Death Roe (12 page)

24

Wednesday, November 3, 2004

HURON MOUNTAINS, MARQUETTE COUNTY

Staying with McCants turned out to be a mistake. She had come in just after he arrived and immediately began grilling him about what he was doing.

“So, you're like in the federal witness protection program or what?”

“Assignment,” he said.

“The man of few words—as in
way
too few,” McCants shot back. “We have taken each other's backs too many times to count.”

“I'm covering your six right now,” he said.

“Why am I not feeling comforted?”

“You're just tired,” he said.

“Don't tell me how I feel,” she snapped.

“I can't talk about it, Candi.”

“Right,” she said, stalking off.

She had gone to bed without another word, gotten up this morning without speaking to him, and departed. He knew she was pissed, but he wasn't at all certain about what.

He arrived at Roxy Lafleur's cottage on time and made his way through the three dogs with a lump in his throat and his heart racing.

The woman's eyes were sunken, her skin drawn tight, her movement slow and labored. Last time she had looked healthy. Not anymore.

“I know,” she said. “I don't look so good.”

“Have you called your doctor?”

“I'm seeing him later today. You want coffee? It's fresh.”

They sat in her living room. She pulled an afghan over her legs and he poured the coffee for both of them. She handed him a slip of paper. “Angle Iron Properties is the name of the umbrella corporation for Quint's chain of convenience stores in Ypsi, Plymouth, and Ann Arbor. Quint thinks he has a way with words. Angle iron is used for support and that pretty much describes his business interests. The whole shebang is in his wife's name so the government can't get at her if they happen to get to him.” She sighed and closed her eyes.

“Sounds like he cares about her.”

“Please,” Lafleur said.

The second item on the list was
Netsuko Hurami
.

“Who's this?” he asked, tapping the name with his finger.

“She's an investigator with the RCMP out of Windsor. She came to the plant several times and wrote all kinds of letters, trying to get information about Quint's investments in Canada.”

Royal Canadian Mounted Police.
Great—another complication,
he thought.

“What sort of investments?”

“I've no idea,” she said, “but the way she stayed on it, they must be significant.”

“Did you talk to her?”

“Only to relay messages to and from Quint.”

“You have a number for her?”

“It's in the Rolodex, or was. Look under RCMP.”

“You mentioned a man named Gary Hosk.”

“Right. He worked for Crimea at one time.”

“As a bag man?”

She managed a smile. “That's never in formal job descriptions, is it?”

“How do you know he carried money?”

“He delivered it to me in Elk Rapids, or sometimes at the plant in New York.”

“Once, twice?”

“More, maybe half a dozen times, but it was years ago.”

“But after the company started supplying Crimea.”

She nodded. “He was on retainer to Crimea.”

“You mentioned women for Fagan's clients.”

“Not formally clients.”

“You made arrangements?”

“In Lansing I used a woman named Patricia Allard. She runs a very hush-hush and expensive escort service in the capital.”

“Got a number for her?”

“No. When Quint wanted me to get escorts, I used a cell phone that he gave me and, when the transaction was done, I threw the phone away. There was a new phone each time. Quint's very, very careful.”

Service lifted his chin and stretched his neck. “That's pretty extreme security.”

Lafleur held out the palms of her hands. “How it was. Down in Lansing, Allard's known as Mama Cold.”

“Can you describe her?”

“I never met her. All our business was done by cell phone.”

“She have cop problems?”

“I'd expect anybody in that business would have potential cop problems.”

“Did you ever meet a New York employee named Garrick Bindi?”

“Never met him, but Quint mighta mentioned him. For some reason I think he worked at a state fish hatchery.”

“What did Fagan say when he mentioned him?”

“It's kinda vague, but I think Quint called him the gate guard, or something like that.”

Another potential fit, Service thought, but finding Bindi would be difficult.

Last time, the woman's dogs had gathered around him. This time they were next to her, staring at her, and he imagined he could sense their concern. “Maybe we ought to call your doctor. I'll drive you to town.”

“I can drive myelf just fine,” she said resolutely.

“You don't look well,” he said.

“I've got cancer,” she whispered, and tried to force a grin. “Or it's got me. I'm not sure which anymore.” She looked over at him. “Don't worry. This is just part of the process. I'll be okay.”

He wasn't convinced, but excused himself, made his way down to his truck, and headed for Houghton to see Karylanne.

Passing through Chassell he got a cell-phone call from Chief O'Driscoll. “I've been trying to reach you.”

“No cell coverage where I was.”

“We challenged the injunction this morning, but the judge stood firm,” said the chief. “There will be a full hearing in two weeks. The judge said that because the allegedly illegally taken eggs were not actually in the mix, we were short on probable cause in seizing finished product. Our lawyers think we may be screwed for this round. You need to contact New York and tell them to hold the samples until we exhaust all the legal steps.”

“Roger that,” Service said. It sounded like the department's lawyers were in the fight and this was good. Sometimes they opposed the law enforcement division.

“Where are you?” the chief asked.

“Just finished interviewing Fagan's Caviar Queen and now I'm headed to Houghton.”

“Make sure you call New York,” the chief said, hanging up.

Service called Trip Rogers, who was not in his office. He asked a secretary to go and find him.

“What's the status of the eggs?” Service asked when Rogers came to the phone.

“FDA has them and testing is under way. Why?”

“How long for a result?”

“A week or more. Why?”

Service told the New York environmental conservation officer about the injunction.

“That screws the pooch,” Rogers said.

“Partially. We'll at least have results that will tell us something, even if we can't use them.”

“You think Piscova will keep the line operating?”

