Bad Optics

by Joseph Heywood

  Service looked at his watch. “About forty-eight hours.”

  She harrumphed. “Why didn’t you let me know right away? This might have caused a huge reduction in needless legal angst.”

  “I was kind of busy,” he said. “And I knew nothing about them until forty-eight hours ago.”

  Her voice took on a patronizing tone. “The magic coincidence. Find any beanstalk seeds while you were ‘busy’?”

  “Dis crap all my fault,” Allerdyce said over the Skype connection.

  O’Halloran slid her eyeglasses down her nose and squinted at the video screen. “Ah yes,” she remarked, “Mr. Malfeasance, Master Minor League Criminal.”

  “No need use dat voice wit’ me, girlie,” Allerdyce said. “Listen me. Sonny’s father he give me paperswork, say take safety reproduction box at bank Gwinn, but I had some work need get done first so I put in cave for while, and den I sort forgot.”

  O’Halloran pressed her hand to her forehead. “You put the papers in a cave. Now that is truly creative. And may I ask when was it that you placed said ‘paperswork’ in said cave?”

  “Dat she would ’ave been nineteen and fiffy-seben.”

  “Ah, 1957, three decades before Congress passed the Michigan Wilderness Act. This gets richer and richer.”

  Allerdyce said, “Don’t know nottin’ bout no conkress junk.”

  “Why did Mr. W. Stafinski, aka Wally Staff, sell the mineral rights to the detective’s father?”

  “Dat was sorta Gibby’s idea. Land above went to Wally’s daughter cause Wally didn’t want give to idiot son Elder. So Gibby say he buy min’ral junk an’ keep it separate, so somebody could own da land, but not mess it up wit’ mines and crap.”

  “And he did this because . . .?”

  “Gibby had da big heart,” Allerdyce said.

  “Last time we talked, you didn’t seem to know Staff had children.” She picked up the old papers again and looked at Service. “What’re these numbers by your father’s name?”

  “His badge and social security numbers.”

  “Would those be commonly known?” the lawyer asked.

  Service said, “They would not, no.”

  She went on, “This metal thing is what, a . . . lunch box?”

  “For miners,” Service told her.

  “Made by da Canucks Subidderry, Hontarioak,” Allerdyce said over Skype. “Gibby an’ me gone over dere for week fish specs, and dis guy dere just start company make dose lunch boxes. Gibby he buy one, hep guy get start, hey.”

  Last night Service had dug around in old family photographs for almost forty minutes. From the moment he’d seen the box down in the cave, he thought he vaguely remembered it. Service handed the photograph he’d found to the lawyer.

  “Who might this be?”

  “That might be me,” Service said.

  Allerdyce squawked on the Skype, “What dat dere is?” Tree put the photo in front of the camera and the old poacher cackled wih obvious delight. “I ’member take dat pitcher! Look wall t’ing behind youse.”

  Service took the photo from Tree and saw there was a calendar on the wall and the year on top in red was 1957.

  O’Halloran said out of the corner of her mouth, “What’s this supposed to be, a message to Garcia?”

  Allerdyce yelped on the screen. “Who dat she say, who dat?”

  “Listen to me,” O’Halloran said. “To any sane and sober jurist, all this looks too good to be true, so the question immediately becomes one of verisimilitude and believability of the documents, not to mention the credibility of those claiming to have discovered said documents. Given Mr. Allerdyce’s interesting history and long reputation, I think we can all see we have a long uphill climb facing us.”

  “But,” Treebone said, “the judge now gets to choose between this or the other and not just between the other and their verbal claim.”

  “True, to some extent,” O’Halloran conceded. “But here’s the point. Had these papers been in your hands when all this started, I doubt the other side would have had a prayer. But this stuff was elsewhere and now appears under what can only be called ‘magical’ conditions.”

  “Not ain’t no magic,” Allerdyce insisted. “My screw ’er up.”

  “We get it,” Service said. “A hearing will be a crapshoot.”

  “Something like that,” she said. “If what you’re showing me is real and verifiable, and I’m not saying it isn’t, but if this is real it shows that their evidence appears to be a blatant attempt to defraud the state. In my mind of minds, I wonder what deposit of limestone could possibly justify the inherent risks of criminal charges and jail time, not to mention reputational destruction. One would have to be dangerously deranged to be the ex-governor and risk, based on your evidence, an astonishingly stupid and naked criminal act.”

  “They’re screwed?” Tree asked.

  O’Halloran said, “Au contraire. Here’s the irony: Because it looks on the surface to be too stupid a move and risk to take, your average judge may very well conclude it must be valid because nobody could be so stupidly brazen as to push through such a bald-faced lie. Add to this calculation that the opposition—that would be us—has taken so long to come forward with apparent competing documentation that it would now seem that the second set of data is more likely to be fraudulent than the initial offering. You see the point I’m trying to make? The first big lie can carry the day. For all their positioning to show themselves above human foibles, judges are every bit as human and subject to mistakes and prejudices as the rest of us.” She looked at Service. “How long has your father been gone?”

  He told her, and she clamped her jaws and shook her head before she looked at the video monitor. “What were you thinking, Mr. Allerdyce?”

