Shaman Pass by Stan Jones Page B

Johnny robs the museum, waits a day, then goes out on the ice and stabs Victor with the harpoon, leaves it there, then goes home and gives Lemuel the amulet as, what, some kind of trophy?” Boxrud snorted. “Talk about your criminal mastermind.”
    “Well, counselor, let me bottom-line this for you. Long story short, this is the kind of case where, at the end of the day, we have to step up to the plate and think outside the box,” Hughes said with another of his grins. “Which Nathan here has been doing a lot of. Nathan?”
    Active stared at the prosecutor, momentarily stupefied by the chain of clichés. Where had Hughes come up with it, and what, in fact, was their theory of the case? “To start with, we know Johnny’s a thief—”
    “He’s never been convicted!”
    “Not here,” Hughes interrupted. “But he did serve time for burglarizing a pawn shop in Grants Pass. We checked.”
    “I know, I saw the file,” Boxrud said. “But that was Grants Pass and he was just trying to get his welding outfit back. This is Chukchi.”
    Active nodded. “It’s a good story, anyway. But he is in fact a thief. So he burglarizes the museum, and, and . . .”
    “And what?”
    “Well, he knew how important Uncle Frosty was to Victor’s plans for the museum, so maybe he figured he could sell Uncle Frosty back to Victor.”
    “You’re saying he kidnapped a mummy and held him for ransom.”
    Active thought it over. It was starting to make sense now. “That’s what I’m saying.”
    Boxrud shook her head. “Go ahead, I’m taking notes for my book on stupid Alaska cop tricks.”
    Hughes chuckled and Active pressed on. “So he takes Uncle Frosty from the museum.” He paused, groping for the next chapter in the saga.
    Hughes stepped in to fill the gap. “But he can’t just—”
    “Right,” Active said. “He can’t just haul Uncle Frosty up to Victor’s front door and say, ‘Make me an offer.’ ”
    “No way,” Hughes said.
    “So he goes and hides him somewhere on the tundra,” Active said. “Maybe somewhere around that camp of his. Then he takes the harpoon and the amulet over to Victor Solomon’s sheefish camp to prove he’s got Uncle Frosty.”
    “Right!” Hughes said. “And then—”
    “And then he says, ‘Make me an offer,’ ” Active said.
    “But Victor—” Hughes said.
    “Victor’s not buying,” Active said.
    “He was a crusty old bastard, from everything I hear,” Hughes said.
    “Very crusty,” Active said. “So Victor doesn’t make an offer, he makes a threat. He says he’s going to have Johnny locked up for robbing the museum and then he’ll go out and find Uncle Frosty anyway.”
    “At which point—” Hughes said.
    “At which point, Johnny is standing there with the harpoon in his hand, and he does what comes naturally.”
    Hughes and Active looked at each other in surprise and mutual admiration.
    “I’m speechless,” Boxrud said. “Dumbstruck. This is ridiculous.”
    Active stifled the impulse to point out the oxymoronic quality of a lawyer’s being at a loss for words. Instead, he said, “It all fits.”
    “Like an old pair of mukluks,” Hughes said. “End of story, case closed, it’s a wrap, signed, sealed, and delivered. Your client is nailed, screwed, glued, and stapled. We go into court first thing Monday morning and you plead him guilty, yes?”
    Boxrud actually was quiet now, looking thoughtful.
    “You’re thinking it’s possible, right?” Hughes’s grin was bigger than ever. “Believable, even. You’re thinking, ‘I’ve got a naluaqmiut client accused of killing an Inupiat elder and I have to take him before an Inupiat jury.’ ”
    “I’m thinking I’ll impanel a bunch of sensible old aanas and you guys will get laughed out of court.”
    “I’m thinking you’re not so sure.”
    “I’m thinking I better talk to my client again.”
    “Fine,” Hughes said. “If he’s got something to say, bring him back with you. I’ll call the jail