It Moved

“It moved,” Anna said.

“What moved?” Her boyfriend Henry asked looking behind them into the forest. It was only seven o’clock in the evening, but it was also November, only a month from 23 hours of darkness in their part of Alaska, and already dark.

“I’ve only seen a shadow. It’s been following us for an hour.”

“I see nothing,” he said, “directing his 2,500 lumen flashlight over the area behind them. The light didn’t penetrate far into the spruce trees, but he didn’t see any glowing eyes reflecting from the spotlight. The pair remained motionless to listen. Nothing. Only the wind in leaves. “We’re a million miles from anywhere. There’s nobody around to follow us. We’ve been here two weeks and haven’t seen one person.”

“A bear?” Anna’s voice was now in the high pitch of concern.

“Perhaps, but it wouldn’t follow us for an hour. You should have mentioned this sooner. Let’s go.” The season’s first snow fell weeks ago, but was not so high that they needed snow shoes. With only a half mile to go, they were almost home. She nodded, and they took more steps in the black tunnel formed by the forest over the trail. “Besides, bears don’t stalk and the other predators prefer preying on small animals, not humans. Relax.”

Anna took a step, stopped, and whispered, “Did you hear that? It sounded like a tree limb breaking.”

“No, I didn’t hear it. Besides, tree limbs break all the time. We’re in a forest, what do you expect?”

“It wasn’t that type of sound. This was a branch on the ground that broke because something—someone—stepped on it. You did you bring the gun, right?”

“Of course. Relax. We’ll be home soon.”

■■■■■

“It looks to me,” the first DPS trooper on scene said to his sergeant, “that they stepped onto a steel cable snare trap that pulled them up into an inverted position. Hanging by their feet from the tree. And they couldn’t get out of it when a bear attacked. Forensics will be here in an hour. They’re in Fairbanks now, loading their stuff into a bush plane to fly to Fort Yukon. We have a 4-wheel SUV ready to pick them up.”

Sergeant Robert Ataqan nodded and looked at the shredded bodies. “Were either of them armed?”

“Yes, the male. His handgun is still in the holster. You can see it from here.”

“Hmmm. I wonder why, even though inverted, he didn’t shoot?”

■■■■■

“My God,” the lieutenant said to Ataqan, “I’ve never seen such gory site. There hasn’t been a bear attack in a long time. Do you think a bear did it?”

“I’m sure a bear tore them apart, but the autopsy report says the cause of death was their throats were cut and they bled to death. No signs of a struggle. No broken zip ties. No signs of any kind of bindings. No mutilation other than what the bear did. No tape on their mouths or residue of an adhesive. No marks on their mouths of a gag. In short, no clues of any kind.”

“Very strange,” the lieutenant said. 

Ataqan nodded in agreement. “The claw marks from the bear don’t show any blood that should have been there. Apparently there was no blood left when it shredded the flesh of the victims, it had all drained out of their bodies before the bear arrived. The photos show pooled blood on the frozen ground below them. This was murder. It almost looks like a Kosher killing.”

“A religious murder? You can’t be serious.”

“Maybe not religious, but the style is the same. For an animal to be slaughtered in a kosher manner, the knife must be perfect. Any blemish on the blade renders the knife unacceptable. It must be so sharp that if the killer were to slice of his finger, he would feel no pain. That is consistent with the autopsy report.”

“There has to be more than one sharp knife in Alaska. All farmers and hunters carry them.”

“Bowie knives don’t come close and would not be suitable for the kill. The person must kill in one quick stroke across throat to cut the esophagus, trachea, carotid arteries, and both jugular veins. The animal dies within 2 seconds and all its blood drains out. Again, that’s consistent with the autopsy report and forensics finding blood soaked in the ground below them as if it pooled there.”

The lieutenant’s face winced as he listened. “That’s religious? It’s gruesome. Don’t they even stun the animal?”

“No. Stunning is against the laws of Kashrut.”

“Okay, what the hell is Kashrut?”

Ataqan smiled, “Jewish dietary law.”

