Tag Archives: Wilderness Mystery

The Ultimate Hunt

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Now Available

Can you imagine someone hunting you in the Alaska wilderness?

When the daughter of a US senator disappears from the center of Kodiak, Alaska, in the middle of the day, FBI agent Nick Morgan arrives to assist police detective Maureen Horner and Alaska State Trooper Dan Patterson with the investigation. Soon, the officers realize that other young people have vanished from the area as well, and they can find no evidence or eyewitnesses to explain the disappearances.

Meanwhile, bored pilot Steve Larson spends his evenings sitting on the back deck of his floatplane air charter service while he recovers from a debilitating illness. He watches a plane land after dark and sees two men escort a seemingly incapacitated woman to the plane and push her into the rear seat. When the same thing happens a few days later, Steve wonders if he’s imagining things or if these men are kidnapping people. He calls marine biologist and amateur detective Jane Marcus and asks her to sit with him the next time the plane arrives. Jane agrees with Steve: these men are drugging and transporting people against their will. But where are they taking them, and why?

Jane’s curiosity leads her into a nightmare worse than anything she could imagine. As law enforcement officers work to find who’s behind the kidnappings and where the abductors have taken the victims, Jane fights to survive the monsters chasing her in the ultimate hunt.

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The Ultimate Hunt

Recent Book Signings

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Book signings are a cherished tradition that brings authors and readers together in a unique and intimate setting. These events offer an incredible opportunity for authors to connect with their audience, share their stories, and create lasting memories.

Thank you to everyone who took the time to stop by and say hi at my two recent book signings in Anchorage at Barnes and Noble and Mosquito Books. Both events turned out great and exceeded my wildest expectations. For everyone who attended, your presence and kind words put me at ease, making the experience all the more memorable. Through the support and encouragement of readers like you, I find the inspiration to continue sharing my stories.

I was also thrilled at my Barnes and Noble signing to meet experts from the Anchorage Police Department and to discuss some of the true crimes I wrote about in my latest book, Murder and Mystery in the Last Frontier. I even met a woman who once dated one of the killers I’ve profiled.

May proved to be a good month for me. I sold three boxes of books to stores in Kodiak. For those interested in purchasing my books from a store, they are currently available in Kodiak at The Islander Bookshop, Cost Savers, Norman’s Fine Gifts, and Big Ray’s. In Anchorage, you can find my books at Barnes and Noble and Mosquito Books, while Black Birch Books in Wasilla also carries them. These partnerships with local establishments strengthen the bond between authors, readers, and independent businesses.

My books can be found online on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Author Masterminds, Publication Consultants, and most other online bookstores.

Book signings allow authors to connect with readers on a personal level, creating lasting memories and fostering a sense of community. The support and encouragement I received at my signings in Anchorage at Barnes and Noble and Mosquito Books have been invaluable in expanding the reach of my books. Additionally, the availability of my books in various stores, both in Kodiak and Anchorage, as well as online platforms, ensures that readers can easily access and purchase my work. Thank you to everyone who has been a part of this journey, and I look forward to continuing to share my stories with you.

Robin Barefield is the author of five Alaska wilderness mystery novels: Big Game, Murder Over Kodiak, The Fisherman’s Daughter, Karluk Bones, and Massacre at Bear Creek Lodge. She is also the author of the non-fiction book Kodiak Island Wildlife and the true-crime book Murder and Mystery in the Last Frontier. Sign up below to subscribe to her free monthly newsletter on true crime and mystery in Alaska, and listen to her podcast, Murder and Mystery in the Last Frontier.

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Henry Aurman

Murder Mystery, Writing, , , , , ,

Last week, I posted about cannibalism and mentioned Henry Aurman, a character in my upcoming novel. The following excerpt from Karluk Bones describes how my protagonist, Jane Marcus, learns about Henry Aurman.

In my novel, Jane and her friends discover bones in the woods near Karluk Lake on Kodiak Island. Two weeks ago, I posted an excerpt from the novel where an anthropology student explains to Jane, she believes the bones are those of an individual who died between thirty and fifty years ago. Alaska State Trooper Sergeant Dan Patterson puts Jane in touch with a trooper who worked on Kodiak during the 1970s and 80s. The following is the conversation Jane has with retired Sergeant Sid Beatty from the Alaska State Troopers. Jane and Sid have just met, and the conversation takes place on Sid’s sailboat where he lives.

Karluk Bones

“Tell me about the bones,” Sid said.

Now I was on firmer ground, and I felt myself relax. I began with the fire at Karluk Lake, and our discovery of the bones on the charred ground. I then moved on to describe what Ying had learned from studying the bones.

“Let me make sure I understand,” Sid said. “The anthropologist thinks the individual was between 25 and 30-years old when he died and estimates the bones have been at Karluk Lake between thirty and fifty years.”

“Yes,” I said. “I know it’s a wide time range, but does anything come to mind? Do you remember any unsolved cases from the 70s or 80s?”

Sid sat back and stared at the ceiling. “I worked three unsolved missing-persons cases during my tenure. They were all young women, and two of them were friends who disappeared on the same night.” He shook his head. “We never found a trace, and to this day, I have no idea what happened to them.” He stared off into space for a while. “But, I don’t remember any unsolved cases involving young men.”

I smiled. “Thanks for trying,” I said. “Do you think it would do me any good to go through old case files?”

“Wait a minute,” Beatty said. “How could I forget Henry? I did have an unsolved missing male.”

“And his name was Henry?”

“No, no,” Sid said. ‘This is a wild story. It’s possible Henry could be tied to your bones, but you’d never prove it.” Sid took a sip of his coffee. “From the late 60s through maybe 1981 or 1982, a crazy old guy lived and trapped near Karluk Lake. He’d spend the entire winter out there by himself. Back in the 70s, the deer population hadn’t yet spread to the south end of the island, so I don’t know what he ate.” Sid chuckled and shook his head. “I do know some of what he ate, but I’ll get to that part of the story in a minute. Henry trapped beavers, foxes, and rabbits, so I assume he ate those. Anyway, he was a tough old guy.”

