"This is taking sibling rivalry a little bit too far," he observed.

"Don't I know it," she said ruefully.

He hoisted himself back into his chair and whipped it around until they were eyeball to eyeball. "Okay, sweetheart, tell Poppa all about it."

She told him everything, clearly and concisely. She took him back over all of it--Jack's visit, the suit named Gamble, first Miller and then Ken's disappearance, Bernie's odd liking for the little ranger and his account of the fight between Xenia's brother and Xenia's lover, the North Com operator's failure to make Miller's call for him, the strange case of the disappearing and reappearing Toyota, the shots in the dark, the truck on the bridge. It was only when she came to Xenia's part of the story that she edited the tale, some perverse spark of family loyalty rearing its head, but she knew from the look he gave her that Bobby was perfectly capable of filling in the blanks. By the time she finished, her burger was stone cold and his, still on the grill, was a crisp, charred shadow of its former self. Her stomach growled, but she had lost her appet.i.te.

Bobby was frowning. "So you think Martin killed Miller and dumped him over the Lost Chance Creek bridge?"

"I'm not sure," Kate said, her brow creased. Bobby looked askance. "I know what you're thinking and, yes, Martin Shugak's very existence is a bane on the community. He's been in and out of jail once or twice a year ever since he turned eighteen. He's been accused of everything from statutory rape to bootlegging to aggravated a.s.sault to hunting grizzly without a permit." Kate paused for breath, and added, "I just don't know if he killed the ranger."

"Why not?"

"He won that fight at the Roadhouse," Kate said simply. "All the time we were growing up, I don't remember Martin, with all his faults, ever repeating himself."

"And what was it he dumped off the Lost Chance Creek bridge if it wasn't a body?"

"I didn't say it wasn't a body," Kate retorted. "I just don't know whose."

"If he didn't kill the ranger, why would he be shooting at you?"

Kate smiled grimly. "You know what the bush telegraph is like, Bobby, you help run it yourself. I've been here almost a whole day, asking questions. Some of it was bound to get back to him. If he knows I've talked with Bernie, he knows that I know he's got a motive."

"If today's one of his few good days and he's sober enough to think at all."

"Mmm." She paused, and said, "I wish I knew who Miller wanted to call that night."

"His father," Bobby said.

Kate, surprised, said, "What?"

"He wanted to call his father in Washington, D.C. I didn't realize the guy was a congressman," Bobby added regretfully, as one who had lost a golden opportunity for some federal t.i.t for tat. Bobby and the IRS had never really gotten along.

"Bobby," Kate said, sitting up straight, "I just came from the North Com shack. The operator said that on that night the dish was down and he had messages backed up for twenty-four hours' worth of sending. He said Miller left without even filling out a form for the waiting list."

"That's right," Bobby said, nodding. "He came here."

"He what!"

"You lose your hearing between now and a second ago? He came here," Bobby repeated, patiently for him.

"You jacka.s.s, why didn't you tell me this before?"

"You jacka.s.s, because you didn't tell me he went missing that selfsame night before!" Bobby roared.

Kate, staring at him, realized her mouth was open and closed it.

"Oh."

" "Oh," " Bobby mimicked her. " "Oh' is right."

"So Miller came here and asked you to get a message to his father?" Kate said meekly. "What did he say to him?"

"I don't know's how I want to tell you," Bobby said, very hurry.

Kate gave him one of her better smiles, all sweet seduction and charm, a smile that would have made Chopper Jim proud. Bobby swallowed hard, and said gruffly, "He wanted to call his father in Washington, the d.i.c.k Capital of the world, so I called a ham I talk to in Georgetown."

"Did you listen to the conversation?"

"Sure, the ham has to stand by, Kate," he said. "Whoever talks on my radio is talking on my license, you know that."

"What was the conversation about?"

He drained his mug and looked sadly into its empty depths. Kate rose smartly to refill it. She poked around in the cupboards for a bag of Dare maple cookies, arranged them on a plate and set it where he could reach it without stretching. Watching her, Bobby grinned a little.

Catching him, Kate grinned back. Bobby laughed, shook his head and bit into a cookie, washing it down with coffee. Through the crumbs he said thickly, "He was telling his father about this old gold mine Mac Devlin wants to file on. I can't remember the name of the mine, but--"

"The Nabesna," Kate said.

"That's the one," Bobby said, snapping his fingers. "How'd you know?"

"Mac was telling me something about it earlier this evening. What else did Miller say?"

"Said he didn't think Devlin should be allowed to take over the mine, said he was sending some samples to Anchorage and that if they panned out he thought the government should lease out the diggings to a contractor and use the proceeds to finance Park development."

