Running Dark (21 page)

31

GARDEN PENINSULA, FEBRUARY 28, 1976

“Don't look like youse broke nothin' important.”

It was a Saturday night, and Lasurm had dropped him a mile east of Garden just after dark. From there, he had made his way toward town to a copse of trees along Garden Creek where he sat and watched Roadie's Bar. The parking lot was full, and stayed so until nearly 3
a.m.,
meaning the owners were probably violating state liquor laws. He made a mental note to pass this along. When the parking lot was finally empty, he crept onto the porch and quickly hung his message. Each frozen deer heart had a cardboard name tacked to it. All the hearts were skewered vertically on a long, thick willow branch. He used a rock to drive one nail into the main post in front of the bar. Above the deer hearts he left a sign that said
soon to fall.
Peletier's name was not on the list; Renard's and Lapalme's were.

Service went from Roadie's to Lapalme's where he used lock grips to decommission both vehicles in Moe's driveway, dumped sugar in three snowmobiles, and left a note: “Run while you can.”

Lasurm met him just north of Lapalme's at 5
a.m.,
drove him to Big Bay de Noc School, and parked in the faculty lot.

“They'll be watching your trailer,” she said.

“I'll place an ad in the paper,” he told her. They had already agreed to meet again, and he knew it would not be solely for DNR business. There was no parting kiss. They did not say good-bye. He got out of her truck, hoisted his unwieldy gear bag, and trudged northeast through the fields and woods toward US 2.

Joe Flap's pickup was backed into the drifted-over opening of a two-track, and the white-clad Service slid quietly out of the tree line, tossed his gear into the bed of the truck, and got into the passenger seat.

“Nice you could make it,” Service said.

“I'm always where I promise ta be,” the pilot said, grinning. “Don't look like youse broke nothin' important.”

“Drive,” Service said, wanting to put distance between himself and the peninsula he had haunted for two weeks. He'd broken laws. What was more important than that?

“People're wonderin' where youse've been,” Flap said, doing a U-turn across US 2 to head west.

As they passed Foxy's Den at Garden Corners, Service saw a garbage truck turning south on Garden Road.

PART IV

FAITH IN LIGHT

32

MARQUETTE, MARCH 2, 1976

“You have an outlaw's heart.”

Moe Lapalme's rifle was on a small table in Attalienti's office. “It took awhile, but Len managed to find it,” the acting captain said. “No prints, and the serial number has been filed off. How'd it get to the bottom of the bluff?”

“Forgetfulness,” Service said, piling his notebook and maps on Attalienti's table and explaining how he had found Lapalme setting up to shoot at officers on the ice off Fayette.

The acting captain nodded. “Too bad we don't have a round from the earlier shootings.” Meaning, having the rifle was not adequate evidence. “But I guess it's one less long gun for the rats,” Attalienti said.

There was something peculiar in the acting captain's demeanor. Wariness, maybe?

Attalienti said, “I have an idea how you got into the Garden, and I'm not happy about it. Joe Flap flew out of Marquette on Valentine's Day night, and the people over there called me to complain about our reckless ways. They assumed it was an official department flight.”

Service decided to keep his mouth shut, to neither confirm nor deny.

Attalienti continued. “I told you before you went that the mission was strictly surveillance, no enforcement.”

“I didn't do any law enforcement,” Service said.

“You took a man's rifle.”

“Was I supposed to let him take a shot at our guys?”

“You're clairvoyant? You
knew
he would shoot? We can't punish intent.”

“It was clear to me what was going on.” What was Attalienti driving at?

“Delta County has been getting a steady stream of complaints from the Garden—vandalism, harassment. That jerk, Ranse Renard, accused us of harassment.” Attalienti paused and looked at Service. “All the complaints fall during the past two weeks. You wouldn't know anything about that, right?”

Service didn't answer.

“If one of my men turned vigilante, I would be forced to deal harshly with him.”

“Do you want my report, sir?” Service asked.

Attalienti nodded, and Service launched into a forty-five-minute verbal recounting of what he had seen, including names and addresses of all the rats, where they met, how they operated, how their trails and meeting places worked. He had delivered everything the captain had asked for—everything but his understanding that Lansing's unspoken goals would undercut anything law enforcement tried in the Garden. “The real force down there is Pete Peletier,” Service concluded, “and he's smart enough to keep separated from everything. We'll have one hell of a time nailing him.”