I had no idea where Sid was headed with this story, so I said nothing and waited for him to continue.

“The guy’s name was Henry Aurman,” Sid said.

“The Aurman from Aurman Plumbing and Heating?” The store was a town landmark, and I’d been told it had survived the “64 earthquake.”

“That’s right,” Sid said. “One of Henry’s relatives started the store, but Henry had nothing to do with the business. I think the store is still owned by an Aurman, probably Henry’s great niece or nephew.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“As far as I know, Henry never married, and he was crazy, or at the very least, eccentric. He claimed the entire region around Karluk Lake belonged to him.”

“That’s a big area,” I said.

Sid laughed. “Yes, it is. The troopers spent a great deal of time dealing with Henry because anytime a hunter, fisherman, or camper set up a tent near the lake, Henry threatened the visitors and told them they did not have his permission to camp on his land. He’d tell them he’d kill them if they didn’t leave. We threw him in jail numerous times for harassment, but he’d return to Karluk and threaten the next person who dared walk near ‘his’ lake.”

My spine tingled. Did Henry Aurman kill the man whose bones we found? “Did he ever kill any campers?” I asked.

“Not to my knowledge,” Sid said, “but I always expected one of his confrontations to end in violence with either him or a camper dead. I am certain, though, that Henry murdered at least three men, but they weren’t campers; they were his trapping partners.”

“What do you mean?”

“Around 1977 or 1978, you’d have to check the file for the exact date, Henry was getting older and wanted help with his winter trapping, so he ‘hired,’ to use the term loosely, a young man to accompany him during the winter. I believe the deal was that the young guy would help him trap, and Henry would give him a few hides to sell in payment for his services. The young man was a drifter, looking to turn his life around, and he wanted to learn how to trap, so he eagerly followed Henry to Karluk Lake.”

“Did Henry have a house at the lake?”

“He had a shack. It’s long gone now, but it had heat. I think most nights he camped near his trapline, but he’d return to the shack to resupply and work on his hides.”

“What happened?”

“In May, we received a call from the young guy’s brother, and if his brother hadn’t called us, I never would have known about the guy.” Sid paused, for another sip of coffee. “I don’t remember the caller’s name, but he said his brother had phoned him in November to tell him he’d quit drinking and was planning to spend the winter in the Kodiak wilderness learning to trap from an old man named Henry. He hadn’t heard from his brother since. I didn’t know Aurman had hired a partner for the winter, but he was the only Henry I knew who trapped, so I flew out to Karluk and found Henry at his cabin.”

I sat back in my chair. “Was the young man there?”

Sid shook his head. “Henry admitted he’d hired the guy but said he’d left in mid-December, telling Henry he couldn’t stand the cold and isolation any longer. Henry called him a wimp and said he thought the guy missed his alcohol. Henry said he was happy to see him leave.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. They were camped on a frozen lake in the middle of the winter. “How did the guy leave?”

“Henry claimed the young man planned to hike to the village of Karluk and catch their mail plane back to Kodiak, but he never made it to Karluk, or at least, he never flew from Karluk to Kodiak on the mail plane. They keep lists of their passengers, and he wasn’t on any of the lists.”

“What did Henry say when you told him his helper never arrived in Karluk?” I asked.

“He said he didn’t know what happened to his trapping buddy, and we didn’t have enough evidence to charge Henry with a crime. I suspected, though, either that Henry killed the guy, or the guy got lost in the woods and froze to death.”

“Wouldn’t he just need to follow the river from the lake to the village?”

“Yes, so I didn’t believe he got lost.”

“You thought Henry murdered him.” A chill ran through me. “Maybe these are his bones I found,” I said.

“It’s possible, but this guy wasn’t the only partner Henry lost.”

“Meaning?”

“Rumors floated hinting Henry lost another partner the following year, but no one ever reported the man missing, so the troopers were not involved,” Sid said. “Guys who sign on to spend the winter in the wilderness with a crazy trapper aren’t social beings, and they don’t usually have many resources. They’re loners.”

“So you never talked to Henry about this guy?”

“No, but two years later, around 1980 or 1981, Henry picked the wrong trapping buddy. When this man didn’t return from his winter’s expedition, the phone at trooper headquarters rang for two months. We heard from his mother, his two sisters, friends, an aunt or two, and even an employer who expected him to return to his job in Salt Lake City after the end of his winter adventure.”

“What did Henry say when you questioned him.”

“This is where the story gets interesting,” Sid said. “I flew to Karluk Lake with two other troopers, and we went to Henry’s little shack. He wasn’t there, so after we knocked on the door, we entered the building.”

Sid sat back and regarded me. He looked as if he’d just smelled something bad, or maybe he was trying to decide if he should continue his story.

 “What did you find?” I finally asked.

Sid sighed. “We found bones and scraps of meat as if an animal recently had been butchered. We saw jars of canned meat lining the shelves of a makeshift cupboard in the corner of the shack. At first, I thought the bones were bear bones, but then I realized they were human.”

Sid waited while I processed his words. “He killed and ate his trapping partners?” I stood as if trying to distance myself from Sid and his horrible tale. I reigned in my urge to flee and returned to my seat.

Sid nodded. “I’m sorry; I know this is a terrible story. Imagine how we felt standing in that little shack, realizing what we had found and then knowing Henry could return at any minute and shoot us all. I immediately sent one of the troopers outside to stand guard so we wouldn’t be ambushed.”

This time, Sid drank a big gulp of his cooling coffee. “Yes, the bones were human, and the nicely stacked jars contained cooked and canned human meat.”

“Wow,” was the only thing I could think to say. Visions of stacked canning jars bearing human flesh flooded my head. I wondered if Henry had labeled the jars with his dead partners’ names, but I wisely pushed the question from my mind before I asked it.