"Did Mac Devlin know the kid was trying to put him into compet.i.tion with the federal government on this mine?"

Bobby shrugged. "You ask me, I'd say the kid had no secrets. He told everyone what he wanted to do in the Park, and when some of them disagreed, he said straight out, five by five, how stupid he thought they were." His mouth turned down at the corners. "He just couldn't understand why they weren't all on his side in the first place."

"Did he say where he was going after he left here?"

"Nope."

"Did he have his Toyota?"

"Yeah."

"You watched him leave?" Kate persisted. "You actually saw him in the Toyota when he left?"

"I was watching from the door," Bobby said, s.p.a.cing his words out painstakingly. "I saw him get into his Toyota Land Cruiser and drive off toward Niniltna, yes. I'm crippled, Kate, not blind."

Oblivious, Kate asked, "How about Ken Dahl? Did he show up here asking questions about Miller?"

"You should have been a cop, Kate," Bobby said in a disgusted voice.

"I was, once. Have you seen him?"

Bobby shook his head. "Nope. Not since the potlatch last spring."

Kate linked her hands behind her head and stared into the fire. "So Miller called his dad." If Miller had called his father the night he disappeared, then his father had undoubtedly informed the FBI of it.

And if the FBI knew, Gamble knew. It followed that Gamble must certainly have told Jack Morgan. But it wasn't in the file he had left on her kitchen table. She felt the anger well up inside her in a scalding wave and was glad of it. She wanted to stay angry with Jack and he was making it so easy for her. "Son of a b.i.t.c.h," she said quietly.

Bobby stared at her. "I beg your pardon?"

"That son of a b.i.t.c.h" Kate elucidated.

"Okay," Bobby said hastily, seeing the wrath gathering in her light brown eyes, and wondering how the rage of a woman five feet tall was able to scare him the way no VC ever had. "Not my business. I understand."

"I want to make a call myself," Kate said. "To Jack in Anchorage. Can do?"

"Sure," he said. "Tonight, if you want. KLVCC's always awake."

"No, the morning will do fine."

"No swearing on the air this time," he said sternly. "The FCC's been on my a.s.s enough lately as it is; I don't need some YL f.u.c.king up my airwaves."

Kate sat in thought, her brow wrinkled. He watched her for a few moments, before turning to grill more burgers to replace the two congealing on the hearth. They ate, Bobby ravenously, Kate with more determination than pleasure. Kate looked up from licking her fingers to find Bobby fixing her with his bright gaze. She smiled at him, this time putting her heart into it. "May I stay the night?"

He brightened instantly. "Hot d.a.m.n, am I about to get lucky?"

She looked at him and knew a sudden, overwhelming desire to be held, to be petted, to be taken up the mountain and shown the view, to sleep afterward secure and undisturbed in the arms of a friend she trusted absolutely and without reservation.

She was mightily tempted, and he saw it in her face. His smile was half-tender, half-mocking, and all male. "No go?"

She rose and stretched and patted his cheek. "You got lucky six years ago, Bobby. So did I. Let's don't tempt fate."

"Let's do," Bobby replied promptly, and they both laughed. "It's that f.u.c.ker Morgan, ain't it?" he said shrewdly.

She gave him a look that should have frosted his socks. "I haven't seen Jack--in that way--in more than a year."

Unfrosted and unabashed, Bobby said, "Yeah, that's right, you been s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g that dumb f.u.c.k from Bahstahn, where they pahk the cahs and go to Hahvahd. You've done better, Kate."

Her spine became so straight and rigid that for a moment he thought it might snap. Her words came out measured and precise. "I will take the couch, thank you."

He surveyed her from beneath raised eyebrows. "d.a.m.n straight you're taking the couch. The only bed's mine."

Her eyes narrowed. "Don't push your luck, Bobby."

"I got nothing to lose, Katie," he said, grinning, and popped two wheelies on the way to bed, just to show her.

SEVEN.

Jack Morgan stood patiently while the tribal council examined the Cessna he'd flown in on, the bag in his hand and the pockets of his parka. He understood the reasons for the search; he even approved of them.

A year before, Niniltna's tribal council had taken a long, hard look at the last ten years' worth of alcohol related murders, rapes, wife beatings and child abuse and had gone damp. Specifically, you could drink alcohol in the privacy of your own home, but you couldn't buy anything stronger than orange juice. Having alcohol in your possession required careful thought and longdistance planning, however, because if you were caught buying or selling alcohol in any form to anyone of any age or race or faith within tribal boundaries, the council sicked Kate Shugak on you, and if that happened, as Sandy Halvorsen had been heard to say on his way out of the Park, "you might as well be dead, because you'll wish you were." Sandy Halvorsen had been the latest in a long line of Park bootleggers. The latest and, so far, the last.

