Liam, out of uniform and unarmed, said, "What about the local police?"

"We just lost two officers to the goddamned troopers," the man said, "two more went fishing, and we've got two left to do a six-man job. The one on duty right now is on the other side of town trying to keep Nick Pauk from killing Johnny Wassillie, and the wife of the other one flat won't wake him up from the first good sleep he's had in a week. You coming or not?"

Liam looked at Wy. He looked at the body lying on the ground in front of the Super Cub, which had no useful advice to offer. He looked at Gruber. "You stay here, watch the plane and the body, see that no one interferes with them. All right?"

Gruber, pausing in the act of jamming a fresh wad of bubble gum into his mouth, said blankly, "What?"

"Nobody touches that plane until I get back. When the ambulance shows up, tell the paramedic he can load the body but to wait here for me."

"What?"

"I'm deputizing you for the duration. Nobody else touches anything." Liam looked over at Wy. "Nobody. Got that?"

She looked up at that, and said with a trace of defiance, "I'll stay, too."

"I thought you had to get in the air."

"You just co-opted my spotter," she said, jerking her chin at Gruber. "And the Cub is my plane. I don't want anyone messing with her, either."

Good, Liam thought. Should the subject arise later, for whatever reason, Gruber could testify that Wy had gone nowhere near the Cub while Liam was gone.

"Goddammit, get the lead out!" the grizzled man said testily.

"One minute." Liam buttoned the severed p-lead into an inside pocket and went to the terminal to find his bag. Another police officer would have carried his weapon on board, but Liam was always afraid it might accidentally discharge in the cabin and blow up the plane. He located his bag--the rest of his stuff was being shipped--strapped on his regulation Smith and Wesson automatic, and went back outside to find that the old man had pulled up to the door. Liam climbed into the passenger seat and the old man slammed the Suburban into first and they pulled forward with a jerk. Liam slapped a hand on the dash to brace himself against the man's careless shifting, not improved by the many and deep potholes on the road between the airport and town. It was a jolting, bouncing ride. "They ever grade this road?" he said above the noise.

The man grunted. "Every week." He thrust out a ham-sized right hand. "Jim Earl. I'm the mayor of Newenham."

"Oh." Liam took Earl's hand. Hizzoner had a firm, callused grip. "Liam Campbell."

"I know. Thought that was you when I saw you in the Anchorage airport. We heard you were coming."