“Where’s his weapon?” Service asked Allerdyce.
“He hanged ’er in a tree ’bout hunert yards back. Seen dat, I knew he was losin’ his balls, eh, gettin’ ready get caught.”
“He attacked me,” Niemi repeated. “See my head? See it!”
It was bleeding but not profusely. “Okay, Willie, let’s get you cleaned up. You didn’t get attacked. You ran into a branch while trying to elude the law. That’s God’s way of saying ‘bad boy.’ It’s also a felony.”
“God don’t do dat shit,” Niemi said. “He too busy with sick kits and da poor and all dose goody-goodies.”
Christian principle interpreted by a fool, Service thought.
Allerdyce coughed.
“What kind of rifle?”
“Just BB gun, eh.”
Niemi yelped, “Air rifle, not BB gun. BB guns is for kids, eh. What people t’ink growed man hunt wit BB gun!” And then he was talking calmly and rationally. “Law say felons can’t possess no firearm, but I got small game license and huntin’ snowshoes wit’ my air rifle. I ain’t broke no damn law, and I come to find youse, not runned away.”
“Couldn’t you see the shield on the door of my truck?”
“In this snow, in a Silverado? Everybody up ’ere drivin’ Chevy trucks dese days.”
Allerdyce handed the boy a cup of coffee while Service cleaned the minor head wound. “Drink it down,” the old man said. “You want smoke?”
“Be good,” Niemi said. “T’anks.” He coughed when he inhaled.
Service said, “OK, let’s all relax and talk. You had no orange on.”
“Look at my coat. It’s reversible. I just forgot to put orange inside to outside.”
“You ran.”
“Onnaccount what I seen down in da swamp.”
“Which was?”
“You got see it ta believe it.”
“Your family’s camp is around here, right?” Service asked.
“Not my family, my ex-wife’s father’s camp.”
“Dinty Peaveyhouse?”
“Yah, dat’s ’im.”
“Does what you wanted us to see have anything to do with your father-in-law?”
“Yah, I t’ink so, but I don’t know for sure.”
“Well, why don’t we just head for the camp and we can take care of several things at once,” Service proposed.
“Can’t do dat. Dinty shoot me, he see me. He make the wife divorce me when I go off jail. Her old man make her. Not what she want, eh. We love each udder.”
“You still talk to her?”
“Divorce is just some paper, eh. She still love me, like scromp wit me.”
“Womens,” Allerdyce said with a cackle. “I know dis girlie?”
“Back off,” Service growled at his partner, who despite his age and appearance was a much-heralded skirt-chaser . . . and catcher.
“Is your father-in-law at his camp now?”
“Him and his boys took four-wheelers out somewheres today.”
“Fishing maybe?” Service asked.
“Dunno; I jes seen the trucks go by.”
“Why are you here?”
“Great snowshoe hare huntin’ oot innadese swamps.”
“Where’s the camp from here?”
The boy looked around. “She’s ’bout mile nort’ where I first seen youse twos.”
“Up that two-track?”
“Yah, youse go left where she make da fork.”
“Why’d you run?”
“Din’t know what to do. What if youses was Dinty? Your truck, his, bot’ look like dey dipped in mud. Las’ I knew, game wardens drive green trucks. Now youses got black. All kinds shit changes when you go inside.”
“Where is this ‘thing’ you want us to see, relative to your people’s camp?”
“Tole you ain’t my people no more, I don’t t’ink.”
“Okay, exactly in what direction and how far from where you ran into us is this place?” Service asked, talking slowly.
“Dat be to da nort’wes.”
“How far?”
“’Bout halfway Dinty’s camp.”
“Tell us in words what it is we’re going to see when we find it.”
“Whacked deer.”
“Whacked how?”
“Don’t t’ink was arrows.”
“Gun?”
“Could be, couldn’t see. Somebody got dese deers hunged up in trees, gutted.”
“How high?”
“Ten, twelve feet easy.”
“One deer?” Service asked.
“I seen six, bucks and does.”
“All in the same area?”