  “Was on accident,” the chastised old violator said. “But now we got papers, ain’t dat somepin?”

  Service was watching the lawyer, who was squirming, and asked her, “Are you trying to tell us that our evidence doesn’t matter?”

  “I would not state it with that degree of certitude. Ownership claims, even with trunks-full of compelling documentation, are always dicey legal undertakings.”

  “You a poker player?” Treebone asked.

  “On occasion,” she said.

  “You know what a push is?”

  “Of course. Even-steven, nobody wins.” O’Halloran’s attitude shifted slightly and she leaned forward with a set jaw. “Until this claim by Kalleskevich, the state has been the assumed owner of the mineral rights; thus if neither claim is ruled upon, the status quo will pertain and the state will continue to be assumed the owner of mineral rights.”

  Service asked, “That happens, the other side can’t push ahead with developing whatever it is they want to develop, right?”

  She nodded. “Presumably, yes.”

  Service asked, “And if Kalleskevich withdraws his claim?”

  “And yours as well?”

  “Let’s say the court never even hears about ours.”

  “Default to status quo,” she said. “But why would the claimant withdraw his claim?”

  “Think poker,” Treebone said.

  “You’re talking beyond my meager experience.”

  “If it’s your bet and you have a straight flush but suddenly realize that your opponent has a royal flush, what’s your next move?”

  “Throw in my hand,” she said. “Fold.”

  “There it is,” Treebone said. “You fold.”

  The lawyer chewed a pencil eraser. “The whole thing about poker, I thought, was not to show your hand before you got the pot as high as you could.”

  “True,” Service said, “but sometimes the hand is won long before the hands are shown. Good players going for high stakes can read other hands by how the betting goes. The good ones develop pretty remarkable instinct
s for judging the unseen.”

  “We’re not talking poker,” she tried to remind them.

  “Everything is poker,” Service said.

  “Not a showdown of evidence; that’s mine against yours, A versus B and the judge decides.”

  “Not if you make sure the other player sees your hand before the final bet.”

  “Isn’t that cheating the rules?” the lawyer asked.

  “The object is to win,” Treebone said, “not to win pretty. And nobody ever said or wrote that showing the other side your hand is against any rules.”

  “A bluff that’s not a bluff,” Service explained. “You put your cards on the table and tell the other side, ‘beat us if you can,’ and then you remind them of the size of the bet and what they stand to forfeit, if they lose, beginning with criminal fraud charges.”

  “Un jeu très haut risque,” the lawyer said. “A periculo ludum.”

  Service said, “You just made it very clear to us that for a variety of reasons, most of them psychological and having to do with timing, the judge may very well elect to rule for the claimant.” He stopped talking and drew in a deep breath. “But they don’t know that. Right now Kalleskevich and Bozian think they’re in the catbird seat, but it doesn’t matter what they think, it’s the judge who will make the decision, and they can’t really be certain he’ll rule for them if they see documents that show theirs are fraudulent. When they see how weak their case is, they’ll have no choice but to withdraw their claim. They’ll think that because it will become paramount for their own security that we don’t file officially.”

  “Their legal counsel may nevertheless urge them to stay in the game,” O’Halloran said.

  Treebone said, “Mouthpieces who haven’t seen the evidence can’t advise them of anything. So Grady takes them into a room with no lawyers either side and they play one hand of poker, yours against mine.”

  “Are all cops this crazy?” she asked.

  “Only the great ones,” Treebone said. “Which means the ones that always play to win.”

  “As a lawyer, I just don’t know. I’ve never had a case quite like this. Hell, I’ve never even imagined anything like this!”

  “Your field is underground natural resource rights,” Service said. “Is that correct?”

  “It’s all this firm does, and we travel all around the country to do it.”

  “Here’s the other factor,” Service said, laying his new badge on the table.

  She looked from the badge to his face. “Is that real?”

  “Sworn in by the US Attorney in Marquette. It’s entirely legal.”

  “Continue to make your point,” she said. “I assume there is one.”

  “We have a meeting with no lawyers in the room, but we don’t promise there won’t be a US Deputy Marshal in there. As far as they know, I’m suspended, and by the time we get to a meeting, Bozian will have determined that I can’t be a special federal deputy if I’m not on duty with the DNR. The US Attorney will not reveal to anyone that I’ve been deputized until I give them the say so.”

  “Good lord, you really do play dirty.”

  “No, he plays to win,” Treebone corrected her. “Ain’t no ‘dirty’ in winning when the other side lies through its teeth.”

  “But you will also be lying, by omission rather than commission,” she said.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Service told her. “If we have evidence that there’s legal foul play, we can do pretty much whatever we choose to do to stop it and rectify the situation.”

  “To be quite candid,” O’Halloran said, “I am getting outside my comfort zone. Why are we having this discussion?”

  “Lori got you into this mess,” Service reminded her.

  “She did indeed.”

  “You’ve helped us sort this thing out, but as it turns out, we won’t need a lot of legal services. All we need from you is to contact the other side and set up a confidential meeting and the ground rules.”