Robin Barefield is the author of three Alaska wilderness mystery novels, Big Game, Murder Over Kodiak, and The Fisherman’s Daughter. To download a free copy of one of her novels, watch her webinar about how she became an author and why she writes Alaska wilderness mysteries. Also, sign up below to subscribe to her free, monthly newsletter on true murder and mystery in Alaska.

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Skull and Bones at Karluk Lake

Murder Mystery, Writing, , , , ,

In my upcoming novel, Karluk Bones, my protagonist, Jane Marcus, and her friends stumble across a human skull and bones in the woods. Are the bones ancient or recent, and how did they end up in the middle of the wilderness? Jane contacts Alaska State Trooper Sergeant Dan Patterson, and he sends the bones to an anthropologist at the University of Alaska in Anchorage. The bones end up in the laboratory of a young graduate student named Ying Lee, and Patterson gives Jane permission to fly to Anchorage and learn what Ying has to say about the bones.

The following is an excerpt from Karluk Bones

“Come in,” a female voice called. A young woman met me inside the door and introduced herself as Ying Lee. Ying had short, black hair, big blue eyes, and creamy white skin. She motioned for me to follow her, and her petite frame bounced with energy as she led me down the hall and into a small laboratory. My bones, now scrubbed clean, held center stage on the work table in the middle of the room.

Ying wasted no time with small talk. She walked to the table and held up a portion of the long leg bone we had found. The rest of the bone rested on the table. For some reason, Ying, or one of her associates had sliced the bone into two pieces. Her blue eyes blazed with intelligence and excitement. Her enthusiasm infected me, and I walked to the other side of the table and focused on her.

Ying held the bone with both hands. “We’re very fortunate to have a femur,” she said, “because the femur offers an easy estimation of height. All I needed to do was measure the bone and then apply a simple formula to obtain an estimate of the individual’s height.”

“And he was tall?” I asked

“Well, yes, he was a little above average height – about six feet tall.” Ying said.

“So, we know he was male from his height?” I asked

“I would guess the individual was male from his height, but you also found the pelvis, and I can confirm he was a male from the pelvis.”

“Next, I set out to determine the age of the individual when he died. Luckily, I had the skull to examine.” She pointed to the skull on the table, and I noticed she had glued several of the miscellaneous bone fragments we’d gathered to the skull. It still wasn’t complete, but she had pieced much of it together.

“You see here,” Ying said. Pointing at an area she had reconstructed on the top of the skull, “these lines are called cranial sutures. The bones that enclose the brain grow together during childhood. As a person ages, these sutures gradually fade. This fading, or remodeling, varies among individuals, but some sutures close at a consistent age in most individuals.” Ying pointed to the back of the skull and ran her finger along a faint line. “This is called the lamboid suture. It generally begins to close at age 21. The closing accelerates at age 26, and the suture is completely closed between age 30 and 40. You can see the suture on this skull is nearly, but not completely closed.”

“So, how old do you estimate he was?” I asked.

“I’d say between 25 and 30 years old,” Ying looked up from the bones and met my gaze. “This is only my estimate, though. I couldn’t swear to it in a court of law, but I think this individual was between 25 and 30 years old when he died.”

“I understand,” I said. “Your estimate gives me somewhere to start. I appreciate it.”

A quick smile passed over Ling’s thin lips, but then she was all business again. “Again, by looking at his skull, I determined this individual descended from European ancestry. There’s not much left of the nasal bones, but the narrow face leads me to believe with little doubt this skull did not come from a Native Alaskan individual.”

“Okay,” I said. I wanted to make sure I’d understood everything Ying had told me. “We have a fairly tall Caucasian man in his late twenties.”

Ying wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like the term Caucasian, because race tags can be misleading. All I can really tell you is his ancestors were most likely from Europe.”

I nodded and forced myself to remain silent. I wanted to blurt out my questions. How long ago did he die, and what killed him? But I knew how much I hated to be interrupted while explaining my research to someone, so I let Ying explain these bones to me in her own style and at her own pace.

She stared at me for several moments as if expecting me to question her, but then she continued. “The question is how and when did this individual die?”

I nodded and watched her expectantly.

Ying pointed to the front of the skull. “I think I know how, but the when part is a big guess.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“My professor and I are fairly certain this man died from a gunshot wound to the top of the head. I pieced as much of the skull together as I could, and you can see this jagged, roughly round hole in the top of the skull.”

“You’re sure it’s a bullet hole?”

She smiled. “I’m not certain of anything, but I’ve compared this hole to dozens of known bullet holes in skulls, and it is similar.”

“Is there any way to determine what gauge bullet caused the hole?” I asked.

Ying laughed. “If the particular type of bullet becomes important, you might be able to run down an expert who’d be willing to give it a shot.” She stopped and laughed at her unintended pun. “This is not my area of expertise, but I do think it is a bullet hole.”

“It seems like a weird place to shoot yourself,” I said.

Ying looked at me sharply. “Do you have reason to believe this person committed suicide?”

“No, I’m just thinking out loud,” I said

“It’s just that . . .” Ying shook her head.

“Just what?” I asked.

“My Ph.D. thesis is linked to studying nutrition in ancient populations. In particular, I’m studying nutrition in communities of Inupiat people. Most of the bones I’m looking at are between 150 and 300 years old. You are a biologist, so as I’m sure you know, teeth and bones contain a protein called collagen. Collagen absorbs chemicals such as calcium, carbon, nitrogen, and strontium from the food an individual eats. Different types of food contain these elements in different ratios, and from studying fossilized bones and teeth, I am attempting to understand the diets of various populations of Inupiat people. Were they healthy? Did they face periods of malnutrition? That sort of thing.”

I nodded. “Your work sounds interesting.” Her research did sound interesting, but I had no idea why she was telling me about it in relation to these bones.

She seemed to read my mind. “When I received permission to study these bones,” she gestured to the bones on the table in front of her, “I thought it would be interesting to see how much the diet of this guy differed from my Inupiat bones.” She shrugged. “I know it has nothing to do with your case, or at least I didn’t think it did until I started analyzing the bones.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. I still couldn’t guess where she was going with this.

