Nobody Cares, page 1
Nobody Cares
By L.J. Breedlove
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Published by L. J. Breedlove
Copyright 2021 L.J. Breedlove
ISBN: 9781393865278
License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your ebook seller to buy a copy. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.
Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction. While place descriptions and news events may coincide with the real world, all characters and the plot are fictional.
Contact Information
For more information about this author, please visit www.ljbreedlove.com.
Email address is lois@ljbreedlove.com.
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Postscript
Further Reading: Everybody Lies
Also By L.J. Breedlove
About the Author
Dedication
This book is dedicated to the hashtag #MMIW — Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women. Indigenous women are seven times more likely to be abused and murdered. And when they are reported missing, it is often ignored by police.
The horrifying story of Robert Pickton, a man thought to have murdered more than 40 women in British Columbia, is a case study in the dismissal of reports of missing women. About half of the women murdered by Pickton were thought to be Indigenous.
Studies continue to show that the women who are most vulnerable are often the least served by our law enforcement. This story is for them.
Chapter 1
Lieutenant Paul Kitka heard his cell phone ring and sighed. He was knee deep in muck, searching for a lost tourist. He didn’t know where the tourist went, but he wasn’t going to be a part of that search any further. He’d lost his balance on a boardwalk crossing some muskeg, and now he was stuck.
“Need some help?” The amused drawl of his partner, Joe Bob Dixon, asked. Paul Kitka wanted to smack him. But first he had to get out of the muskeg, back onto the boardwalk, and back to the car where he could get some dry clothes. To do that, he would need his partner. He resisted the urge to smack him.
The two men had become actual partners over the past two years, Paul acknowledged. Joe Bob Dixon had come to Sitka to his rescue last spring. And he’d been summoned back to Sitka repeatedly as part of the investigation into the corruption in the Sitka police force. His computer expertise was becoming increasingly recognized and valued. Paul was worried that someone was going to snatch him away from the Talkeetna office — just as he’d gotten used to the young man.
Dixon had come to Alaska from Oklahoma to work on the Slope. He’d transitioned from that to police work. Well, Paul had left Sitka for the North Slope oil companies too, before a transition to police. But why any man would continue to use two names and keep that drawl was beyond him.
He conceded Joe Bob might not be able to do anything about the red hair, freckles and the overly cheerful grin as he stood on the boardwalk and looked at his partner and his friend. Paul sighed. And yes, he thought, friend.
“Yes, I need a hand,” Paul finally grumbled. “Probably going to need more than that. Getting out of muskeg isn’t easy.”
Joe Bob put his fingers to his mouth and whistled. Paul flinched at the sound. Another officer not far away made his way toward the two men. Unfortunately for Paul, it was his boss, Captain Thomas Wyckoff.
Wyckoff sighed. “You’d think a man who grew up in Sitka would know the follies of stepping off into muskeg.”
Wyckoff was one of those ex-military men who had come up here, fallen in love with it and stayed after they got out. He still could pass muster at any rollcall on base. His hair was short, although gray now; he was square-shouldered, clean shaven, and not at all amused by the plight of his lieutenant.
“Give me your hand,” he said.
Paul did. And he did know about muskeg, he thought to himself. There were huge swaths of it around his hometown. Up here around Talkeetna too. A combination of bog, marsh and quicksand. Kids growing up in Sitka learned quickly to beware of any open space in the spruce and pine forests that covered the mountains there. He’d stumbled over a board that was sticking up.
Because his mind was on his housemate and not on the job, he admitted to himself. But he wasn’t sharing that. Nope. His mother, Professor Elizabeth Kitka, hadn’t raised him to be that foolish.
“Use your other hand on the boardwalk to push yourself out,” Captain Wyckoff ordered. “Joe Bob, grab him under his arm there and pull. And for God’s sake, don’t fall backwards into that mess.”
The problem with muskeg is that it didn’t want to let go, Paul thought morosely, as he finally leveraged himself onto the boardwalk. His right leg finally came loose with a plopping sound. Minus his boot. Because of course it did.
It was August in Alaska. Warm afternoon — which meant mid-70s — no wind. No clouds. He could see Denali clearly in all its glory. He wondered if Dace was in the air today. They were past the climbing season, but plenty of tourists might keep her grounded in Lanky Purdue’s flight service office.
Focus, he told himself. And not on Dace.
He looked back at the way they’d come and sighed. It was a two-hour hike back to the cars. He bent over and removed his other boot. “See you guys later,” he said, and started back toward the staging point for the search at a dog trot. The mud that clung to his pants slapped at his legs as he went.
He’d only gone a few stretches of the boardwalk before he realized his partner was at his heels. “What? You think it takes two of us to get me back to some dry clothes.”
“Captain seems to think so,” Joe Bob said. “Besides, I’ve got the keys.”
Paul wanted to find a wall and thump his head against it. For God’s sake, where was his head?
