives at an address listed in Juneau.

Juneau’s controversial district attorney lie dead at her feet. Although Chloe hadn’t yet had any dealings with the man, she’d seen his picture often enough on billboards around town. It was an election year – guess he wouldn’t be running now.

Anything else? she asked after a moment of reflection. Any chance there are witnesses floating about?

Well, there’s usually fishing boats in and out of here because it can be pretty good anchorage in a blow, but there’s no way of really telling who was here or what they might’ve seen.

So the whole fishing fleet of S.E. Alaska could be suspect – is that what you’re telling me? Chloe asked.

Well, could be. There’s not much going on for fishing right now though, just a few salmon still being caught, so I doubt the whole fleet came in, but basically there’s no way of knowing exactly who was here.

I want you to check with the harbor master on your return to Petersburg. Find out which vessels were absent yesterday. Do the same with Wrangell, and I suppose Juneau. That should narrow the number of possibilities down. Also, see if anybody remembers pleasure boats coming out here. Make a list of boats and their owners and get it to me as soon as possible, Chloe continued, growing confident as ideas starting coming to her.

She turned her attention to the medic kneeling by the body. What are you thinking? she asked, squatting beside him.

I’d say he’s been dead about 24 hours, maybe a bit longer. The blood is congealed and the body’s in rigor. Notice the gashes?

Is that what killed him?

Won’t know for certain until an autopsy’s performed, but I highly doubt it. I also think the victim knew the killer.

What makes you think that?

Well, the way his body’s on the floor with the overturned chair, it’s like he was sitting when he was attacked. Like maybe he didn’t think he had anything to fear. Had he shown fear, it seems like there’d have been a weapon nearby, or he’d have been over by the wall seeking protection. He might even have bruises on his knuckles, but that doesn’t look to be the case. It’s really nothing concrete -- just a lot of little things. The medic stood, eyeing the corpse. I’m not a doctor, nor a cop. That’s just my opinion.

Chloe moved back to get a good look. You could be right. The cup on the table’s not overturned. No coffee spills. She thought a moment. Maybe he was attacked from behind, but…the killer would still have had to enter through the front door, since there’s no other entry.

Looks that way. I haven’t moved the victim yet. I’ve been waiting for lead man… he quickly corrected himself, lead person to show up. I’m betting easy money that if I turn him over we’ll see a major contusion in the back of his head, judging by the pool of blood.

Chloe could see this would probably be the case. Let’s turn him over, then.

The large, gaping hole in the middle of Charles Curtis’ head no doubt caused death instantly. Bits of bone and brain were matted in his hair. Why then, wondered Chloe, was the victim also slashed up? What kind of an instrument would make these cuts?

The slashes? she asked.

Well, without knowing for sure, I’d say they were administered post-mortem. I think the killer wanted to make it look like – well, I don’t know, maybe a bear attack?

That’s very odd, Chloe mused. When do you think they’ll have the autopsy findings?

If they’re not stacked up, within a couple of days they can pretty much know everything, including what he ate for the last two days. I’ll see that they make it a priority, Detective.

Chloe handed him her card. Get back to me as soon as you can. You can go ahead and bag him when you’re ready.

I think the body should be transported to the Alaska Scientific Crime Detection Laboratory. Are you okay with that?

Absolutely. She arose from her squatting position and looked about the room. She’d have everything dusted. Table, chairs, dishes. Maybe the killer’d been careless. She knew that statistically a murderer makes more than twenty errors in the commission of his crime. It was her job to find a mistake. Just one. One mistake out of twenty or more that could lead to a conviction.

I’d like to speak to the people who found him, she said, turning back to John Richardson. The boat’s out front. He silently and grudgingly escorted her to the vessel.

As they approached the boat, Chloe began issuing orders. Since the area’s been compromised already, have your crew search for a weapon. I’m hoping the killer didn’t take it with him. Maybe he threw it in the bushes. Get some divers to check out the bottom of the bay. Look for possible murder weapons – weapons that could put a good sized hole in the back of a human skull. Get someone to lift prints. Then I want you on the fishing vessel list immediately. I’ll close things up here. I’ll send you back to Petersburg on the copter. I’ll get a ride back on the boat when I’m ready to leave. She paused. This area should be cordoned off for the time being.

We’ll post a patrol boat out here, but we can’t afford to run one forever. How long you think this is gonna take?

It will take as long as I say it will take. This is a high profile case. This is not some drive-by. Chloe’s tart response sounded good to her. She could see the big man clench his jaws in fury at being spoken to so condescendingly.

