Ice Hunter (Woods Cop Mystery 1)

by Heywood, Joseph

  “How do I contact Mr. Bowin?”

  “You tell him I’m keeping the damage deposit and I’m gonna sue his ass.”

  “Sir?”

  “I don’t got a number.”

  “How long has Bowin been your tenant?”

  “They come last fall.”

  They? “Does he work around here?”

  “Don’t know. He and his whore were in and out at all hours. I’d see ’em one day, then not for several days. One time I never seen ’em for a month or more.”

  “Is the woman his wife?”

  “I don’t know and he never said. You want my opinion?”

  “Did he have a vehicle?”

  “Yah, a brown van with a lot of Bondo. Piece of shit was falling apart.”

  Service closed his eyes. Could it be?

  “What is Bowin’s first name?”

  “Roy,” the man said. “Or so he claims.”

  “Did Bowin have a lease?”

  “Nah, he paid cash, three months in advance, but now he’s been here for six more and he owes me.”

  “You never saw his driver’s license?”

  “Didn’t need it. It was cash up front and at first he seemed decent enough. A few years back I’d never have taken him, but those assholes in Washington closed the base and a body has to recoup investment, right? What’s the state gonna do for me? That’s what I want to know. You can kill only so many raccoons, right?”

  “There’s no limit on coons.”

  “That don’t sound right to me.”

  Service was not going to dig out his regs. “That’s the law. Please don’t move the carcasses until I get back to you.”

  “You just gonna let them stink up my place?”

  Service said, “We’ll take care of them later. Right now they’re evidence.”

  Alping was still boiling when Service left and drove to the county jail. Alping had given him the name Roy Bowin and described a brown van. At the jail he had a Roy Boven and a brown van. These were not likely to be coincidences.

  The couple from the previous night were still in jail. They were not going to be arraigned until this evening. Service arranged to talk to them separately.

  The man looked sick, his skin pallid gray-green; he had the sweats. “You remember me, Mister Boven?”

  The man half looked up, muttered, “I’m so sorry about this.”

  “You have no previous OUILs. Why this time?”

  No answer.

  “Is the van yours?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you hunt or fish? Trap?”

  “No, never.”

  “You live in Mackinaw City, right?”

  Boven nodded unenthusiastically. A bandage stretched across his forehead where the cut had been repaired.

  “Ms. Daviros too?”

  Another nod. He was obviously hurting.

  “Are you married, Mister Boven?”

  Boven looked up with panic in his eyes. “Did you call my wife?”

  “No. Ms. Daviros isn’t your wife?”

  The only answer was a hangdog look.

  “Do you like raccoons?”

  Deep sigh, no answer, no response.

  Service met the woman next. She was charged with drinking in a vehicle and could have been released last night, but refused, saying she wanted to remain with Boven. Not an unusual request. The deputies had housed her in the jail. She was mid-thirties, a little plump, looking better than Boven, but she had a nasty blue-and-violet knot on her head.

  “How long do we have to stay here?” she asked.

  Time to push. “Not much longer. I had a call today from a man named Alping. You and Boven have been using different names. He claims you owe him rent for an apartment in Ladoga. He’s filed a complaint and can come in and identify both of you, if that’s what you want.”

  She looked past him, looking weary. “You don’t have to do that. It was us.”

  “He says you left without paying back rent.”

  “That’s a damn lie,” she said, her head snapping up. “Roy paid him ahead in cash. We have receipts. He’s a total jerk, that guy. When we weren’t there, he turned off our heat and electricity. Once last winter the pipes froze and he tried to stick Roy with the bill. We told him we were moving out. Yesterday was our last day.”

  “What about the coons?”

  The woman had a blank look. “What coons?”

  “Never mind.” She didn’t know anything about them. Neither did Boven. “You two aren’t married.”

  “We’re married . . . just not to each other.”

  “You drove a long way.”

  “We wanted to be careful.”

  “But you told Alping you were moving out?”

  She sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We’ve both told our spouses we want divorces. There’s no sense driving all this way anymore.”

  “How’d Alping react when you told him you were moving out?”

  “He flipped out. The man has a temper and he’s a bully. He said we had a one-year lease and he was going to sue. But there was no lease, I swear. He’s trying to hold us up. He said he was going to get us and make big trouble for us. We’re in trouble,” she added.

  Service tried to reassure her. “This is Boven’s first OUIL. He’s going to get hit hard, but it’s worse for repeat offenders.”

  “I’m not talking about that trouble,” she said. “I’m pregnant.”

  Service blinked several times.

  She said, “Not by Roy or my husband. By another guy,” she said with a catch in her voice. “God, I can’t believe this has happened.”

  Service had heard enough. “Roy used the name Bowin to rent the apartment?”

  She nodded.

  Service left her and made some telephone calls. He found out that Alping had a fur harvester’s license from the previous autumn.

  When Service got to Alping’s yard, the man came out quickly. “I called your superior,” he said. “Now we’ll see who does what.”

  Sergeant Parker pulled in moments after Service. He looked smug. Parker wouldn’t leave his office unless he thought he could get something on Service.

