Bad Optics

by Joseph Heywood

  He would when he saw her again. When he saw her, if he saw her, which based on recent events left the outcome somewhere between questionable and a long shot.

  “What did Dante do in Korea?” Service asked Allerdyce when they were back in the truck.”

  “Ya sure, same business youse two in Nam. Army seen how good he shoot, move in woods, pull him out to work alone. Said, good Dante, good, go get endemies.”

  “What’s Dante’s last name?”

  “Boner-gotti, like dat wop marble-chopper.”

  “You mean Michelangelo?”

  Allerdyce made a face. “Why dose wops got so many names, hey? Don’t dey know cops keep akas in dere jackets?”

  “A fine question,” Tree said.

  Service thought, another prime reminder of the old violator’s deep knowledge of police procedure. Record jackets indeed included lists of known akas for criminals.

  Service kept quiet. He knew the old poacher’s ways. If encouraged, the man would shamelessly entertain as the clown and later not remember a word or thing he’d said. What if this had been going on at the lawyer meeting? Allerdyce swore he was reformed and perhaps he was, but how much could a man change himself? It was a disturbing thought.

  Chapter 25

  Wolf Cave

  Mosquito Wilderness Tract

  The day after the Houghton-Hancock trip, young Dotz hardly complained when Grady Service called and told him to meet him at the Slippery Creek Cabin at 0600. Hard to suss what the kid was thinking or if he had talked to his grandfather or one of Bozian’s legions of minions. All he knew for sure was that Dotz had not asked for directions to the cabin, which confirmed earlier suspicions that the kid had been snooping around his camp.

  After Dotz, he called Harmony Wildingfelz and asked her to join the “group grope.” She laughed, “Goat rodeo, hey?” she said. “Start at your cabin? What time?” First Dotz, now his new partner, and neither had asked for directions. Damn place is being overrun by snoops.

  “Oh seven hundred here,” he told her.

  Allerdyce was first out of the sack and carping like a hoarse old tomcat. “Why we got beat feets oot bush so early, wah? What youse’s tink out dere won’t still be dere two hours later in day, hey?”

  “I don’t know what’s out there; ergo, we’ll go have a look-see and Dotz can retrace his trail.”

  “Dis alla waste of time,” Allerdyce complained.

  “Then stay here,” Service told him.

  “Partners don’t split up,” the old violator said with a pained grunt.

  “He got you on that one,” Treebone said. “Semper Fi.”

  “You can stay, too. There’s no need for the whole damn herd out there.”

  Tree said, “No stops, Woods Cop, all the way together, like the old days.”

  *****

  Dotz appeared on time and came reluctantly into the cabin. “Nice place,” he said softly.

  Treebone said, “My friend’s got him a style we call footlocker-barn. It gets the job done—just. This particular domicile was once on its way to imminent habitability, but he fell off the previous quo, which put us pretty much back to the starting status quo.”

  “It is big,” Dotz said.

  “And empty,” Treebone amended.

  “You got enough stuff?” Service asked the boy. “Plenty of water, some sammies?”

  “It’s just out and back, right?”

  Service said, “Always plan past your intentions—in case.”

  “I’m good for overnight,” the college boy said. “Maybe two if I conserve.”

  “You’re good then. What’s new on the Drazel front?”

  “Nothing new. I’ve sort of been busy with school, and I had to work at the paper so I sent Ballou out to watch for them, but the silver trucks never showed.”

  “Surprise you?”

  “I’m not writing a damn dissertation on them, man. I write news.”

  Service thought about the no-show. If Bozian’s people were already pushing their ownership claim public, would this be the reason for the Drazels not to show, that whatever they needed they now had?

  “How many times did they go into the bush?”

  Dotz said, “That I saw and followed? Four . . . no, five times.”

  Another question without adequate answer, he thought, and in any event, does it even matter? The Drazels are up to something, which may be perfectly legitimate, but we need to know what. And I need to get down into the cave and take a long look, see the alleged petroglyphs and pictographs, and the human remains Allerdyce said are down there.