“This guy,” she put her hand on the femur, “was starving to death. If he didn’t have a bullet hole in his head, I’d say he did starve to death. I wondered if he shot himself to end his suffering, but you’re right, it’s a strange angle for a self-inflicted gunshot wound.” She shook her head. “It would be possible, though, especially if he used a rifle.” She held an imaginary rifle in front of her, pointed at her head.

“Wait a minute,” I said, “back up. You think this guy was starving to death?”

“That’s one of the few things I can say with any certainty about this individual,” Ying said. “His bone mineral density is extremely low. He was emaciated when he died. In fact, his bones are the most emaciated bones I’ve studied.”

“Interesting,” I said. “I wonder what happened to him?”

Ying studied me, her eyes ablaze. “Isn’t it fascinating? I love learning about past civilizations and imaging what the people’s lives were like. I feel like a detective sifting through the debris and trying to find the important evidence.”

I smiled at this brilliant young woman and was thankful my bones ended up in her laboratory. “When did he die?” I asked. “How long have his bones been at Karluk Lake?”

Ying shoulders dropped, and the fire in her eyes died. “That’s the million-dollar question. It’s very difficult to estimate the time since death from skeletal remains. I know he’s not ancient, but there’s little difference between five-year-old and ten-year-old bones.”

“But you told Sergeant Patterson you thought these bones were between thirty and fifty years old.”

“Yes, well, I didn’t make that estimate,” Ying said. “When these bones first arrived, we had a professor here who was visiting from UC Davis, and her field of interest is studying bone chemistry to estimate the time since death. She looks at the citrate content in the bones. She took two slices of the femur back to California with her, and she arrived at the timeframe of thirty to fifty years, but she stressed to us, and I told Sergeant Patterson the timeframe was only her best guess.”

I smiled at Ying and held out my hand. She took it, and we shook. “I appreciate all you’ve done. I don’t know what it means yet, but I hope to figure it out and maybe even learn who this individual was.”

“If you come up with a possible identification and can find relatives, we can attempt to extract DNA from the bones and see if there’s a match.” Ying said. “We might even be able to tap into a public DNA database.”

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind. I hope I can figure out who you have on your table.”

I will let you know when Karluk Bones is available. Meanwhile, be sure to sign up below for my free Mystery Newsletter.

Robin Barefield is the author of three Alaska wilderness mystery novels, Big Game, Murder Over Kodiak, and The Fisherman’s Daughter. To download a free copy of one of her novels, watch her webinar about how she became an author and why she writes Alaska wilderness mysteries. Also, sign up below to subscribe to her free, monthly newsletter on true murder and mystery in Alaska.

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Karluk Bones

Living in the wilderness on Kodiak Island, Writing, , , , , , , ,

Karluk Bones is the title of my fourth Alaska wilderness mystery. The book has taken me longer to write than I had planned, but I think it will be worth the wait. This week, I want to share a portion of the opening scene with you.

Those of you who have read my other novels know Dr. Jane Marcus is a biologist at the Kodiak Fisheries Tech Center. In this scene, Jane and three of her friends camp near Karluk Lake on Kodiak. The next morning, they plan to float the Karluk River, but a fire in the middle of the night derails their expedition.

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Karluk Bones

Saturday, May 24th

“Fire! Wake up! Fire!”

The cry yanked me from a pleasant dream where my camping companions and I sat around the campfire roasting marshmallows. Now, I realized the smoky inspiration for my dream emanated not from a campfire but a forest fire.

I struggled to sit in my sleeping bag while my fingers fumbled with the zipper. Did we leave our campfire burning? No, I remember Geoff throwing water on it, and then we all watched until the last curls of smoke evaporated.

I’d worn my clothes to bed, and as soon as I struggled out of my bag, I crawled through the fly of the small tent. Smoke filled the air, and my friend and colleague, Geoff Baker, my friend, Dana Baynes, and her new beau, Jack Parker, all stood, staring to the north. I followed their gazes and saw the flames, but the fire had not yet spread far.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“It looks like a campfire got out of hand,” Geoff said.

“It’s so dry,” Dana said. “It’s bound to spread before they can put it out.”

“And the wind is blowing this way,” Geoff added.

“We’d better help them,” Jack said.

“You’re right,” I said, “but I fear only Mother Nature will be able to extinguish a blaze in the midst of all this dead, dry vegetation.”

“I’ll dump out our food buckets,” Geoff offered. “We can use those to scoop up lake water to throw on the fire.”

“Sure,” Dana said, “We’ll do a bucket brigade.”

I doubted anything we did would help, but if we stayed where we were, we’d be burned alive. “I suggest sticking anything you can’t live without in your pocket,” I said.

“Good point, Doc. I’ll grab my phone,” Geoff said.

“I’m grabbing my raincoat just in case,” Dana added.

I nodded. “I hope we need our raincoats. Rain is the one thing that will extinguish this fire.”
Geoff, Jack, and I carried our bear-proof food buckets now empty of their contents, and Dana shouldered a pack full of first-aid gear. She also carried a small camp shovel.

We hiked along the shore of Karluk Lake. It was a dark, chilly night. Correction, it was a dark, chilly morning. Darkness is an infrequent visitor in late May on Kodiak Island, but I can testify it is dark at 3:00 am. We wore headlamps to light the beach along the lakeshore, and I glued my eyes to the ground so that I wouldn’t stumble over a large rock or a tree branch. The smell of smoke grew stronger with each step.

As we neared the fire, I could see the flames growing in intensity and slowly but steadily spreading toward the south and our camp.

“We should have packed our stuff and moved it out of the line of fire,” I said.

“I don’t think we could move our stuff far enough to get it out of the fire line unless we brought it with us and stashed it upwind from the flames,” Geoff said.

We clung to the lakeshore and skirted around the edge of the fire. As we neared the tent camp where the blaze had started, we saw four young men frantically packing their tents and gear and moving everything down the beach. Miraculously, it looked as if the flames had not touched their camp.

