Force of Blood (33 page)

It took him until midnight to find Allerdyce and get him into his truck and on their way. Having the old man there was like having the company of a bobblehead doll, chuckling to himself, lost in his own world. No questions, no conversation, not even his stupid grin.

That morning Sedge had called on the cell phone while he and the old man were eating breakfast at a truck stop.

“I’ll cut right to the chase. I’m so damn tired I can hardly keep my eyes open. Where are you?”

“Sheboygan, Wisconsin.”

“The late Skyler Verst?” she said, with a hitch in her voice. “Her maiden name was Brannigan. Think that has anything to do with our little pal Kermit?”

“Here’s some more for you to chew on,” he told her. “Katsu and Toliver knew each other at a community college in Hayward, Wisconsin. And Toliver’s supervising professor on his master’s thesis at Wisconsin Whitewater was none other than Ladania Wingel. The night I met Wingel in Jefferson she was with a lady friend, name of Marldeane Youvonne Brannigan.”

“Holy shit,” Sedge said wearily. “My brain’s too tired to even start processing any of that.”

“Sleep—I’ll call you back.”

“Are you alone?”

“Got Allerdyce with me.”

“Oh my God. I’m in a nightmare,” she mumbled, and hung up.

Aunt Marge Ciucci knew Marldeane and Skyler Brannigan. “Sisters,” she told Service while giving Allerdyce a suspicious look. Wayne had arrested the girls’ brother for poaching from the time he was a kid.

“Deer, ducks, turkey, bear—you name it, the man hunted it and killed it, and usually sold it, too,” Marge said. “For most people hunting’s a deep-seated drive, a compulsion from the genes, but for J. P. it was a disease, something he had no control over.”

“Had?”

“Till the day he died.”

“J. P. Brannigan is dead?”

“Yessir, died in September 11, 2001. He was one of those unfortunate folks in New York City.”

“This was reported in the news?”

“The girls reported him dead and told the story. It was all in the paper. They even had a funeral, though there weren’t nothing to bury, just a box.”

“What can you tell me about the sisters?”

“Both good-looking and both like men; they started early on that. Skyler, she’s living around Lansing in Michigan, and Marldeane’s still here. Marldeane got her a taste for the vino.”

“No recent news about the women?”

“None I heard or read. Why?”

“Skyler committed suicide last week. I was there.”

Something about Marge’s face. “You don’t look surprised.”

“Not a bit. All three of them kids have been out of control their whole lives.”

“What does Marldeane do for a living?”

Marge Ciucci opened her hands. “Nobody knows, but whatever it is, she lives high on the hog—long winter vacations to Key West, the Canary Islands, places like that.”

“She hangs out with Ladania Wingel.”

“Wingel runs the school board, and Marldeane is the school’s biggest and most consistent benefactor. Who’s this fine fella with you?” she finally asked.

“Allerdyce,” Service said.

Allerdyce bowed his head but said nothing.

“He doesn’t talk much,” Marge remarked.

“He doesn’t have much to say that’s worth hearing,” Service said.

“I guess its good to know someone that well,” she said sarcastically.

• • •

Service dropped Allerdyce in town and went on alone. They would reconnect later. He got to Brannigan’s address, a huge older home on a multi-acre manicured lawn set on the banks of the Crawfish River, just south of Aztalan State Park. Service was met at the door by a woman of indeterminate age and short blonde hair. He showed his badge. “I’m looking for Marldeane Brannigan.”

“She’s not here,” the woman said.

“And you are?”

“Not Marldeane,” the woman said.

“Do you know when she’ll be back?”

“Her sister died. She went to collect her body,” the woman said. “I’m looking after the house.”

Service got back to his truck and called McKower, who was still at the fire. “Skyler Verst. Her maiden name was Brannigan. Her sister’s en route to claim her body. Has the medical examiner released it yet?”

“I don’t know. I’ll check and get back to you. Cell coverage?”

