Chasing a Blond Moon (33 page)

“I'll ask.”

Thirty minutes later they were in another room with VCRs, and Service was inserting a cassette.

It took a while to find Outi Ranta, but he found her. Two cameras had captured her. One had her alone at the registration desk. Another had gotten her from behind as she walked toward the desk. The dress she wore barely reached her thighs, and walking beside her and looking back at something was Charley Fahrenheit.

Outi Ranta was Hannah. “I'll be damned,” he said.

“You've got something?” Grinda asked.

“Something is a good word,” he said, neither specific, nor with meaning. What was Outi Ranta doing with Fahrenheit? He was back in that swamp, and had just gotten to solid ground when it now appeared to be a patch of quicksand.

“I want a copy of this tape,” he told Officer Ucumtwi, who went away to arrange it.

The night manager personally brought the tape to them. “If you need anything else, please call me directly.” She gave Service her card.

“Do you have the registration card for the person in the photo?”

The manager smiled triumphantly and handed him a fresh copy. “Keep it,” she said.

He scanned it quickly. Outi Ranta of Gladstone, and her address was correct. The box for a comp was checked and on the line beside reason someone had scribbled, “Gold Feather.”

Service looked at the manager. “Gold Feather?”

“A special group of guests who spend at least two weeks a year at our hotel.”

“High rollers?” he asked.

“Something like that,” Liksabong said before she walked away.

Monica Ucumtwi leaned close to him and whispered, “Vendors.”

Ranta and her husband had been in the hardware business for a long time. Service had never known they were gamblers. “Like hardware?” he asked.

“Personal service vending,” the tribal deputy said.

Service was jolted. “A pro?”

Ucumtwi smiled. “The casino certainly doesn't comp amateurs.”

It was 2 a.m. and Service was too tired to head back to Gladstone. He looked at Simon. “Okay if I bunk at your place for a few hours?”

Simon and Grinda exchanged a glance, and Sheena said, “You can crash with us.”

Service looked her in the eye and she began to smile.

“Us, eh?”

She nodded and kept grinning.

25

Service was first up in the morning, made a phone call to Walter, and started preparing for breakfast. Grinda and del Olmo came through the kitchen in sweats and running shoes. “Don't play in traffic, kids,” Service said with a chuckle.

When they came back they showered while he started pancakes.

They were in uniform when they sat down at the kitchen table, their clip-on ties side by side between them. “A regular family breakfast,” Service said.

“We're pleased to be the source of your amusement,” del Olmo said.

“My, we're touchy today.”

Grinda smiled. Service had no idea what was between them, but whatever it was, it seemed to agree with Sheena.

The three of them stood by their trucks in the early morning sun. “The light's getting flat,” Service observed. “Winter's coming.”

He didn't ask what they were going to be doing. Officers were expected to know their areas, make their own plans, and follow their own instincts.

Walter was waiting on the sidewalk outside his dorm, a backpack slung over one shoulder as he slid into the truck and looked at his father's face, flashing a questioning look.

“I know,” Service said. “I know. S'up?”

Walter laughed, closed his eyes, put his head back. He seemed both relaxed and tense. “It's hard here. I'm in the books all the time.”

“Are you feeling all right?”

“I've never studied so much or skated so hard. I can't keep up with these guys.”

“You will,” Service said.

They ate sandwiches at a shop near the campus. “You aren't saying anything about work,” Walter said.

“There are more important things than a job.”

“What I meant is that you aren't talking at all.”

Service looked at his son and saw himself looking across a table at his father—in a bar, his father drunk and surly and putting him down whenever he tried to speak.

“Food, us, that's enough.”

Walter nodded. “Gestalt.”

Service said, “I didn't sneeze.”

Walter laughed. “You can be funny.”

“It wasn't a joke.”

“
That's
what makes it funny,” his son said.

Service started to say something, but Walter stopped him. “I know,” he said. “It's cool. Is Maridly still flying?”