Dana ran toward the men. “Is everyone okay?” She called.

One of the young men stopped in his tracks and looked toward her, obviously surprised by her presence. “Our campfire got out of control,” he said. “I thought we put it out but guess we didn’t.”

The man slurred his speech and seemed confused. At first, I thought he had a natural physical or mental impairment, but then, I realized he was drunk, or to be more accurate, he hadn’t completely sobered up from being drunk. I took in the entire scene and watched his camping companions stumble to move their gear, their actions clumsy and awkward. They were all in the no man’s land between drunk and sober, the period of the night when you wake up and curse yourself for drinking too much alcohol. I admit I’d been there a time or two, and now I tried to muster some forgiveness for them stupidly getting drunk and letting their campfire burn out of control.

Forgiveness was not on Dana’s mind, and she immediately understood the situation. She dropped her pack on the ground and stood, hands on hips, glaring at the young man who had spoken to her. “Are you drunk?”

“Maybe,” he said. “I’m not quite sober.”

“You are camping on an island with 3500 bears.” Dana walked toward him, her voice as loud as I’d ever heard it. “Many of those bears live near this lake.”

The young man looked at the ground and said nothing.

“If you want to camp on this Refuge, you need to be responsible.” Dana gestured to the spreading fire. “You started a fire by not putting out your campfire.”

“We tried to put it out,” the young man said.

“You tried?” Dana was now only about four feet away from the poor guy, all five feet nothing of her intimidating the young man as she screamed up at him.

Although the situation was dire, I nearly laughed as I watched the much larger man cower while petite Dana approached him. He flinched at each of her words as if she were slapping him in the face, and I thought she might slap him in the face when she got a few steps closer.

“I saw a video the other day,” Dana said. “An observant camper watched and videotaped a bunch of yahoos like you and your friends. They ate breakfast around their campfire, threw a little water on the fire, packed their gear, jumped in their raft, and headed down river. A few minutes after they’d left, a curious bear began sniffing their campfire. He put his paw on the hot embers, burned his paw and limped away, holding his burned paw in the air.” She took another step toward the young man who was now backing away from her. “I thought their lack of regard for the environment was disgusting until I see what you idiots managed to do here.”

I stood, caught up in the drama of Dana and the young camper when Geoff thumped me on the shoulder.

“Here, Doc,” he said, handing me a full bucket of lake water. “Let’s get this bucket brigade going.” He looked at Dana and the cowering campers. “Yo!” he yelled. “We need some help here; we have a fire to put out.”

The campers seemed happy for any excuse to escape Dana’s withering gaze and sharp reprimand. They found two more food buckets in their gear, emptied the contents, and hurried to stand in line between the lake and the burning fire.

I knew I couldn’t be the only one in this group who saw the futility of fighting a spreading wildfire with buckets of water, but buckets were all we had, and we needed to do something. There was no firefighting agency to call in the middle of the night to help put out a fire on the Kodiak National Wildlife Refuge. If the fire hadn’t been extinguished by morning, we would notify the National Wildlife Refuge office in Kodiak, and perhaps they could ask for assistance from the Department of Natural Resources. Dana was a biologist for the Kodiak National Wildlife Refuge, so she would know what to do. At present, Dana stood in the bucket brigade between the four campers, still lecturing them. If they weren’t sober by now, they would be soon, and between excessive alcohol, smoke, and Dana’s piercing voice, I didn’t envy any one of them the headache he would have for the next several hours.

We continued the steady progression of bucket passing as the sky slowly lightened. At 5:00 am, my arms were numb, my shoulders screamed with pain, and I had one of the worst headaches of my life. My comrades and I silently passed buckets, refusing to admit defeat. At 6:00 am, Mother Nature decided to lend us a helping hand. It started as a drizzle, but soon the rain pelted us in sheets.

I stepped out of the bucket line and said, “I think we can stop now.”

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While hiking back to their campsite, Jane and her friends stumble across human bones exposed by the burned vegetation. Are the bones ancient or modern, and how did this individual die? These are the first of many questions Jane asks Alaska State Trooper Sergeant Dan Patterson, and Jane won’t rest until she uncovers the answers and learns not only the identity of the man whose bones she found but also what or who caused his death.

I will share other outtakes of my novel at intervals over the next few months. Please let me know what you think. The above scene is the beginning of the book. Did it grab you and make you want to read more?

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Robin Barefield is the author of three Alaska wilderness mystery novels, Big Game, Murder Over Kodiak, and The Fisherman’s Daughter. To download a free copy of one of her novels, watch her webinar about how she became an author and why she writes Alaska wilderness mysteries. Also, sign up below to subscribe to her free, monthly newsletter on true murder and mystery in Alaska.

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Pre-Order The Fisherman’s Daughter

Living in the wilderness on Kodiak Island, Writing, , , , , ,

 

I am thrilled to announce the e-book of my new novel, The Fisherman’s Daughter is now available for pre-order on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and other online booksellers. Here is a short synopsis of the novel:

Seventeen-year-old Deanna Kerr fights to start her outboard engine as storm-tossed waves fill her boat with water. Panicked and crying, relief spreads through Deanna when a boat approaches her. She believes she is about to be rescued. Four months later, Deanna’s bones are found in a pile of kelp on the beach. Her ankles are wired together, and her skull crushed.

Alaska State Trooper Sergeant Dan Patterson fears a serial killer is stalking women on Kodiak. Including Deanna Kerr, three women have been murdered on the island in the past six months.  When a park ranger discovers the body of a fourth woman dumped in the park in the middle of a blizzard, Patterson contacts the FBI and requests their assistance.

FBI, Special Agent Nick Morgan has been to Kodiak before on another case, and he volunteers to return to the fascinating island and its unique, independent people. He knows he also accepted this assignment because he hopes to see Dr. Jane Marcus, a woman he met on his previous trip to the island and hasn’t been able to stop thinking about since then.

