Death Roe (15 page)

32

Wednesday, November 10, 2004

SARANAC, IONIA COUNTY

Service found a note from Denninger when he got back to the cabin: “Couch called. Subpoenas ready in GR. Back later. Don't wait dinner. D2.”

He checked the woodpile stack on the deck, brought more wood up from below the deck to fill the pile, and got the stove going. He sat down at the table and started going through copies of Piscova files, trying to cross-reference documents with people, and where needed, adding more names to the subpoena list. He had no experience with grand juries and wondered how far he—or they—could push. Doing this sort of work was necessary. And it was also annoying.
Deer season in five days and I'm making fucking lists
. It was embarrassing.

Roy Rogers called just before 7 p.m. “How goes it out there?” the New York ECO asked.

“Still trying to sort out what we have to do. There's a sitting grand jury and the Assistant U.S. Attorney is helping push through subpoenas.”

“Grand juries are finicky, and we're bumping against Thanksgiving. Not a hell of a lot gets done in New York State from Thanksgiving into the New Year. I called Fish and Wildlife and they were glad to hear from us, but they are bulldogging about helping us with subpoenas and warrants for our investigation.”

“Just to get in our way?”

“They don't really open up, but I got some signals that they may have somebody on the inside at Crimea, or at least a source cognizant of the company's activities. I think they don't want to blow their setup until they're ready.”

Service wasn't surprised. His experience with federal agencies had never been particularly satisfying. “What's that mean for us?”

“Military doctrine number one: Hurry up and wait.”

Service said, “There's a hearing here late next week on the Piscova samples.”

“The U.S. Attorney in Syracuse thinks you'll lose.”

Service cringed. Was it his fault?

“Doesn't really matter,” Rogers said. “The FDA will complete the DNA tests, and like you said the last time we talked, then we'll know. Even if we can't use the test results now, we'll still have them, and that will help us focus.”

The next call came from Buster Beal. Service could hear cheering and other loud noise in the background. “You sitting down?” the biologist asked.

“Only way to make my ass get as wide as yours.”

“Teeny quit!” Beal shouted, and this raised more noise in the background.

“Where
are
you?”

“Party.”

“What party?”

“ '
Cause Teeny's gone
. You deaf?”

“Getting that way.”

“That's great, right?”

“Stalin replaced Lenin,” Service said.

“Geez, you're a bloody downer, Grady. Wait. Candi's here.”

“So,” McCants said, “the animals have circulated a petition asking for custody to be shifted to me.”

“They can't read or write.”

“Shows how little attention you pay,” she said. “This Teeny thing is good for us, right?”

“Could be. Whoever the new director is, they're gonna have a fiscal mess to deal with.”

“Boy, you're a tough audience. Word is that the governor is going to ask Cecil Hopkins to step in as interim director.”

“He's got to be eighty.”

“Eighty is just a number,” she said.

Hopkins had been director more than a decade ago and had a good reputation with all parts of the department. “He's coming back to a far different situation than he left.”

“You know,” she said, “I was out of line the other night. How's Karylanne?”

“Tired, working hard, big as the front of a barrel trap.”

“That's an
awful
image. I was pissed at you but I thought about it, and I really do understand that you can't talk about what you're doing with Piscova.”

“Where'd you hear that?”

“See,” she said brightly, “that confirms it. Somebody got a call from one of the biologists at the RAM Center who said you were there, rattling their cages.”

Jesus,
he thought.
She played me exactly the way Beaker Salant said he'd play potential sources
. “You ought to become an investigative journalist,” he said.

“Huh?”

“Never mind,” he said.

“The thing is, I wasn't as interested in knowing what you were doing as in seeing you. There,” she added. “I've said it, and I'm not sorry.”

Service stared at the phone.

“Are you drunk?”

“It wouldn't take much,” she said, “but no, I'm on Diet Coke and still in uniform. Got anything to say about what I just said?”

“I think Hopkins will be good,” he said.

“You are such an asshole,” she grumbled, and he heard her say, “Chewy, talk to shit-for-a-heart.”

“What did you say to her?” Chewy asked. “She looks totally pissed.”

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, that would do it,” the biologist said. “I guess you haven't noticed that she's got a thing for you.”

“Have another drink,” Service said.

“Don't mind if I do, shit-for-a-heart.”

Service stared at the phone.
Candace McCants
. . .
a thing for me?
It made no sense, and worse, it made him feel like a louse.

Denninger came in a little while later. “There's a blurb on the radio saying Teeny's leaving the department
and
the state. Someone named Hopkins will replace him.”

“I just heard.”

“You know this Hopkins?”

“Way back. Good man.”

“That will be a change.”

“Doesn't affect us,” he said.

“Sure it does,” she said. “If Teeny's out of the department, it will be easier to subpoena him.”