  Alping ranted about his no-good tenants and the conservation officer. Service kept quiet. Parker listened politely, then the sergeant asked for the key. When Alping said he would come along, Parker told him to stay where he was.

  Service wondered what was up.

  Parker looked at the rotting carcasses with an impassive face. “What’s your read?” he asked his subordinate.

  What game was he playing? He had expected Parker to gloat, cajole, or threaten.

  “The renters are from Mackinaw City. By coincidence I got the man and the woman last night on an OUIL. They’re married, but not to each other. This has been their little love nest. They told the landlord they were moving out. He claims they have a lease and owe him. They insist there’s no lease and they’re paid up. The landlord said he smelled this and called us. I responded. I just got back from talking to the renters. The driver will be arraigned tonight. I think the landlord is trying to extort money. He wants revenge because they’re moving out.”

  “Is that conclusion based on a hunch or on evidence?”

  “Hunch so far.”

  “Proceed,” Parker said haughtily.

  Service knocked on a door at the end of the building and a woman answered. She had a baby in her arms. “DNR: I’m Officer Service and this is Sergeant Parker. Did you know the neighbors at the other end of the building, a Mister Bowin?”

  “They was just shacking up,” she said. “They didn’t mix much.”

  “Have you smelled anything from their apartment.”

  “About noon today I did.”

  “Not before this?”

  “No sir.”

  “Do you have a lease with Mister Alping?”

  She laughed cynically. “In these dumps? People come and go. We pay ahead, and Alping is a cheap bastard. I got three kids and no old ma
n and he’s always claiming my kids broke this or that and demanding I pay.”

  “Did he ever mention a lease?”

  “All the time. He says it’s a verbal lease, but that’s crap. He says if I don’t have the money, I can work it off in trade.”

  “Doing what?”

  “You figure it out,” she said.

  Service was irritated, but kept it under control. He and the sergeant went back to the house.

  Alping was in the yard, pacing.

  “Did Bowin have a lease?” Service asked.

  “No. Did that bastard tell you that?”

  “Did you tell the woman at the other end of your building that she has a verbal lease?”

  “No, she’s a slut. Don’t believe no cunt like that. She’s got three brats by three different men.”

  Alping was red in the face.

  “What do you trap?”

  The landlord exploded. “This is bullshit,” he yelled at Parker. “I’m the fucking victim here.”

  Service said, “You bought a fur harvesting license last fall.”

  Alping grew quiet. “Yeah? What of it?”

  “It’s in our computer.”

  “I follow the law.”

  “Did you trap those coons?”

  No answer. Alping was weighing his positions.

  “Look,” Grady Service said, “your apartment dealings are none of our business. You called us because of the coons. I can see you had trouble with tenants. That’s not my concern. Maybe you put the coons in there because you were mad, but you have a license to trap and shoot coons. There are no bag limits on how many you take and they’re pests, right?”

  “I shot ’em all legal,” Alping said. “They did a lotta damage to my gardens and they keep trying to move into my garage. Law says I can shoot ’em and that’s what I did.”

  “That’s right,” Service said. “That’s the law. Where are the pelts?”

  “Out in my shop.”

  “Can we see them?”

  “Why?”

  “Just closing things up.”

  Alping led them back to his shed. The building stank of tanning chemicals. There were coonskins tacked to all the walls. Service stood silently, taking it all in.

  “Okay, thanks.”

  “What about my money?” Alping asked. He was starting to get confident again.

  “That’s for a civil suit. Get a lawyer.”

  Alping said, “I sure as hell will.” Walking back toward the house, Service said, “You need to be a good shot to knock down a coon at night.”

  “I do okay,” the man said.

  “Harder this time of year, with all the foliage.”

  “Sometimes.”

  “You like night shooting?”

  “It’s the best time to pop coons.”

  Service said, “Even in this heat?”

  “Heat don’t bother me,” the man said.

  Service stopped walking and pivoted to face the man.

  “Mister Alping, do you know that it’s against the law to shoot problem coons or coyotes at night up here until July 15?”

  Alping stumbled. “Say what?”

  “Sir, where did you shoot these animals?”

  “On my property,” he said.

  “Show us, please. We want to see the damage to your garden too.”

  “Fuck you, you backstabbing bastards.”

  Service took out his ticket pad and wrote the man up. “I have to do this,” he said. “If Sergeant Parker and I do any more looking, there might be more.”

  Alping shut up.

  Parker walked to the truck with him.

  “We really nailed him,” the sergeant said.

  We? “We’re not done yet,” Service said. “You want to stay?”

  “Sure.” Parker looked and sounded pleased.

  They drove their trucks away from Ladoga, parked, and walked crosscountry to the fields and woods behind the apartments. “He’ll bag the carcasses and dump them somewhere. We’ll get him again.”

  Parker smiled. “You don’t miss any tricks.”

  They didn’t have to wait long. Alping made several trips through the field into the woods behind the fourplex, dumping carcasses a third of a mile behind the apartment building. On state land.

  On the blowhard’s fourth trip, Service made his move.

  “Mister Alping?”

  The man was sweating and puffing, his eyes bulging, too tired to move.

  “Sir, you’re dumping illegally on state land. It’s littering.”

