Murder Below Zero

A Thomas Martindale Mystery

by Ron Lovell

Chapter 1

The Eskimo man had been drinking all night and now it was morning. By rights, he should have been passed out a long time ago, but he was still talking a little too loudly for the comfort of those sitting near him in the waiting room of the airport in Edmonton, Canada.

I had first heard him on the flight from Denver the night before, demanding drinks after everyone else was ready to settle down for some sleep. He had become somewhat abusive when the stewardess cut him off and only got quiet after the first officer came back and talked to him. After that, he must have fallen asleep because I didn’t hear anything more for the rest of the trip.

About sixty passengers had gotten off the plane at the ungodly hour of 2 a.m. and all but ten had disappeared into the early morning darkness. I had decided it was easier to kill time walking around the terminal than driving to town to sleep a few hours in a hotel. I spent the first hour after our arrival walking the labyrinthine corridors of the terminal building while I waited for my early morning flight to the Arctic.

By the time I got back to where I left my bags in the care of an elderly couple who looked like missionaries, the man had succeeded in running off everyone in his immediate vicinity. He was slumped in a chair, his long legs splayed in front of him, his head alternately upright, then jerking abruptly so that his long black hair dangled over the back of the chair.

“Hey buddy,” he yelled as I came into his line of sight. “Wanna have a li’l drinky?” He held up a silver-colored flask and turned it over. When nothing came out, he peered up into the small opening, a quizzical look on his face. “Where’d you go?”

He looked at me like a child who had lost his favorite toy.

“I’m kinda tapped out, I guess. I shoulda looked before I invited you. Could you get me a refill?”

His eyelids drooped as the words slurred out of his mouth. A thick tongue made what he said nearly unintelligible.

“I don’t think I can help you,” I said, sitting down just out of his reach. The man took offense and got to his feet unsteadily.

“You too good to help me?” he yelled, suddenly lunging at me and taking a swing at my chin.

“Just a minute, pal,” I said, putting up both hands to fend off his punch. Just then, two uniformed policemen came out of nowhere and grabbed the man by both arms. His legs buckled quickly but the policemen kept going, forcing the man down on his stomach while they kept his arms behind him. They were from the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, otherwise known as the RCMP.

“Yeoohaah!” He started screaming from the pain.

“He wasn’t hurting me,” I said, trying to get them to ease their grip. I reached for the arm of the nearest officer. He pulled away from me.

“Stay out of this, sir,” he said. “This isn’t your fight!”

“Yeoohaah!” the Eskimo man chimed in as if on cue. “You’re breaking my fuckin’ arms!”

At that, the officer, kneeling next to the man twisted even tighter and put his knee on the man’s neck.

“You’re going to choke him,” I yelled, grabbing at the officer’s shoulders. In a matter of seconds, I found myself yanked backwards.

“I don’t want to put you in restraints, sir,” said the first officer. “Please back away.”

By then, a sizable crowd had encircled the four of us, as other passengers booked for the flight arrived. I was grateful for the witnesses and decided to draw them in as allies.

“This man wasn’t hurting anyone when these officers jumped on him,” I said, with no small amount of exaggeration. “He’s a native and I guess they think they can push him around anytime they feel like it.”

“Leave him alone!” someone in the back of the crowd shouted.

“Justice for all native Inuits! They were here first!” yelled another.

The number quickly swelled to fifty or more and the officer not restraining the man bent down and whispered in the ear of his partner. That officer then abruptly brought the Eskimo man to his feet and clamped a pair of handcuffs on his wrists. The other officer stepped towards me, grabbing both of my arms and pulling them behind my back. I was about to get cuffed myself.

“What is the meaning of this?” said a loud voice from the edge of the crowd. “This man is an American! You can’t do this to him!”

The people parted to allow a small man with a red beard to step to the front. My soon-to-be boss Clifford Jameson had arrived. With an elaborate flourish, he pulled out official looking credentials and flashed them at the officer holding me.