He looked at her. Young or not, she was right. He had thought from the start that he wanted to subpoena Teeny just so they could yank his crank and find out how much he knew about the Piscova situation. Now that he had resigned, it would be a lot easier to get to the man, and if they got to him, others would know and some would start squirming.

Service called Chief Lorne O'Driscoll. “Am I interrupting anything?”

“No. Did you hear about Teeny?”

“That's what I'm calling about. He's on our subpoena list.”

“He's leaving for Key West tomorrow,” said the chief. “A month in the sun. No point chasing him down there. How're things going?”

“You heard about the Fisheries meeting?”

“Ad nauseum. What about the Piscova samples?”

“Too late. They went to FDA for testing,” said Service.

“Darn. We won't be able to use the results unless the judge rules the seizure legit.”

“I know. But if the eggs test positive for mirex, that will tell us we've got a real case.”

“Have you talked to Miars recently?” O'Driscoll asked.

“No.”

“He's up in Gaylord getting ready to work an elk undercover investigation. Did you and he have a confrontation with Teeny the other day?”

“Not what I'd call a confrontation,” said Service.

“Captain Black and Teeny came to see me; they want Miars reprimanded.”

“For what? He didn't do anything wrong.”

“I think he hurt the director's feelings, and at the time Black had no idea Teeny was leaving, so he tried to pile on.”

“Black wants me.”

“I know that,” the chief said. “How is it working out with Anniejo?”

“Good so far.”

“Make darn sure you're thorough in putting together the case. Her boss is a you-know-what, and if he finds an undotted ‘i,' he'll back away.”

“Why are we going through this?”

“Is Piscova dirty?”

“Absolutely.”

“There's your reason, Detective.”

33

Thursday, November 11, 2004

SARANAC, IONIA COUNTY

The phone rang just after 5 a.m. Service fumbled for it and heard Denninger grumble, roll noisily out of bed, and shuffle downstairs. “Service.”

“Andriaitis. Roxy's in the hospital and it doesn't look good. I'm in Minneapolis waiting for a connecting flight.”

“What happened?”

“I don't know the details. After her last checkup all her blood counts went screwy, and they can't seem to get it under control.”

Service heard a catch in the man's voice. “I'll drive up there.”

“No, no, just thought you should know. You sure as hell aren't going to do a deathbed interview.”

“I wouldn't do that.”

“She's going to die,” Andriaitis said, breaking into sobs.

“You sure you don't want me there?”

“What the fuck for? I don't even know you.”

“Call me and let me know how she is,” Service said, ignoring the man's outburst.

“You kick Quint Fagan's ass yet?”

“We're working on it.”

“Spoken like a true bureaucrap,” Andriaitis griped. “You fuckers are all the same—all talk and no action,” he added, hanging up abruptly.

Service was too awake now to go back to sleep and started downstairs. He met Denninger coming back upstairs, naked, and obviously unconcerned about it. “That how you sleep?”

“Yeah,” she said, pushing past him.

“I think we ought to talk about our sleeping arrangements,” he said.

“Not until I have coffee,” she mumbled over her shoulder.

As he put on the coffee he couldn't get the sight of her out of his mind. He thought about how she'd signed her note “D2” and laughed out loud, wondering if it was alliteration or something else? Both interpretations seemed to fit.

She came down in a sweatshirt with her hair mashed to the side of her head.

“Nudity offends you?” she asked.

“Not in the slightest. I'm thinking more about what's professionally appropriate.”

She rolled her eyes and poured a cup of coffee.

“I told you I'm not built for this hermit gig,” she said.

“We're colleagues. And you don't have to stay around seven days a week.”

“You are,” she said. “If you stay, I stay. We're a team.You ever get it on with a colleague?”

“None of your business. I just got a call. Lafleur is in the hospital and she may not make it.”

“If you keep me here I may not make it either,” she said.

“Okay, that's enough,” he snapped at her.

She sat down across from him and smiled seductively. “Admit it—you like what you saw.”

He did, but he wasn't about to admit it. His mind suddenly shifted to Candi, who was not half as attractive and had a chunkier build.

“You going to Marquette?” she asked.

“No, I think I'm going to go up to Traverse City to see Alma DeKoening. Who's on your list?”

“I'm still too sleepy to read, much less mine files.”

“I might swing over to see Miars after that. He's working an operation near Gaylord.”

“Okay,” she said. “I'll be fine when I'm awake. Sorry about earlier. I may have been out of line, but Nantz used to talk about you guys. You want to know what she said?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Too bad. It was real impressive.”

He went upstairs, came back down, showered and shaved, dressed, and got into his truck to head for Traverse City, his head muddled by Denninger, but even more so by McCants.

“Celibacy is a good thing,” he told himself as he started the engine. “Fewer complications.”

