Chapter 1

Alaska State Trooper Sergeant Dan Patterson arose early, looking forward to a leisurely day at home with his wife, Jeanne. He hadn’t taken a Saturday off in weeks, and he planned to make the most of this one. Lately, Kodiak had been a hotbed of crime. The island plunked like a jewel in the North Pacific, boasted a population of 13,500 humans and 3,500 Kodiak brown bears. The human portion of the population consisted of the biggest U.S. Coast Guard base in the world and one of the largest fishing fleets in North America. Kodiak saw its share of crime, but the last few weeks, one major incident after the next had demanded Patterson’s attention. Things seemed to be under control when he left the office on Friday, and he told Brie, the weekend dispatcher, “Don’t call me unless you receive a report of mass murder, a big explosion, or another major crime.”

Patterson’s phone rang at 7:23 am. “Sergeant, this is Brie. I am sorry to bother you, but we have a problem.”

Patterson banged his coffee mug on the kitchen counter. “This better be good, Brie.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Go ahead, then. What do you have?”

“Eight people dead, sir. Murdered.”

Patterson slid onto the nearest stool by the kitchen counter. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jeanne enter the kitchen, still wearing her blue bathrobe. They wouldn’t have a moment to themselves anytime soon.

“Eight people?” Patterson asked. He’d seen bad crime scenes in his years as an Alaska State Trooper, but he’d never investigated a massacre

“Yes,” Brie said. “A young woman called me on a sat phone. She sounded rattled, and I’m not sure I understood everything she said, but she told me she was the cook at a lodge, and she discovered the owners of the lodge dead in their bed early this morning. While she tried to resuscitate them, she sent the camp helper up to the guest cabin to check on the six guests, and the helper found the guests also dead.”

“Where was this again?” Patterson asked.

“Aktuvik Cove.”

The name sounded familiar, but Patterson couldn’t place it. He had only been stationed in Kodiak for 18 months, and he still found he often needed to consult a map to locate the spot where a hunter went missing or a crime occurred. The Kodiak National Wildlife Refuge covered two-thirds of the island, and no roads crossed the refuge. Most of the 100-by-50-mile island could only be accessed by floatplane or boat. “Where is Aktuvik Cove?” He asked. “Did I pronounce it right?”

“Not quite, sir,” Brie said. “The first syllable rhymes with ‘yak.’ It’s on the southwest side of the island.”

Patterson tried to shake the cobwebs from his head. “It’s a wildlife-viewing and fishing lodge, right?”

“Yes, sir, Bear Lodge. The Bartletts own it. I went to school with their daughter.” Brie’s voice cracked.

Patterson realized this crime was personal for Brie, and his young dispatcher had done her best to act detached and relay the facts to him.

“Good job, Brie,” Patterson said. “You’ve handled this perfectly.”

“Thank you, sir. What should I do now?”

“Call Mark and Sara. I know they both have the weekend off, but see if they can meet me at the plane at Trident Basin.” Patterson rubbed his head. “We’ll need more planes too. Call Kodiak Flight Services and find out if they can spare their turbine Beaver and one of their other Beavers. Also, get ahold of the crime scene techs. We’ll need at least four.” Patterson sighed. Investigating this crime would blow their budget for the next six months.

“Sir,” Brie said. “Our techs all have the weekend off, and I know at least two of them had a fishing trip planned.”

“Find who you can,” Patterson said. “If you can’t find techs, then send more troopers. If what the cook reported to you is true, we’ll have a massive crime scene to investigate.”

“Yes, sir,” Brie said.

“Have everyone meet at Trident Basin. I’m heading there now to warm up the plane.”

Patterson offered Jeanne a repentant smile. “This is a bad one, Hon. I need to cancel our plans for the day.”

“So I gathered,” she said and handed him a sack lunch. While he’d been busy talking to Brie, Jeanne had been thinking about him and making certain he had something to eat during what was certain to be a long day

Chapter 2

Fifty-three minutes later, Patterson manned the controls of the Alaska State Trooper De Havilland Beaver. He circled the town of Kodiak and flew toward Sharatin Pass. A twenty-knot wind buffeted the plane, but other than the brisk breeze, the weather was perfect for flying. Not a cloud marred the pale-blue sky, an unusual occurrence for mid-September, one of the rainiest months on the island. As the plane soared over the mountains, Patterson admired the patches of deep red fireweed separated by cow parsnip, alders, willows, and other green vegetation. The random pattern of red and green reminded him of the Christmas quilt Jeanne’s mother had given them several years ago.

He shook his head. How could he think about fireweed when he was on his way to what was sure to be the most brutal crime scene he had ever witnessed. Trooper Mark Traner sat in the passenger seat next to him, and Troopers Sara Byram, Brad Simpton, and Gary Reeves occupied the rear seat of the plane. Two crime-scene techs and two more troopers would follow in an hour on a Kodiak Flight Services’ plane.

No one spoke during the hour-long flight to the far side of the island. Patterson understood the tension in the plane; he felt it too as he tried to prepare his mind for what they would see when they arrived at Aktuvik Cove.

Patterson circled the small cove and landed on the choppy waves. He idled the plane up to the long dock where two young women stood. As the plane approached the dock, he changed his appraisal. The tall, thin figure with muscular arms, short brown hair, and an apron cinched tight across her waist must be in her mid-twenties. The female standing beside her wore a long, flowered skirt and a billowing blouse. She appeared to be in her mid-teens.

As they pulled alongside the dock, Traner and Simpton jumped out of the plane and secured the Beaver to the cleats. Patterson shut down the engine, and he and the other troopers emerged from the plane.

The tall, thin woman wrapped her arms around herself, apparently trying to control her violent shaking. Her red nose and streaked, pale face indicated she’d been crying. The girl stood quietly beside her. Patterson knew they both must be traumatized.

Patterson introduced himself and the other troopers, and when neither female said a word, he asked them their names.

“I’m Elle,” the older female said, “and this is Susan.”

“Let’s go up to the lodge and sit for a few minutes,” Patterson said. “I want you to walk me through your morning, and then we’ll take a look at the crime scene.”

After noting the lodge’s rustic exterior, the interior surprised Patterson. High-beamed ceilings displayed beautiful wildlife paintings and other local artwork, and what must have been expensive, woven rugs covered the hardwood floors. The furniture looked costly but practical with wooden frames and over-stuffed cushions in mottled grays and browns.

Elle opened the front curtain to let in more daylight through the large picture window, and then she flipped on the light switches, flooding the great room with a soft light. She and Susan sat beside each other on one of the love seats, and Patterson sat in a chair across from them. Traner also sat and pulled his notebook, pen, and a tape recorder from his pocket. He placed the recorder in front of Elle and Susan.

“You don’t mind if we record this conversation, do you?” Patterson asked.

Elle and Susan both shook their heads.

“Okay, why don’t you start, Elle. Begin by telling me when you got up and what you did this morning.”

“I woke up at 5:00 this morning,” Elle said.

“Can you speak up a little Elle; I can barely hear you,” Patterson said.

Elle cleared her throat and spoke again. “I woke up at 5:00. That’s when I get up to bake the rolls for breakfast. Bob usually gets up at 7:00 am and turns on the generator, and Jules is out here by 7:30 at the latest.”

“Bob and Jules are the Bartletts?” Patterson asked.

“Yes,” Elle said. “At 7:30, when Bob still hadn’t come out to turn on the generator, I figured he’d overslept. We’re all tired by this point in the season, so I wasn’t surprised they’d slept through their alarm clock.” Elle paused and seemed to be fighting back the tears. “I knocked on their door, but they didn’t answer, so I opened the door a slit and called their names several times. When they still didn’t answer, I took a few steps into their room.” She paused again, fighting to compose herself. “I was about to call their names again, but I saw all the blood.” The tears flowed, and Elle used her apron to mop her face.

Patterson waited for Elle to stop crying. “What did you do next?” He asked.

“I tried to do CPR,” Elle said, “but they were already dead. They were cold.”

The questions were building in Patterson’s mind, but he wanted to keep Elle on track. “What did you do next?” He asked.

“I yelled for Susan as soon as I saw Bob and Jules. I told her to go up and check on the guests. I wanted to make sure they were okay. I didn’t know what else to do.” Her face flushed red.

“Of course,” Patterson said. “You did the right thing, Elle; don’t second-guess yourself.” He smiled at Elle. “I just have one more question for now. I don’t see any blood on your clothes. Didn’t you get blood on you when you tried to give Jules and Bob CPR?”

The question seemed to confuse Elle. She looked down at her apron and black leggings. “I did get blood on me,” she said. “I changed my clothes.”

“We’ll need to take your bloody clothes with us to the lab,” Patterson said.