“Sergeant,” he glanced at his nametag. “Barnett, is it? I certainly hope the RCMP has an adequate explanation for forcibly detaining an eminent American writer who is joining me on an important Arctic research expedition—a research expedition, may I say, that is sanctioned by your government. Who is your superior and how can I reach him?”

Jameson’s words startled the officer. He dropped both my arms and put away the handcuffs immediately.

“That’s better,” said Jameson. “Now you are acting rationally.” He stepped up to me. “Are you all right, Tom?”

“Yes, sir, I am,” I replied, rubbing my wrists in a theatrical manner even though they were far from being injured. All of us—me, Jameson, and most of the crowd—now turned our attention to the other officer. He didn’t move, but stood behind the Eskimo who seemed to have sobered up. Every once in a while, the officer—his nametag read St. Pierre—pulled on the handcuffs as if to reassert his power.

“This man is one of my staff members too. His name is Ben Aniak and he’s an American citizen. I will take full responsibility for both of them. Their work is vital to the research project, a project I might add, funded in part by your government.”

Barnett walked over to St. Pierre and the two conferred in low tones. After several more yanks on the cuffs, St. Pierre unlocked them, giving Aniak a shove in the process. That enraged the Eskimo, who wheeled around and seemed about to strike the officer.

“Tom Martindale,” I said, grabbing Aniak’s hands and forcing him to shake. It’ll be great to work with you.” He looked momentarily confused, then returned the handshake.

“Yeah, sure. Nice to meet you.”

“Tom. Tom Martindale.”

“I trust you can keep your staff members in line, Dr. Jameson,” said Barnett, as he handed back the credentials. “We won’t let this kind of thing slide next time.”

“You can be certain of that,” said Jameson, pulling both Aniak and me away from the departing policemen. “Get your things and we’ll move as far away as we can from these thugs,” he whispered. We followed meekly, the Eskimo staggering slightly as he attempted to lift a large duffel bag over his shoulder. I helped him along while dragging my own baggage behind me. Jameson was leading us to a corner of the waiting room where a large group of project staff members were gathering as their various flights arrived from elsewhere.

“I don’t like to expend personal capital like that,” hissed Jameson to me as we neared the larger group. “I don’t like to be embarrassed in public by someone who should know better. You may have forgotten that I determine who works on this project. You won’t be with us very long if this kind of thing continues!”

Before I could reply, the diminutive scientist entered the enclosure of leather chairs and benches and greeted people waiting there. Aniak knew a few of the people and was shaking hands with them. I was left standing alone like a schoolboy the teacher was blaming for starting a fight he really had no part of.

“Is that Tom Martindale?”

The woman’s voice was very familiar. Susan Foster stepped forward and smiled a smile I knew all too well.

“I saw your name on the staff roster and I couldn’t believe we’d be working together again,” she said as she hugged me and gave me one of those kisses that never quite connect with your face. My return embrace was as tentative as her air kisses. We were, after all, former lovers who had parted years before under less than amiable circumstances. Even fifteen years couldn’t ease the pain of our breakup over something I’d just as soon the world—and the members of this research expedition—never find out.

“Sue. This is a surprise.”

“You look exactly the same, Tom.”

“Quite a bit more gray around the edges, I’m afraid. You look good too, Susan.”

We were checking out each other like gawky teenagers at a dance. Actually, Sue had aged. She was no longer as slim as when we were together, but who was I to tell the truth?

“You remember Scott, don’t you, Tom?”

She stepped aside to reveal a tall blond man I also knew. Scott Szabo was a former student whose relationship with Susan had contributed to our estrangement. Even though many years had passed, just the sight of them together brought it all back.

“Hello, professor. Nice seeing you again.”

“Same here, Scott. This is really a surprise, I mean seeing the two of you again.”

The three of us walked over to some chairs and sat down. I was already feeling uncomfortable with the situation.