“Yessir.”
“You see hunters?”
“No, but I can guess who easy ’nough.”
“How?”
“Deers is wearin’ coats and hats, strangest t’ing I ever see in woods.”
“But you didn’t see the hunters.”
“No, but I guess I know dose clothes,” Niemi said. “Was stuff da wifey and me give fodder-in-law and brudders-in-law ’fore I went off jail. My wife gone be pissed she hear dose duds get hanged on dead deers in woods. No respect, know what I mean?”
Grady Service tried to organize his thoughts. “What is it you wanted the DNR to see?”
“Dose deer ain’t right is what.”
“You find that offensive?”
“Yes, sir, I do. I did drugs, was wrong, I know, but I got respect for annmules, okay?”
Service tried to gauge if the man was lying, if this was some sort of revenge setup, which was possible but unlikely. Virpi was a simple soul. “Could it be you broke into camp, whacked those deer, stole the clothes, and hung them on the deer to set up your father-in-law?”
“I ain’t gone lie. No, sir, and I’ll take trut’-checker machine, you want me.”
Service sighed. “Okay, let’s go look.”
“In dark, in the snow?”
“We own the night,” Service told the young man.
“Dude, I can’t see nuttin’ at night. How I gone find my way?”
“Just get us close and we’ll take it from there. Can you do that?”
“Don’t want my fodder-in-law see me.”
“Was he born with night vision?”
Niemi giggled nervously. “Wears Coke-bottle-t’ick glasses; can’t hardly see dick ta take piss.”
“Then you’re good to go,” Service told him. “You’ll be okay. I’m thinking he won’t be back to camp too soon.”
“Why dat?”
“Call it a hunch.”
Dickinson County was in the same DNR law enforcement area with Iron and Gogebic Counties. Service called Sergeant Wooten on the cell phone and explained what was happening and where. He also explained how they found the Peaveyhouses trying to net spawning brook trout in Slippery Creek and how he had disabled their four-wheelers after they ran. “There’s a BOL in the central U.P. for Peaveyhouse’s pickup. Haven’t heard anything on that, but radio reception down here is spotty at best.”
The relatively new 800 MHz radios had been advertised as effective everywhere, but like all claims for most new electronics, this was less than accurate.
“You saw the dead deer?” Wooten asked.
“No, we’re going to go find them now, but the camp needs to be covered so Peaveyhouse gets met when he and his merry fishermen finally get back.”
“All right,” the sergeant said. “On my way. Are these guys violent?”
Service leaned over to Niemi. “Are your in-law’s scrappers?”
“Sometimes, if dey been drinking da hootch. Da old man sings da song and dose boys jes’ follow, eh.”
“Could be some resistance,” Service relayed to his sergeant.
“I’ll get backup.”
There was currently only one officer in Dickinson County, and he lived way down in the southern part, in Kingsford. Service expected that the sergeant would also tap del Olmo and Sheena Grinda, who were in Iron County, and much c
loser than the Dickinson officer.
Service gave directions to his sergeant and hung up.
The cell phone immediately sounded. It was Simon del Olmo. “Mario Novello called and asked me to tell you that you should call him.”
The season was heating up. He could feel it in his guts. “Has he got something specific?” Novello was in his mid-seventies, a long-retired CO from Iron County, but he had resented del Olmo and Grinda for never calling to pay homage to him and his knowledge of the area. When he had something, he called Service, which did not make either of the local officers happy.
“I’ll listen to him and kick it over to you guys,” Service told his friend.
“The guy’s a fricking hardhead,” del Olmo complained.
“Bump you later.”
Grady Service called the number and Novello answered.
“Mario, it’s Service.”
“Thanks for calling. Here’s the deal. There’s this guy from Florence, name is Noble Chern. He comes up here to south Iron and drives along the grade. He only shoots big bucks.”
“Are there big bucks down that way?”
“Sure was at one time, and maybe this guy is part of the problem nowadays.”