Elle nodded. “I don’t want them back.”

Patterson focused his gaze on Susan. “Why don’t you tell me what happened next, Susan.”

Susan seemed outwardly calm, but her pupils appeared dilated, and she sat rigid, hands gripping her knees and feet planted firmly on the floor.

“I walked up to the guest cabin, she said, her voice low but controlled. I knocked on the door several times, but when no one answered, I went inside. They were all dead.”

“Are you sure?” Patterson asked.

“I’m sure. When you see them, you’ll know.”

“All the guests are in one cabin?”

“It’s a big cabin with three bedrooms and bathrooms and a great room,” Elle said. “We have,” she shook her head, “or had, three couples here. One couple was from Germany, one from England, and the other couple was from Atlanta, Georgia.”

“Did they know each other before their trip here?” Patterson asked.

Elle shook her head. “No, but they seemed to get along fine.”

“The couple from Atlanta was rude,” Susan said.

Elle gave her a sharp look. Susan quickly looked down at the floor.

“Where do you two sleep?” Patterson asked.

“Upstairs,” Elle said. She shivered. “I guess the killer didn’t think to look upstairs.”

“Do either of you have any idea what happened here?” Patterson asked.

Elle and Susan shook their heads.

“You didn’t hear anything?” Patterson asked.

“I went up to my room early last night,” Elle said. “The Bartletts’ son was here with some of his crew members. He’s a commercial fisherman, and he stopped by to see his parents. They were expecting their daughter to come over too and seemed to want to have a family conversation, so I gave them some space.”

“What about you, Susan?”

“I always go to bed early,” Susan said.

“And neither of you heard anything suspicious?”

Elle and Susan again shook their heads.

“You are out here in the middle of the wilderness,” Patterson said. “Do either of you have any idea who could have done this?”

Elle and Susan glanced at each other and then turned to look at Patterson and again shook their heads.

“Who, besides the Bartletts’ son and his fishing crew is out here near the lodge right now?”

“There’s Sammy,” Susan said, and Elle graced her with a dark look.

“Who is Sammy?” Patterson asked.

Susan looked down at her hands, apparently intent on not drawing more of Elle’s wrath.

After a few moments, Elle said. “Sam Lutz. He’s a guy who lives out here in a little cabin. He’s nice, though. He’d never hurt anyone.”

“Okay,” Patterson said. “Who else?”

Susan glanced at Elle again. “Tell him about the guy who pulled a gun on his wife.”

“Sure, I didn’t think about him,” Elle said. “Two nights ago, we heard a woman on the VHF. She said she and her husband had a fight. At first, he pulled a gun on her, and then he grabbed every gun he had plus several boxes of ammunition, jumped in his boat, and took off. She didn’t know where he was going, but she announced the situation to everyone over the VHF and warned people to be on the lookout for her husband because she thought he was planning to kill someone, or maybe several people.”

“I don’t remember anyone calling the troopers,” Patterson said.

Elle shrugged. “Bob knew the people, and he said the guy is a nut case. He made sure we stayed in the house all evening.”

“But you never heard anything else about it?”

“No,” Elle said.

“What about Deb?” Susan asked.

Susan and Elle shared a long look.

“Who is Deb?” Patterson asked.

After a long pause, Elle said, “Debbie is the Bartletts’ daughter. She works at the Aktuvik Fresh Sea Foods Cannery.”

Patterson tried to picture the location of the cannery in his mind. He knew it was several miles from the lodge, even though it bore the name of the cove in front of the lodge.

“Do you think Deb murdered her parents?” Trooper Sara Byram, who had remained silent until now, blurted the question.

Elle looked up at Sara who stood several feet behind Patterson. Elle seemed startled by the question.

“No. I don’t know.” Elle said and started crying again.

“Ladies,” Patterson said to Elle and Susan once Elle’s sobs had quieted. “I know this has been a terrible morning for you both. Let’s take a break from the questions. Elle, would you mind showing Sara where you put your bloody clothes? She’ll bag them, and then we’ll take them back to town with us.” He turned his gaze to Susan. “Are any of your clothes bloody?” he asked.

Susan shook her head rapidly. “No,” she said in a small voice.

Patterson stood and looked at Sara. “Peter and I will start in the Bartletts’ bedroom. Once you get Elle’s clothes bagged, I’d like for you and Mark to go up to the guest cabin and take photos. Don’t touch anything until the crime scene techs arrive and then assist them until they’re done.” Patterson glanced up at Traner. “Does that work for you?”

“Yes, sir,” Traner said.

“Gary,” Patterson said to the least-experienced trooper in the group, “You stand outside the front door and make sure no one enters the house without my permission.”

“Yes, sir.” Gary’s reply sounded so sharp, Patterson expected a salute.

“Remember,” Patterson said, his eyes locked on Gary’s. “We have a murderer running loose. Don’t let down your guard.”

“No, sir,” Reeves said and exited the front of the lodge, closing the door behind him.

Chapter 3

Elle watched Sergeant Patterson and another trooper walk toward the Bartletts’ bedroom. She shuddered, knowing what they would find when they entered the room. She would never forget the grizzly scene she discovered a few hours earlier. Jules and Bob had been beaten to death with something. She had not recognized them. She couldn’t even recognize the bloody forms in the bed as human. Blood spatter covered the walls, the beamed ceiling, the comforter, and the throw rugs. She only glanced at the room, but everything she saw had been painted scarlet. She shook her head, willing the image out of her mind.

“Elle?”

Elle looked up, startled. How long has the lady trooper been calling my name? Both troopers and Susan stared at her.

“Sorry,” Elle said. “Did you ask me something?”

“Yes,” the trooper said. “Would you take me to your bloody clothes, so I can bag them? If we get them out of here, you won’t have to look at them again.”

“Okay,” Elle said. She stood, but her knees buckled, and she nearly fell.

“Whoa,” both troopers said in unison. The woman hurried to Elle and held her arm to steady her.

“I’m okay,” Elle said. “My bedroom is upstairs.”

“Can you make it up the stairs?” The female trooper asked.

“Sure,” Elle said, but her vision kept fading to black, and she worried she would faint at any moment. As soon as they reached the stairs, she gripped the handrail.

“My name is Sara,” the female said. “I know Sergeant Patterson introduced us, but I’m sure you are overwhelmed right now.”

“Okay, Sara, got it,” Elle said

“How long have you worked for the Bartletts?” Sara asked as she followed Elle up the stairs.

Elle welcomed the trooper’s question. She wanted to think about anything other than the blood bath in the Bartletts’ bedroom.

“This is my seventh year,” Elle said. “The Bartletts are good to me. I especially like Jules.” Elle couldn’t bring herself to refer to Jules in the past tense.

“What about Susan?” Sara asked. “How long has she been here?”

“This is her first year,” Elle said. As they reached the top floor landing and walked down the hall out of earshot from anyone sitting in the great room, Elle looked at Sara and said in a soft voice, “Susan is only 17-years-old, and this is her first real job.” She shook her head. “What a way to start.”

“Where is she from?” Sara asked.

“Her family has a farm somewhere north of Palmer. Actually, I think it’s more like a compound. The entire family, including Susan’s grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins all live in this one little area. The kids are home-schooled, and they are brainwashed by their parents.”

“How do you mean?” Sara asked.

“I don’t like to judge,” Elle said, “but Susan has some crazy ideas about how the world works.”

Elle led the way into her bedroom at the end of the hall, and the bloody pile of clothes on the floor brought her back to the moment. She pointed at them and stood back while Sara donned nitrile gloves and gently dropped each article of clothing into a garbage bag. Elle had earlier stripped off everything, including her underwear, and she stood and watched Sara collect each piece.

“What sort of ideas?” Sara asked.

“What?” Elle had lost the thread of their conversation.

“You said Susan has crazy ideas about how the world works.”

“Oh,” Elle said, no longer in the mood for small talk. “It’s just that she’s been taught women should stay at home and take care of their husbands and children. She can’t wait to get married and start a family.”

“And you said she is only 17?” Sara asked.

Elle nodded. “She’s engaged to a guy who is in his mid-twenties. I’ve never met him, but he sounds like a loser. He has Susan mail her paychecks to him.”

“Wow!” Sara said.

“It makes me so crazy I can’t even talk to her about it,” Elle said, “but Jules tried. I think Jules thought of Susan as a project. Jules told me once she felt as if she needed to save Susan from herself.”

“Did Susan listen to her?” Sara asked.

Elle shook her head. “Susan is in love. She doesn’t listen to anyone except Stan, her boyfriend.”

Elle led the way out of her room and down the hall to the top of the stairs.

“What about you?” Sara asked. “Where are you from originally?”

