Chapter 42
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Sitka, AK
Anya would have assumed Chilton was just passed out drunk—if it weren’t for all the blood.
The lawyer was slumped forward in his desk chair and onto his desk, his upper body surrounded by a dark pool on an uncharacteristically tidy desktop. The gloomy mahogany veneer made the deep crimson almost invisible.
Aside from the gruesome desk tableau, Chilton’s office looked normal and undisturbed.
A strange sense of calm settled over Anya as she surveyed the scene.
Nobody else was in the room, the only light coming from the open door where she stood.
She had waited outside for almost an hour.
Eventually, realizing this was unacceptably late even for Chilton, she had decided to try the door and found it unlocked.
Now, apparently, she’d need a new lawyer.
Had Chilton killed himself?
She continued cautiously into the room, closed the door behind her, and turned on the lights.
The fluorescent fixtures blinked to life with the usual distressing buzz.
Chilton’s blood was still glistening wet, and the only smell coming from the corpse was Chilton’s cheap cologne.
Must not have been dead long. As she walked around behind him, she saw what looked like a bullet hole in the back of his head.
Chilton had not killed himself.
Apart from the lawyer’s upper torso, the normally disheveled desk held only a half-empty coffee cup, a bowl of peppermints, a stapler, a second coffee cup filled with pens, and an empty file folder.
No gun.
Anya’s breath left her when she saw her name on the folder.
The broken radio was hissing “Turn the Beat Around”—louder than usual—from the top of the filing cabinet.
Anya switched it off and opened the top file drawer.
It was empty. So was the second. The third drawer down was half-filled with files—whose labels started with A in the front, then a gap, then more files with last names running D through the end of the alphabet.
She checked the drawers of the other filing cabinet.
All empty.
Chilton’s file cabinets were evidently just for show. He had files from a few dozen clients at most, all in one drawer. He had obviously had her file out, and whoever had killed him had taken what was inside.
Chilton’s killer was interested in her.
Anya’s palms were sweaty. She checked the room again, feeling more creeped out now than she had upon discovering the dead lawyer. She needed to get out. She needed to think.
She picked up the empty file folder with her name on it, reversed it so the blood spatter was on the inside, and stuck it into her bag.
Anya looked around the office one last time, flipped off the lights, and left—closing the door behind her.
Coming out of the narrow alleyway from Chilton’s office onto the main street, she kept her pace slow, stopping to look in a couple of shop windows as she made her way down the sidewalk on Lincoln Street toward Totem Square.
She turned and walked down Katlian Street, then went into the fishing supply store and browsed the commercial fishing tackle.
Just a fisherman, picking up some gear.
Anya picked up a box of trolling snaps and a new lightweight gaff. She checked out and continued down the road to the boat harbor where Lady Melinda was moored.
Near the top of the ramp was a pay phone. Should she report Chilton’s murder? If she didn’t, and someone had seen her, it would look suspicious.
Anya took several rapid deep breaths and didn’t have to work too hard to sound alarmed. “Hello? I was just at my lawyer’s office and…The door was open so I went in and I think he might have shot himself. He was lying dead on his desk with blood everywhere.”
“We will send someone right away. Are you certain he is dead? Can you check for a pulse?”
“Yes, I’m sure he was dead. I’m not there anymore. I was scared and just closed the door and left when I saw it. I’ll be on my boat in the harbor if you need me.”
Anya gave her name, boat name, and slip number, as well as Chilton’s address. She took the empty folder from her bag, ripped it up, and tossed it into the harbor dumpster, then hurried down the ramp to her boat.
She craved the familiar comfort of her boat, and she realized that was odd.
The boat had been a place of danger for her, a place where she battled nature and the elements and her husband—any of which could have erased her on a whim.
Something had changed. It belonged to her now.
More than anyplace else, Lady Melinda was her home.