34

Friday, November 12, 2004

TRAVERSE CITY, GRAND TRAVERSE COUNTY

He called DeKoening at Piscova. “This is Detective Service,” he began. “I thought we might sit down and talk.”

“You are going to get me fired.”

“That's not my intention. The fact is, I might just save your life.”

“What's this all about?” she asked.

“Meet me and we'll talk.”

“I guess. You know Fowler's in Buckley?”

“No.”

“It's a bar. Buckley is south of TC. Say six p.m.?”

The bar was a typical small-town operation, filled with gaudy neon beer advertising, shelves loaded with thirty different flavors of brandy, and an overweight clientele sporting Kentucky waterfall haircuts and wearing jackets advertising their favorite snowmobile manufacturers—the NASCAR-on-snow look. There were no stools open at the bar, but several tables in the shadows in back. Service grabbed the table closest to the door, ordered coffee, and sat back to wait for DeKoening.

She came in a few minutes late. He tried to flag her down as she walked by but she headed deeper into the darkened area and sat down. He picked up his coffee and followed.

She wore a quilted winter coat and a fur hat. “You wanted to talk, so talk,” she said.

“You want a cup of coffee? Kind of cold out there today.”

She shook her head and crossed her arms in defiance.

“No need to cop an attitude,” Service said. “This is a friendly talk.”

“He blames me,” she blurted out.

“Vandeal?”

“Quint.”

“Blames you for what?”

“For you and major hooter girl coming to the plant that night.”

Major hooter girl? He almost laughed out loud. “We saw you hand off the eggs.”

“What eggs?” she asked.

Was she stupid, or just scared? He couldn't tell yet. “Look, we saw you pay for and collect the eggs at Devils River, and we saw you deliver the eggs and spend a half-hour in Veatch's trailer in South Boardman.”

“Shit,” she muttered. “I guess maybe I'll take a drink, but not coffee—something real. I'm screwed, aren't I?”

“Not necessarily. Cooperation counts for a lot.” Service waved over a waitress who took DeKoening's order for a Captain Morgan and Coke.

“My luck, like, totally sucks,” she announced.

“How's that?”

“This job. It was too good to be true.”

“You may be right about that,” he said.

“Am I, like, busted?”

“For what?”

She threw her head back and sighed. “
Dude
, I don't know. Like, all I want to do is my job.”

“You mixed New York eggs with Michigan eggs.”

“Just for taste.”

“Fagan told you that?”

“Mr. Vandeal.”

“You've only been employed for a few months, so you're probably okay.”

The waitress brought the drink. “Run a tab, hon?” she asked Service.

“Please.”

DeKoening tasted her drink and closed her eyes for a second. “Like, what do you mean, I'm probably okay?”

“You know what's in the New York eggs?”

“Sludge? You know, like mud or something.”

“It's not sludge or mud,” Service said. “It's mirex.”

She took another drink. “We made casseroles in Pyrex dishes when I was a kid.”

“Mirex is a chemical.”

“What kind of chemical—a bad one?”

“It was used as a fire retardant in plastics, paint, and other things and as a pesticide to kill fire ants.”

“That's good, right?”

“It works for what it's designed for, but not so good in the human body.”

She gave him the hard eye. “Maybe you're just tryin' to creep me out.”

“You can get mirex in your system just by touching contaminated dirt.”

“I don't touch dirt,” she said. “My last boyfriend always wanted to get it on out on a blanket, but I said,
ewww,
no dirt, no bugs, you know . . .
down there
.”

Could she be this dim? “You've only done the eggs this fall. You should be okay.”

“You keep saying that.”

He was pretty sure he was getting her attention. “You still running the caviar line at the plant?”

“I don't think I should say,” she said. “Do you think I need to call my lawyer?”

“It's your choice and your right to have an attorney.”

“What's the chemical do to people?”

“Cancer, maybe. It's been shown to cause cancer in mice and rats, in their livers and kidneys. It also alters reproduction.”

She made a sour face and pointed to her lap. “Like, can it do something to how you feel . . . ya know, down there?”

“It affects having babies.”

She took another drink. “That's okay,” she said. “I don't want kids, but I like the other part a lot.” She squinted at him. “How come you know so much? You're not a doctor; you're just the game warden.”

“I'd suggest you give your predecessor a call, but she's in the hospital.”

“Shuuut up,” DeKoening said. Then, “For real?”

“Very real.”

“Cancer?”

He nodded.

“My mother had cancer, but she's okay. You think Ms. Lafleur will be okay?”

“That's not in my hands,” he said. “Like you said, I'm not a doctor.”

“I don't want to talk about this anymore.”

“I wouldn't either.”

She stared at her drink and stirred it with her finger. “You really think I could get cancer?”

“You're right. I'm not a doctor, but I'm pretty confident if you stop tasting and handling contaminated eggs, you won't get cancer from that source.”