  “I’m to have no role?”

  Service said, “You can help look at our documentation and help us think our way through how we should present all this. We’ll want you to throw hand grenades at us, and play devil’s advocate.”

  “I’m happy to do that. Who shall I say will attend from your side?”

  “Allerdyce and me. For Kalleskevich, whoever he wants, but no practicing lawyer. Do you read military history?”

  “Some, not a lot.”

  “Think ‘forlorn hope.’ To break the enemy and an impasse, you sometimes have no choice but to make a frontal assault.”

  “Aren’t a lot of lives lost in that way?” she asked.

  “Only two lives matter this time,” Service said. “Limpy and me. We’ve been the point of attack for these assholes through this whole damn thing. Time to turn things around. This standoff ends now. We take them down or we don’t.”

  “If you win, do you intend to press legal fraud charges?”

  “That’s not our call. The state’s lawyers all report ultimately to the sitting governor, so it will land on his desk.”

  Treebone jumped in. “And word is he has his eye on the White House, so the last thing he needs is to be mired in a case of fraud perpetrated by a former governor from his own party, a fraud in which he has been an unwitting participant. Seems pretty unlikely he’ll want to make an example of himself.”

  “They know you’re a cop,” the lawyer contended.

  “I’m a game warden, and I’m sure they don’t think of me as a real cop. Besides, they think I’m suspended and without credentials.”

  “Don’t you have to assume they know about the US Attorney?”

  “Did you know?” he countered.

  O’Halloran shook her head slowly, a smile crossing her face. “Where do you want this meeting?”

  “Let them pick the place, but tell them to bring their evidence.”

  “And if they refuse?”

  “Make them understand that would be the dumbest decision since Bill Clinton decided to publicly deny having sexual relations with ‘that woman.’ But in truth, it doesn’t matter if they bring theirs or not. The whole point is for them to see ours.”

  “Remind me to never gamble with you,” O’Halloran said.

  “Cops never gamble,” Service said. “We only play sure things.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” O’Halloran said. “Bear in mind that until 2001 surface deeds had to be registered with the county and state register of deeds. But not so for mineral rights. This has now changed. In the past it was sometimes impossible to determine who owned the mineral rights. Now the state requires that said owners of said rights register said ownership within ten years.”

  “Ten years from when?” Service asked.

  “I don’t know the answer to that and will have to look it up,” O’Halloran said.

  Service played out the scenario. “If it’s from the date one knows he owns something, then I have ten years from forty-eight hours ago to comply, is that right?”

  “Presumably, yes, but I don’t know.”

  “But if it’s been ten years since the actual transaction, it’s already unregistered and in the state’s domain.”

  O’Halloran studied the table and said, “If there is a grandfathering clause, which is tied to the law’s effective date, you’ve got two more years in which to comply. And if you fail, rights go over to the state.”

  She looked at him. “Has anyone ever told you that you have an inordinately, exceptionally complex mind?”

  Treebone interrupted. “More times than I’ve been suspended.”

  A leering Allerdyce on Skype said, “Girlie dere gone come meetin’ wit’ us, Sonny?”

  O’Halloran reached over and disconnected the Skype connection, no doubt leaving Allerdyce wondering what the hell had happened and complaini
ng to Harmony to fix it.

  Grady Service gathered up the paperwork for the cardboard box and looked again at the Dotz drawing. He closed his eyes and superimposed the flight lines on his mind’s map, and after a few seconds he finally saw it. None of the flyover lines intersected over the caves. Everything was south, toward the Mosquito River, which meant artifacts had nothing to do with any of this. It was about diamonds.

  Chapter 42

  South of Laingsburg

  Shiawassee County

  Ten days after his fall in the cave, Allerdyce had an air cast on his arm and a plaster cast on his leg and they were in a handicap-accessible lift van Service rented to haul them to the Kalleskevich meeting. O’Halloran had needed only one call to get them to agree to a meeting and two more to agree on a site.

  As they drove south, Service left the old violator alone. Limpy had spent several days at Friday’s house and had been the object of attention from Newf and Shigun. Allerdyce had spent most of every day cackling happily. Service thought ruefully, My old man had asked him to take the papers to the bank—one little favor and he’d screwed it up. Geez.

  Since their meeting with O’Halloran, she had been busy. Her research had confirmed (1) that the lunch pail with the critical papers had been made by May Manufacturing of Sudbury, Ontario, (2) that Gibson Service had purchased a metal fourteen by five by nine lunch pail, (3) the date of that purchase, and (4) that the Escanaba jeweler Chrysocolla Koski had etched the metal nameplate.

  She had also been able to establish that the deed to the mineral rights was not on current paper stock and that the paper stock used for the deed had been in heavier use in 1957 than any years before or after—until the paper line was discontinued in 1965.

  The photograph of young Grady Service was from a Brownie Hawkeye, which both Service and Allerdyce remembered the old man using all the time. The film developer had been in Marquette, but had gone out of business long ago and had given all the records to the Marquette County Historical Society, where O’Halloran had found the record of the sale, the order filled out in his father’s nearly illegible scrawl. Everything she checked out proved to be accurate.