“I’m good.” He immediately called Sedge, who sounded groggy. “Listen, I’m in Wisconsin. Marldeane Brannigan has gone to Newberry to claim her sister’s body.”

“Where’s she staying?”

“No idea, but you might want to check the red cabin.”

“Okay. And you?”

“Heading back, probably. McKower’s checking to see if the body’s been released yet.”

“I doubt that. Our medical examiner had a stroke the day after the suicide. They put him on a medevac to U of M. Nothing’s getting done in that office for the moment. It’s frozen. They never even got to an autopsy on the woman.”

“You know that how?”

“My turf,” she said. “I try to keep track of everything in my territory.”

“You know some jerkwad named Heywood?”

“Sure, I’ve read his books. Why?”

“Just wondered.”

McKower called back. “The coroner’s out of action. There’s been nothing done with the body and there may not be for a while.”

Service drove back to Brannigan’s house and the same woman answered again, drink in hand. He showed his badge again. “Where’s Marldeane staying in Michigan?”

“Where she always stays—ya know, the place where she can talk to God. Your badge isn’t good here, is it?”

“I’m a federal deputy too,” he said.

“Oh” was her sole response.

“You remember the name of the place where she is?”

“No, just that it’s way out in the woods and it’s real quiet.”

“Lands of the Lord?”

“That’s it,” the woman said. “They don’t have no phones there. Not even running water. Seems to me you should be able to get close to God with a clean behind. You want a drink?”

“No, thanks.” He cringed as he left.

Service called Sedge again on his way to fetch Allerdyce. “A source says Brannigan stays at the Lands of the Lord compound when she’s up that way.”

“You still want me to check the cabin?”

“To be thorough. I’m heading back. Should be there late tonight. I’ll bump you when I get close.”

“Do you want others involved?”

“Can Max Stinson spare you guys?”

“I’ll check with the captain. Two or three do it?”

“Two plus us should be plenty,” he said.

• • •

He wanted to chastise himself for making a long and unnecessary drive, but he wasn’t sure how he would have gotten the information otherwise. The question to Marge had just been a matter of making nice. Could have called Marge to start, he decided, but done was done.

Allerdyce was seated in what used to be called a fern bar, drinking a red drink from a martini glass. Service sat down across from him. “We’re going back.”

“We ain’t done nothin’ here.”

“The Brannigan woman is in the U.P.”

“I heard dat,” Allerdyce said. “Prolly up to the Lands Lambs of the Lord place. Folks here say she likes booze, God, and men—in dat order. She sounds like a pip. Want snort for da road?”

“What is that?”

“Razzieberrytini,” the old man said, smacking his lips.

“Down the hatch. We need to roll, fine fella.”

“Don’t call me dat name.”

“You didn’t mind it with Marge.”

“Dat was differ’nt.”

Allerdyce chugged the rest of his drink, left a ten-dollar bill on the table, and trundled out in front of Service.

“We gonna use sireen, mebbe?”

“No. Shut up and get in the truck.”

“Too bad,” the old man complained. “Always wanted ta run sireen from da udder side a tings.”

My partner
, Service thought, pulling into the street and heading north to connect with I-94.

The officers assembled west of the religious retreat: Sedge, Sergeant Bryan, Chippewa County CO Korfu, Service, and Allerdyce. Korfu looked like a serious iron-pusher with huge shoulders and a bull neck. Service had never worked with him before, knew nothing about him.

“She was there yesterday,” Sedge told the group. “I know the guy who owns property to the south of the place, and asked him to go up there and look around. There will be outdoor mass at noon today. Unfortunately, the Kerses are there too—all of them.”

Shit.
“How?” Service asked, shaking his head.

“I don’t know. Apparently Allegan kicked them.”

“Just great,” Service said glumly. “What about the fire?”