“Saw your name.” We both started to say the same thing, then stopped.

“You first,” I said, with a laugh.

“Cliff Jameson showed me the staff roster on the flight up from L.A. I was pleased that you’d signed on. Arctic information officer and historian?”

I nodded.

“Right up your alley.”

“You’re doing marine biology as chief scientist?”

“Don’t I wish,” she said, a disappointing look flickering momentarily in her eyes. I’ll be codifying the research results of the other scientists.”

“Something any technician could do,” scoffed Szabo disdainfully. “In fact, I’m one of those scientists whose work she’ll be codifying, right, Suzie Q?”

“Don’t call me that! I hate that name!”

Szabo didn’t reply, but looked pleased with himself as he gazed across the waiting room.

“Where’s Derek? I need to see him.”

He got up and walked over quickly to a man who could have been his twin: tall, thin, handsome, but with brown hair. They embraced and sat down on a bench away from everyone else. They were soon whispering to one another, the talk occasionally interrupted by uproarious laughter. Susan’s face was now a mask of sadness.

“What’s going on here, Sue? You and Scott,” I brought my hands together “a couple?”

“I know you’ve never approved of him or me being with him. I just can’t help it.”

“Yeah, I admit he pissed me off then and he pisses me off now. Seeing him brings back memories I’d just . . . That’s not it, though. Look at how he’s treating you like you don’t exist. Who’s that other guy, anyway?”

“Derek Peters. A friend of Scott’s from the university. They work together a lot.”

“It looks like more than work, Sue. I told you before that Scott swings both ways. He even made a move on me! Why do you stay with him?”

“Tom! Stop! I don’t want to hear this!” She got up and started to move away.

“Susan. Sit down! I won’t say anything more about this. I promise. Let’s just talk about something else. Like who are these other people?”

She resumed her seat and relaxed a bit, although she glanced occasionally at Scott and Derek, still very much enthralled with one another.

“Besides Jameson, Scott, Derek, Ben, and you and me, we have Jane Baugh, that no-nonsense looking woman of fifty or so over there. She’s a marine biologist. Alan Hopkins, that bearded crazy-looking guy standing next to Ben. He’s a geologist who specializes in ice. That’s Paul Bickford over there.”

“He looks like he’s been in the Army or Marine Corps, with the short hair and lean and mean look.”

“I’m not really sure what he will be doing. Cliff was pretty vague. Some kind of government liaison, I think.”

“Who’s that thin guy with the ponytail?”

“That’s Danny Salcido, a technician who’s good at communications. He’s talking to Carmen Ames. She’s Jameson’s secretary.”

“What a looker,” I said, “next to yourself, of course.” The young, curly haired woman was smiling and nodding at Salcido and Jameson, who had joined them.

“Tom, you haven’t told me about your job on this trip,” she said, putting our earlier disagreement aside.

“I’m the PR guy and historian. I’m on a one-term leave from my journalism teaching duties at Oregon University because I just couldn’t let this chance pass me by. I mean the Arctic, whales, big-time science. I’m also doing some research of my own. Have you ever heard of the ice disaster of 1897?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“In the late summer of that year, the ice pack formed earlier than usual. It trapped a lot of whaling ships along the northern Alaska coast. We’ll be working that same area. I’ve got an old diary from that time I want to annotate with my own observations. Maybe I’ll make a book or an article out of it.”

“Sounds fascinating, Tom.”

I wasn’t sure if she really meant it. Were her eyes glazing over? Did she stifle a yawn? Well, hell, she asked the question.

“What about you?”

“After I left the university, I drifted around a lot, became kind of an academic vagabond, really—a year of lecturing here, a limited research grant there. A living, but nothing long-lasting. It’s pretty hard to get your reputation back when you’ve been jailed on a murder charge.”

“But you were cleared years ago! It was bogus from the start anyway!”

Susan had been charged and jailed for the murder of Howard Phelps, her mentor at the Marine Center. She was released after I figured out who the real killer was. Oddly enough, my help had driven us apart.