“I’m not complaining,” Joe Bob said. “Searching for damn tourists who ought to have hired a guide in the first place pisses me off.”
Well yes, there was that, Paul thought. Three men in their early 30s had left their wives in Talkeetna to shop — how long that could take Paul couldn’t fathom. He could walk the entire downtown and say hello to every store owner in less than an hour. But the men were supposed to be back by 3 p.m. for their return trip to Anchorage. At 4 p.m. one of the women had called the Alaska State Patrol. She knew generally what direction the men had gone.
The good news was they were reasonably fit men. The bad news was they were stubborn fools who had been told they should get a guide if they were going out very far. They’d brushed it off, saying they were experienced hikers.
Well, they were lost experienced hikers. And now 12 people were out here looking for them.
Ten. Because he and Joe Bob were done.
His phone went off again, and he ignored it again. He wanted to get back to the cars as quickly as possible, not listen to somebody with a problem that he couldn’t do anything about until he got back anyway.
God, he was in a foul mood.
He needed to get laid.
He snorted. Where had that thought come from? he thought sourly. Well yes, it had been awhile. And yes, he’d like to. He liked women. And women liked him. They liked him because he was in his mid-30s, of mixed Tlingit and white heritage: the Tlingit gave him black hair, and brown skin. His white mother contributed to his height, just under 6 foot. He stayed fit. But mostly he thought women liked him because he liked women. Genuinely liked them. He liked talking to them, flirting with them, even working with them. He liked getting to know them. Even when the fling was over, and he’d moved on, he remained friends with most of them. Not the tourists, of course, but the Alaskans.
But now there was his housemate, Candace Marshall. He shook his head. She’d moved in with him almost a year ago when her life had been threatened. But he couldn’t seem to figure out how to move their relationship from friends to lovers. He thought they’d broken through to a new understanding while they were in Sitka last spring. But once back here? They fell into their old routine as housemates. As friends.
He, Paul Kitka, was at a loss as to how to make a pass. There were dozens of women across the state who would laugh themselves silly at that if they knew. And he was afraid they might. Alaska might be large in terms of square miles, but it was a small town when it came to numbers of people — especially the number of women — and the amount of gossip. The problem was the stakes were so high. He wanted her love, but if she wasn’t interested — and coming from an abused marriage sh
“If you don’t pay attention, you’re going to end up back in the mud again,” Joe Bob observed from behind him. “Where’s your head?”
Paul ignored him, and moved a bit faster. His feet were cold and wet. His legs were too, and on top of that they were scratched. And he was pretty sure that the bugs that found muskeg the perfect environment were hitchhiking out of there on his legs.
Joe Bob didn’t say anything further. When they got to the car, he unlocked the doors, and got in, turned on the heater. He popped the back trunk, and Paul pulled out a towel, and a pair of jeans. He glanced around the parking lot, and seeing no one, he stripped off his uniform trousers, and tossed them into a plastic bag. He wiped off as much of the muck and bugs, and God knew what all else, as he could. Then he pulled on the jeans.
Someone whistled. “Nice legs!” A woman’s voice called from a car driving by.
Paul grinned. A little appreciation was just what the doctor ordered. He grabbed his running shoes, closed the trunk and got into the passenger seat to put his shoes on.
Joe Bob just shook his head. “We’re miles from anywhere, and the great Kitka charm wins again,” he said laughing.
If only his so-called charm was working on the one woman he wanted it to, he thought. He realized his phone was still in his trousers’ pocket, and he pounded his head against the head rest. “Stop,” he mumbled. “Phone’s in my pants.”
His partner heaved a sigh, but he stopped and opened the trunk again. Paul hopped back out of the car, and fetched his phone. He looked at the missed call list.
“Shit,” he said. He’d missed five calls, all from Candace. “Go,” he ordered. And he hit reply on one of them.
Joe Bob looked at his face, and turned on the light bar on the car, and headed back to Talkeetna.
“What’s up?” he asked when Candace picked up. “We’re on our way back.”
“Did you find them?”
“They’re still looking, but I fell in some muskeg,” Paul said briefly. He didn’t press her. She’d tell him in her own time.
“An elderly woman came to the office; looking for you, she said. Lanky took one look at her and escorted her to the Lodge. Told me to find you ASAP. So, I’ve been trying.”
Paul frowned. “Do you have a name?” he asked.
“She didn’t give me one, and neither did Lanky. She said she flew in from Bethel yesterday. And she would only talk to you.”
“Small, Native woman?” Paul didn’t figure Dace could separate out the various tribes and groups of Native Alaskans. “Probably didn’t come up to your shoulder? Older than dirt?”
Dace snorted. “That’s an accurate if not particularly respectful description. Who is she, Paul? Lanky treated her as if she was royalty. And I’m not joking. We had royalty here during climbing season, and he didn’t treat them that respectfully.”
