Harrington,” she said. “I gave him my business card, and I saw him tuck it in his sock.” She gave him Harrington’s home address and said, “He lived alone. His phone has been disconnected, and I was told that he had left for Europe.”
“He evidently changed his mind,” Rooney said. “How did you know this Mr. Harrington?”
“I didn’t know him really. I just met him a couple of days ago. I’m afraid I can’t tell you much about him. I’m sorry.”
“You’ve been a real help just giving us a name,” he assured her.
“You will find a way to verify that it is Harrington before you notify his relatives, won’t you?”
“Oh, yes. They’ll send the remains to the morgue, probably in Anchorage. I’m new here, so I don’t know the exact procedures they’ll follow, but I can tell you the body parts will be kept in the morgue until positive identification has been made and instructions are given for the disposal.”
Disposal.
What a horrible word to use.
After promising Rooney she would call if she had any information that could help him, Sophie hung up the phone. The shock from the news about William Harrington’s demise quickly evolved into puzzlement. Why was he in Alaska and not in Europe like she was told? She thought back to the events of the last couple of days, replaying what Harrington had said as well as what she’d found out at his condo. None of this made any sense.
Within an hour of receiving the call from Joe Rooney, the phone rang again. The second call also came from Alaska, and this time the caller identified himself as Paul Larson.
“I work for a security company up here,” Larson said. “We’re primarily responsible for the population at the oil fields, but the police are pretty shorthanded in these parts, so we help them out when we can. Joe Rooney told me about the death of your friend.” Larson’s voice became sympathetic. “I’m very sorry for your loss. I told Joe I’d do a little investigating to learn the circumstances surrounding the bear attack, so I hope you won’t mind answering a few questions.”
“I appreciate your condolences, Mr. Larson,” Sophie said, “but I’m afraid I didn’t know William Harrington well.”
“Please, call me Paul,” he replied. His demeanor turned professional again. “What was your relationship to Mr. Harrington?”
“We didn’t actually have a relationship. I work for a small newspaper, and I was going to write a story about his running a 5K.” She wondered if her explanation sounded as lame to him as it did to her. “It was a human interest story,” she added, almost as an excuse. “I met with him for a couple of hours and interviewed him, but he only talked about running. He was very proud of his accomplishments and of his physical prowess. In fact, he mentioned that he’d been chosen for some hush-hush project because he was so superior to other men. Other than that, I’m afraid I can’t give you any personal information about him. He didn’t mention any family.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll contact the Chicago police and track down the next of kin. You’ve been very helpful. Thanks.”
“Paul, Joe said he was sure a polar bear killed Harrington because there were telltale signs. What were those signs?”
Larson hesitated a second before answering. “One of the pilots here saw the polar bear. There was … there was blood, a lot of blood, and the bear was cleaning himself. They do that, you know. They’re kind of obsessive about cleaning themselves. Sometimes they’ll stop in the middle of a meal just to clean up. It’s an instinctive thing. If a polar bear’s coat gets dirty and matted, it can’t do the job nature intended and protect him from the harsh elements.
“The bear in question was dragging the sleeve of a ski jacket, and the remains, the victim’s foot and leg, weren’t that far away from him, and there was a blood trail, so you can see why we’re assuming that’s the bear that
“He evidently changed his mind,” Rooney said. “How did you know this Mr. Harrington?”
“I didn’t know him really. I just met him a couple of days ago. I’m afraid I can’t tell you much about him. I’m sorry.”
“You’ve been a real help just giving us a name,” he assured her.
“You will find a way to verify that it is Harrington before you notify his relatives, won’t you?”
“Oh, yes. They’ll send the remains to the morgue, probably in Anchorage. I’m new here, so I don’t know the exact procedures they’ll follow, but I can tell you the body parts will be kept in the morgue until positive identification has been made and instructions are given for the disposal.”
Disposal.
What a horrible word to use.
After promising Rooney she would call if she had any information that could help him, Sophie hung up the phone. The shock from the news about William Harrington’s demise quickly evolved into puzzlement. Why was he in Alaska and not in Europe like she was told? She thought back to the events of the last couple of days, replaying what Harrington had said as well as what she’d found out at his condo. None of this made any sense.
Within an hour of receiving the call from Joe Rooney, the phone rang again. The second call also came from Alaska, and this time the caller identified himself as Paul Larson.
“I work for a security company up here,” Larson said. “We’re primarily responsible for the population at the oil fields, but the police are pretty shorthanded in these parts, so we help them out when we can. Joe Rooney told me about the death of your friend.” Larson’s voice became sympathetic. “I’m very sorry for your loss. I told Joe I’d do a little investigating to learn the circumstances surrounding the bear attack, so I hope you won’t mind answering a few questions.”
“I appreciate your condolences, Mr. Larson,” Sophie said, “but I’m afraid I didn’t know William Harrington well.”
“Please, call me Paul,” he replied. His demeanor turned professional again. “What was your relationship to Mr. Harrington?”
“We didn’t actually have a relationship. I work for a small newspaper, and I was going to write a story about his running a 5K.” She wondered if her explanation sounded as lame to him as it did to her. “It was a human interest story,” she added, almost as an excuse. “I met with him for a couple of hours and interviewed him, but he only talked about running. He was very proud of his accomplishments and of his physical prowess. In fact, he mentioned that he’d been chosen for some hush-hush project because he was so superior to other men. Other than that, I’m afraid I can’t give you any personal information about him. He didn’t mention any family.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll contact the Chicago police and track down the next of kin. You’ve been very helpful. Thanks.”
“Paul, Joe said he was sure a polar bear killed Harrington because there were telltale signs. What were those signs?”
Larson hesitated a second before answering. “One of the pilots here saw the polar bear. There was … there was blood, a lot of blood, and the bear was cleaning himself. They do that, you know. They’re kind of obsessive about cleaning themselves. Sometimes they’ll stop in the middle of a meal just to clean up. It’s an instinctive thing. If a polar bear’s coat gets dirty and matted, it can’t do the job nature intended and protect him from the harsh elements.
“The bear in question was dragging the sleeve of a ski jacket, and the remains, the victim’s foot and leg, weren’t that far away from him, and there was a blood trail, so you can see why we’re assuming that’s the bear that
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