“Here and there,” Elle said. “My family traveled a lot when I was young.”

When they reached the great room, Sara continued to the front door, carrying the garbage bag of clothes. She opened the door, spoke briefly to the trooper stationed on the porch, and handed him the bag of bloody clothes. She then looked over her shoulder at the other trooper. “Are you ready, Mark?” She asked.

The trooper named Mark nodded and followed Sara out the front door.

Elle reclaimed her seat on the couch next to Susan.

They both sat quietly for several minutes, the large, ticking wall clock, the only noise in the room.

Finally, Susan said, “I think Snowball is dead.”

Elle jerked away from Susan. “Why would you say something like that?”

Susan reached her hand to Elle’s arm. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I haven’t seen her all morning, and you know how she liked to sleep with Jules and Bob. I’m worried. Have you seen her?”

Elle began to cry softly, but her sobs grew in volume to a wail. She didn’t think she could handle more bad news. She’d always thought of herself as tough, but right now, she couldn’t hold herself together no matter how hard she tried.

“Maybe Snowball will show up in a while,” Susan said as she patted Elle’s hand.

Elle wondered how Susan was coping so well. She was just a kid; Elle should be comforting her, not the other way around. Elle took several deep breaths. “Who could have done this, and why didn’t I hear anything?”

“Why did they leave us alive?” Susan asked.

“Maybe they didn’t know we were upstairs.”

“Or, maybe they like us and didn’t want to kill us.”

“You think the killer knows us?” Elle asked.

“Of course,” Susan said. “Don’t you?”

Elle couldn’t imagine anyone she knew doing something this terrible, this evil. “Who?” She asked.

“I don’ know,” Susan said. “I’m probably wrong. Maybe the only reason we weren’t murdered was because the killer didn’t know we were upstairs, but if the killer only wanted to murder Jules and Bob, why did he go up to the cabin and shoot the guests?”

Elle whipped her head toward Susan. “The guests were shot?”

Susan nodded. “The killer didn’t use an ax on them. When you sent me up to check on them, I could see they were all dead, but they looked peaceful. They must have been asleep when they were shot.” She shrugged. “Maybe it would have taken too long to kill them with the ax.”

Elle shuddered. How could someone use an ax to bludgeon another person to death? “Why not just shoot Jules and Bob too? It would have been simpler.”

Susan shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe whoever did it hated Jules or Bob.”

“Who hated them?” Elle couldn’t even think straight. She knew Patterson wanted her to tell him about possible suspects, but she couldn’t imagine anyone doing something this horrible.

“I know you like Sammy,” Susan said, “but he and Bob had a terrible fight. Do you know what it was about?”

Elle shook her head. “I asked Jules, but she said she didn’t know.”

“Did you believe her?” Susan asked.

Elle shook her head again. “No, I think she knew, but she didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Did you talk to Brian after the family meeting last night?” Susan asked.

“Why would I talk to Brian?” Elle felt her face grow hot.

“Come on, Elle. I saw you and Brian kissing down by the dock a few days ago. I know you have something going on with him.”

“It’s none of your business.” Elle kept her voice low and controlled.

“I don’t care what you do with Brian,” Susan said. “I just want to know if he said anything to you about the family meeting.”

“We didn’t talk,” Elle said. “What are you getting at, anyway? Brian wouldn’t hurt his parents.”

“He might if he thought they were planning to sell the lodge to someone else. He’s supposed to inherit it.” Susan said.

“How do you know that?” Elle asked.

“It’s not a secret,” Susan said. “I heard him and Bob fighting about it the other day. I heard Brian tell his dad he couldn’t sell the lodge because it was supposed to be his someday, and Bob said he and Jules needed money now, and they’d sell it if they wanted to sell it.”

“If anyone in the family hurt Jules and Bob, it was Deb,” Elle said. “I heard them tell her if she didn’t get her act together, she wouldn’t inherit anything from them.”

“Or her crazy boyfriend, Jason,” Susan said. “He’s scary.”

“Listen,” Elle said. “We don’t know what happened, so don’t tell the troopers any of this.”

“Don’t you think they should know who we suspect?” Susan asked.

“I don’t suspect anyone,” Elle said. “I can’t believe anyone I know could do something like this.”

“I guess the killer could be a stranger,” Susan said.

“Like the guy whose wife announced over the radio was going on a rampage.”

“Or the fisherman who got into a yelling match with Bob the other day,” Susan said.

“You didn’t tell me about him.”

Susan shrugged. “Bob told me not to mention it because he was afraid it would upset Jules.”

“What happened?”

“It was after Bob returned one evening,” Susan said. “He brought the guests into shore and then took me back out to the boat to help him fillet fish. We were working when a commercial salmon seiner pulled up beside us, and the captain started screaming swear words at Bob.”

“Why?”

“He said Bob dropped anchor and started halibut fishing right in his way when he was making a set.”

Elle thought it sounded like something Bob might do. He didn’t like most commercial fishermen and seemed to enjoy flexing his muscles in front of them to let them know he thought he belonged here, and they didn’t.

“What did Bob say when the guy yelled at him?” Elle asked.

“He laughed and told the guy to get lost.”

Elle stared at Susan for several moments. “I think you should tell the troopers about the encounter,” Elle said.

Susan sighed. “I guess,” she said, “but I could see where the captain might want to punch or maybe even kill Bob, but why would he kill everyone else?”

“You don’t know anything about the guy,” Elle said. “Maybe he’s a psychopath and enjoys killing people.”

Elle and Susan sat quietly for several minutes. Elle listened to the big wall clock tick while she wondered if she knew the person who had committed these horrible crimes. Finally, she said, “Who do you think killed Bob and Jules?”

Susan’s gaze dropped to the floor for several seconds and then she looked at Elle, her eyes wide. “I don’t know,” she said, “but I have to ask you something.”

“What?”

“Why did you have so much blood on you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said your clothes were bloody. How did they get bloody?”

Elle stood and took several paces away from the couch. She turned and faced Susan, tears streaming down her face. “Just say it, Susan. You want to know if I killed them, don’t you? Say what you mean.” Elle’s voice quavered.

Susan said nothing but looked straight into Elle’s eyes.

“I was bloody because I went into their bedroom and touched them. I turned Bob and Jules over to see if I could save them.” A sob escaped Elle, and she quickly covered her mouth with her hand. “Why weren’t you bloody? Didn’t you try to help the guests when you went to the cabin?”

Just then, the front door opened, and four troopers, their arms laden with gear entered the Great Room. Trooper Reeves followed them into the house and pointed toward Jules and Bob’s bedroom. “Sergeant Patterson is in there,” he said. “I think he’ll want two of you to go up to the guest cabin. We have more bodies up there.”

One of the troopers shook his head. “This is a massacre,” he said.

Chapter 4

Patterson and Boyle stood in Jules and Bob’s bedroom afraid to move. There was so much blood in the room, they couldn’t take a step without contaminating the crime scene. Patterson had snapped several photos of the room from his vantage point by the door, but he needed to move closer to get photos of the victims. Both he and Boyle had donned boot covers and nitrile gloves before entering the room, and now, he stepped carefully toward the bed, attempting to avoid the blood spatters.

The heads of both victims had been beaten so badly; they were barely recognizable as humans. He could only assume the couple in the bed were Bob and Jules Bartlett. Nothing he’d seen yet contradicted this identity of the victims, but what if Bob had caught Jules in bed with someone else and bludgeoned them both to death. He needed to keep an open mind at this early stage in the investigation.

Patterson fought back nausea while he photographed the victims. Blood matted the female’s long, dark hair. She lay on her stomach, and Patterson guessed she must have been murdered in her sleep. At least she never saw what was coming, and Patterson guessed she must have been the first victim. The male was on his back, his arms over his head as if he had tried to fend off the blows.

“Do you see a murder weapon?” Patterson asked Boyle.

“No sir,” Boyle said. He still stood by the door, and when Patterson looked back at him, he noticed how pale he looked.

“You okay?” Patterson asked.

“Yes, sir,” Boyle said. “It’s just that,” he paused. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Me either,” Patterson said. “These two don’t even look human. I’d say they were murdered with an axe. It’s the only weapon I can think of that could do this much damage.”

“Yes, sir,” Boyle said again.

Patterson continued to snap photos, and then he and Boyle stood in the room, trying to move as little as possible while still getting a feel for the crime scene.

A knock sounded on the bedroom door, and Boyle opened it. “Crime scene is here, sir,” he said.

Patterson let out a long breath, relieved to have an excuse to get out of this room for a while. The crime scene crew consisted of two tech and two young troopers. He’d rather have all crime scene experts for a scene this big, but it was the weekend, so they’d have to make do with what they had.