  “Cocksucker!” Alping roared. He clumsily swung the bag but Service ducked, sidestepped, grabbed the man’s arm, pushed his hip out, flipped the man, and immediately rolled him over on his face, jamming it into the bag with the dead animals.

  “Night hunting out of season,” Service said. “Illegal dumping. Obstructing a police officer and assault. That’s a hat trick for sure.”

  Service read the man his rights and called the county. He grinned when Deputy Avery showed up. Avery looked at him funny and, when Parker wasn’t close said, “Did they fucking clone you, or what? Man, you are like . . . everywhere.”

  Parker stood beside Service while he called central dispatch in Lansing and reported the bust. He ended the call-in with “TOT, Marquette County Sheriff.” Meaning he had transferred custody of Alping to another jurisdiction.

  The sergeant said, “We make a pretty good team.”

  Service hoped that Parker had not taken or passed the LT’s exam. What the hell was he buttering him up for? Then it came to him. Parker was thinking McKower was going to get Rollie’s job, and he was trying to cover his ass and erase the past.

  “Thanks for your help, Sarge.”

  “Maybe I’ve been wrong about you,” Parker said. “I have a feeling things between us are going to be different. You’re going to see your doctor, right?”

  Service stifled a laugh. Things sure as hell would be different if McKower got the job. She loathed Parker.

  He stopped at a grocery store and bought some staples for the next day.

  He showered when he got home. Kira was late. By the time she got there, he was in deep sleep.

  16

  As soon as Service’s eyes opened in the morning he saw Kira, propped on an elbow, hovering over him. He thought she would reach for him, but she only stared. Neither of them spoke.

  Professor Lemich’s headlights flashed in the yard.

  “My God!” she said in exasperation.

  “It’s a professor from Tech. We’re going into the Tract today. I don’t know when we’ll be back.”

  She sat up, dropped her feet to the floor, and grabbed her robe, snapping the cloth as she put it on.

  “You’re either not here or if you’re here you leave and then you’re not here again! The state can’t expect people to live like this. I don’t like this.”

  “They don’t expect me to live like this.”

  “Then why do you?”

  He didn’t have an answer she’d understand. “We can talk later.”

  “When?” she asked. “Now? Can’t. Tonight? You’ll be gone again. Tomorrow? It’ll be something else. I need order, Grady. A modicum of predictability.”

  “Not now, Kira.”

  She stalked behind the bathroom screen.

  It was their first fight and he had neither the desire nor the time to indulge her.

  Lemich sat in his Eagle, but Service went out and invited him in for coffee.

  When Kira was dressed she came out and was polite, but not especially friendly. She was not the Kira he knew.

  She did not hug Service when he left and didn’t stand in the doorway and wave.

  When Service saw Maridly Nantz’s truck parked at the trailhead, he did a double take. What the hell was she doing here?

  She grinned and waved as he rolled to a stop.

  “Why’re you here?” he asked when he got out.

  “Your face is hamburger!” she said. When she reached out, he recoil
ed. “I needed to talk to you,” she said.

  “How did you find me?”

  “Intuition.”

  Was she serious?

  “Who’s this?” she asked, eyeing Lemich.

  “Rocky,” the professor said, sticking out his big hand.

  “Maridly Nantz,” she said. “I didn’t catch your last name.”

  Service growled, “Nantz.”

  She said, “I called your house, Grady.” She added, “But you were gone.”

  He looked at her.

  “Who’s the woman?” Nantz asked.

  “None of your business.”

  “Wife?”

  “No.”

  “Fiancée?”

  “No.”

  “Cohabiting?”

  “Give it a rest, Nantz.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” she said dismissively. “I brought my gear.”

  “You’re not invited.”

  “Why’re you being so secretive?”

  “I’m not.”

  “I want to know what’s up, Service. I know my way around the Tract as well as you.”

  “I doubt that,” he said. She could be a pain in the ass. He’d been watching over the Mosquito for nearly twenty years and she had spent a little more than a summer here. She was as arrogant as she was relentless and maybe too damn smart for her own good.

  “Don’t be so . . . male,” she said. “Face facts, Service. Six eyes beat four.”

  Lemich watched the exchange with a puzzled but amused look.

  “Give it up, Banger. You’ve met your match.”

  “I’ll get my stuff,” Nantz said enthusiastically, opening the door of her truck. As they hiked toward the river, she moved close to Service and lowered her voice so Lemich couldn’t hear.

  “Banger?”

  “Leave it be,” he said, trudging forward. They started work at the Geezer Hole.

  Lemich scooped up some of the unusually colored gravel with a trowel and put it in a fiber specimen bag. Mostly he stood and surveyed the area, making faces.

  “Is the granite near here?” The gregarious professor seemed distracted.

  Nantz showed him the formations. “There’s more upriver.”

  Lemich took some samples and the trio hiked at a fast clip up to the log slide, breaking into a heavy sweat as they clambered over the second burn.

  As before, Lemich stood motionless studying his surroundings. After a while he began to collect samples from the granite outcroppings, the gray ground stone between them, and more from the gravel in the river. He worked steadily and silently.