“You know it and I know it. But the way academics are, it held me back anyway.”

“Yeah, don’t I just. Many of them are jealous and gossipy—always ready to retaliate and ruin someone’s chances.”

“Of course I didn’t help myself very much,” she said sadly. “I mean getting arrested for murder isn’t exactly a valid resume item. I’m sick of thinking about it!”

“So how did you get hooked up with Scott?” I asked, to change the subject. “Not the relationship part, the career part.”

“He helped me get on Cliff Jameson’s staff at UC San Diego. You remember he was from California and went back there after he got his Ph.D. from Oregon University. We’d still been seeing each other every few months over the years. He’s a marine biologist on the staff there and got me an interview for an opening too. I clicked with Cliff and he hired me right away. That was two years ago. I collect data and analyze it for other scientists. I’ve been helping Scott get published. He’s making quite a name for himself.”

“I’ll bet he is, but you’re doing most of the work!” I whispered, as we both watched Szabo and his buddy Derek walking toward us.

“You two make a cozy-looking couple, now don’t you?” Szabo said. “Trying to get some of the old magic back?” He had a funny look on his face as if he was trying to decide whether to say something. “I guess that isn’t really possible, with your little, er, a problem, eh, Tom?”

I looked at Susan but she looked away, her face suddenly turning red. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have told him.”

I ignored her.

“Look, Scott. I’m not sure why you’re trying to pick a fight with me, but I’m not going to take the bait. We’re going to be spending a lot of time together this summer, so let’s make it bearable.”

Szabo looked surprised that I didn’t respond angrily. He shrugged and then walked with Peters to seats across the waiting area.

“I guess you must have trusted him a lot to tell him about us,” I said to her, looking straight ahead. “As you can see, that trust was misplaced. I had Scott pegged years ago. I decided then that he was the kind of person who used people to get what he wanted. He hasn’t changed. He’s using you and it looks like he’s about to cut you loose. I’m sorry about that but it’s gone beyond the point where I can do anything about it. I wish you good luck but I’m not going to be dragged into your situation. It’s your mess! This is going to be tough enough for me without . . .”

“Without getting involved with me again,” she said, tears rolling down her face. “I know you think I’m foolish. I guess I am.”

I got up and held up my hands, as if to fend off whatever she was going to say. Cruel though I was acting, I’d heard this kind of thing from her before and didn’t want to go through it again.

“Will you watch my bags? I’m going for a walk around the terminal. I think there’s still time before our plane leaves.”

I needed time to think, and a leisurely stroll along the maze of hallways spreading out from the center of the terminal would give me that. It was still early, so the airport was just coming alive. People were unlocking the front doors or rolling up the metal grillwork of the various shops on the main concourse. In restaurants, waitresses were taking orders from the few diners sitting at tables while chefs in tall white hats worked over steaming stoves in the kitchens at the rear.

What I call my problem may not be very interesting to anyone who doesn’t know me. Most of the time I don’t think about it. But Scott Szabo’s taunt brought it all back and caused it to churn around in my mind.

Years before in my reporting days, I was shot in the groin while covering a prison riot. The wound healed quickly but it left me with problems I’d just as soon people didn’t know about.

Another friend, Angela Pride, a woman who knows how to keep her mouth shut because she’s a police officer, says that I compensate for this failing by taking too many chances and putting myself in danger unnecessarily.

I returned to the gate area in a half hour in time to see people surround our leader, Clifford Jameson. He was holding a clipboard and checking names off a list. After they had talked to him, members of the expedition were packing up their gear and walking into the jet way and onto the plane.

“Martindale. There you are,” he said cheerfully. “I thought I’d have to send a search party after you. I’ll check you off.”

I hoisted the one large duffel bag onto my shoulder and picked up another smaller bag that was serving as my briefcase. Everything was canvas on this trip. I had enough trouble packing clothing for the two-month expedition than to be worn down by any added weight from the luggage itself. With the ship so well equipped, I even left my laptop computer at home.