On the airstrip it was your choice. If you didn't like the law, you and your plane could leave without being searched and don't come back, thank you very much, and there was a ring of tribal councillors, each with their very own 12-gauge, standing in a line between your plane and their town, just in case you got cute. Jack stood where he was and endured the patting down of his body and the shakedown of his plane. Kate was waiting for him at the side of the strip.

She was alone. Abel had materialized at Bobby's door immediately after Bobby had put her call through to Jack It took a judicious application of the best coffee in the Park and dogged perseverance to persuade the old man to allow her to meet Jack alone. She left Mutt behind, too.

She wanted privacy for this encounter, with no inhibitors present to cramp her style.

Jack pa.s.sed his frisk and was waved through. "You knew the kid called his father the night he disappeared!" she flung at him when he was still twelve feet away.

"No," he said, in his deep, calm voice.

"You knew about the mine, too!"

"Gamble knew, Kate. I didn't."

"You knew Devlin had a motive to get rid of the kid! G.o.ddam you, Jack!

You want me to clean up your mess and you won't give me what I need to do it! I ought to--"

Jack sighed and dropped his grip onto the packed snow of the landing strip. "Kate, just shut up for a minute and listen to me. Gamble didn't tell me the kid called his father the night he disappeared, or at least he didn't until we were back in Anchorage. He says there was some foul-up between Washington and the branch office in Seattle, but I figure Miller Senior didn't want his name on an FBI file."

"You son of a b.i.t.c.h," Kate said, not listening. She felt suddenly, gloriously angry. He looked up and caught her expression and took an involuntary step backward. "You son of a b.i.t.c.h. You sent me in blind." He saw the swing coming and caught her fist in one hand. "You sent me in here blind, the same way you did when you sent me out on that squeal fourteen months ago." She kicked out at his shin and caught him sharply just above his right boot.

"Ouch!" he yelped, dropping her hand for his shin.

"You knew these guys weren't just missing!" She swung and missed. "You knew you were sending me into trouble!" She swung and connected with a lucky one just above his belt.

Air whoofed out of him. "G.o.ddamit, Kate," he gasped, "cut it out!" He grabbed her arms and lifted her out of reach.

"Investigation in progress, you said," she sneered. "We've only got the neighbor's statement, you said. Probably nothing at all, but we've got to check it out and you're up next."

He paled beneath his beard. "Do you think I would have sent you there alone if I'd known?"

"No warning, no backup, nothing!" she tried to shout, only the scar on her throat wouldn't let her. "For seven years I did every dirty job you gave me. Seven years of talking kids into testifying against their parents, wives against their husbands, sisters against their brothers and uncles. "You're a woman, Kate," " she said, mimicking his low drawl, " 'you're a woman and you're from the bush and you know more than any Outsider could possibly know about how these people live." "

Fourteen months of suffering dark dreams in the dead of night, of waking dreams every day, of remembering the curious ripping sound a knife made in human skin, especially curious when the skin was your own, of trying to forget the sight of a naked child fighting with her bare hands to protect her father from Kate, the sound of the high, thin childish voice imploring, begging, pleading for it all to stop, for it all just to stop, the feeling of triumph that had overwhelmed her in a fierce, rejoicing, hideous tide when she surfaced to realize she was upright with the perp's knife in her hand, bleeding but alive, as he lay in front of her with his intestines and his life oozing out of him, and the child, always the child, crying in the back of her mind. Waking, sleeping, working at rest, Kate knew with a dreadful certainty that she would never be able to forget the long, silent tears sliding down the cheeks of the naked, bleeding child.

For fourteen months she had said nothing, had blunted every effort by every friend she had to get at the hurt, had pushed back the reckoning, and now here he was, Jack Morgan, her nemesis, her fate, the man who had hired her to deal every day of her working life with hurt, terrified, defenseless children, who had loved her and asked, no, demanded that she love him in return, who had taken her rejection of himself, his job, his love and his world without apparent objection, who hadn't so much as winced when she took up with his subordinate.

She let him have it, all the bitterness, all the pain, the rejection and the guilt, fourteen months of it, a lifetime of it. She was powerless to stop the flow, and she wouldn't have if she could.

Jack stood with his head down as the flood poured over him, unsmiling, his blue eyes unflinching. With every accusation and condemnation she shouted at him in her hoa.r.s.e, ragged voice, deep down inside his gut he heard a full orchestra sounding another verse of the "Hallelujah Chorus."

"If I'd tried to take that job away from you, you would have castrated me or quit," he said softly when at last the worst of the flood had pa.s.sed. "You were good at it, Kate. You were the best."

"Yeah, well, I'm not much good for anything now, thanks to you."