“Doesn’t that somehow bring us back to a religious killing?”

“Not if you want to frame somebody else or you are a shochet who has gone bonkers.”

“A what? A shochet? What in hell is that?”

“A Kosher slaughterer.”

“I know there’s a history of Jews in Alaska starting before the Alaska Purchase in 1867 when they came from Russia as fur traders. Even today they’re not a large segment of the population.”

“True. Not large enough to support a shochet. But it looks to me that the murderer does know the technique.”

 “The victims, were they locals?”

“I don’t think so,” Ataqan said. “They were a young married couple, Anna and Henry Cooper. I hear they were renting a cabin for two months from a man known as Scotty in Fort Yukon. Sort of a personal survival vacation, sort of an upgraded Naked and Afraid, but on their own in the wilderness. So far I don’t know where they’re from. I’m still checking.”

■■■■■

Ataqan headed to the coffee pot as if it were a magnet. “I need to know about the victims. Everything about them.” The sergeant tapped his fingertips on the desk. “Contact the Wildlife Troopers and see what they know of bears in the area about that time and if they encountered any people on the trails. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“Yes, sir. We searched the cabin. It looks like that’s where they were staying. Sergeant, I found nothing unusual,” the officer reported. “Very neat housekeepers, the bed was made, dresser drawers had neatly folded clothes. The cupboards had the usual food, and the refrigerator did, too. Zero sign of a struggle. And,” the officer smiled, “I found their ID and their cell phones.”

Ataqan nodded, “I can tell you have more.”

“Indeed I do. According to the driver licenses, they’re from New York City. The phones were locked, so I couldn’t call their recents or see their contacts. I figure the cell phones were in the cabin because cells don’t work in this area.” 

The officer flipped a page in his notebook, “I checked with the gun shops in Fairbanks, since that’s where they probably landed, and found that’s where the man bought the gun. A Glock 21. I guess the city slicker thought the old west ruled and wanted a .45. Big gun for a novice. The salesman remembers the male because he was all macho, but it was obvious the man had never touched a firearm. When the salesman suggested the guy take some training from one of the firearms instructors, the buyer was indignant and told him anyone can shoot a gun.”

Ataqan grinned as he shook his head. “That’s a New Yorker for sure. I had one tell me his favorite gun was a Browning .357 revolver. There is no such gun, so I just chalk it up as another example of city people’s ignorance, like calling a de Havilland Twin Otter a twin engine Piper Cub.”

The trooper continued. “I located the cabin owner, one Mosheh Jacobovits. He’s from Scotland and goes by “Scotty.” However, he hasn’t returned our phone calls.” 

■■■■■

“Ya hear ‘bout murders like this big cities, but in the bush? Hi Trooper, I’m Inga, hope ya don’t mind my interrupting your lunch,”

Sergeant Ataqan looked up at her. “Hello, Inga. Nice to meet you.”

“Well,” she said, “It just frightens me to death to think we might have a killer on the loose.” She eyed Ataqan, searching for any kind of reaction. He looked at her and sipped his coffee. “Of course, it would have to be somebody crazy. 

“Did you know the victims?”

“Gracious, no. But I hear they’re from out of town. I’ll bet you can talk to Joe at the general store. Everybody has to go there to get supplies.”

“Thanks. I’ll do that.”

■■■■■

“I remember them,” Joe said. “They had ‘most everything they needed in their SUV, and just wanted a few things. Some fresh vegetables is what they usually bought.”

“By usually,” Ataqan asked, “do you mean you saw them more than once?”

“Yes, sir. Every two or three days they’s come in for fresh vegetables. Said they were vegetarians and liked fresh veggies. Struck me as two innocent kids, but extraordinarily naive about the bush. I had to warn them about bears and moose and they just gave me silly smug smiles.”

“Have there been any other strangers in town in the last couple of weeks?” 

“A few. One, though, now that you mention it, was a bit unusual. Heavy beard. Said he was from New York. But his accent wasn’t New York, maybe Spanish, I don’t know. I ain’t so good with accents. So, to be nice, I asked him where he was born. He lost his smile as if I had insulted him or one question too many.”