“Jill,” Patterson said to the senior tech in the room, “I’d like you to be in charge of this scene. Andy,” he nodded to one of the young troopers, “you assist, and Peter, I’d like you to stay and help as well.” He looked Jill in the eyes. “We can’t afford any mistakes here. Take your time. This scene will take you at least the rest of today to analyze, and I’ll be back to help.”

Jill’s spine straightened. “Yes, sir,” she said. Her eyes swept the room, and she turned back to Patterson. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” she said.

“None of us has,” Patterson said. “We need to get the monster who did this into a jail cell, and I’m counting on you to find crucial evidence in this room. I took some photos, but I want you to take more. You’re good at what you do, so take this scene apart piece by piece. Be thorough and take your time.”

“Yes, sir,” Jill said.

“I ‘ll be back in a few minutes. Joe and Patrick, come with me,” Patterson said. He left the room and carefully shut the door.

Patterson felt bad about leaving Boyle in the room. Patterson wanted fresh air, and he knew from observing Boyle’s pale face, the other trooper could also stand to step outside and catch his breath. Still, Patterson wanted an observer to stay in the room from the moment the crime scene techs began their analysis until they finished, and poor Trooper Boyle was the person tasked with this responsibility. He would give Trooper Sara Byram the same job in the guest cabin.

Patterson nodded to Joe, the other crime scene tech and Trooper Patrick Little. “The rest of the victims are in the guest cabin.”

Patterson noted Elle and Susan sitting quietly on the long couch in the great room. He opened the front door and asked Trooper Reeves how things were going.

“Quiet so far, sir,” he said.

Patterson followed the marked trail around the side of the main cabin and up small hill. The trail wound through the trees and into an opening which revealed a log cabin with large windows and two porches. Patterson and the techs stopped on one of the porches and donned boot covers and nitrile gloves.

“Mark, Sara?” Patterson called as he opened the door and stepped into the cabin. He stood in front of two twin beds, each with a human form under the covers.

“Sir,” Mark Traner called from the second bedroom, “we’re in here.”

Patterson heard footsteps as Mark crossed to their side of the cabin. “No pulses. They’re dead, sir. We checked.”

Patterson nodded at the two beds. “This scene looks much cleaner than the scene in the house. How were they killed?”

“Single gunshot wound to the head,” Traner said. “Three through the side of the head, two through the back of the head, and one through the front. I think they were shot on whichever side was convenient.”

“In other words,” Patterson said, “Three were sleeping on their sides, two on his or her back and the other on their stomach.”

“Yes, sir, and that’s not all,” Traner said.

“What else?” Patterson asked when Traner failed to continue.

“I think the killer shot through a pillow to muffle the sound. In the third room, we found a pillow with several holes in it and gunshot residue on it. I didn’t touch any of the victims, but I think I see feathers in at least in some of the wounds.”

“Interesting,” Patterson said. “A pillow would muffle the sound of the gunshot. Maybe that explains why no one heard the shots and woke up.”

“Still,” Trooper Little spoke for the first time. “They must have been sound sleepers not to hear something.”

“Were the doors to the bedrooms closed when you entered the cabin?” Patterson asked.

“No, sir,” Traner said. “We would have left the doors closed if that’s how we found them.”

“From what Elle told me, these three couples were strangers,” Patterson said. “They must have closed their bedroom doors for privacy.”

“Maybe the killer opened them.” Little said.

“Or Susan,” Sara Byram said as she entered the room. “Elle sent Susan up to check on the guests, and she probably walked through the cabin and opened the bedroom doors.”

“I’m not sure it matters,” Patterson said, “But I’ll ask Susan if the doors were opened or closed when she entered the cabin this morning to check on the guests. If they were closed, and I assume they were when the killer entered the cabin, then the guests in the second room might not have heard the shots in the first room.”

“Possibly,” Traner said, “but the second victim in each room should have heard his or her sleeping companion get shot.”

“If they didn’t, they sleep better than I do,” Sara said.

“I’ll leave you guys to analyze the scene,” Patterson said. “Joe is in charge, so please carefully follow his instructions,” Patterson said to Trooper Little. “Sara, I want you to stay here to observe and help where needed. Joe, take plenty of photos, and as I told Jill at the other scene, take your time. We need this done right and want it to stand up in court. Whoever did this needs to spend his or her life in a jail cell, and our crime scene analysis must be beyond reproach.”

“Mark,” Patterson looked at Traner, “I want you to come with me. “We need to hunt down some possible suspects.”

“Yes, sir,” Traner said, and Patterson knew he was happy to be relieved of crime-scene duty.

When Patterson and Traner rounded the corner of the main cabin, they heard Reeves arguing with another man. As they got closer, they saw a tall, muscular man facing off against the trooper.

“It’s my house. You can’t keep me out of it.” The man said.

“Sir, if you’ll just wait until my sergeant returns,” Reeves said. He glanced up and nodded at Patterson. “Here he is now.”

The man turned toward Patterson. “What’s going on here. What happened?” He asked.

The young man was no more than twenty-five-years-old. He towered over Reeves, and Patterson guessed he must be at least 6 ft. 3 in. tall. His lean, muscular frame suggested a physical occupation.

Patterson held out his hand and the man shook it. Patterson calmly introduced himself and Traner. The man’s pale blue eyes darted back and forth between the two troopers.

“I’m Brian Bartlett,” He said. “My parents own this lodge. Where are they? What happened here?”

Brian Bartlett genuinely seemed confused by the situation, but Patterson watched his reaction as he gave him the bad news about his parents.

Brian ran his fingers through his short-cropped, light brown, curly hair but said nothing and showed no emotion of any kind. Is he in shock, or is he trying to decide on how he should react? Patterson knew people handled bad news in a variety of ways, but a lack of emotion always made him suspicious. The agitation Brian had exhibited when he and Traner had first arrived was gone. He stood quietly. His eyes locked on Patterson for several moments before his gaze dropped to the ground.

“Are you okay, sir?” Patterson asked.

Brian seemed to suddenly remember Patterson was there. He looked up and shook his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. “I’m okay,” he said. “How were they killed?”

“We’re not sure yet,” Patterson said, “but their six guests were also murdered.”

“What about Elle and Susan? Are they okay?”

Patterson nodded. “They weren’t harmed.”

“Who would do something like this?” Brian asked.

“We’re hoping you can help us answer that question,” Patterson said. “When was the last time you saw your parents?”

“Last night,” Brian said. “My sister and I had dinner with them, and then we had a family meeting.”

“Your sister, Debbie?” Patterson asked.

Brian nodded. “I left about 8:00 pm. Debbie was still here when I left.” I’m a commercial fisherman, and my boat is anchored near here.”

“Did your sister spend the night?” Patterson asked.

“No,” Brian said. “I saw her leave in her skiff around 8:30 or 9:00. She works and stays at the cannery.”

“The Aktuvik Fresh Seafoods Cannery,” Patterson said.

Brian nodded “I’d better go there now and tell her the bad news.”

“We’ll give her the news, sir. We’d like you to come in and sit down. We have more questions for you.”

Patterson was about to usher Brian into the great room of the lodge when he heard the outboard motor of an approaching skiff. He walked toward the dock, leaving Traner, Reeves, and Brian Bartlett standing by the front door.

Patterson reached the dock just as a heavyset man in his fifties awkwardly crawled from his aluminum skiff and tied it to the cleats on the opposite side of the dock from where Patterson’s plane sat.

The man stood straight, stretched his back and noticed Patterson. He held out his hand, and Patterson recognized him.

Patterson nodded, “Bart,” he said. “I’m glad you’re here. I assume you heard about our little problem.” Bart Miller was the Village Public Safety Officer, or VPSO, of nearby Kanuk Bay, a small Alutiiq village of approximately one-hundred people.

Bart nodded. “I called into the trooper station in town to report a domestic dispute in Kanuk Bay, and Brie told me about the murders here at the Bartlett’s lodge. Is it true? Are there eight people dead?”

Patterson blew out a breath and nodded. “I’m afraid so, and I sure hope you can point us toward a possible killer.”

“Have you talked to Sam Lutz yet?” Bart asked.

“The neighbor?” Patterson asked, recalling Susan’s comments about Sammy, their neighbor.

Bart nodded. “He and Bob had quite an argument a few weeks back. Bob caught Sam spying on his wife, Jules. Bob said he was watching Jules with binoculars when she was in the bathroom showering. He reported it to me, and I talked to Sam, who of course denied he was spying and said he was watching a buck up behind the cabin. I asked Bob if he wanted to file a report, but he declined. He did say he’d press charges against Sam if it happened again, though. He told Sam he didn’t want to see him around the lodge again. I think Sam was quite upset because he and Bob were good friends, and Sam even worked at the lodge as a fishing guide part time when Bob needed him.”