Sergeant Bryan said, “Eighteen thousand acres, sixty-five percent control, two hundred and sixty souls on the ground. A recon flight spotted a new smoke near Hulbert midday yesterday, and the incident commander diverted resources off the south line. Fifteen acres, no structures. They knocked it down fast. Rain is forecast for today.”

“Rain or wishful thinking?” Service asked.

“Sixty percent chance,” Sergeant Bryan said.

Service said, “Let’s hope we’re not in the sixty. They need rain on the fire, but we don’t.” Most people never understood that when weathermen announced rain percentages, it meant there would be rain in that percentage of their area. Even COs sometimes forgot this.

“All previous forecasts have been off on quantity and duration,” Sedge added.

Service thought about their situation, where the fire was. “What’s our buffer?”

“Ten or twelve miles, crow fly,” Sedge said, “but we could order an evac
for the retreat, pick off Brannigan when we go in to notify them to leave because it’s unsafe.”

“I believe in sneak attacks and ambushes,” Service said, and they all grinned. “If we get runners, I’d prefer
we
influence their routes and directions.”

“Creep it or George it?” Korfu asked.

“Both. Jingo, you come in from that south property. Bryan and Officer Korfu come in from here, from the west. Limpy and I will block between their boundary and Kermit’s camp on the Betsy. Make a radio call if anyone splits. Alert those the runner will head for. Where’s Toliver?” he asked Sedge.

“Bitching about lost time, calling Lansing every day. He calls Dr. Ledger-Foley and Director Cheke,” she said, raising her eyebrows.

“What are they telling him?”

“Nothing. They both stopped taking his calls, and that
really
frosts his ass.”

“What’s our timing?” Sergeant Bryan asked.

“When’s mass?” Service asked.

“Noon,” Sedge answered.

“Okay, noon it is,” Service said. “That gives us three hours, and we should catch them bunched up. I’ll check in on the 800 ten minutes before noon. All of us need to be within two hundred yards of your target by then.”

“What kind of people are we dealing with?” Korfu asked. “I know Father Charlie, and he’s a good guy.”

“We’re looking for a woman named Marldeane Brannigan, attractive, fortyish—she’ll stand out. She won’t be a problem,” Sedge said.

“The Kerses like it rough sometimes, but they are incidental to our mission,” Service said. “If they get in the way, smack them down fast and secure them for pickup later, then get on with business. Any other questions?”

Silence. They knew what they had to do.

• • •

Service and Allerdyce were in position early, and both looked around for worn trails that might indicate possible escape routes for runners. There was one faint path toward the little river and another to the west, neither
particularly well traveled. Service had watched Allerdyce as they hiked to their area. He seemed to grow younger with each step he took in the woods. He was stealthy, alert, and tireless. It was a creepy and disturbing observation.

He checked in with the others at ten till and said only “Go at noon.”

“Youse like dis stuff,” Allerdyce observed. “Jes’ like youse’s old man.”

“Shut up, Allerdyce.”

“Is good ting,” the old poacher said. “Youse tink we get dis gal youses want?”

“No idea.”

Service’s cell phone vibrated. Six till. He was shocked to have coverage, almost afraid to connect. “Yeah?” he answered.

“Ghizi here. Jane called. Toliver’s missing.”

“When, and what’s that mean?”

“Couple hours ago, and we don’t know. He took one of his chickie-poos and left.”

“What’s Jane want us to do about it?”

“She just thought you should have a heads-up. She’s questioning the rest of dig team right now.”

“Katsu?”

“She didn’t say.”

“We’re sort of pressed right now,” Service told the U.S. Fish and Wildlife man. “Give us an hour, okay?”

“Roger that. I’ll tell Jane,” Ghizi said, and hung up.

Service grinned at his phone.
She’s the boss, not Ghizi
.

Service waved Allerdyce to the west and he walked east toward the Betsy River.

Time seemed to stand still. Service’s adrenaline was topped out and he was ready. Allerdyce was hunched down, watching south. It struck Service that the old man looked like a calm, battle-scarred predator accustomed to ambushing victims. It was a less-than-comforting observation. At least he’s on our side this time, he told himself.