“She comes home Friday night.”

“I like her,” Walter said.

“It's mutual,” Service said.

He took his son to a building on campus. They shook hands in the truck. “You all right for cash?”

Walter said, “Too busy to need money.”

Service tried to hand him two twenties, but Walter pushed them back. “You know that commercial on TV?”

“I don't watch much TV,” Service said.

“The punch line is ‘priceless.' When you see it you'll know what I mean.”

“Mar and I will call you Saturday.”

“Make it afternoon. Rocky and I have a practice with our kids in the morning.”

“You like working with him?”

Walter smiled. “He's different. He loves to get in the net to stop shots. I do all the power skating work. He's like an overgrown kid.”

Father and son looked at each other, said in unison, “Goalie.”

Service stopped to see Pyykkonen. She glanced up from her cluttered desk. “I thought you died, and by the looks of you, maybe you did.”

“I know.”

“You're gonna like this,” she said. “I talked to a detective in Charlottesville who says they busted fifty-two people for bear poaching. They recovered three hundred gallbladders. One of the couples they got said they've been in the business more than ten years and have been selling three hundred galls a year.”

“When?”

“The busts were made in 2001 after more than three years of digging. Virginia Inland Game and Fisheries worked with U.S. Fish and Wildlife and the Park Service. The ring was operating in the Blue Ridge Mountains, including Shenandoah National Park. The only regret here is that they never got the main money man.”

“They ID him?”

“No, all they know is that he's Asian and fled the area before the grand jury came down with indictments.”

“The timing coincides with Harry Pung's move to Tech.”

“You must be a detective,” Pyykkonen said.

He told her about Colliver and Fahrenheit and how Ficorelli had helped—but only his official role. “Wayno asked about you,” he added.

She shook her head. “He'll get over it.” Service wanted to ask her about Shark Wetelainen, but restrained himself. He didn't want his friend hurt, but it was none of his business.

“Did you run Harry Pung's name past the Virginia people?”

“They said all they know is that the money man is Asian. I don't think they were ducking.”

“Be nice to know if Pung's son was with him in Blacksburg.”

“He wasn't. I called the university and they said his records show no son. She handed him a folder. “From Virginia Tech, and the Michigan Tech papers are in there too. They don't square with each other. This whole thing is about bears,” Pyykkonen said.

“I know,” Service said. There were a lot of things he might have shared, but didn't.

He called Fern LeBlanc on his way past the Marquette office. “The Captain's calls are piling up,” she said in a disapproving tone of voice.

“Tell the Cap'n I'm just not management material.”

“Are you coming in?”

“No. Pass the most important messages to McKower.”

“I already have,” LeBlanc said.

Nantz's plane flared a little before 9 p.m. and settled for a firm landing, the tires squirting tiny jets of smoke as rubber struck concrete.

He watched her walk around the plane, making her post-flight inspection and talking calmly to a mechanic while glancing over at him, a smile dominating her face.

She came to him on the run and her clipboard clattered on the ground as she leaped and threw her arms and legs around him. He almost fell while they were kissing.

“Man, oh man,” she whispered as she hugged him. “Man, oh man. There's a case of Bell's in the bird, and a case of wine.”

They went out to get them. He carried them both and his arm and broken finger throbbed.

“You look like you got flogged with a frozen pork chop,” she said. “I can't wait to get naked,” she added.

He pulled into Outi Ranta's driveway and Nantz gave him a look.

“What's this?”

The red Jeep was there, but no gray Honda. “I have to talk to Outi.”

“Outi or Honeypat?” Nantz asked, raising an eye.

“You'd better stay here,” he said.

He knocked several times on the door but got no answer.

He tried the door. It was open. “Outi Ranta?” he called into the hallway.

Only silence.

He took one step inside and looked to the right into the kitchen and saw her, sitting at the table, her head on her hands. There was a large, empty glass in front of her.

“Outi?”