“How far away from here does Sam live?” Patterson asked.

“Not far, a little over two miles. I’ll give you a ride if you want to interview him.”

“Just a minute,” Patterson said. He walked up the trail several steps and called to Traner.

Traner quickly joined Patterson and Miller on the dock, and Patterson asked Miller to repeat his story to Traner about the conflict between Bob Bartlett and Sam Lutz.

“I’d like you and Bart to head to the Lutz cabin and interview Sam,” Patterson said. “Be on your guard, though. Anyone callous enough to murder eight people won’t hesitate to kill a VPSO and an Alaska State Trooper.”

“Yes, sir,” Traner said.

Patterson heard the outboard motor start as he headed back up the trail to the main lodge. When he arrived at the front door, Brian Bartlett and Trooper Reeves stood watching him.

Patterson nodded to Reeves to open the door, and Patterson and Brian walked into the lodge.

As soon as Elle saw Brian, she jumped up from the couch and hurried toward him. She started to put her arms around him, but Brian stopped her by grabbing her by both biceps and holding her away from him. Patterson found the interaction curious. He didn’t yet understand the relationships between the people, dead and living at this lodge, but he would dissect these bonds until he found the person or persons who hated the Bartletts enough to bludgeon them to death in their bed.

Chapter 5

“Why don’t you sit down, Brian,” Patterson said. “Elle and Susan have already given me some background information about your parents, but if you’re up to it, I’d like to hear what you have to say about your mom and dad and their lodge.”

“I guess,” Brian said. “What do you want to know?”

Brian seemed oddly unemotional, but Patterson tried not to read too much into his behavior. Patterson had seen investigations go sideways because the responding officers thought the victim’s supposed loved-one was exhibiting inappropriate behavior. Maybe Brian internalized his emotions, or perhaps, he was a psychopath. For now, Patterson mentally filed away Brian’s lack of tears.

“When did your parents start this business? Did they build the main lodge and the cabins themselves?” Patterson asked.

Brian nodded. “Yeah, my dad is – or – was a workaholic, and he expected Mom and Deb and I to work as many hours as we did. They bought the land in the late 90s, and it had a small cabin on it. My dad worked at a car dealership in town, and Mom was a teacher. She taught high school English. They originally bought this place so we would have a family getaway in the summer.” Brian shook his head. “Like everything else in his life, though, Dad had to turn this into a business, and I think both Debbie and I hated coming out here when we were kids.”

“Why is that?” Patterson asked

Brian sank back into the overstuffed chair. “Instead of fun, this place was work. As soon as we were old enough to carry a two-by-four, Dad had us hauling lumber. We’d just finish one building, and he’d start the next. When we completed the guest cabin, he started booking guests. He booked sport anglers and wildlife viewers in the summer and hunters in the fall. Debbie and I looked forward to the start of school every year, so we’d have time to play.”

“What about your mom? Did she continue to teach?” Patterson asked.

“Oh, no,” Brian said. “Dad made her quit teaching, so she’d be here to cook for the fall hunters. She did some substitute teaching in the spring, but she missed teaching her own class, and she didn’t like cooking.”

“When did they start hiring a cook?” Patterson nodded his head toward Elle.

“About ten or eleven years ago, I guess,” Brian said. The business started doing well, and once Dad ran out of things to build and had a boat he liked, they began putting money in the bank. Mom flat out told him she wasn’t cooking anymore, and they hired a cook. A few years ago, they started hiring a camp helper too.”

“What about guides?” Patterson asked. “Did your dad do all the guiding?”

“No,” Brian said. “I helped him for a while, but he didn’t think he needed to pay me much, so once I turned eighteen, I started working as a commercial fisherman.”

“When you left, who did he hire?” Patterson asked.

“Mom helped him on the boat when he needed it, and sometimes he hired Sam Lutz. He lives a couple miles from here.” Brian motioned toward Susan, “The camp helper is supposed to help fillet and package the fish the guests catch.”

“Were your parents happy running this business?” Patterson asked.

Brian gazed off into space and remained quiet so long, Patterson wasn’t sure he planned to answer the question.

“I think they were fairly happy with the business for several years, but Dad was not a people person, and this place was never Mom’s dream. They were talking about selling,” Brian said.

“When you say your dad was not a people person, what do you mean?” Patterson asked.

“Dad had a short fuse and thought his opinions were the only ones that mattered.” Brian laughed. “He’d argue with the guests sometimes, and Mom would be mortified.”

“Did he lose his temper with your mom?” Patterson asked as he edged toward a critical area of this interview.

Brian nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “He could be a total jerk to mom. To be honest, I don’t know why she didn’t leave him long ago?”

“Was he ever physically violent with your mother?”

“No, no,” Brian said, “nothing like that. He’d just yell at her and put her down sometimes. He made her cry regularly.”

“Was she considering a separation or divorce?” Patterson didn’t see how the relationship between Bob and Jules could weigh on this investigation. He knew what he saw in the Bartletts’ bedroom was not a murder-suicide, but marriages often involve more than two people, and he was still too near the beginning of this investigation to foresee the twists and turns it would take. At this point, he needed to listen and learn about the victims.

“I don’t know,” Brian shrugged. “She didn’t say anything to me, but maybe she talked to Debbie about it. Although, I doubt it. They haven’t been close in a few years.”

“Why aren’t they close?” Patterson asked.

Brian’s eyes widened, and Patterson could feel him withdraw. “Just teenage stuff,” he said. “Nothing serious.”

“What about you?” Patterson asked. “How did you get along with your parents?” Patterson knew he’d erred by asking Brian about issues between Debbie and her mother. He had hoped to smoothly transition into questioning Brian about his relationship with his parents, but now Brian was on guard. Brian sat forward in his chair, a frown on his face.

“We didn’t have problems,” Brian said. “I was planning to buy the lodge from them.”

Interesting. “You want to run this place? I thought you hated it.” Patterson said.

“I told you when I was a kid I hated it.” Brian’s voice rose a notch. “We all grow up and realize we actually love what we thought we hated, right? Besides, this is much easier work than commercial fishing. If I raise a family out here,” Brian continued, “I won’t make them work all the time.”

“Brian,” Patterson asked, “do you have any idea who hated your parents enough to murder them?”

“No,” Brian said. “No one would do this.”

“Sir,” Trooper Andy Marrs stood in the hallway leading to the Bartletts’ bedroom. Jill would like a word with you.”

Patterson nodded and excused himself. He glanced down at Andy’s feet and felt a wave of relief to see the young trooper had remembered to remove his boot covers. Jill had probably reminded him. Now, Andy handed Patterson a spare pair of boot covers and both men donned them as well as nitrile gloves before pushing through the door and into the crime scene Patterson wished he’d never have to look at again.

Boyle was busy dusting the surfaces of the bedroom for prints, while Jill photographed the now exposed bodies in the bed. The bloody top sheet had been placed in an evidence bag.

“Sir,” Jill looked up from her work, “we found this.” She pointed to a bloody ball in the center of the bed between the two bodies.

“What is it?” Patterson asked.

“I think it’s a cat or a very small dog,” Jill said.

“The murderer killed the cat?” Patterson asked. The bizarre act added another level of brutality to this crime.

Chapter 6

Brian stared straight ahead as Sergeant Patterson followed the other trooper to Jules and Bob’s bedroom. Elle waited until Patterson was out of sight and then hurried to the chair where Brian sat. She didn’t care what Susan thought of their relationship. Her heart ached for Brian. She knelt on the floor beside him.

“Are you okay?” Elle asked.

Brian slowly turned his head to look at her. “I’m fine he said. I just need time to think.”

“This is so terrible,” Elle said. “I’m sorry.”

Elle placed her hand on Brian’s arm, and Brian shook free of her grasp. “Leave me alone, Elle. This isn’t the time.”

Elle remained kneeling for several seconds while tears cascaded down her face. Finally, she stood and returned to her spot on the couch. She could feel Susan’s eyes on her, but she didn’t look at the girl. Elle pulled a tissue from her apron pocket and wiped her tears and blew her nose.

Elle, Susan, and Brian sat in a strained silence, punctuated only by the ticking of the large wall clock. Ten minutes later, Patterson returned to the great room, a frown clouding his face.

“Did your parents have pets?” Patterson asked Brian.

“A stupid white cat,” Brian said and shook his head. “Dad showed that cat more affection than he ever showed his kids.”

“Why do you want to know about the cat?” Elle asked in a small voice.

“The crime scene techs found a bloody white animal in the bed with Jules and Bob,” Patterson said.