The acting captain said gruffly, “Those are the same names as the complainants.”

Service put a check mark next to six houses on the plat maps. All the houses were along Garden Road, spread out over five miles. “That's the crow line,” Service said. Lasurm had identified these during his first night with her.

Attalienti looked at the map. “Difficult to evade,” he said, “strung out that far.”

“Have to run dark at night, in unmarkeds by day.”

“Running dark on Garden Road is dangerous. It's not some two-track back in the bush.”

“They operate at night,” Service said. “We have to be out there when they're out there. Maybe the phone company could switch off the lines for a brief period.”

“That would work once,” Attalienti said sarcastically.

“Or maybe the phones could suffer a spontaneous malfunction.”

Attalienti glared at him. “You have an outlaw's heart. We will not break laws to enforce laws.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of an act of God,” Service lied. “Do you know Sun Tzu?”

“The Chinese restaurant in Ishpeming?”

Before Service could reply, the other man said, “Peletier isn't on the list of complainants?”

Service said, “His recent luck seems to have been better than the rest of them, which probably has them wondering why.”

Attalienti shook his head disapprovingly and held up his hands. “Delta County won't respond to the complaints. They've asked the Troops to handle them.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow or the next day. I asked them to hold off until I knew you were back and safe.”

“I'd like to go with them.”

“That's your basic stupid idea. You're going back to the Mosquito and you're going to stay there.”

“I thought I was part of the Garden team.”

“Not anymore.”

“I want to help.”

“And I want to keep a good warden employed.”

“I'm out?”

“Out of the Garden.”

When he had returned to his trailer, Service had been forced to crawl through snowbanks six feet deep. He and Joe Flap had dug out the door so he could get inside to turn on the heat and water. Now as he drove up to the trailer, he saw that the area had been freshly plowed. Len Stone was sitting in a truck with an oversize plow on the front. Service invited him in and the acting lieutenant put a bottle of Jack Daniel's on the table in the kitchen area, peeled off his parka, and sat down.

“I ain't here,” Stone said, uncapping the bottle and holding it out to the young officer. “Deano ream your ass?”

“He said I'm off the Garden team.”

“Dat's just cap'n talk. He's gotta protect his own ass, eh? But da Garden's mine, and I choose who I want wit' me. You don't gotta say anyting. I figure Joe Flap flew you down dere and you used a parachute, which is about da craziest bloody ting I ever heard,” Stone said with a wide grin. “Deano suspects da same, but I don't tink he can make up his mind ta say parachute. He sent me ta talk ta Joe Flap, but Joe, he's one of us. All he said was he wanted ta fly dat night.”

Service took a slug of whiskey and passed it back to Stone, who said, “Youse got da rats whinin' like a buncha babies!”

“They already replaced the nets we took,” Service said.

“I told youse, dis is about money. You messed wit' dere trucks and snowbugs and dat was good, but you can't be doin' dat stuff no more. You make your report to Deano?”

Service nodded. “He said I have the heart of an outlaw.”

Stone laughed and nodded. “Can't be good at dis job if you don't!”

“I want back in,” Service said.

Stone held up his hands. “Take 'er easy an' hold da horses. Not right away. For now youse concentrate on keepin' yer nose clean. Bottom line, you stole dat man's rifle, an' I don't want to know what else. If it come out it was youse, dere'd be trouble, and I'm tellin' youse, Lansing would let yer ass swing in the wind. So youse just take care of da Mosquito, and when it's time ta come back, I'll let youse know. Ask me, dis ting is gonna go on for a long time.”

Service explained much of what he had seen, and after a couple of hours, Stone put on his coat and stuck out his hand. “I can't say what you done down dere is right, but everybody's been in dis job has had ta make da same kinda decisions. Maybe you wandered off da legal reservation, but I hope youse did it for good reasons, Grady.”

When Stone was gone, Grady Service couldn't sleep. What he had done in the Garden was wrong, and so were his reasons. This wasn't Vietnam. It wasn't even a real war. He had sworn to uphold the law, and had stepped over the line for spurious reasons. He vowed that from here on, as long as his career lasted, he would go to the line, but no further. Shuck Gorley was right: An officer's mind was what counted. He had acted like his old man would have acted. Never again: It was time to be himself, not the shadow of his father. His last thought of the night was that he would bust Pete Peletier—no matter how long it took.