Morgan flies into Kodiak on an icy, December day to offer his assistance to the investigation. Only 13,500 people live on Kodiak Island, but Morgan soon realizes the list of suspects for these crimes is long. Could the killer be the crab boat captain who knew Deanna Kerr and was the last person seen with one of the other victims, or is the murderer one of the coaches at the high school or the strange assistant coach who seems to have an unhealthy relationship with children? The killer could also be someone related to one of the victims. Morgan believes the killer is a person the victims had no reason to fear and he thinks they willingly met with him. As the investigation proceeds, Patterson begins to worry the murderer could be a police officer or a trooper and may even be one of the members of his task force.

When the murderer strikes again, tensions escalate, and Patterson and Morgan know they must catch this monster before another woman dies or before the killer leaves the island and begins preying on women somewhere else.

The Fisherman’s Daughter will be released as an e-book on October 17th, and the print version will be released on November 1st. If you are planning to buy an e-book of The Fisherman’s Daughter, it will help boost the book’s ratings if you pre-order it. As always thank you for your support!

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FBI Special Agent Nick Morgan

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FBI Special Agent Nick Morgan first appeared in my novel, Murder Over Kodiak, when he traveled to Kodiak, Alaska to investigate an explosion on a floatplane that killed, among others, a U.S. Senator. Nick, and my protagonist, Jane Marcus, spent time together solving the mystery, and just when it looked as if sparks might ignite, Nick made the decision to try to reunite with his estranged wife. Now, a year and a half later, Agent Morgan returns to Kodiak to aid the local police in their investigation of a string of murders. This next excerpt from my upcoming novel, The Fisherman’s Daughter, describes Nick’s arrival in Kodiak on a typical, stormy, winter day.

Morgan barely could see the runway as the Dash 8 descended through the thick clouds and heavy snow toward Kodiak. Wind buffeted the plane from side to side, and he wondered how the pilot would manage to control the plane and hit the runway with this poor visibility and turbulence. It seemed like only seconds between the time they popped out under the clouds and the plane touched down on the runway, bounced once, and then screeched to a stop in front of the small terminal.
Morgan grabbed his bag and briefcase and headed down the stairs of the plane. With all the traveling he did, he had learned to pack light. Snow and wind pummeled him as soon as he stepped out of the plane; he pulled the hood of his parka over his head and rushed toward the door of the airport. When he stepped inside the terminal, an Alaska State Trooper walked toward him and held out his hand.
“Agent Morgan, I’m Dan Patterson. It’s nice to meet you.”
Morgan shook Patterson’s hand. “Please, call me Nick.”
Patterson nodded. Do you have luggage?”
“No, this is it,” Morgan said. “I probably should get a rental car, though.”
“Why don’t you wait on that. You won’t want to drive a rental car on these roads. We can chauffeur you around until the weather improves.”
The men left the airport and hurried to the trooper SUV. As they pulled out onto the highway, Morgan said, “I’m sure this weather isn’t making your investigation any easier.”
“Forget forensic evidence,” Patterson said. If you want to murder someone, winter in Kodiak is the time and place to do it. “We’ve got zip for footprints or tire tracks.”
“What about for the Ayers girl. It wasn’t snowing then, was it?”
“For that one, we had heavy rain to wash away any evidence.”
“The M.E. thinks the last victim was sexually assaulted, but he has no semen?” Morgan asked.
“Right. He found residue from a condom in the last victim, but no residue in the Ayers girl. He suspects the first victim was also sexually assaulted, but he couldn’t be certain, and of course, there is no way to know what happened to Deanna Kerr.”
“Her family still doesn’t know she was murdered?” Morgan asked.
“No, we thought you would want to be there when we break the news.”
“Do you think anyone in her family is capable of committing these crimes?” Morgan asked.
“Not really, but you said we should concentrate on individuals who spent the summer in Uyak Bay, or at least were on a boat in Uyak Bay around the Fourth of July and spent the remainder of the year in or around town. No one fits that picture any better than the Kerr family.”
Morgan liked the way Patterson thought. He was already forming an opinion of the trooper as a sharp investigator. He was impressed Patterson had called the FBI so early in the investigation. Too many cops hated to ask for help, especially from the FBI; they wanted the glory of solving the case by themselves. Patterson, though, seemed more interested in catching the perpetrator before more women were killed. He wasn’t thinking about his career or his pride; he wanted only to utilize the best resources he could find to catch the killer.
“I already have you registered at the Baranof Inn. Do you want to drop off anything there or go straight to our headquarters? I have a task force meeting planned to begin in half an hour. I wasn’t sure your plane would be able to land in this weather, so I should call the other task force members and let them know you’re here and the meeting is a go.”
“I don’t need to stop at the hotel,” Morgan said. “Let’s go to your headquarters, and I’ll get organized.”
Agent Morgan joins Patterson and the Alaska State Troopers and the Kodiak Police Department in investigating the murders of four women. Will more women die before they find the killer, or will the murderer leave the island before they apprehend him? I’ll release more excerpts from my novel when my publication date nears; I promise!

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Park Ranger Liz Kelley

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Park Ranger Liz Kelley discovers the body of a young woman while making her rounds in Fort Abercrombie State Historical Park on a snowy, November night. This excerpt from my upcoming novel, The Fisherman’s Daughter, is told from Liz’s viewpoint.

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Park Ranger Liz Kelley was alone on patrol at Fort Abercrombie State Historical Park, but since she was the only ranger who worked at the 182-acre park, this was business as usual for her. Fort Abercrombie is a beautiful park, rich in history and nestled in a Sitka spruce forest. The park is bordered on its front edge by steep cliffs that plunge into the heavy surf of the ocean. The park has a small lake containing trout, and in the summer, meadows teem with wildflowers of every hue. There are numerous campsites designed primarily for tent campers, and in the summer, the park is full of tourists.