This news was too much for Elle to bear. It sent her over the edge. “Not Snowball,” she shrieked. Her tears turned into gulping sobs, and she could barely breathe. Next to her, she could hear Susan softly crying. They both had loved Snowball.

Elle didn’t realize Patterson had left the room until he forced a glass of water into her hands.

“Are you okay?” Patterson asked.

“No,” Elle said, but she sipped the water and fought to get her emotions under control.

“Snowball never hurt anyone,” Susan said.

“Are you suggesting Bob and Jules hurt people?” Patterson, who now sat on the couch beside Elle, asked.

Elle glanced at Susan’s wet face and runny nose, and she dug a clean tissue from her apron pocket and handed it to the girl.

“I didn’t mean that,” Susan said. “I just meant Snowball was an innocent animal.”

“The crime scene tech thinks, and I agree with her, Snowball was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The killer likely had no idea the cat was under the covers.”

Elle recalled Susan’s earlier statement about Snowball and turned to her. “How did you know Snowball was dead?” Elle asked.

“What?” Susan said.

“You said you thought Snowball was dead,” Elle said. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t know,” Susan said. “I just hadn’t seen him this morning, and he’s always here for his breakfast.”

Patterson slowly stood and walked back to sit in the chair across from Brian. “Brian,” he said, “you were about to tell me about issues you had with your parents.”

“No,” Brian said, his voice level and controlled, “I told you I got along great with my parents.”

Elle watched Brian’s hands tighten on the arms of his chair and wondered why he was lying to the sergeant. Did Brian think Sergeant Patterson suspected him of the murders? Or, was Brian lying because he did kill his parents? Elle immediately pushed the last thought from her mind. Brian couldn’t kill anyone, and while she knew he and his dad sometimes argued, he loved his dad and was even closer to his mom. He would never kill them.

Patterson said nothing for several moments. Elle expected him to continue to press Brian on his relationship with his parents, but the sergeant suddenly switched to another topic, one that made Elle queasy.

“We won’t know until the medical examiner performs the autopsies on your parents’ bodies,” Patterson said, “but our crime scene tech told me she believes the murder weapon was an axe or something similar. Do your parents have an axe?”

“Of course,” Brian said. “They need an axe to chop firewood and clear trails.”

“Do you know where they keep it?” Patterson asked

Before Brian could answer, Susan said, “It’s by the woodpile, I can show you.”

Patterson nodded to Susan, “Okay, why don’t you take me to it.”

Susan stood, smoothing her long skirt before crossing to the door. Patterson followed behind her, and the two left the lodge.

Elle hoped Brian would talk to her once they were alone, but he seemed lost in his own world.

“Are you okay?” Elle asked.

He whipped his head in her direction, his eyes dark and angry. “Don’t tell the troopers anything,” he said.

“I didn’t,” Elle said.

“We need to keep our distance from each other now, okay?”

“Why?” Elle asked. Her voice trembled, and she fought back the tears.

“It’s just best.”

“Okay,” Elle said. She wiped her eyes and stared at her lap. She felt as if she were having the worst nightmare of her life, and she hoped she’d awaken soon.

The door opened, and Patterson and Susan walked into the great room. Patterson held the axe by the handle, his hands clad in nitrile gloves.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Patterson said. “I’ll give this to the crime scene techs to bag.”

“Does it have blood on it?” Brian asked Susan once Patterson was out of earshot.

“I didn’t see any, but Sergeant Patterson said they could do tests on it in the laboratory and find the tiniest traces of blood.”

“What about the axe with the blue handle?” Brian asked. “Do you know where Dad keeps it?”

Both Susan and Elle shook their heads. “I’ve never seen an axe with a blue handle,” Susan said.

“You should tell Sergeant Patterson about the other axe,” Elle said.

“I’m not telling him anything,” Brian said, “and neither should you.”

Chapter 7

VPSO Bart Miller and Trooper Mark Traner climbed from the small aluminum skiff and stood on the rocky shore. “The tide’s coming in,” Miller said, so the boat should be okay here for a while. He grabbed the anchor out of the bow and carried it to the top of the beach. He then led Traner up a set of wooden stairs to the top of a bluff. Sam Lutz’s small, brown cabin was nearly hidden by the yellow alders and willows.

Lutz apparently didn’t hear their arrival, and they heard him before they saw him. Miller headed in the direction of the whacking noise, and they found Sam busy splitting logs behind the rear of the cabin. Since Traner had not seen the bodies of Jules and Bob Bartlett, the sight of a muscular Sam Lutz easily splitting a log with one striking blow of his axe did not immediately register with Traner.

“Sam,” Bart called over the crack of the axe.

Sam stopped chopping and slowly turned to face Traner and Miller.

“Bart,” Sam said. “I didn’t hear you. You need to be careful sneaking up on a guy like that.”

Sam wiped his right hand on his Carharts and then extended it to Bart. Sam had removed his red plaid shirt and baseball cap for the sweaty job of chopping wood. The shirt draped over a nearby stump, the cap sat squarely atop the shirt. Sam’s naked torso exposed well-formed muscles and little body fat. His head was bald, and a jagged scar spanned the width of his forehead.

“This is Trooper Mark Traner,” Bart said.

Sam and Traner shook hands, and Traner noted Sam’s dark brown eyes and full black beard and mustache. “What brings an Alaska State Trooper out here?” Sam frowned at Traner. “I’ve heard quite a bit of air traffic this morning and wondered what was going on.”

“Yes, sir,” Traner said. “I’m afraid we have some bad news about your neighbors.”

“The Bartletts?”

“Yes,” Traner said. “They were murdered sometime during the night.”

“No,” Sam took a step back. “Bob and Jules?”

Traner nodded. “And their six guests.”

“What about the kids?”

“Brian and Debbie weren’t there,” Bart said.

Sam locked eyes with Traner, and Traner saw tears snake down his cheeks. “Elle and Susan?” He asked.

“They were upstairs,” Traner said, “and they weren’t harmed.”

“My God,” Sam said. “Who could have done such a thing?”

“We hope you can help us answer that question,” Traner said.

“I don’t know what I can tell you,” Sam said.

“We understand you and Bob Bartlett had an argument recently,” Traner said.

Sam glared at Bart and then looked at Traner and let out a long breath. He grabbed his shirt, slid his arms into the sleeves and buttoned it. Then, he popped his hat on his head. “Let’s go in my cabin and have a cup of coffee,” he said.

Sam’s cabin was small but tidy. Traner noted a sink and a compact stove and oven in the tiny kitchen. Wooden pegs jutting from the wall held coffee mugs, and Sam grabbed two of the mugs and filled them from a coffee pot sitting on the stove.

He nodded to the mug as he handed it to Traner. “Should still be hot. I made it a little while ago. He gave Bart another full cup of brew and told the two men to take a seat.

An oil stove sat in the corner of the other room in the cabin, and Traner thought about how little oil it would take to keep a cabin this size warm. A couch and two wooden chairs filled most of the room. The furniture appeared worn but comfortable. Traner took the chair nearest the door, and Bart sat in the other chair. Sam carried his own cup of coffee into the room and sat on the couch.

Sam glanced at Bart and then at Traner. “I don’t know what Bart told you, but I wasn’t

peeping on Jules.” Sam shook his head. “The idea is preposterous, and I told Bob he was acting ridiculous. I like Jules,” Sam said, not seeming to notice his mistake at using the present tense. Jules is sweet and funny and smart, and yes, she’s good looking. I sometimes feel like a schoolboy in her presence, but I’d never watch her through binoculars in her bathroom. How could Bob think I would do something so disgusting?”

“What were you looking at, sir?” Traner asked.

Sam lowered his coffee mug to the small table by the couch and put his hands over his face. He said nothing for several seconds. Then, he dropped his hands, picked up his coffee mug and took a long swallow. “It’s like I told Bart,” he said. “I was watching a big buck behind the Bartletts’ cabin. Bob wouldn’t believe me, though. He wanted to think the worst of me,” Sam shook his head, “and after all the years we’ve known each other.”

Sam hadn’t put much effort into making his lie sound credible, and Traner felt Sam had been on the verge of telling them something, but what was it, and did it pertain to the murders? Sam seemed to have decided to stick with his lie, though, and Traner didn’t think he would get the man to change his mind at this point.

“How do you make a living out here?” Traner asked.

“I’m retired,” Sam said.

“From what, sir?” Traner asked.

“This and that,” Sam said.

“Who do you think murdered the Bartletts?” Traner asked.

“Me?” Sam asked. “I have no idea. None at all.”

Sam’s reply seemed too quick and certain, and again, Traner felt the man was holding back something.

“What can you tell me about the Bartletts?” Traner asked.