33

MARQUETTE, MARCH 15, 1976

“You fight dirty.”

Cecilia Lasurm was waiting for him on the sidewalk in front of the Marquette County Jail. The snowbanks along the street were six feet high and smudged gray from vehicle exhaust. Snow was falling and would soon lighten the dreary gray. Lasurm was wrapped tight in an ankle-length parka. Her call had taken him by surprise.

“I need to talk to you,” she had said, and he agreed. March was the dead month for most game wardens, a time between seasons; a time to repair and replace gear, and wait for the snowmelt when the action would start up again and the poachers would be on the big lake after spawners. He was still tired from his sojourn in the Garden, glad for the respite, glad to be home in his Mosquito.

She looked small, with lines etched around her eyes. Her face was red from the cold wind. “Thank you for coming,” she greeted him.

“We could've talked elsewhere.”

“Trust me,” she said, taking his hand and leading him into the building.

They signed in and walked down to an interrogation room. Inside, a white-haired man sat at a table with the girl who had stabbed Gumby.

Lasurm said, “Her father and I never married. She was born when we were both sixteen. He joined the Coast Guard after high school and never came back. I can't blame him. Anise was headstrong from the beginning. When she was sixteen she got mixed up with the wrong people. She always thought of herself as a pathfinder and rebel, but she wasn't. She was easily led. Three years ago she fell in with Moe Lapalme—she was nineteen. I threw her out. She lived with Moe for awhile, drifted on, and took her father's name.”

Lapalme had to be twice the girl's age, and Service suddenly saw the blue pickup truck racing by the Fishdam boat access, the girl with the long blond hair, and it all fell into place. “You knew she was back,” he said.

“Word goes around the Garden,” she said with a shrug.

“All that stuff you told me,” he said, “about your reasons.”

“I meant it all. My daughter just makes it more personal.”

“You might have mentioned this before,” he said.

“Would it have changed anything?”

He shook his head. “You called me up here to tell me this?”

“And to talk to Odd Hegstrom.”

Service stared into the room. The man was talking to the girl, pushed back in his chair looking passive. “Her attorney,” Service said.

“He would like to talk to you,” she said, opening the door.

“Are you coming in?” he asked her.

“I can't,” Lasurm said as he stepped into the room.

The young woman's hair was clean and untangled, but her eyes remained blank. She looked only a little like her mother.

Hegstrom pulled out a chair. “Thank you for coming, Officer Service. I believe you've met Anise Aucoin.”

“Briefly,” Service said, not looking at her. “Should there be a DNR lawyer here, or somebody from the prosecutor's office?”

Hegstrom's gaunt cheeks puffed. “What do you think?”

“I don't really know,” Service admitted.

“How about if we make this off the record?”

“Is there such a thing?”

“There is with me. Did you actually see my client wield a knife?” Hegstrom asked. “Or any weapon?”

“She was in another room, in the dark. Everything is in my report.”

“Yes or no?”

“No, but she was the only other person in the room.”

“We're not in court, Officer Service, and you're not an attorney arguing a case. I'm just trying to understand what happened. If you couldn't see inside the room, you can't be certain what transpired. Would you agree?”

“The victim came out, the lights went on, the woman was the only person in there,” Service said. What was Hegstrom after?

“Did you look under the bed, in the closets, outside the window? Was there an attic?”

Service said, “No, no, no, and I don't know. You can play this ludicrous game, but a jury won't buy it. There were deputies with me. It's their crime to investigate.”

“Persuading a jury is like writing a pop hit,” Hegstrom said. “The chords are all the same. You just have to find the most appealing order.”

“My job is apprehension. Others handle prosecution.”

“Did you read my client her rights?”

This caught him off guard. He assumed the deputies had done this. “I personally didn't Mirandize her.”

Hegstrom rubbed his chin. “What was my client's demeanor when you entered the room?”

“She had concealed weapons.”

“Bolts are weapons even without the crossbow to propel them?”

“She had just stabbed a man. The crossbow was close by.”

“You allege.”

“She had bolts by her leg, under the covers. They have sharp points. What're we doing here, counselor?”

“How did my client react when you entered the room?”

“She didn't.”

“Did she threaten you in any way?”

“No.”

“Are you saying she was unresponsive?”

“No. She asked if I wanted to see her breasts.”

The woman smiled, the first sign that she was mentally present.

“What did you think?” Hegstrom asked.