It was not summer, though. It was a snowy, blustery November evening. Liz sometimes patrolled the main area of the park on foot when the weather was nice, but when it wasn’t, she made her rounds in the beat-up pickup with the state park insignia on the door. In the summer, she spent most of the day out on the park grounds, answering visitor’s questions and making sure they obeyed the park’s rules. This time of the year, she spent most of her time huddled in the ranger’s station with her computer, a small t. v., and most importantly, a coffee maker. Liz had last driven the main roads of the park at 5:00 pm, and she hadn’t seen a living soul.   She had seen several deer huddled under the protection of the spruce trees, but she saw no trucks, cars, nor tents. When she got back to the ranger’s station, however, she noticed headlights pulling into the park. It was too dark to determine the make or model of the vehicle, let alone see who the driver was, but it had to be teenagers. Who else would be out in the park on a snowy, November night? She hadn’t seen the vehicle leave the park, but she assumed it had driven past while she was deep in concentration, working on her computer.

At 7:00 pm, Liz locked the ranger’s station and climbed into the truck to make her final rounds for the evening. She was anxious to get home to her husband and dog, so this would be a quick trip down the main road. She wanted to make sure that the vehicle she’d seen entering the park earlier hadn’t slid off the slick roads. She hoped the driver had enough sense not to drive down one of the side roads in this weather, and she wasn’t willing to drive down every small road looking for a phantom vehicle.

Liz drove slowly in the blizzard conditions. Four inches of snow covered the ground, and the large, heavy, wet flakes were quickly adding to the amount. She estimated the wind was blowing 35 knots or more, causing the snow to whiz horizontally past her windshield. For a moment, she considered abandoning her last rounds and heading home, but she continued at a snail’s pace, stopping every few feet to look left and right into the forest. Only an idiot or an overzealous park ranger would be out here on a night like this, she thought.

She reached the end and the concrete barrier where people could stand and look out over Spruce Cape and was happy to see there were no vehicles parked there. She did a U-turn and was starting back toward the park entrance when her headlights illuminated something bright pink a few feet off the road. At first, she thought it was a plastic bag, but it was too big. Should she stop and check it or pretend she didn’t see it and keep driving? She exhaled a deep sigh, shifted into park, grabbed a flashlight from the glove compartment, and crawled out of the truck. She cinched her hood tight and slogged through the snow toward the pink object. After only a few steps, she realized she was looking at a pink, down coat. After several more steps, she saw there was someone in the coat. She hurried toward the fallen form, all thoughts of her husband and dog and their cozy family room vanished from her mind, and she began running through first aid protocols in her head. Would she have to perform CPR? Did she have her rescue-breathing mask in her pocket? Should she put on her rubber gloves before she even touched the victim?

“Ma’am,” she called, “can you hear me?”

Liz slowed her pace as she neared the victim. “Ma’am?” The woman was on her side facing away from Liz. Liz touched her arm and called to her again, and when the woman didn’t reply, Liz rolled her onto her back. She took one look at her and stepped away from the body. She switched the flashlight to her left hand, and her right hand instinctually unsnapped her holster. She put her right hand on the butt of her gun while she swung the flashlight in a wide arc. She had seen a vehicle enter the park around 5:00, but she had not seen it leave. Was the murderer still in the park? Was he watching her? She felt the sweat run down her back, and she fought to control her emotions. It was no time to panic. She had to think clearly and act professionally.

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Next week, I will re-introduce you to FBI Special Agent Nick Morgan when he is asked to fly to Kodiak to help investigate the string of murders.

My May Mystery Newsletter is a shocking, true story of murder from Craig, Alaska. If you would like to read it, you can sign up below.

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Sergeant Patterson

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This excerpt from my upcoming novel, The Fisherman’s Daughter is told from the viewpoint of Sergeant Dan Patterson with the Alaska State Troopers.

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Alaska State Trooper Sergeant Patterson knew his night was about to take a turn for the worse. He had just finished his shift and walked into his house when his phone chirped. His wife was dishing up a plate of spaghetti for him, but when the phone rang, she stopped, knowing she would be reheating his meal in several hours.

“I’m on my way.” He said into the phone. He looked at his wife. “Sorry hon, this sounds like a bad one. Don’t wait up for me; I have to drive to Chiniak.”

He hurried to his car in the driving rain, fastened his seat belt and began the 42-mile drive down the Chiniak Highway. On a sunny day in July, this drive rivaled any in the world for its scenic beauty, but this was not a sunny day in July; it was a rainy night in October. The road was dark and curvy, and Patterson gripped the steering wheel as he concentrated on the pavement in front of him. Staying on the road was not his only concern. He had to watch for deer and possibly even bears running across the highway. The trooper who had called him said to park at the post office in Chiniak, and they would cover the final mile of their trek on four wheelers. All Patterson had been told was that a body had been discovered in the woods. He didn’t know whether the victim was male or female or whether it had been there a day or a year. If he’d understood Trooper Ben Johnstone correctly, the trooper himself had found the body while deer hunting on his day off. The usually calm and organized Johnstone, however, had sounded rattled, so Patterson may have misunderstood him. He’d get the details soon enough.

Patterson had only been stationed on Kodiak for six months, and he had only been to Chiniak once before, but it was a town with a population of 50 people, so finding the post office was not difficult. By the time he parked the car, sheets of blinding rain pelted the windshield. Patterson pulled on his raincoat, stepped out of his vehicle, and shook hands with Trooper Ben Johnstone.

“I see the weather isn’t going to be our friend tonight,” Patterson said.

“No, sir. If there were tracks near the body, they won’t be there now.”

“So the body is fresh?”

“Yes, sir. No more than a day or two old. She was murdered.”

Patterson felt a headache coming on. This would be a very long night. “You’re sure it wasn’t a hunting accident.”

“This was no hunting accident, sir. I’m certain of that. It’s pretty hard to cut someone’s throat by accident.”

The headache spread into Patterson’s neck. “You are the one who found the body?”

“Yes sir, I was walking through the woods. I’d been hunting about two hours and was heading back to my cabin because it was starting to rain hard. I caught a glimpse of something strange on the ground, and after a few more steps, I realized it was a body. I took some photos and checked around the area for footprints or four-wheeler tracks, but I didn’t see anything. She must have been murdered before the rain started.”