  “Could you see what the women were doing?”

  “I think surveying, ya know. They had one of those transit-things used to run property lines? Beyond that, I’m not sure. They set up a big pop-up ice fishing tent in a clearing and operated out of that.”

  Surveying seemed a reasonable superficial observation, but not necessarily accurate. “Throw your gear in my truck. We’ll all ride together.”

  “Make a great movie title,” Treebone said. “Four Rode Together, the update of Two Rode Together. Are Dick Widmark and Jimmy Stewart still on the planet?”

  “In it,” Service said. “Not on it.”

  “Damn shame, I liked both of those guys,” Treebone said.

  *****

  More wet snow last night, unpredicted by the TV weather whizzes who rated no better than seers and carny fortune tellers in the accuracy of their predictions. What a damn mess, crusty snow in some places, slush-mush in others, standing water on the year’s last skiff of ice, and the noise they were making—unacceptable and unavoidable. “Did the Chinese army blow bugles when they attacked?” he asked Allerdyce.

  “Wah, make spine turn Jell-O, hey. Bugles blow and in they come yelpin’ like damn barred owls and spooks.”

  Treebone said, “Say what?”

  Allerdyce grinned and held up a hand. “I meant to say ghosties.”

  “Good man,” Treebone said, trekking on with giant strides.

  Even Allerdyce was moving loudly, which was rare. Why? Usually he moved with the weight of a warbler.

  Their luck turned when they hit the hard rock area. The snow here was mostly gone and with it most of the ice. If we come back after dark tonight, he warned himself, some pools here and there in the glacial pans will still be iced. Have to get real cold to make it sliding ice. Mostly it will be more of a hindrance to moving quietly.

  Friday called as they caught sight of the high land, said, “US Attorney called. Needs you in Marquette day after tomorrow, something about a ceremony? 1100. You okay?”

  “Sure, and you?” he asked.

  “Fine,” Friday said. “Your voice is weak.”

  “From missing you.”

  She said, “Bullshitter,” and laughed at him.

  “Weak cell service here,” he lied. “We’re out in the Skeet. I may lose you.”

  “Not a chance,” she said, and the contact evaporated.

  Cell phones. He shook his head. So things were moving fast on the US Attorney front. Leave it to Eddie Waco to jump on priorities with both boots. Last time he had been seconded to the US Attorney, some DNR Fish people had been after his scalp for investigating questionable (in his mind and by the evidence, illegal) practices. A few had been on the take because of a coziness with commercial outfits they were supposed to be regulating. Such coziness led to some questionable decisions in favor of the outside firms.

  Unfortunately, his whole internal investigation got squashed, but the department let him run hard against the commercial entities, and his team had built a case that crushed a couple of fish companies and put people in jail for long stretches. The halting of the internal investigation still galled him, but all those people were now retired and the whole thing moot. One aspect was certain, he had liked working
for the US Attorney out of Grand Rapids, had felt tremendous support from her, and he was thankful his chief at the time had had the wisdom to realize the transfer was even feasible. He would never have thought of such a thing, but it had opened up his seeing other possibilities should future opportunities arise, which they now had, although it was hard to think of this mess as an opportunity.

  When they climbed up onto the hard rock knob, they found Wildingfelz sitting cross-legged on a boulder with a cup of coffee and a metal thermos.

  “You were supposed to meet us at my place.” he scolded.

  “Why waste taxpayer gas. I knew where you were going.”

  “Been back this way before, have you?”

  “Brought my snowmobile out here several times in winter, but no tracks and I had other cases going so I never even unloaded it. I gather you know the area pretty well,” she said, tongue in cheek.

  “It would pay for you to spend some time just looking around,” he said. “That’s how we learn our areas!”

  “Is that a gotcha?”