“They’re nice folks,” Sam said. “I’ve lived out here nearly twelve years, so I knew Brian and Debbie when they were kids. I always got along great with them until,” he huffed out a breath, “recently.”

“What about the family dynamics?” Traner asked. “Did Jules and Bob have problems, did they fight with the kids, that sort of thing?”

Sam shrugged. “All families have problems he said, but I don’t think theirs were any worse than most. Bob could be an ass, and I thought he talked down to Jules at times. He didn’t always treat her very well, and I often wondered what she saw in him.”

“Did they argue?” Traner asked.

“Not in front of other people, but I could tell when Bob made Jules mad, and she was no shrinking violet. I’m sure she told him what she thought when they were in private.”

“How did Bob treat the kids?” Traner asked.

Sam nodded. “He was tough on them. When I first moved out here and met the family, I couldn’t believe how hard Bob worked those kids, and they didn’t dare talk back to him, at least not then.”

“What do you mean by ‘not then?’” Traner asked.

“When they got older, neither one of them held back. They’d mouth off to both Jules and Bob but mainly to Bob. I think they were tired of him working them so hard, and Debbie,” Sam chuckled. “That girl can swear like a sailor. She’s made me blush a time or two. By the time Debbie was 15, her parents had lost control of her, and I know they both felt helpless about what to do.”

“Did she get into trouble?” Traner asked.

“Oh my, yes,” Sam said. When they were in town, she’d skip school, stay out all night, use drugs and alcohol, and she even got picked up a few times for shoplifting. She has cleaned up her act quite a bit, but she has a ways to go. I don’t know what this news about her parents will do to her.”

“What about Brian?” Traner asked.

“Brian’s a good kid, or I guess I should say a good man,” Sam said. “He went through a wild time too, but he’s beyond all that now, I think, and he’s looking forward to the future.”

“How did he get along with his dad?”

“Not bad,” Sam said. “They both have tempers, but I know Bob is proud of Brian.” Sam stopped speaking for a moment. “I mean he was proud of him.” Tears spilled from Sam’s eyes, and he pulled a handkerchief from his Carharts and mopped his eyes. I can’t believe Jules and Bob are gone.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, sir,” Traner said.

“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about Bob,” Sam said. “Most of the time he was a good guy, but he had a temper. He tended to say what he thought, and he made some enemies. He’d even yell at his paying guests at times. I occasionally worked on his charter boat, and I couldn’t believe how he treated his guests.”

“But you can’t think of anyone who disliked him enough to kill him?” Traner asked.

“I don’t know anyone deranged enough to kill Bob and Jules and their six guests.”

Traner and Bob shook hands with Sam and thanked him for his time. Sam promised to contact the troopers if he thought of anything which might be useful to the investigation.

Sam stood at the top of his cliff and watched Traner and Bart climb into their skiff and back away from the shore. Traner offered Sam a wave and then sat on the wooden plank seat in the boat.

“What do you think about Sam?” Bart asked after they had traveled for five minutes.

“He was holding back something,” Traner said.

“Yeah,” Bart said. “He wasn’t watching a buck behind the Bartletts’ lodge.”

Chapter 8

Patterson returned to the great room and told Jules and Elle they wouldn’t be able to stay at the lodge, at least not for the next few days. “The crime scene techs will need to process the entire lodge.”

“Where will we go?” Jules asked, tears again trickling down her cheeks.

“We’ll find someplace for you to stay in town. You don’t need to take all your belongings. Take what you’ll need for a few days. We’ll either let you come back out here then and pack your stuff, or we’ll pack it for you and bring it to town.”

“I want to go home,” Susan said.

“We’d like you to stay in Kodiak for a few days,” Patterson said, “until we finish our preliminary investigation. You and Elle know more than anyone about what happened at the lodge this summer. We’ll need to get separate statements from both of you, and I know we’ll have many other questions as the investigation progresses.”

“But we still have three more groups of bear viewers scheduled this season,” Elle said.

Patterson wasn’t sure how to answer Elle’s remark. She must not be thinking clearly if she thought tourists would want to stay in the lodge so soon after eight brutal murders. He doubted any tourist would want to stay in this lodge again until the murderer had been apprehended and sent to prison for the rest of his or her life.

Brian responded to Elle, his tone sharp. “The lodge is closed for the year. I’ll contact the remaining guests, and I guess I’ll have to scrounge enough money to pay back their deposits.”

“And pay us,” Susan said.

“Yes, Susan,” Brian snapped. “Thank you for reminding me.”

Elle began to cry again, and Susan patted her back.

“Once you’ve packed what you’ll need for the next few days,” Patterson said to Elle and Susan, “bring your bags back to the great room and wait for me. Patterson turned his gaze on Brian. “I’d like for you and your sister to fly to town with us too, Brian.”

“What?” Brian said. “I’m the captain of a fishing boat. I can’t leave and fly to town.”

“Brian,” Patterson said, not trying to mask the annoyance he felt, “I’m sure you want to help catch the perpetrator who murdered your parents.

“Well, sure, but. . ..” Brian began.

“Then we need you to come to town with us,” Patterson said, “and I will escort you out of the lodge now. I can’t leave you in here until the techs process the building. You can run back to your boat and tell your crew you’ll be away for a few days. I’ll have the plane warmed up and ready to go in two hours, so you’ll need to be back here then.”

Patterson expected Brian to object to all or part of what he had just said, but Brian stood and quietly walked out the front door. Patterson escorted him to the dock and watched him climb into a skiff, untie from the dock, and speed away.

Patterson turned and started back up to the lodge, planning to walk up the path to the log cabin to check on the progress of the crime scene investigation. He took several steps, but when he heard an approaching outboard engine, he returned to the end of the dock. As soon as the skiff motored around the rock outcropping which formed the entrance to the cove, Patterson saw it was Bart Miller and Mark Traner, returning from their interview with Sam Lutz.

Bart pulled alongside the dock, and Traner jumped from the skiff and tied the boat to the cleats on the dock. Patterson offered Bart a hand and helped pull the large man up onto the planked surface.

“Did you talk to Sam?” Patterson asked.

“Yes, sir,” Traner said.

“What was your impression of him?”

“He seemed genuinely shocked to hear someone murdered the Bartletts,” Traner said, “but neither Bart or I thought he was telling us the full truth.”

“About?” Patterson asked.

“For one thing,” Traner said, “about who or what he was looking at when Bob accused him of spying on Jules in the shower.”

“Do you think he was looking at Jules?” Patterson asked.

“Possibly,” Traner said, “but I got the feeling he was looking at someone else, spying on someone else. I thought for a minute he was going to confess what he was doing, but then he clammed up.”

“Interesting,” Patterson said. “Was there anything else?”

“I also got the impression he suspected who might want to kill Bob and Jules,” but I could be wrong.

“Okay,” Patterson said. “We need to keep a close eye on Sam Lutz, and soon, we need to hit him hard with more questions. Besides Brian and Deb Bartlett, Sam Lutz is our most likely suspect.”

“Yes, sir,” Traner said.

“Right now, I think we should inform Deb Bartlett about the deaths of her parents. Do you mind giving us a ride to the cannery, Bart?”

“At your service,” Bart said, and all three men climbed into the skiff. Patterson and Traner untied the boat from the dock, and Bart edged the vessel out into the bay.

The boat ride to the cannery took thirty-five minutes, and after pounding through choppy seas for over half an hour, Patterson’s back complained when he stood and jumped from the skiff to the steep cannery beach. Today, he felt older than his forty-five years, and he wondered how old he would be before he found someone to arrest for the brutal murders at Bear Lodge.

Bart stayed with the skiff while Patterson and Traner trudged up the steep beach to the cannery office. They stepped off the beach onto a wooden walkway and followed it around the building to the front door of the office. Patterson pushed open the door, and the young woman sitting at the reception desk in the front office stopped keypunching and looked up expectantly at the two troopers.

“We need to talk with Deborah Bartlett,” Patterson said.

“Uh, sure,” the woman said. “They’re on mug-up – that’s coffee break – right now, so she’s probably in the mess hall, but she could be in her room or wandering around outside. Just follow this walk to the end, and you’ll see the mess hall.”

Patterson sighed. The woman could have offered more help with hunting down Deb Bartlett, but how hard could she be to find in a small, isolated cannery? Fifteen minutes later, he wished he had demanded help from the young woman in the office. Deb was not in the mess hall, and he had yet to find anyone willing to tell him where Deb’s room was in the dormitory. He was about to suggest to Traner that they head back to the office when a man in his mid-twenties marched up to them and demanded to know why they were looking for Deb Bartlett.

“And who are you?” Patterson asked.

