Nik Kane Alaska Mystery - 02 - Capitol Offense (23 page)

K
ane watched Alma Atwood’s car roll off the ferry in Haines, drive up the road and out of sight. He knew he probably should have kept his hands on her, but couldn’t see himself dragging her back to a place she wanted to escape so much.

You’re getting soft in your old age, he thought. He patted the pocket that held her signed statement, then walked back to the observation deck to sit. He took out his cell phone and was surprised to find he had a signal. He dialed Cocoa’s number, talked for a few minutes, returned the phone to his pocket, and leaned back.

Kane was nearly asleep when the ferry vibrated and started moving again, making the short run to Skagway, where it would turn right around for the return trip. He could have saved time by getting off in Haines and seeing if one of the little commercial planes that served the town was flying to Juneau, maybe chartered one if he had to. But he wasn’t in that much of a hurry, and he didn’t like flying in small planes anyway.

At Skagway, he got off the ship and grabbed a quick sandwich, then hustled back aboard as the ferry was making ready to get under way. Haines had looked like a real town, at least from the ship. Skagway—what he’d seen of it, anyway—was all Gold Rush–era Alaska, a few buildings that had survived for more than a century amid a bunch of faux structures, almost all of them closed. No need to open them, really, until the cruise ships started delivering their thousands.

When he was back aboard, Kane put his ticket in his breast pocket so it was visible to anyone who cared, closed his eyes, and went to sleep. He awakened as the ferry was making its slow way to the dock in Auke Bay in the fading light of late afternoon. He took out his cell phone and called Cocoa, only to find that the cabbie was waiting for him at the dock.

“Who’s watching our friend?” he asked as he got into the cab.

“My cousin Ralph,” Cocoa said, “and my cousin Cecil.”

“They know he might be dangerous?” Kane asked.

“They do,” Cocoa said, “but they don’t care. They think they might be dangerous, too.”

Cocoa put the cab in gear and began navigating the road back to downtown Juneau.

“Where we going?” he asked.

“I think we’ll go see if Winthrop wants to join us,” Kane said, “while we talk to Mr. Bezhdetny.”

“Good idea,” Cocoa said. “That’s one big white man. Might be smart to have a big Eskimo on our side. How’d you know to tell me to find that guy before you left, anyway?”

“Just a hunch,” Kane said. “I knew he’d been hanging around Grantham and that Grantham had done something odd. I thought he might be mixed up in what’s been happening.”

“You think he killed that woman, that White Rose?” Cocoa asked.

“We’ll see,” Kane said, then closed his eyes and leaned back against the doorjamb.

Cocoa shook him awake when they reached the hotel.

“You sure you’re up for this?” he asked. “You seem a little worn out.”

“It’s got to be the drugs,” Kane said. “I’ve had plenty of sleep. Let’s go talk to some people.”

They got out of the cab.

“I’m leaving my bus out there for a few minutes, Bobby,” Cocoa said to the bellman as they headed for the elevators.

“No sweat, Cocoa,” the bellman said.

They rode up in the elevator with a couple of dazed-looking guys in suits.

“That Senator Dean,” one of them said. “She really is the queen of mean.”

“Got that right,” the other one said.

Cocoa and Kane got out on the top floor. Cocoa led the way to a door and knocked. Winthrop opened the door and ushered them into a suite that was, for the Baranof anyway, surprisingly swank. Mrs. Richard Foster and Oil Can Doyle sat on a big sofa under another massive Sydney Laurence painting.

“Good to see you back, Sergeant Kane,” the woman said. “Did you get what you needed?”

Kane took an armchair and said, “I did. I have the woman’s signed statement implicating George Bezhdetny in kidnapping. And if I’m not mistaken, he’s been engaged in a little extortion, too. I need to talk to Senator Grantham first, though, to be sure about that.”