“How are you doing?” Patterson asked. “This must have been quite a shock.”

“Yes sir, it was. I’m fine, though. It’s just that you don’t expect to find a dead girl in the woods when you’re deer hunting.”

“A girl?” Now his stomach was beginning to hurt.

“A teenager, sir.”

“Okay, let’s go take a closer look.”

Patterson followed Johnstone through the woods, each man riding a four wheeler that Johnstone had somehow managed to procure. They had to travel slowly through the Sitka spruce rainforest to avoid smashing into a tree, but at least the large trees shielded them from some of the rain.

Fifteen minutes later, Patterson spotted the red beam of the light Johnstone had left to mark the location of the body. They parked their four wheelers several yards away and approached the body on foot.

The naked body sprawled on the ground, arms out to the side and legs spread wide. It had been posed for maximum effect. Her throat had been slashed so deeply she nearly had been decapitated. Her brown eyes stared sightlessly up at the trees. Patterson noted what looked like bite marks on her breasts, but otherwise, her slim, pale body appeared unmarred.

“We need to get a tarp over the scene right away,” Patterson said.

“Yes, sir. I brought one with me. I’ll get on that. Are the crime scene people on their way?”

“I’ll send them tomorrow when it’s light, but I don’t think they’ll find much. If there ever was any evidence here, it has been washed away by now. I don’t see much blood, so I think this is only where the body was dumped, not where she was killed. Once you get the tarp set up, go back to town and see if you can borrow a trailer or a sled or something we can use to transport the body back to my vehicle. After I take photos, I think we should get her packaged and transported back to Kodiak. The only hope we have of preserving any evidence on her body will be to get her out of this weather.”

It was 3:00 am by the time Patterson finally returned home and ate his spaghetti dinner. He and Johnstone had packaged the body, and it was ready to ship to Anchorage to the state medical examiner’s office on the morning Ravn flight. This was the second female on the island in the past six months who had been found with her throat slashed. Patterson had a bad feeling about these crimes. On an island where few murders occurred, two women killed in the same manner in the span of six months suggested to him they were killed by the same perpetrator or perpetrators. Was a serial killer hunting women on the island?

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I will have another excerpt for you next week. If you haven’t already signed up for my free mystery newsletter, you will want to do it before my May newsletter about a shocking murder in Craig, Alaska.

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Jane

Writing, , , ,

For those of you who read one or both of my previous novels, Big Game and Murder Over Kodiak, you probably remember my protagonist, Dr. Jane Marcus. Jane is only a supporting character in my latest novel, The Fisherman’s Daughter, which I hope to publish in a few months. She makes her appearance early in the novel, though. The following excerpt is taken from chapter one, where we find Jane elbow-deep in a rotting whale carcass.

I struggled to maintain my grip on the ten-inch-thick slab of blubber while my colleague stripped it from the fin whale carcass. I cursed myself for the umpteenth time for not thinking quickly enough to get out of this project, but here I was, elbow deep in decaying whale blubber, and yes, the smell was worse than anything you can imagine. I had been offered my position on this necropsy team by marine mammal biologist Leslie Sinclair, and I’m sure she thought I should feel honored to be included on her team, but my scientific enthusiasm tended to wane when I was fighting the urge to vomit. As soon as I got home, I vowed to write a list of excuses for the next time Leslie tried to invite me on a necropsy.

It could have been worse. This whale had been dead for around two weeks, but it was only moderately decomposed. The tongue extended from the mouth of the bloated carcass, but the skin had not started to slough, and it was only slightly sunburned. Unfortunately, the external condition is not a good indicator of the internal condition of a dead whale because whales decompose from the inside out. Due to the large volume of tissue wrapped in insulating blubber, the inside cooks before the outside decays. I learned the necropsy team must be very careful when making the first cut on the fifty-ton carcass because it can explode if all those built-up gasses are expelled at once, and yes, when the gasses do escape, the horrific smell just keeps getting worse. I wore a rubber rain suit, the legs duct taped to my boots and the arms duct taped to my gloves. This covering allowed me to wade into the project without getting biological fluid on my skin. A face shield protected my eyes, nose, and mouth, and I’d pulled back my hair and stuffed it under a rubber cap. A persistent drizzle rounded out the perfect day, but at least I was wearing rain gear.

It made sense for me to be part of this necropsy team since I was one of several biologists trying to discover why more than fifty whales had died near Kodiak Island during the past two years. The affected whales included fin whales, sei whales, humpbacks, and gray whales, all species that had baleen instead of teeth and fed on small fish and zooplankton. These huge animals feed at the bottom of the food chain, making them susceptible to pollutants, toxic algae, and changes in their food concentrations due to a variety of reasons, including warming ocean temperatures. Any one or a combination of these factors could be responsible for the whale deaths, or the cause could be something we hadn’t suspected yet. The team was also considering underwater noise pollution from military sonar and other sources. Since I had been studying toxic algae at the Kodiak Braxton Marine Biology and Fisheries Research Center, Dr. Sinclair asked me to come at the problem from the toxic algae angle. Even though the algae I suspected might be the culprit in the deaths of the whales was a different species from what I had been studying, I was happy to do what I could to shed light on this disturbing problem. It seemed as if dead whales were being sighted nearly every week, but most were floating several miles from shore. This carcass was one of the few that had conveniently washed up on shore where a necropsy could be performed. I wanted to do what I could to help, but I’d try to do my work from my lab in the future.

“Jane, can you hear me?”

“Sorry, Leslie. I was lost in thought.”

“The smell is amazing, isn’t it?”

“Oh yes.”

“Since you’re looking at toxic algae, why don’t you be in charge of taking the stomach and intestinal samples as well as collecting feces, if you can find some.”

Oh boy! My day just kept getting better.

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While Jane’s role in this novel is not big, it is important, and we all want to find out what happens when she and FBI Agent Nick Morgan reconnect. Next week, I’ll introduce you to some more characters from my novel.

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