Service had given the signal and the radio had gone silent. It had been thirty minutes since the pinch was supposed to have happened. Finally, he heard Sedge’s voice.

“Those damn Kerses were kneeling piously one moment, eyes toward heaven, and the next they were on us like rabid dogs in heat,” she said. “The whole damn family—mom Annie included—are major pains in the ass. We have got to get tasers, Twenty Four Fourteen. Two One Thirty, clear.”

Rabid dogs in heat?
Okay, then, things didn’t go as planned.

“You got her?” Service asked.

“Negative. The Kerses went from Hail Marys to kick-ass at light speed. We just now got them under control. Barely. I’m
serious
about tasers!”

“Ask Father Charlie about Brannigan.”

“I did. She left early this morning.”

Great.

“What do you want us to do?” Sedge asked.

He could hear frustration in her breathing. “Calm down, Jingo. Take a deep breath. What’s your status?”

“Korfu’s called for Chippewa County deps for backup and transport. We’re going to charge the Kerses with obstruction and assault and battery; every damn one of them has a pocket full of speed, and the old lady’s purse is loaded with weed. It exploded when she smacked me in the head with it. The deps aren’t close yet. This is going to take a while.” Service heard a rustling sound. “Dave, sit on her! She just tried to head-butt me again.”

To Service: “Can I get back to you?”

“Get things taken care of there. Where did Marldeane go?”

“Father Charlie’s not sure. She was staying in a tent, never showed for coffee this morning.”

“Meaning she could have left last night.”

“Pretty much.”

Damn.
“Allerdyce and I will push north, Jingo.”

“To the frog’s hut?”

“Roger that. Twenty Four Fourteen clear.”

If Captain Grant is listening to this radio work he’ll be wigging out.
The captain demanded that his officers always sound in control and professional.

Service saw that Allerdyce was already nosing his way north and he turned to parallel the old man, who was alternately pointing at his eyes and at the ground. The old man was letting him know he had cut some kind of sign.

Service stepped up his pace and kept parallel to Allerdyce. Twenty minutes later the old man flicked a hand and pointed at an angle intersecting Service’s route of travel.
The trail is coming my way
.

Allerdyce continued north. Service did the same, head down, looking for the trail, assuming Allerdyce was moving toward him. He found a track, at least size twelve, less than a day old, definitely not a woman.
What the hell?
He looked up.
No Allerdyce. Shit! Should have told him to stick by me. No, I should have left his miserable ass in south Marquette County.

“Two One Thirty. You still punksitting?”

“Affirmative. No Chip deps here yet. They caught a vehicle accident on the way out.”

“Can you move up with us? I’m nearing the frog’s cabin.”

“Problem?”

“Not at the moment.”

“There quick-like, Two One Thirty.”

“I’ll wait, Twenty Four Fourteen.”

While he waited he moved up to the camp and looked around. The big prints had angled past the cabin and down to the river, where the person appeared to have crossed. He started working a circle pattern, spiraling out from the cabin, and eventually saw a print. Pure luck that he did. Allerdyce knew how to move in the woods.

Sedge showed up on the run, sweating, and Service explained what had happened.

“You think the old man was trying to lose you?”

“No idea.”
With Allerdyce I can’t rule it out
. He told her about Toliver and Jane Rain and Ghizi.

“Where’s Katsu?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Tell me again what Father Charlie said about the woman.”

“She was there last night, but not this morning.”

He was moving along, following Allerdyce’s prints.

“Can you see sign?” Sedge asked.

“Bent grass, slight impressions, not much. This guy’s good at hiding himself.”

“Is he hiding from us?”

“I don’t think so. I think it’s habit.”

She looked at the ground. “God, I don’t know how you can even see it. I couldn’t see it at tracking school either.”

He stopped and showed her and she rolled her eyes. “For real?” she asked skeptically.