Who’s gonna foot the bill for the overtime? We don’t have big department budgets like some people. Richardson’s voice oozed sarcasm, and Chloe knew that taking orders from a woman riled him.

Send the bill to the governor’s office, she suggested. Charles Curtis is the governor’s brother.

John Richardson sullenly led Chloe to the waiting police boat nosed up to the bank, securely moored to a large log. He pulled the vessel in slightly while she climbed aboard. Remember, Officer, I want that list – asap, Chloe added with emphasis.

Roger that. You’ll have it, Detective.

Huddled in the main cabin, Duane Marcum and Terri Scovell looked positively miserable. Scovell lay in a fetal position on the settee in a cocoon of blankets. Red, puffy eyes stared vacantly out of her ashen face. Marcum sat with his head bowed, chewing nervously on his chapped lower lip. Both looked up anxiously when Chloe entered the small cabin.

I’m Detective Littlebird. Homicide Investigation. Chloe observed Terri Scovell begin to cry. And you are?

Duane Marcum. This is my friend, Terri Scovell.

And you’re the ones who found the victim?

Yes.

Mr. Marcum, Ms. Scovell, I have just a few questions for right now, but I’ll need to talk with both of you at greater length when we’re back in Juneau. You both live in Juneau, correct?

Yes. We do, Marcum answered for the two of them.

Please bear with me for just a few questions. I know this is an upsetting situation for you, so I’ll only keep you for a bit.

I’ll help in any way I can, Detective. I just feel so terrible about all of this.

About finding a dead body, Mr. Marcum?

Well, yes, damn it. And if I’d come when I was supposed to this wouldn’t have happened.

You can’t be sure about that.

Look, I knew the victim. I work with Charles Curtis. I work for him, in fact. I guess I should say ‘worked’ – past tense, Marcum paused as if expecting Chloe to ask in what capacity. When she didn’t, he continued. I’m the assistant D.A. in Juneau. Charlie was my boss. I was coming down for the weekend, but I got here a day late. I had an unexpected meeting and just couldn’t get away.

And can someone verify this meeting, Mr. Marcum?

Of course. Wait! His eyes shot open in fear. You aren’t considering me a suspect, are you? Do I need an attorney?

Mr. Marcum, you’re not a suspect, and I don’t want you to be one, that’s why I asked. So, tell me, did Mr. Curtis know you were en route?

Yes. He came down here often and was always telling me about it. I reserved the cabin for right after he had it. I was going to come down and he was going to take the boat back to Juneau, then come back for us in a few days. I had the place rented for a three day stay.

Who owns the boat that you were using?

Charlie. I borrow it once in a great while. It’s Charlie’s boat.

Chloe made a note to check with the Forest Service regarding the cabin’s rental history. Perhaps they’d have a record of others who might have accompanied Charles Curtis during his visits. She also made a note to check on the boat.

Where’s the boat moored usually? she asked.

He has moorage in Juneau. I can’t remember the name. It’s the main harbor though.

Ms. Scovell, would you give me your name, address, and phone number so I can get in touch with you if I need to?

Terri didn’t know Charles. She just came down with me for a few days, Marcum hastily said.

That’s okay. I still need the information for my report, Chloe answered without looking at Marcum. She studied the young woman, whose visible shaking indicated she needed treatment for shock.

Can we leave? Marcum asked.

Of course. I’ll have one of the officers run you to Petersburg. You can catch a flight out of there for Juneau.

Well, why can’t I just take the boat back?

The boat will be impounded during the course of this investigation, Mr. Marcum. It’ll be released to Mr. Curtis’ next of kin when we’re finished with things.

I see. May I get my belongings off the boat?

What might those be?

My clothes. Ms. Scovell’s clothes. Just personal effects.

Chloe didn’t see why they couldn’t, but figured she’d best say no for now.

Not at this time. I’m sure there’s nothing critical on board that you need, so just write out a list of your belongings and send it to me. I’ll be certain that your personal effects are returned as soon as possible.

Chloe observed that Marcum seemed genuinely uncertain of what to say or to do. She figured that the aplomb he displayed in the courtroom must have deserted him, and that he could think of no legal reason to demand his belongings. He looked clearly rattled. Perhaps my briefcase then? I have papers I need for court. This was supposed to be a ‘working’ holiday for me.

As soon as we can, Mr. Marcum. Chloe closed her notebook and stood to leave. You’re free to go. But until the investigation is concluded, please keep the department informed of your whereabouts. You weren’t planning on leaving town, were you? I hope to have this concluded soon.

Terri Scovell, still mute, shook her head. Duane Marcum didn’t answer, but asked instead, Concluded? Already? Are there clues?