Actually, it could be any number of women, he thought. But they all had one thing in common. “That’s not far off,” Paul said slowly. “You’re describing an elder from one of the Alaskan bush villages. She didn’t say anything else?”
“No,” Candace said. “Just Lanky. Find Paul, get him back here now.”
“We’re on our way,” he said. “I’m going to stop at the house and clean up though. Let Lanky know I’m on my way.”
He ended the call, and looked at his partner. “Can you coax any more speed out of it?” he asked.
“When we hit the highway,” Joe Bob said.
Paul leaned back against the headrest and wondered what would bring an elder out of the bush looking for him? It wasn’t that they didn’t leave the villages. Of course, they did. Anchorage and Fairbanks once a year. Barrow, Bethel, other towns periodically. But usually goods and services were flown into the villages, which was probably why Lanky was being so deferential. The younger people were the ones who left the villages, heading to bright lights and to jobs.
But he couldn’t think of any reason a village elder would come looking for him that didn’t spell trouble. A lot of trouble.
Chapter 2
His phone pinged, and he looked down at it. A text from Dace: Lanky said to tell you it’s Mary Ayek.
OK, that put a different spin on things, he thought.
Mary Ayek.
He’d first met her when he was a rookie cop, living in Anchorage, and partying with her grandson. At least, she called him that, and he called her grandmother, so it might have been literally true. But there were any number of people who were privileged to call her grandmother, including him, who had no biological relationship at all.
John Kuliktana had been a student at University of Alaska, Anchorage. A brilliant student, although Paul hadn’t known that at the time. He also knew how to party, and in that Paul recognized a kindred spirit. They’d met at some party or another, developed a nodding acquaintanceship, then a real friendship.
One night, John had called him in a panic. “Do you own a tux?” he asked.
“No, I don’t own a tux,” Paul said with disgust. “Who owns a tux?”
“I do,” he replied. “Maybe mine will fit you. Look, my grandmother is in town for the opening night of the symphony season, and she wants me to escort her. I can’t. I have a huge test in the morning, and I cannot do less than perfect on it. So, I need a replacement and you’ll do. You’re the only one in my circle she’d find acceptable.”
“Well, I don’t own a tux, and John? I’m a good 3 inches taller than you, so no yours isn’t going to fit. You’ll have to find someone else.” Paul didn’t go to the symphony. He didn’t want to go the symphony and he most certainly didn’t want to escort someone else’s grandmother to the symphony.
“Rent one,” John ordered. “I’ll pay. You need to be at the Captain Cook at 7:30 p.m. She has a car and driver when she comes to town, which is good, although she might actually enjoy a ride in your Corvette.”
He hung up, and Paul shrugged. He found a tux rental shop, picked it up, got dressed and was in the lobby precisely at 7:30 p.m. Whatever he had expected, it wasn’t the Inuit woman in a designer gown who swept out of the elevator and gave him a thorough going over.
“You’ll do,” she announced. “I’m Mary Ayek.”
After that he’d seen her in Bethel wearing what she called her ‘artsy garb’ for the art fair there. And in a combination of Inuit traditional clothes and modern snow gear when she’d raced him on snowmachines across the frozen Kuskokwim River. He’d watched Mary with her dog team; she’d finished the Iditarod in her younger days.
And he’d seen her in a business suit she might have gotten at Nordstrom, although Paul suspected she had gotten it on her last trip to New York City for her annual two weeks of escape during the worst of Alaskan winter when all the new shows opened on Broadway. She’d worn that suit to the board of directors meeting of the Bethel Native Corporation. She was a director and major stockholder.
In short, Mary Ayek was one of the most powerful women in Alaska. She’d made politicians and broken them. A U.S. Senator owed her re-election to her when she’d run afoul of Alaskan politics, and Mary Ayek had martialed all the Natives to register to vote and write her name in on the ballot. She won the election — as a write-in candidate — and she hadn’t forgotten how she got there either: Mary Ayek.
Mary Ayek’s word was practically law to thousands of people. She’d built the Bethel art cooperative into one of the premier festivals in the country. She donated liberally, sponsored dozens of “grandchildren” to attend college, and was a force to be reckoned with. She was a legend.
And she’d always been a free spirit. And yes, she had liked his Corvette when he took her for a drive up the Denali Highway at 100 mph. She had been married four times, had numerous other lovers — including a dashing pilot named Purdue, Paul thought.
Including a young cop named Kitka.
John had gone away to get his PhD in chemistry at the University of Washington. And Mary Ayek continued to request Paul escort her to things in Anchorage, and invited him to Bethel for weekends and trips. Paul had found her fascinating when he was 22. He still did. She’d ended things when he’d moved out to Talkeetna eight years ago. They’d never been exclusive. She wouldn’t have permitted that. She’d gently told him to call her grandmother, and he had known. He smiled. He’d learned a lot from Mary Ayek. Including an appreciation for the symphony.