  He shook his head. “Friendly advice. I pretty much grew up out here, but you never can know everything about something as complex as a big mess of landscape. Like us, it tends to change, slowly, but it’s changing for sure. You don’t know that yet.”

  He added, “Next time we make a plan for a time and a place, let’s all stick to it.”

  She touched the bill of her hat and nodded.

  Allerdyce limped over to a flat rock and sat, patting his knee.

  “Are you all right?” Service asked the old man.

  “Leg’s gone bum.”

  “Stay topside with Dotz. Tree, Wildingfelz, and I will go down into the cave.”

  “Youse don’t even know where get down.”

  “Show us.”

  The old man grumbled, got up, and shuffled slowly across the gray rocks. “See t’ree hemlocks over dere on etch that little clift? Dere’s big rock got some red stripe. Below dere is letch. Sit on letch and down youse go maybe four foot and you turn on lights and can see from dere. Be tight but can get t’rough. Youse’s old man allas bitched but he made it okay. Why you want down dere, Sonny? See all dat shit I tell youse is down dere?”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s the job.”

  “Youse’s old man din’t t’ink so.”

  “Times have changed, the job too. He drank while on duty. I don’t.”

  Allerdyce said, “Listen Sonny, don’t be so hard on dat man. Dese was bad jobs back den, took hard men do dis crap for lousy pay and worser gear. Some dose men, dey pick up bottle to keep strong. Others, dey pick up God. Dose with drink and God dey’re the hard charge fellas, all da rest in betwixt and most of them not so anxious take no risks. Was how it was.”

  “Thank you for the history lesson.”

  “No problem. Now listen good, can get real confucius down dere and dere’s at least two places where can break youse’s neck real quick.” The old violator described the two places, but Service could not really decipher the details. Allerdyce had his own language, which Service was still trying to figure out.

  “Confucius?”

  “Yah, all giggedy-jumbly, hey.”

  “I just can’t go down dere dis time,” Allerdyce said suddenly. Service thought he saw dark rings under the man’s eyes.

  “No problem, your knee is bum. You gave me a word-map, right?”

  “Tried. Youse know where youse go now, right?”

  “You want to come with us partway and make sure start off in the right direction.”

  “Bum knee,” Allerdyce said again, wincing. “An’ don’t believe dat chink crap ’bout trip of t’ousand miles start wit’ first step and all dat shit.”

  Service said, “Ledge beneath the big boulder under the three hemlocks. Sit on our butts and slide down into Alice’s rabbit hole.”

  “Ain’t no Alice out ’ere, and ain’t no rabbits in dat shit,” Allerdyce mumbled. “Hey,” he added, “dat upper part, can’t get down lower dat way. Dere’s nothur cave hole below where go high room to small low room.”

  “How far down and in?”

  “Don’t ’member. While.”

  “This where the skull came from?”

  Allerdyce nodded. “T’ing work?”

  “Probably not. It’s in my pack. I’ll put it back where it belongs.”

  “Won’t be alone down dere,” Allerdyce said. “Youse sure want go down dere? Hard-ass climb down, back up, all of ’er.”

  “Got to go look,” he told the old man, thinking that if this had all the archaeological features Allerdyce claimed, he was going to be faced with some nasty decisions that could potentially affect the future of the Mosquito, maybe with more impact and political entanglements than mining. In fact, could this be what the hell Bozian and Kalleskevich were after, the cave with artifacts?

  “You ever hear of anyone else being down here?”

  “Never and never seen no sign up here nor down deep below, hey.”

  That, at least, was probably good news. “You come out here often?”

  “Usta.”

  Huh. “How far down to the pictographs and cave paintings?”

  “Halfway, mebbe.”

  “Halfway to what?”

  “Youse’ll see,” Allerdyce said.

  Wildingfelz came over to them. “This cave wet or dry, a walker or a crawler?”

  “No water can see. Can walk pert easy, last time down dere. Mebbe next time I climb dere wit’ youse, show use ’round, like fudgie guide.”