There are always clues, Mr. Marcum. There’s rarely a perfect murder. As Assistant D.A. you should know that. Chloe spoke with flagrant over-confidence.

Yes. Yes. You’re right, of course. It’s just that – I don’t know. It seems so soon to have clues.

Chloe said nothing as she turned and exited. Using the mooring line, she pulled the boat closer to shore, jumped off, and stood on the beach, carefully studying the bay and surrounding area. Something about Marcum didn’t sit right with her. She had little doubt that Scovell was totally innocent. Maybe it was just the lawyer factor. Marcum made her uneasy, but maybe her inexperience was the real problem. After all, nobody could easily maintain their composure after stumbling upon a gruesome murder, Chloe mused, but maybe there lie the problem. Did Marcum act too composed? She’d have to check out every facet of his story.

So, she had a corpse. She had the individuals who found the corpse. She had potential suspects sprinkled all over the waters of S.E. Alaska. Then there existed the numerous criminals that Curtis had prosecuted over the years. Did he have a case pending that threatened incarceration for someone? A lot of possibilities. But no weapon. No witnesses …unless…unless a fishing vessel’d been anchored and the skipper’d seen something.

Chloe spent the remainder of the afternoon following footsteps in and out of brush around the cabin. Earth in Alaska, seemingly always damp, held prints well. She just needed one set that emerged from the pack and took off alone. One set. After two hours of fruitless endeavor, she gave up and returned to the cabin.

The patrol boat arrived from Petersburg and sat inside the entrance to the bay, idling slowly, waiting to send any visiting boaters on their way. Yellow crime scene tape now encircled the cabin, and the attending officer had just installed a padlock on the door when Chloe appeared.

Let me take just one more good look around, Officer, Chloe said as she mounted the steps.

The young man stood aside as she entered the room. The smell of death still hung in the air even though the corpse had been removed. A massive puddle of the victim’s blood lie congealing on the wood floor.

What happened here? Chloe pondered as she surveyed the room. Have you heard when they’ll be dusting? she asked the officer.

I heard they’ll be out here tomorrow, ma’am. Or maybe the next day. Depends on the weather. Along with the divers. The rookie officer stood at attention, his eyes riveted on nothing in particular.

Good. Until the technicians dusted the room, however, she didn’t want to touch anything. Hairs on the floor, fibers from clothes, anything could be a clue. How many people had already been in the room? Including herself, maybe five. There would be some contamination, but everyone who’d been there could easily be eliminated by a good forensics person. What was she missing? She turned and walked onto the porch. Something looked out of place, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She turned back and scanned the room. A diesel-burning stove stood along the far wall, so why was there a splitting maul lying against the wall by the stove? Maybe the splitting maul was there to cut wood for outside campfires.

Is there a fire pit outside?

I don’t rightly know, ma’am.

Check for me, will you?

A few seconds later the young man returned. I couldn’t find one, ma’am.

Get me a large plastic bag. If I’m lucky, I may have just found our murder weapon. If I’m lucky, she said, trying to keep animation at bay. Of course the maul could simply have been left by someone who’d come to cut firewood. Excitement began to percolate, but she didn’t want to put all of her hopes on the maul being the weapon.

She carefully placed the heavy implement in the plastic bag, securing the end with a bag tie. Tell the other officer I’m ready to leave. Make sure the cabin is secured before you go. I’m holding you responsible for its security, she added.

Yes, ma’am, the officer’s eyes widened as he acknowledged the sudden seriousness of his task.

It’s Detective Littlebird, by the way. Not ma’am.

Yes, Detective Littlebird ma’am.

Chloe sighed. She understood her career remained a male dominated one, even more so in Alaska. Still, the blatant reluctance on the part of the male officers there that day to cooperate felt disheartening. She knew she’d have to work doubly hard to gain their respect. Okay, she thought, brushing her disappointment aside, Petersburg first, then catch the next flight to Juneau. Meet with the chief tomorrow for a debriefing. Gather a team. Team meeting. Assign duties. She couldn’t do everything herself even though she wanted to make sure everything was done right. She’d have to delegate and to trust. She’d pick Nancy Colburn to work on the case, and Joel Mason. Though she didn’t know either very well, being the newcomer in the department, she recognized instantly that Nancy operated like a meticulous and thorough workhorse. She even free-lanced from time to time as a P.I., she was in such demand. She’d give Nancy the boat list from Richardson and let her handle that potential mass of information. The woman would pin everybody down to a square meter at the time of the murder.

Joel Mason, her other choice, seemed brilliant. Not just book smart -- clever smart. He could think like other