The young man stood about 5’10” tall and had greasy, shoulder-length, black hair secured in a ponytail. He pulled himself up to his full height and strutted up to Patterson. Up close, Patterson noted his mean, beady black eyes and his crooked nose. Muscular arms covered in tattoos protruded from the short sleeves of his black t-shirt. “I ain’t got to tell you nothin’,” he said.

Patterson reminded himself to breathe. He’d had a bad day so far, and nothing would make him happier than snapping a set of handcuffs on this punk and tossing him into the bottom of Bart’s skiff. While it might make him feel momentarily better, though, such a move would not get him any closer to finding Deb Bartlett.

“Deb isn’t in trouble, Patterson said, but I need to pass along some bad news to her.”

“Tell me, and I’ll tell her,” the punk said.

Patterson was quickly reaching his breaking point. “I tell you what,” he said to the young man. “You tell me right now where I can find Deborah Bartlett, and I won’t arrest you for impeding a police investigation.”

Like most bullies, the punk quickly backed down when challenged. He led Patterson and Traner to the small room he apparently shared with Deborah Bartlett. Deborah sat on one of the two beds in the room, reading a book. She sat straight when she saw the troopers enter her room.

“What?” She asked.

Patterson took two steps into the room. “I’m Sergeant Patterson with the Alaska State Troopers and this Trooper Traner.”

“Look,” Deb said, scooting across the bed as far away from Patterson as she could get. “I don’t know what my parents told you, but they lied. I didn’t steal anything from them.”

A bandana secured Deb’s shoulder-length blonde hair. She had a thin nose, big, green eyes, and a spattering of acne on her face. The lack of makeup made her look younger than Patterson knew she was. Deborah Bartlett wasn’t beautiful, but she was pretty. Patterson wondered if she still took drugs. From a quick scan of the room, he didn’t see any drug paraphernalia, but she’d need nothing more than a glass of water to swallow pills.

“Is that what this is about? Your parents called the cops?” The young man asked. “Don’t say anything, Deb.”

Patterson turned on the man. “This conversation is none of your business,” he said. “We need to talk to Deborah alone.”

“Oh, no,” the young guy said, his face turning bright red. “I’m not leaving you alone with her.”

“It’s okay, Jason,” Deb said. “This won’t take long.”

“I’m not leaving you alone,” Jason said.

“Wait outside the door, Jason.” Deb kept her voice calm but firm.

Jason’s face again blushed scarlet, but he said nothing while he exited the room and shut the door.

“Ma’am,” Patterson said. “I have bad news for you. Your parents are dead. They were murdered at the lodge.”

“Seriously?” Deborah Bartlett asked.

“I’m afraid so,” Patterson said. “They were killed either sometime last night or during the early morning hours.”

Patterson expected Deb to cry or exhibit some other expression of grief.  Her roar of laughter caught him off guard.

“Ma’am?” He asked and exchanged a puzzled look with Traner.

“I won’t lie,” Deb said. “I’m glad they’re dead. My brother probably did it. Neither one of us liked them much.”

Patterson was so confused by Deb’s gleeful response upon hearing her parents had been murdered, he wasn’t sure what question he should ask next. Finally, he said, “I understand you had dinner with your family last night. What time did you leave the lodge?”

“Oh, I get it,” Deb said. “Dear brother, Brian, pointed the finger at me by making sure you know I left the dinner after he did. They were still alive when I left, and Brian easily could have gone back ashore and killed them.”

“Did you argue with your parents last night?” Patterson asked.

“Of course,” Deb said. “Arguing is the only way Dad knew how to talk, and Mom was such a little bunny rabbit, she’d never say anything against King Dad.”

“What did you argue about last night?” Patterson asked.

“You name it,” Deb said. “My job, my life, my boyfriend, my hair, my clothes. Everything.”

“Is Jason your boyfriend?” Patterson asked.

Deb nodded. “Yeah, he’s my boyfriend.”

“Did he go to dinner with you last night?” Patterson asked.

“No.” Deb shook her head. “He wasn’t allowed in the house. He dropped me off and picked me up when I left.”

“Why didn’t your parents like Jason?” Patterson asked.

“They thought he was a loser. They accused him of giving me drugs, but Jason doesn’t take drugs, and I haven’t taken any since I’ve been with him. If my parents ever listened to me, they would know Jason is a good influence, not a bad influence.”

“How old are you, Deb?”

“Twenty-two.”

“And Jason?”

“Twenty-six, why?”

“No reason,” Patterson said. “We need the information for the report.” His answer was only partially true. Patterson wondered why a twenty-six-year-old man was working as a fish processor. While there was nothing wrong with the job, it paid minimum wage. Patterson suspected Deb’s parents disliked Jason’s lack of initiative as much as anything. Still, cannery work is an honest job, and it certainly beat sleeping on the street.

“Do you have reason to believe your brother might have harmed your parents?” Patterson asked.

Deb shrugged. “Not really. No. Brian couldn’t kill anyone. He punched Dad a few months ago, but he would never hurt Mom.” Deb began to cry.

Patterson glanced at Traner, who shrugged. Patterson felt bone weary. This investigation was quickly turning into his worst nightmare.

Traner found a box of tissues and handed them to Deb.

“I can’t believe they’re gone,” Deb said. “Dead.” She dabbed at her eyes and then said, “I don’t think Brian would hurt them.”

Jason, who had obviously been standing outside Deb’s door, must have heard her crying and burst back into the room. “What is it?” He asked.

The intrusion irritated Patterson, but he forced himself not to respond, and instead, he watched the interaction between Deb and Jason.

“My parents are dead,” Deb wailed.

“What?” Jason pushed past Patterson, sat on the bed beside Deb, and put his arms around her.

“Murdered,” Deb said.

“When? You were just there last night,” Jason said.

“Sometime during the night, I guess,” Deb said.

Patterson watched the melodrama play out in front of him, but the act seemed over the top to him. Had Deb and Jason murdered Jules and Bob when Jason came to pick her up the previous evening? Or, perhaps they had returned to the lodge in the middle of the night to kill Deb’s parents.

“What was the subject of conversation during your family dinner last night?” Patterson asked.

“Can’t you see she’s upset?” Jason turned his beady eyes on Patterson.

“It’s okay, hon, Deb said. “Would you get me a bottle of water?”

Jason glared at Patterson as he stood and walked out of the room.

“He’s a little over-protective,” Deb said. She sniffled and wiped her eyes. “My parents wanted out of the lodge business,” Deb said. “A few years ago, when I was in rehab for the umpteenth time, and Brian’s future looked shiny and bright, Dad told Brian he and Mom had decided to leave the lodge to him in their will. They should have never told Brian he would inherit the lodge. This summer, Dad decided he wanted to sell the lodge and retire. He wanted Brian to buy the lodge, but Brian thought they should hand the lodge to him.” Deb shrugged. “I was never going to get anything, so I thought it was only fair Brian should pay for the business.”

Did your parents change their will?” Patterson asked.

“You mean would Brian get the lodge free and clear if he murdered Mom and Dad before they had the chance to sell the lodge to someone else?” Deb shook her head. “I have no idea, but it would certainly give him a motive to kill them, wouldn’t it?”

“I get the feeling you don’t much like your brother,” Patterson said.

“We were close once,” Deb said, “but not for several years.”

“Deb,” Patterson said, “we would like you to fly to town with us and stay there for a few days until we can get this all sorted out.”

Just as Patterson was finishing this statement, Jason returned to the room and handed a plastic bottle of water to Deb. “You can’t make her go to town,” he said. “Hon, you don’t have to go with them.”

“It’s okay,” Deb said. “Brian and I need to make funeral arrangements anyway.”

“I’m coming with you,” Jason looked at Patterson when he said this, and Patterson knew he expected to meet resistance. On the contrary, though, Patterson wanted Jason in town where they could get him into an interrogation room by himself. Even if Deb didn’t return to the lodge to murder her parents, Jason could have gone back to the lodge by himself. It sounded as if there was no love lost between Jason and the Bartletts.

“Okay,” Patterson said. “Do you want me to pick you up here, or would you prefer to meet at the lodge?”

“At the lodge,” Deb said. “I have one of the skiffs from the lodge, and I don’t want to leave it at the cannery.”

“Wow!” Patterson said to Traner as they descended the steep beach to the skiff where Bart stood waiting.”

“I think we can conclude the Bartlett family was dysfunctional,” Traner said.

Patterson shook his head. “I’m surprised they didn’t all kill each other before now.”

“There’s one thing, though, sir,” Traner said. “I can see why Brian or Deb might kill Bob and possibly even Jules, but why did the killer shoot the guests? They were apparently in their cabin asleep, so it wasn’t as if the murderer needed to eliminate witnesses.”

“Good question,” Patterson said.