  The spelunkers found the ledge, and after Wildingfelz got down on the ledge and crawled around, she located the entrance with her flashlight and dropped in. She called back up, “Four feet, four and a half, an easy in.”

  “There room for Tree and me down there?”

  “At the start, yeah. It’s tight but you guys can squeeze through.”

  Service and Treebone got out their headlamps and set the beams on low lumens. Service followed Wildingfelz into the earth.

  Tree had his legs hanging down, his upper body still outside. “We are not made for this shit anymore.”

  Service called up. “Then stay, man. We can handle it. All we want is a fast look and some photos and out. Meanwhile, you can help the cause by thinking about ways to block and hide the entry. I don’t like how it is now.”

  “Roger that,” Tree said. “I’ll stay topside.”

  Service picked up his pack and slid into the straps. “You’ve got the lead,” he told his partner.

  “Copy, I have the lead,” she said with a matter-of-fact voice, entirely professional, all business. “Looks like lots of room up ahead,” she added. “There’s an old trail. I’ve already been down about fifteen feet and come back up. I think we’re good to go. We can always drag our bags if we have to.”

  “Seepage?”

  “None yet. I felt the walls pretty good with my bare hands. You comfortable caving?”

  “We’ll find out,” he said. “You?”

  “I’m okay. Let’s get this show moving.”

  Tree yelled down to them, “How long before we send cavalry?”

  “Twenty-four hours, then come running on the double. I doubt we’ll be that long, but you know how this tunnel-cave complex crap can go.” They had been in countless sucky places in Vietnam and Laos, some of them huge, stunningly beautiful, or ugly, man-made, and tight confines, and all of them potentially deadly. They inflicted high casualty rates in the caves, but the enemy had taken a toll too, and both sides inflated results and fudged losses so that the war was reduced to me, myself, and I. Guys who worked tunnels exclusively were referred to as Section 8 Squads. He took a deep breath and slid down into the dark behind his partner’s voice, turning his headlamp off so he didn’t blind her.
They would need to conserve light all the way.

  Chapter 26

  Wolf Cave

  Mosquito Wilderness Tract

  So far, so good. There was a kind of raw path leading downward at a reasonable angle, although he could tell the climb out might be on the strenuous side and would no doubt play havoc with his leg muscles. Wildingfelz moved soundlessly, and did not appear to have an idle need to talk, or to be reassured the way young officers often did. A good sign. She seemed very secure in herself and her own skills, and focused on the business at hand.

  After thirty minutes Wildingfelz stopped, and sat and looked back at him. “Rest stop.”

  “Why here?”

  “There’s a steep drop right next to me,” she said. “The trail runs down the right side of the thing, and the next tunnel isn’t as clear as this one. I’m guessing whoever used this place before us didn’t come much deeper than where we are now.”

  “You can see the next tunnel?” he asked.

  “The first part, sort of,” she said.

  “How far to the bottom?”

  “My sonar’s broken,” she joked. “No clue.” Her light beam angled to the right. “The trail from here is visible, but it’s not as clear as it has been. We’ll have to go down from rock to rock, but there seem to be plenty of good handholds going up and down.”

  He wondered how many humans had been down here and why his old man had never told him about this cave. He’d been in the upper cave many times, but apparently that was unconnected to this maze. How many other secrets had the old man taken to the grave with him? Dumb bastard, drunk on the job in the dark. “Let’s hang here for a while,” he told his partner.

  “Cool by me. Why here?”

  “I think Limpy was trying to tell me there are cave paintings around this location. Look over to your left.”

  She stood up and he could see her flashlight blade carving the darkness, and then it froze on one place. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” she said, her voice thick with awe. “This cannot be real.”

  “What?”

  “You’ve got to see this, let me scrunch down the trail to the right. When you get to the edge, be damn careful, but lean out and look to your left with your light. I’ll throw mine that way to add to the effect.”