The tracks were meandering north. “You recognize this place?” she asked.

He didn’t.

“This is where we tussled with Toliver the night we met.” She pointed northeast. “There’s an old two-track that runs past West Pond. Toliver used to drive up Vermilion Road to where it branches north. He’d continue west to where the road eventually peters out, but you can see where it once was. It cuts diagonally across Michigan Nature Association property.”

“I didn’t think we were that far inland.”

“We ran several hundred yards in that charge,” she recalled. “The main hill is north-northwest of us, and that landlocked state forty is southeast of us. You really ought to carry a GPS,” she chastised.

Advancing north, they reached a small but sharply angled sand hill, and along the lip saw Allerdyce on his back, looking away from them. As they came forward he looked back, raised an eyebrow, and made a patting motion with the palm of his hand. They crawled toward him and Allerdyce pointed down in front of him. Service scanned around him first. This looked like the area the poacher had shown Professor Shotwiff and him. Below he saw Marldeane Brannigan in a halter top and shorts, her skin red from sun. She seemed to be looking down at her feet into what appeared to be a hole. Service looked over at Allerdyce. The poacher dragged three fingers slowly across his eyes.

“Hole?” Service mouthed.

Allerdyce nodded, made a ladling motion with his hand. Brannigan seemed to be talking softly and swatting at insects as dark clouds began to sweep in from the big lake, and Service heard thunder dragooning in the distance. Weather up here could change in a blink, any day of the year.

As he reflected on rain, a new figure appeared beside Brannigan. Jesus! It was Ladania Wingel, holding a clipboard and jawing at her companion. Service mouthed to Sedge: “Wingel.”

Both women seemed focused on the hole.

Service tapped Allerdyce’s shoulder. “Can you get close enough to them to see what’s going on?”

Allerdyce nodded. “Want clipperbird?”

“Take a look only if you get a safe chance, but right now, just see what they’re doing and we’ll work our way in from another direction.”

The old man slid backward on his belly and crab-crawled westward along the hill’s military crest. Service motioned Sedge back. “What’s he doing?” she asked.

“Recce.”

“And us?”

“Get below—get ready to move in from the east.”

“Is there a third person down there?”

Service said softly, “Probably.”

“Digging?”

He wasn’t sure, had no answer.

“Wish we were closer to see what they’re actually doing,” Sedge said.

They lost sight of Allerdyce, but moved to the cover of leaning white cedars, paused, listened, and tried to see.

Nothing. The air was dead. Sedge held out her hands, her eyes questioning.

“Predators strike when they’re ready, not before,” he whispered.

“I thought this was recce?”

“Nothing is ever strictly anything with that old man.”

When it came it was explosive, and almost too fast to take in. Wingel seemed to make a violent motion to her right with the clipboard as Allerdyce popped into view, twisted the clipboard away from Wingel in a single fluid motion, and smacked her hard in the side of the head with it, sending her out of sight.

The Brannigan woman shrieked, seemed nailed to the ground.

Service and Sedge started forward, but there was another shout and two men with shotguns appeared from the north, pointing their weapons at Allerdyce, who was grinning and nodding.

“Kermit?” Sedge whispered.

“And his faithful companion, Peewee.”

Nobody had bothered to mention that Bolf was six and a half feet tall and massive. Service used his arm to hold Sedge back. “Slowly,” he whispered, easing his .40 caliber SIG Sauer out of its holster.

They had good cover to within thirty feet of the assemblage. “My signal,” he told his partner, and urged her to spread out to the right so they would present two targets and force choices.

Wingel struggled back to her feet and began slapping Limpy, who neither cowered nor said anything. Kermit pulled Wingel away.

“Hands behind your head,” a shaky Delongshamp told the poacher.

Bolf pointed his weapon at Limpy, who chuckled. “Go ’head. Ain’t same ta kill man look in ’is eyes, eh. An’ youse’re all under arrest.”