“I didn't. The first priority was to clear the room of weapons.”

“Where was the knife?”

“Stuck in the victim's back.”

“I see,” Hegstrom said thoughtfully. “And where is that weapon now?”

“In evidence with the county.”

“You personally secured it?”

“No, the deputies did.”

“Has the integrity of the chain of custody been maintained?”

“You'll have to take that up with the county.”

“My client's prints were not on the knife. Did you know that? How do you explain that, given the charges against her?”

No prints?
Nobody had told him this. Had Detective Kobera tried to call him about this while he was in the Garden? He kept quiet.

Hegstrom continued. “No fingerprints, Officer Service. Again, what was your impression of my client's emotional state when you entered the room?”

“I thought she was out of it.”

“Unresponsive?”

“Out of it,” Service said. “Jacked up—on a long flight with no ETA.”

“Is that a medical diagnosis?”

“It's a professional observation.”

“You have no medical or psychiatric training.” It was not a question.

“Obviously not. Is this a deposition?”

“Do you see a recorder here? This is off the record, Officer. What we hear you saying is that you never personally witnessed the alleged stabbing, and you did not read Miss Aucoin her rights, or secure the evidence. You also appear to be unaware that no prints were recovered.”

“You're oversimplifying everything,” Service said.

“Facts
are
simple by definition,” Hegstrom countered. “It's the array and interplay of facts, the interpolation and interpretation that render them complex.”

“Are we done?”

“I didn't mean to irritate you,” the lawyer said.

“I'm not good at mind games,” Service said.

Hegstrom tilted his head and smiled. “I would think a game warden would be especially adept at such games. I've never met a police officer who hasn't bent the rules or occasionally broken them to make a case.”

Service got to his feet. Was Hegstrom signaling that he knew he had been in the Garden? Had Lasurm told him? He left the room with a sense of dread and immediately began to try to replay the events of the stabbing. Who had removed the knife? Ambulance personnel? More likely it was someone in the emergency room. He hadn't read Aucoin her rights because that fell to the deputies who had actually made the arrest. In the future, he told himself, he would make sure he did this and not depend on others. How could the knife have no prints? Hegstrom had asked if they had checked the window or closet, and whether there was an attic—why was he asking such questions? Most importantly, had Cecilia Lasurm betrayed him for the sake of her daughter?

Hegstrom looked at him. “To paraphrase something, Grady—remember that faith in light is admirable at night.”

Lasurm was not in the area of the room when he emerged. He found her out on the sidewalk, looking cold. “You want to let me in on what's going on?” he demanded, barely containing his growing rage.

“My daughter's a junkie,” she said.

“That excuses her behavior?” he shot back at her.

“Don't be ridiculous. A substance abuser is responsible under the law.”

“Do you doubt she did it?” he challenged.

“It's Hegstrom's job to find out.”

“No,” he said angrily. “The police determine that. Hegstrom's job is to make sure we've done our jobs fair and square, and that his client gets a fair trial.”

“That
client
is my daughter.”

“Hegstrom intimated that he knew I was on the Garden.”

“I don't think for him,” she said. “He didn't hear any such thing from me.”

Service stared at her. “How far would you go to save your daughter?”

“I resent that question,” she snapped at him.

“Answer me.”

“She deserves the best defense, but I would never betray a confidence. I thought you understood that.”

“You don't exactly have forever to let this thing run its course.”

She bristled and furrowed her brows. “I'm well aware of my circumstances. You fight
dirty.
”

“I have a dirty job.”

“Which you chose to make dirtier in the Garden,” she said with a hiss. “I have no idea what Hegstrom is thinking, or what he said to you, or why. He's got a job to do and, like you, he'll do whatever he thinks he needs to do to win. If this sounds like a sermon, so be it. Anise is an adult, and if she's guilty, she'll pay. If I wanted to set you up, Grady, I could have told Hegstrom about you and let him spring it at trial to destroy your credibility.”

“Unless you told him and he's trying to steer my testimony and work a deal to avoid trial.”

“I did not tell him, and I did not ask Odd Hegstrom to take my daughter's case,” she said. “I understand you're angry, but I don't deserve to bear the brunt of your frustration. You tried to spread paranoia in the Garden. Maybe it's getting to you instead.”

He sighed in frustration. “I'd better go,” he said, wanting to avoid further escalation. He needed time and space to think and try to understand what this was about.