She looked up, her eyes glazed and distant.

“Outi?”

“Yeah, Grady.”

“Have you been drinking?”

“What if I have?”

“I want to talk to you.”

“Go away,” she said, putting her head down.

“I want to talk to you about the casino in Watersmeet. And Charley Fahrenheit.”

Ranta looked over at him. “What about it?”

“You want to tell me about it?”

“Get a warrant,” she said.

“Outi, I'm just asking questions.”

“Some things are none of your business.”

“They are when they involve breaking the law.”

“I didn't break no laws,” she said, perking up.

“Outi, you were working with Fahrenheit. They were poaching bears. There's a whole chain of things and it all starts with a homicide.”

“You mean a murder?”

“A murder.”

She became animated. “I had nothing to do with a murder. I had a little fun is all.”

“You got Fahrenheit to steal cable.”

“He never said he stole it. Said he could lay his hands on some.”

“For what?”

“Not my idea,” she said, getting up and walking to an island in the kitchen where a bottle of vodka stood.

“It was like a big game, ya know?” she said. “Just some fun.”

Service took the bottle and put it on a counter, out of her reach.

“Outi, listen to me! You got comped into a room as part of the Gold Feather Club.”

“I'm a good customer,” she said defiantly.

“My understanding is that Gold Feathers do more selling than spending.”

Outi Ranta went back to her chair and sat down. “I knew when Honeypat showed up this would go in the tank. She was a big help when Onte died. I owed her for that, hey.”

No tears, no breaking voice. Outi Ranta seemed to be a very tough woman. “Honeypat and I go way back—to high school. We dropped out, went with men. We didn't like school.”

“High school where?”

“Detour.” This was on the far eastern tip of the peninsula, across from Drummond Island.

“You're Tribal?”

“Same as Honeypat.”

He didn't ask if she had been a prostitute.

“I left the life when I met Onte,” she said. “Met him in Windsor. He didn't care about my past.”

“Why Fahrenheit?”

She rubbed her fingers together. “Onte left the business in bad shape. I needed cash to pull it out.”

Did this qualify as greed? Service wondered.

“You did this for Honeypat?”

“Her idea. She said I could make some money and have some fun, like the old days. And I was ready.”

“She asked you to get cable?”

“Everything was her idea.”

“Was Limpy involved?”

Outi Ranta made a sour face. “That
animal?
No way.”

Service was not so sure. “Where's Honeypat now?”

“Gone.”

“Where?”

“Don't have a clue,” she said. “How'd you get to me?”

“Cameras at the casino,” he said. “They tape almost everything.”

“I told Honeypat that, and she said there was no way anyone would ever know it was me. Am I goin' to jail?” She looked directly at him, her eyes challenging and pleading.

“Not if you help me. If Honeypat makes contact, you call me first thing and you don't tell her we've talked. Can you do that?” He put one of his business cards on the table.

“I don't want to go to jail.”

“Then help me,” he said. She had received stolen goods and there was probably more, but if Honeypat had set up the whole thing, Outi was just a minor player. With his intercession, the prosecutor might agree to go easy on her.

“You really have to help me to help yourself, Outi.”

“Yeah, like I'm supposed to trust a cop?”

“You don't have much choice.”

“Honeypat,” she said angrily. “I knew better than to let her into my life again.”

He left her in the kitchen and went out to the truck. Nantz looked at him. “Are we going inside for a ménage à trois?” She was grinning.

They went straight up to bed, took off their clothes, and fell on the bed.

He woke up in the middle of the night. Nantz was sitting up next to him, light from the hallway illuminating her breasts in a pale yellow glow.

“Did we?” he asked.

“You fell asleep,” she said.

“I'm awake now.”

Her hand touched him. “That is a distinctly provable fact. I will try to be gentle.”

“How am I doing?” she whispered after several minutes. “Wonderful,” he said, wincing. Maridly's idea of gentle was somewhat different from that of other women he had known.