“What about the murder?” Oil Can Doyle squeaked. “That’s all I care about. In case you’ve forgotten, you’re supposed to be helping Senator Hope defend himself against a murder charge. Two now.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Kane said. “I figure it’s logical that one bad guy may have done all the bad things.” To the woman, he said, “Did you invite Grantham up here?”

“I did,” she said, “right after your friend there”—she nodded toward Cocoa—“relayed your instructions. He should be here anytime.”

She’d just gotten the words out when they heard the sound of knuckles rapping on the door.

“Make sure he doesn’t rabbit,” Kane said to Winthrop.

“Teach your grandma to suck eggs,” Winthrop replied, opening the door to allow Grantham to step in. The senator looked around the room and turned toward the door again, only to find it closed, with Winthrop leaning against it.

“You can leave if you want, Senator,” Kane said to his back, “but that just means you’ll be talking to the people who work for the governor instead of us. He’d like that, wouldn’t he, your old friend Hiram Putnam?”

Kane watched Grantham’s shoulders sag. The senator turned toward the room and said, “I don’t know what it is you think I have to say. I’m here at Mrs. Foster’s invitation to talk politics.”

“Oh, I think we’ll be talking politics,” Kane said, “as well as some other things. Have a seat.”

Winthrop took the senator’s coat and pointed to a chair, being careful to keep between Grantham and the door. Grantham walked slowly to the chair and sat. He crossed his legs, tried to smile, and said, “What is it you want?”

“Well,” Kane said, “I guess we could start with an explanation for why you changed your vote on oil taxes.”

Grantham looked from one face to another before replying.

“I don’t know why I should explain myself to you,” he said, smiling, “but there are several sound economic reasons not to increase taxation on the oil industry. The state depends on oil for most of its income, after all.”

He looked around the room again, but not an expression had changed.

“Let’s try this again, Senator, shall we?” Kane said. “I have a signed statement from Alma Atwood that you two were involved in an affair of long standing that ended only because you took up with a younger employee who George Bezhdetny introduced you to.”

Grantham’s smile faded as Kane spoke.

“Are you attempting to blackmail me?” he asked, trying to sound offended. “In front of witnesses?”

“Nice try, Senator,” Kane said, “but there’s no blackmail here. Your career is over no matter what you do or say. The only real question is whether you go from the Senate to private life or from the Senate to prison. What you say in this room will go a long way toward deciding that.”

“Prison?” Grantham said. “Why should I go to prison?”

It was Kane’s turn to smile. His smile wasn’t pretty.

“If Bezhdetny bribed you to change your vote, then it’ll be prison,” Kane said, “but if you changed for some other reason—blackmail, perhaps—then you’ll only have to retire.”

“And if that’s the case,” Mrs. Richard Foster said, “I’m sure we could find some suitable employment for you somewhere. No one wants to punish a victim.”

That was well said, Kane thought. This woman is no dummy.

Grantham sat silently for a few minutes.

“I’d like to speak to Mrs. Foster privately,” he said at last.

“Uh-uh,” Kane said. “That’s not going to happen. But I’m sure Winthrop, Cocoa, and Mr. Doyle wouldn’t mind retiring to the kitchen for a little while.”

Oil Can squeaked at that, but the three men left the room to Kane, Grantham, and Mrs. Foster.

“Now, Senator,” Kane said, “you must see that it is in your best interest to be candid with us.”

The look Grantham gave Kane was full of venom, but when he turned to Mrs. Foster he was all smiles.

“I’m sure we can work something out to make this all go away,” he said. “After all, there’s a reconsideration vote coming up, and I could be persuaded to change my vote for the right inducements.”

The woman gave the smile back to Grantham and said, “You’re finished, Senator. Now act your age and do the best you can for yourself. If you don’t, I’ll make sure that everyone hears about your behavior.”

“Bitch,” Grantham said.

Kane was on his feet and, before he knew what he was doing, he’d slapped Grantham hard enough to send him sliding out of his chair. Kane grabbed the senator by the lapels and hoisted him back into the chair. He put his nose against Grantham and said, “This is your last chance, scumbag. Start talking or you’re going to find yourself in a cell married to the guy with the most cigarettes.”

