The publications committee for Left Coast Crime 2001 came up with a new idea on how the attending writers should write their bios for the program guide: They gave us a newspaper clipping which reported in detail the murder of the first Anchorage police chief and told us to write whodunit. The word count had to be as low as possible. Of course, mine ran over. I think everyone’s did. Here’s mine:

“A (Very) Short Kate Story”

“A woman,” Kate said. “The powder burns weren’t just on the shirt, they were under the flap of the pocket. Would Sturgus let a man get that close? And it was a twenty-two, small, easy to use. And I’d put money on the woman being Mrs. Baxter.”

“Not the wife?”

“She was home.”

“But Mrs. Baxter was coming back from the first show at the time he was shot.”

“Sure, according to her son and daughter-in-law.” She reached for the file. “McNutt said that he heard another shot–what, two hours before? It was never accounted for in the record. Baxter shot him before the show–it was the back of the building, it was February, it was dark by five, who would see?–and then went off with the kids to establish an alibi.”

“She must have been shook when McNutt told her Sturgus was still alive.”

“Yeah, that would have been a bad moment. But she played it out, went looking for the chief. And notice her son got himself on the coroner’s jury. Making sure the verdict stayed person or persons unknown.”

“What about motive?”

Kate grinned. “Got a Yellow Pages?” She found an entry, and pointed.

“Larson’s Fine Liquors,” he read out loud, “Convenient to Office and Hotel, Competitive Pricing, Bush Orders call 1 800…wait a minute. Larson?”

“It was 1921, prohibition, everybody knows they were running Canadian whiskey into Bootlegger’s Cove back then. I bet Sturgus caught Lyle at it and was going to put him away for it.”

Jim, annoyed that he hadn’t put it together himself, said, “Okay, who was this ‘Bobby’ Sturgus called for, then?”

Kate shrugged. “Maybe Mrs. Baxter’s name was Roberta. Bobbie for short. Why do you care, anyway?”

“I don’t know. He was a cop. He was shot in the line of duty. Bugs me that nobody ever found out who or why.”

Kate stood up. Mutt cast a languishing farewell look at Jim and padded to her side. “You’re scaring me, Chopin. You’re starting to sound like a crusader.”

I’ve already got a cause, he thought as he watched her walk out the door.