Novello’s camp was on the Michigan side of the Brule River, and the old railroad grade-turned recreation trail was a favorite route for road hunters, especially from nearby Wisconsin. Service put his notebook on the computer. “Give me that name again, Mario.”
“Noble Chern is what I heard, which may or may not be right.”
“From Florence?”
“That’s the word.”
Florence was just over the state border and not that far south of Iron County.
“What I’m hearing is this guy only shoots 140s and larger.”
“Don’t you think it would make more sense for Simon or Sheena to work this?”
“I want it to be you on this, not those two.”
“How about I drive down tomorrow evening and we talk.”
“I guess. You know why I don’t like them two.”
“I know, and you’re wrong about them, Mario.”
“Yah, yah, see you tomorrow night. Oh, Grady, almost forgot. This guy is ’pose to be big fella, six, six-two, clean-cut, military look, not the usual greasy-hair scumbag.”
“Okay, see you tomorrow night.”
“How’s the overture going?”
“The what?”
“Overture, like the run-up to the show, this is the overture to the deer season, at least that’s what some of us used to call it.”
Service knew the retired officer was missing the job and the excitement of deer season and in the mood to talk and reminisce, but there was no time.
“Mario, I’m just getting ready to go look for some deer hung in trees in a swamp. They’re wearing coats and hats.”
“To keep the wolves offen ’em,” the retired officer said. “Boy, does that sound like fun. Talk to you ’morrow night. You want some dinner?”
Why not. “Sounds good. Sixish GWT.”
“Game warden time,” Novello said, chuckling softly.
“Game warden time,” Service confirmed, which meant “ish,” or sort of, time being at best a plastic and approximate thing, especially during the firearm deer season.
Service reorganized and restacked the gear in his backseat, and Allerdyce crawled in back. Niemi rode up front and directed them to the approximate location of the dead deer. “You ever get scared, working out in dark alla time?” Niemi asked Service.
Allerdyce exploded in laughter in the backseat. “Why he get scared, kid. Sonny ’ere is real bogeyman!”
CHAPTER 17
Bear Creek
FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 13
It took almost four hours, but Service and Allerdyce found, photographed, and dragged six deer back to the patrol truck, a half mile away—three roundtrips, each man dragging two deer through the snow, which made pulling somewhat easier and the walking a lot more strenuous. Niemi pitched in to help, but, true to his word, he was almost totally blind in the dark. What he did do was identify each piece of clothing draped on the animals—when they were bought, where, and for whom. And he agreed to write a statement providing the information for each garment.
“What about your wife?” Service asked. “Can she verify what you gave them?”
“T’ink she be too freaked, but store ought have receipts. We buy all dat stuff place called Da Legworks.”
This was a not-so-old-line Marquette outdoor clothing and footwear shop owned by a family called Kallio. Service had met the grandparents who started the shop, but he didn’t know the current operators.
“Me and Kallio’s boy Deano usta fish a lot. Da Kallios know da wife and my folks and me real good. Youse’ll see.”
It was going to be interesting to hear what Dinty Peaveyhouse would have to say for himself. He’d bluster at first. He always had.
He got Sergeant Wooten on the radio when he met up with del Olmo and Grinda. They had apparently found the camp dark and empty and immediately withdrawn, up the two-track, and turned left up the other fork, where they found places to hide their trucks until it was time to move in. Service heard del Olmo on the radio and understood he had gone on foot back to the camp to call out Peaveyhouse’s homecoming.
Service drove Virpi Niemi to his truck, west of where they had found the deer. Service told the ex-con to go home, and he and Allerdyce headed back toward the camp. Just as they got to the two-track where this had all begun, he heard del Olmo on the radio. “They’re back.”
“Four-wheelers?” Service asked over the radio.
“Negative,” del Olmo reported. “But this is a really loud bunch.”
“Drunk?”
“High probability.”
“Where’re your backups?” Service asked.
“Rolling,” Grinda called on the 800 MHz.
“We’re inbound,” Service radioed.
“We?” Grinda asked.
“You’ll see.”
“Headlights nearing me,” del Olmo radioed. “One, One Twenty-Two clear.”