• • •

The regularly scheduled Pacific Western flight from Edmonton to Inuvik would take over 6 hours. After that, the party would switch to two smaller planes for the additional 2 hours to Tuktoyaktuk, the small town on Kugmallit Bay from where our research ship would be sailing.

The aircraft was a medium-sized one, an MD-80, I think. It was vacant enough this morning so that we could spread out in the cabin and travel in comfort that is rare in these days of big crowds and limited space. I hadn’t seen Susan or Scott since our encounter in the terminal and didn’t look for them now. I selected a window seat over the left wing and stowed my bags in the overhead bin.

I dozed for a while, then felt someone sitting down next to me.

“Professor, I wanted to apologize for all that stuff in the terminal. I was being a real dumb shit.”

Ben Aniak was sober, but his bloodshot eyes were a reminder of his hard night before.

“That’s okay. Is it Ben?”

“Yeah. Ben Aniak.”

We shook hands as I pulled my seat back up.

“I don’t always act my best when I’ve had too much to drink,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “You know the old story about Indians not being able to drink. Alcohol’s like poison to us. I try to keep from drinking, but I don’t always succeed.”

“How did you hook up with Jameson?”

“I spent a year in college in San Diego and took a class from him. That was before I dropped out to spend my time surfing.”

“Surfing?”

“Yeah, a surfing Eskimo. Isn’t that a crackup?” He laughed at the irony of the image.

“So what brought you back to the Arctic? There aren’t any waves to ride up here.”

“You got that right. Believe it or not, I missed all the cold and desolation. Dr. Jameson hired me to coordinate with the native nations up here. I speak the languages and know the cultural taboos. I mean, I was raised around all this stuff. It’s a big break for me and I hope I don’t screw it up.”

“Is that why you drink?”

His eyes flashed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Now don’t get sensitive on me,” I said. “You just told me about that kind of battle. I just meant that this has created pressure because you’ve got so much to live up to.”

“There’s no doubt about that, man. I feel it.” He turned away and looked toward the window to the opposite side of the plane, where sunlit clouds rolled by.

“Look, Ben. I don’t know you and you don’t know me, but I’ll give you some advice anyway. Quit worrying about what other people think.”

I wanted to say more like quit carrying around the burden of native people everywhere on your shoulders and thinking only you can save them. But that would have made me sound pretty preachy. I looked out the window on my side of the plane. Far below, patches of soggy tundra were visible occasionally through the puffy clouds. “End of lecture.”

“Thanks a lot, man. You seem like a real nice guy. I hope we get to work together.” He looked around conspiratorially and lowered his voice. “I’d watch my backside if I was you.”

“What do you mean?”

“That blond fruitcake and his fairy pal.”

“Scott and Derek?”

“Yeah. I saw you talking with ‘em in the terminal along with that gal with the big hips.”

Susan was so sensitive about her vanishing looks, she would have collapsed in tears at that remark.

“I heard ‘em discussing ways to get even with you. I kept my eyes closed so they thought I was still drunk. I was kind of out of it, but I know what I heard.”

“Which was what?” I asked with an edge to my voice. “Don’t drag this out. Tell me!”

“The Scott guy, the blond. He said you’d screwed him over in the past and he’s been itching to get even with you ever since. He said he’d have plenty of chances on this trip. He said something like, ‘Let me count the ways,’ or some similar shit.”

Aniak got up and started to walk away. I grabbed his arm.

“What else? Did he say what he would do? Or when?”

“I’ve said enough. That’s all I know. Just watch yourself, that’s all. We’re going into country that is dangerous on the best days. If someone wants to do you harm, let’s just say they’ll have plenty of opportunity.”

He walked down the aisle.

“Ben. Ben,” I said in as loud a whisper as I could make and still avoid attracting attention, but Aniak kept walking and did not turn around.