“I get paid
real
good,” she said. “And I work hard.”

“It's your choice,” he said. “I just thought you ought to know.”

“Maybe I'm not buyin' what you're sellin', dude,” she said defiantly.

“Be a good idea if you did. There are a lot of other jobs.”

“Not in this state.”

“There are forty-nine other states.”

“I was supposed to go to New York, but Quint says I'm not fully trained yet. I'll go next fall.”

“So you didn't go there to select eggs? You'd think he'd have given you at least one trip this year.”

“I didn't say anything about eggs,” she said. “And I told him that, too.”

“Did you tell him when you had your clothes on, or off?”

“That's, like,
so
rude,” she said.

“Lafleur took her clothes off.”

“No way,” DeKoening said. “Quint said—”

“You were the first?”

“Stop it!” she said. She got up and headed for the door.

Service intercepted her before she could get her car started and knelt beside the driver's seat. She was crying and looked over at him. “For real, what you said about Ms. Lafleur?”

“Afraid so.”

She bumped her head softly on the steering wheel. “Dude, this is, like, a
total
mindfuck.”

He understood, even felt for her.

“What we're doing is wrong,” she said to herself.

Service knew she was trying to make a decision and that she was almost there.

“The last line will run night after tomorrow,” she said, looking him in the eye. “I have to go now.”

Service had to jump back to keep from being knocked over by the open door.

Strange meeting, but she had given him something solid. He went back inside and paid the tab and started driving toward Gaylord. As he drove he called Rogers in New York. “Piscova's going to run the caviar line two nights from now.”

“You're sure?”

“Impeccable source.”

“Can you get warrants?”

“Pretty sure.”

“What's the probable cause?”

“The new Caviar Queen admits they mix eggs for taste.”

“We need to get the samples legally,” Rogers said.

“I'll take care of it.”

“I'll call Fish and Wildlife. If the shipment gets past you, maybe they can intercept for us.”

Was Rogers questioning his competency? He couldn't blame the man, but it hurt.

Alerting Fish and Game made sense, but something about the girl's whole performance and sudden dramatic departure left him feeling uneasy. “You going to call them tonight?'

“Not that urgent,” Rogers said.

“I'd do it tonight,” Service said. “Err on the side of caution.”

“I hear you. Call me when it goes down, okay?”

Service called Assistant U.S. Attorney Couch. “Piscova's going to run another caviar line, night after tomorrow. I just got this from the woman who supervises the line.”

“She fishing for a deal?”

“Not sure yet.”

“Promise considerations only, nothing concrete.”

“Roxanne Lafleur is in the hospital in Marquette. She may not make it. If she doesn't, that changes everything, right?”

“Not necessarily. We could try for negligent homicide, but proving this kind of thing usually regresses into a scientific turd fight. We probably can use it to leverage cooperation if she dies.”

“Even if the mirex kills her?”

“Like I said, it's nearly impossible to prove that. We'd have a better chance if she were a mouse or a rat.”

Service felt a cold stone in his belly. At least Couch was reading stuff that related to the case. He had just read the scientific papers himself.

He was in no mood to see Miars. Too nervous, too many things to think about. He was heading through Kalkaska toward Grayling and the interstate to the south when his cell phone rang.

“Dude, I'm sorry,” Alma DeKoening said. “The line I told you about? It ran last night. I told Quint we were going to meet and he told me what to say, but he never mentioned cancer. I am so fucking out of there.”

“Don't run,” he said, but she hung up before he could say anything more.

Goddammit!
He called Denninger. “Have you got Alma DeKoening's address?”

“Didn't she show up?”

“I met her, but I need her address.”

Denninger found it and read it to him and he wrote it in his notebook. He called Station 20 in Lansing on Channel 25 and asked the dispatcher to call the Traverse City State Police Post and ask them to send a unit to DeKoening's address. If she was home, they should hold her until he could get there.

Halfway back to Traverse City he got a radio call from the Troop who handled the call. “Subject's not there, DNR Twenty Five Fourteen.”

“Copy,” Service said.
Fuck!

The Troop asked, “You want me to ask the county to sit on this place?”

“That would be good,” Service said. “If she shows, ask the county to apprehend and hold her in their lockup.”

“What charges?”

“We have twenty-four hours to sort it out,” Service said.
Goddammit to hell
. So close, now
this
. Their slam-dunk case was looking more like a desperation shot-at-the-buzzer. Life had been so much easier in his old job.

He called Rogers and told him the bad news. Rogers had not yet called Fish and Wildlife.

He also called Couch and informed her.

“You still want warrants?” she asked.

“No point. The stuff will be gone.”

“You sound pissed,” she said.

“I am.”

“Pissed is good,” she said. “I like my investigators to be pissed. It sharpens their wits.”