Grady Service said, “Twenty-Five Fourteen clear.”
Service and Allerdyce pulled into the camp yard to find only one patrol truck, its lights and spots on. Service lit his to add shock to the scene, and Allerdyce growled, “What I ’pose ta do?” as they jumped out.
“Be useful,” Service told him, running between two pickup trucks to the cabin. The first thing he saw was Sheena Grinda on top of someone in the snow, her forearm across the individual’s throat and the night air filled with gagging and grunting and clouds of low-hanging pepper gas. Del Olmo was pinned to a camp wall by two men; one was punching him, the second man kicking. A fourth individual lay on the porch floor, face down, moaning.
Service unsheathed and extended his baton and chopped the legs out from under del Olmo’s kicker, dropping him to the floor. With that pressure gone, Simon pivoted and drove the other man onto his heels and tackled him off the porch, where he landed with a loud hiss, all the air blowing out of his lungs.
Grinda and her dance partner were still struggling, and Service watched her strike the man in the face hard with the heel of her hand as he bucked her off. She immediately scrambled back at him from his side, attacking and finally getting back on top, pushed him facedown, and wrenched his arms behind him to cuff him.
The fourth man, the moaner, managed to get to his knees only to find Allerdyce’s boot in his face, bouncing him off the camp wall, where he hit the floor hard and remained inert.
Grinda had her man on his feet, but he was unsteady and stumbling around like he was stunned. Both of them were snorting snot and coughing violently. “Get IDs,” she managed between coughs. “Where . . . hell . . . Wooten? Right behind me . . . when . . . Georged.”
“George” was game warden lingo for charging en masse. The word and concept came from a former officer in upper northern lower Michigan who never went into any situation quietly or stealthily.
His preference was to charge in and then use the chaos he created to take control. Service looked around. Their sergeant was nowhere in sight.
“Did you see him, Grady?” Grinda asked, between coughing and hacking, frantically trying to wipe tears out of her eyes and snot from her nose.
“Nope.”
“He didn’t turn, he went straight. You guys should have passed head-on.”
“We never saw him.”
“Maybe he got another call,” Grinda offered in a less-than-convinced tone.
“Yah, the radios suck back here,” Service agreed. But he had heard no such radio traffic, and he had not seen the sergeant. Realization that Wooten had not Georged with del Olmo and Grinda made his stomach stir. Georging could be a risky way to do things, but sometimes it was the only choice, and when that was the case, game wardens had a single rule: One Georges, all George; no exceptions, no excuses.
Allerdyce nudged Service and pointed to the giant Grinda had cuffed. “Old Fart Peaveyhouse.”
“Please settle down, sir,” Grinda said firmly and politely to the man.
“Fucking Russian cunt, liberal commie DNR snatch, this is my private personal property and you are violating the constitution of this great country. This land is clearly marked No Trespassing. Youse can’t bust in on a man’s castle or his camp, goddammit, and what the fuck dat outlaw Allerdyce doin’t here wichyouse?”
Service said, “Shut up, Peaveyhouse,” and shoved the man over to his patrol truck, where he shone his Surefire onto the load of dead deer in back. “Care to explain what that’s all about?”
“Why you ast me dat? I don’t know nuttin ’bout dose deers dere.”
“We’ll get fingerprints off the clothes,” Service said.
Peaveyhouse made a face. “Duds don’t hold no fingerprints. Don’t you try bullshit me. I watch da TV, I do.”
Service pointed to buttons. “Plastic does.”
Peaveyhouse stood silent, hacking and snorting. “I need doctor.”
“What you need is a brain transplant,” Service said.
“I’m taxpayer, your boss,” the man said gruffly.
“There is absolutely nothing worse than a dumb-ass boss,” Service retorted. “We’ve got you for four stolen ORVs, fishing out of season, fleeand-elude, resisting arrest, assault on a peace officer, obstruction of a police investigation, six illegal deer, and we haven’t even counted the illegal fish yet, or looked to see what other goodies you’ve got here in your castle.”
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