Stone Cross (Arliss Cutter #2) - Marc Cameron Page 0,36

in the Arctic. Duck meat, duck fat, duck feathers . . . Anyway, the government in its infinite wisdom decided that the eider duck should only be hunted during a specific season, not when the Iñupiat hunters traditionally caught them. A few years after Alaska gained statehood, a young Iñupiat man from a village way to the north on the Chukchi Sea killed an eider duck out of season and was promptly cited by the trooper on duty. The next day, the young man killed another duck. The trooper gave him a second citation, and warned him that he would be arrested if he repeated the offense. Of course, the young Iñupiat killed another eider duck and was promptly jailed to wait for the traveling judge.”

Markham stood nearby, waiting for his bags, obviously listening, especially now that there was a fellow member of the bench in the story.

Ewing continued. “The day for the trial finally arrived. The trooper picked the judge up from the airstrip and took him to the school where the gymnasium would serve as the makeshift courtroom. The trial was big news in the village and every man, woman, and child lined up outside the school to either watch or serve on the jury. And as they filed inside, every last one of them left a dead eider duck in a pile beside the door.”

Lola smirked. “What happened?”

“From what I hear,” Ewing said, “the trooper took the judge home and fed him a piece of his wife’s lemon pie before taking him back to his plane. The Iñupiat hunter was released. And bush justice was served, along with lots of fatty eider duck soup.”

“Justice is justice,” Markham said. “There is no ‘bush justice.’ ”

“I’m sure that’s true, Your Honor,” Ewing said. “But I’ve always liked the story.”

A tall man wearing a blue Stetson campaign hat and a dark Tuffy jacket over his blue Alaska State Troopers uniform came into the terminal. The hat was wet and dusted with snow. He caught Cutter’s eye, waving a gloved hand. Cutter nodded and the trooper worked his way through the crowd.

“Lieutenant Tim Warr,” he said, pulling off a glove to shake hands with Cutter. “I apologize for being late. Things got a little crazy this morning . . . Well, it’s always crazy here.”

“No worries,” Lola said, shaking the lieutenant’s hand after Cutter. She’d tried a long-distance relationship with a trooper stationed on Prince of Wales Island for a couple of months, and always looked a little starry-eyed at the sight of the blue Smokey Bear hat. “We don’t even have our luggage yet.”

“Outstanding,” Warr said. “My AST pilot will meet us at the hangar. I have another trooper bringing the van over to grab your gear. It’s only a nine-minute flight to Stone Cross once you’re in the air, but I have to warn you, the weather is looking bum out there. To top that off, I need the plane. Earl has to do a turn-and-burn and leave to pick up a body in Nightmute right after he drops you off.” The trooper pushed the flat brim of his Stetson back a little with a knuckle. “If this weather settles in like they say it’s going to, he won’t be able to come back and get you when you’re ready to leave—which might be ten minutes after your boots hit the ground, to be honest. Bush villages can be a little daunting if you’ve never been to one. I’ve seen new teachers spread out at the aircraft door like a cat over a bathtub. They flat-out refuse to get off the plane when they get a good look at the place.” He glanced at Cutter. “Speaking of that, the special education teacher from Stone Cross has been in the lower forty-eight for a couple of weeks on a family emergency. All but a handful of the teachers in the village are brand-new, but this will be her fourth year at Stone Cross. That makes Natalie Beck a friggin’ maven of local knowledge. She’s a good kid. Well respected. Anyway, she needs a ride out so I thought it might be good if you had someone to give you a quick brief—conditions on the ground, as it were.” He grimaced, sucking air through his teeth. “I generally only see villages at their worst, but the hard truth is that it can be awfully bleak.”

Markham pursed his lips, the let’s-move-this-along look any deputy who’d worked in his courtroom recognized at once.