Grantham took a handkerchief out of his pocket and blotted some blood from the lip Kane had split. Her looked like he wanted to cry, but pulled himself upright and said, “I’m in a difficult position. George had some tapes that could cause me a great deal of embarrassment.”

Kane returned to his chair and sat.

“About what I thought,” he said calmly, “but why don’t you tell us what happened.”

Grantham looked at the woman once more, but what he saw in her face didn’t make him happy. He cleared his throat and began.

“I’ve always felt sorry for George. He’s a foreigner, you know, but he wants to be an American, a successful American, so badly. I don’t know why he settled on lobbying, but he did. He managed to make enough to keep from starving. And he was useful in small ways, running errands, providing the occasional support for a wayward member’s story to his wife. He was a convenience.”

Grantham paused to suck air into his lungs, then continued.

“Then last year sometime, he seemed more prosperous. I was happy for him, if you can believe that. And when I was looking for front-office help, he had this young woman with a wonderful résumé, and she was beautiful in the bargain. Too good to be true, really.”

Grantham tried to chuckle at that but came out with a noise that sounded like gears grinding.

“Too good to be true,” he said again, sarcasm in his voice this time. He stopped and stared off into the empty distance for a minute or so before beginning again.

“Politics, state politics, has been my life, you know,” he said. “I started as a young man, full of optimism and good intentions. But I’ve seen too much, watched the wrong side prevail too many times, witnessed money and power win out over justice and common sense. I have lost so often, over and over again really, that all I wanted was someone to treat me like I was important, some sign that I mattered. That’s why I took up with Alma. She worshiped me—in the beginning, anyway. And then this new woman came along, Jennifer, and she was younger and more beautiful and even more willing.”

He shook his head.

“I should have known better,” he said. “We’d been meeting in her apartment for…well, you know, and earlier this week, right before they arrested Matthew Hope again, George came into my office and told me he had photos and videotape of Jennifer and me together, that she was working for him, and unless I did what he asked he’d see that the pictures would go to my wife and to the Anchorage newspaper and television stations. And if I did what he asked, just changed one vote, he would give me everything and I could destroy it. Jennifer would leave town and no one would be the wiser.”

Grantham was silent again, then resumed.

“I should have thrown him out of my office, reported him, and taken what came,” he said, “but he showed me some of the pictures. And I looked so…so pathetic, this fat old man and this young, beautiful girl. We’d done some things that couldn’t be explained away, and there they were on glossy paper in front of me. So I did what he said and here we are.”

Kane let the silence lengthen.

“Do you have the tapes and photos?” he asked.

“No,” Grantham said bitterly. “I asked George about them this afternoon and he just laughed and said he thought he’d hold on to them, they might come in handy again sometime. I suppose I should have seen that coming.”

Kane nodded at that.

“Yes, you should,” he said. “Do you know anything about Bezhdetny being involved with Melinda Foxx in any way?”

Grantham shook his head.

“I don’t,” he said, “but I wouldn’t put anything past him. Including murder.”

Kane looked at Mrs. Foster and raised his eyebrows. When she nodded, he said, “All right, Senator. I’m going to get some paper and a pen, and I want you to write down what you just told us and sign it.”

Grantham shrank back in his seat like he was trying to escape the room through the back of his chair.

“I won’t do it,” he said. “That would be my political death warrant.”

Mrs. Foster gave the politician a smile and said, “You don’t seem to understand, Senator. You are already dead politically. Even if word of this never gets out in public—and, frankly, I can’t see how it can remain a secret—even if the public never finds out, you are going to announce your retirement as soon as the session ends and you are not going to run for reelection. If you cooperate with Sergeant Kane, he may be able to keep you out of prison, but that’s the best you can hope for. That and a job with one of the companies I own. You may not want to take my offer, though. All my companies have strict sexual harassment policies.”