“Not for long. The salmon runs are almost done, and they're contracted only to take eggs from brights.”

“Brights” were brilliant silver fish, freshly into the river system. As time passed the salmon began to blacken and fall apart during the process of slow death that came with spawning. “I'm guessing the natural cycle and our little raid will shut them down for now,” he said.

Rogers said, “We could try to intercept a shipment at Crimea.”

“What would that entail?”

“A call to Fish and Wildlife. They have surveillance on the company.”

“If that's the best we can do,” Service said.

“I'll make some calls,” Rogers offered. “You think your legal people can beat the injunction?”

“Probably not.”

“Damn,” Rogers said. “Why the hell do our laws make it so damned hard to enforce the laws?”

It was the unanswerable question for law enforcement.

“I'll be in touch,” Rogers said.

“Let me give you another number,” Service said, telling his counterpart about Denninger and reading off her cell-phone number. He also explained how his chief had pulled them out of the DNR and transferred them to the U.S. Attorney's office.

“No shit? Your chief sounds like he has major backbone.”

“So far.”

“Make you feel like some high-wire freak working without a net?”

“Something like that.”

He called Denninger. “I'm checking in. Everything okay down there?”

“Tip-top. I got the transcripts done this morning and our supplies are being unloaded as we speak. Did you talk to Lafleur?”

“Yes. I've got the name of the convenience store chain, the name of an RCMP investigator who's interested in Fagan's investments in Canada, and the name of the woman who provided female talent for Fagan's pals and associates.”

“You want me to follow up on anything?”

He spelled out the name. “Netsuko Hurami out of the Windsor RCMP office. She's in the Rolodex cards I copied in Gaylord under ‘RCMP.' Give her a bump and tell her what we're doing and see how she reacts.”

“Offer her a trade?”

“Offer her a head-to-head. Tell her the big picture only—illegal eggs mixed with legal ones.”

“Why should she care?”

“She may not, but if she's looking for Piscova dirt in Canada, she may be interested in any dirt we have here. Dirt follows dirt. Feel her out.”

“Anything else?”

“Not for now. I'll be back tomorrow afternoon.”

“There's snow coming into the U.P.,” she said. “I saw it on the Weather Channel.”

Service glanced up. “I can see it in the sky,” he said. “See you tomorrow, I guess.”

He didn't like the tone of her voice. She sounded unsure of herself.

25

Wednesday, November 3, 2004

HOUGHTON, HOUGHTON COUNTY

Karylanne had a ground-floor apartment in a large house on Garner Street. She was close to campus and could walk while the weather was still good. It had been at least a month since he had seen her, and when he knocked on the door she took a long time to open up.

The apartment was large, sparsely furnished, and immaculately clean. For the second time that day he found himself looking at a woman who looked a bit worse for the wear.

“You look like crap,” he said.

She managed a smile. “I'm just tired. Twenty-two credits is a struggle, but I'm fine. Don't worry. I'm getting ready to broil some whitefish. I swear, I'm
always
hungry,” she added. Her belly was swollen to the point where it looked like the slightest jostle would make it pop.

He followed her into the kitchen, got a can of Diet Pepsi out of the fridge, popped the tab, and sat down. “Classes okay?”

“The usual grind,” she said. “Walter could read something once and get it. I have to pound everything into my brain and hope it doesn't drain away.”

The mention of his son made him gulp. “The baby?”

“No problems, though I'm getting kicked on a regular basis. We're still on for December twenty-eighth, and the doctor says everything looks normal and fine. I talked to my mum last night and she's coming down for a couple of weeks after I deliver.”

This news bothered him and he wasn't sure why. “I'll be here.”

“You have a job to do,” she said. “Mum can stay for a month if she needs to, and if we don't kill each other.”

“Is that likely?”

“Not really. She'll be so into grandmothering she'll leave me alone.” She looked over at him. “You don't look like you're on top of your game either.”

“A lot of driving.”

“I talk to McCants pretty regularly. She says you've been downstate.”

“I have,” was all he said.

“I told Candi she could bring Newf and Cat over here. I think it would be good to have company around.”

“What did she say?”

“No answer. I think she took it as criticism.”

The feelings of others, Service thought, were an endless minefield. He had enough of a challenge sorting out his own. “You seen Gus?”

“Stops by every couple of days. Shark and Limey, too. They all hover.” She lifted her hands and wiggled them. “Really, are
you
okay?”

“Just tired.”

“We promised to always level with each other,” she said, playing back a speech he had given her when he'd discovered she was pregnant and decided to take care of her.

“I've got a case that's sort of complicated,” he said.

“As a term paper that report would not make it,” she said with a chuckle.

They ate fish and lima beans and a simple mixed green salad and made small talk.

“Still the twenty-eighth, huh?” he said.

“That's
our
date, not the baby's. They have their own clocks. Don't worry. If you aren't here, Gus or Shark or Limey will jump right in.”

“It's my job,” he said. What he didn't say was that it was more a sense of need than anything else. “I'll be here.”

She patted him on the arm. “Relax, Grandpa . . . we'll all get through this.”

After dinner Karylanne studied and Service drove over to Gus Turnage's house, had a beer, and watched a Red Wings game with him. “Thanks for looking in on Karylanne.”

“She's a good kid; works her butt off.”

They sat in silence a long while before Gus said, “Messy case?”

“Very.”

“You'll wear them down,” his friend and colleague said.

Service wished he was as confident. He should have been less impulsive and postponed the raid on the plant, but when you were a game warden, you had to act fast or risk the evidence disappearing.

Stop making excuses,
he told himself.
You fucked up
.
Not your first time—won't be your last
.
Accept it and move on
.