“Maybe an illegal?”

“This far north? Naw. They like the lower forty-eight.”

“Any idea where the guy was staying?”

“Nope. I got the idea he was just passing through. Only saw him that once.”

■■■■■

“Sergeant Ataqan here,” he said after picking up the phone.

“This is Sergeant Milhouse, NYPD. I’m calling because it seems two people from New York got their throats slashed in an unusual way. We have three cases of the same.”

“Where your cases done in sort of a shochetish fashion?”

“That’s why I’m calling. I think the demographics of our three victims are close to that of your two victims.”

“Go on.”

“I work in the organized crime division. Let me give you some background. Only the elite are attracted by totalitarianism. The masses they claim to cherish have to be won by propaganda. Lies. Beyond that, the masses must be isolated from all other sources of information.”

Ataqan said, “I thought propaganda and terror were two sides of the same coin.”

“Yes, partly true. When totalitarianism has absolute control, it replaces propaganda with indoctrination. Especially in the schools. But violence is more to eliminate the opposition than to frighten people.”

“And you think the victims were the opposition of powerful people.”

“I doubt it. Our victims, and I’ll bet yours, are too young to be a threat. Their problem is being too inquisitive.”

“How,” Ataqan asked, “is being too inquisitive a problem?”

“That’s New York for ya. There are certain groups, or people that you just don’t mess around with and live. The politicians, police, prosecutors, and the judges know that to stay alive, stay quiet and go along with the flow. The cartels call it plata o plomo. My victims were all employed by an organization doing undercover investigation of corruption for a newspaper, and they got caught taking videos of the, shall we say, unscrupulousness of some important political people. Dead people, like cash, tell no tales and neither do their friends.”

“How are my victims involved?”

“They were employed by the same organization, and then, for reasons unknown, disappeared three weeks ago and we had no idea of their location until you found the bodies.”

■■■■■

Sergeant Ataqan sat in his superior’s office and explained his conversation with the NYPD. 

The lieutenant tapped his fingertips on the desk. “Betrayal is a powerful motive for violence. We see it in domestic cases.”

“This, sir, was no betrayal. It was exposure. More specifically, the danger of exposure. I learned how dangerous these people can be from our New York colleague. For example, when the rule of terror is brought to perfection, propaganda disappears. You hear nothing because those in power and control don’t allow contrary information and limit what people can hear.”

“So?”

“Let me lay the groundwork for what I want to tell you because you aren’t going to like it. Going back to Nazi Germany. They did not kill leaders as they had previously in Germany. They found that by killing the unknown people likely to cause trouble, they infused the fear of simply being a member or supporter of the big guy can be lethal. This technique increased steadily because neither the police nor the courts seriously prosecuted those in power or the henchmen who did their dirty work. 

“I trust I don’t need to state the obvious similarities between that kind of terror gangsters, cartels and politicians use.”

“I don’t mean to cut you short, and interesting as all that may be, but how in the hell is this relevant to this murder case in Alaska?”

Ataqan shifted in his seat and leaned forward. “Because, sir, this was no ordinary murder. It was a hit job. The killer, by his style, is known to the NYPD, the FBI, and others. Known. His name is Badr al-Ben Kazemi.

“Badr al-Ben Kazemi is a pro and well-trained. Our New York colleague also told me the Jewish method of slaughter is paralleled in the Muslim method of slaughter. The Muslims call it “halal.” Which explains the execution training.

“Our killer is a ‘have knife, will travel’ guy. An assassin for hire. The man gets a contract, travels by some untraceable way, makes his kill, and leaves. If there are any clues, they are rabbit holes and go no place. It is the killing style that gives him away. The method of execution. It is distinctive. He came here, killed this couple, and left to parts unknown and by untraceable means. He’s no longer in Alaska, or not even the western hemisphere. We will never find him, let alone arrest him. He’s gone.”

The lieutenant shook his head and said, “Kill, leave no clue, and disappear. The perfect crime.”