Deslongshamp said, “You’re crazy. You’re not no cop.”

Marldeane Brannigan said, “I don’t like this, J.P. Go ahead and shoot the man. He smells bad.”

“Move!” Service said hoarsely, and he and Sedge charged forward, racing into the opening as fast as they could move, both of them shouting in unison, “DNR! Put the weapons on the ground! DNR! Do it
now!
”

The armed men hesitated and glanced at each other, neither seeming to know what to do next. Allerdyce pivoted swiftly and planted a kick between Bolf’s legs. The huge man gasped and went down, and Allerdyce twisted the man’s weapon away from him as he fell, turned it around, and rammed the butt into Kermit’s neck, making him scream, clutch his throat, and fall away.

Allerdyce was suddenly standing over them, brandishing the rifle. “Youse two split-tails shut your big yappers. Asswipe down dere in ’ole, crawl up here wit’ us human beans.”

Toliver edged sheepishly out of the hole. He was sweaty and covered with dirt. There was an explosion as lightning struck just east of them and rain began to come down in sheets. Service peered into the hole, saw two skulls.

“Naughty, naughty man,” Service told Toliver.

“This, I will remind you,” the man said haughtily, “is a state-approved excavation.”

“Not here it isn’t,” Service said. “At this site it’s called grave robbing.”

Marldeane Brannigan screamed and flung herself toward Service, but Limpy intervened and cross-checked her with the rifle, sending her down into the hole, which was quickly forming into mud. Allerdyce looked down at her. “Hey, girlie, grab dose skulks while youse’re down dere.”

The Brannigan woman cursed him

Limpy said. “I can see youse’s nippults wit dis rain.”

More cursing.

• • •

Korfu, Bryan, and Booker, another Chippewa County CO, met Service, Sedge, and their prisoners on the remains of the old two-track that cut across the Michigan Nature Association parcel. The first thing they did was cuff all of them with disposable plastic cuffs. The suspects would be booked in the Soo.

“Coming?” Sergeant Bryan asked.

“We’ll be along. You want to check them into the hotel?”

“Charges?”

“Resist, assault, and grave robbery.”

The sergeant looked confused. Service handed him two skulls in plastic evidence bags. “Grave robbery,” he repeated.

“I’ll make sure our guests get rooms with a view,” Sergeant Bryan said.

• • •

Service, Sedge, and Allerdyce returned to the site. “You,” Service said, poking Allerdyce in the arm. “Stay right
next
to me.”

“Youses’re welcome,” the old poacher said disconsolately.

“You are a felon,” Service said. “Under the terms of your parole you may not possess a firearm or be with anyone with a firearm.”

Allerdyce grinned and his eyes twinkled. “Guess youse’re in cahoots wit’ dis felon. Youse invite me go ’long, an’
youse
got guns, sonnyboy.”

Service looked at Sedge. “You get to be the hero in our report.”

“Me?”

“Can’t say it was dickhead here. They’ll send him back to jail.”

“Who youse call dickhead?” Allerdyce said.

“Shut up,” the officers said in unison.

“Toliver brought a girl but I don’t see her,” Service told Sedge.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m not. I just want to account for her,” he said, leading them toward the scene of the confrontation.

They scoured the area and found several holes and two large black plastic bags filled with various artifacts and remains.

Service held up a hand, and a voice said, “Decision time.”

Service looked up. Duncan Katsu towered above them. He was wearing deerskin breeches and moccasins, his hair loose, face painted grayish-white and streaking from the rain, which continued to pound down.

“Dr. Katsu,” Service said.

“I prefer Four Hawks,” Katsu said.

“You knew all along that the site was here, and not at the fishing village.”

“I did,” Katsu said. “But I also knew it wouldn’t take long for Toliver to expand his search. I guessed Wingel already knew, but I couldn’t figure out how she fit. I figured she got away with some stuff, got scared, and backed off.” Katsu looked left and right and twenty men stepped into sight, dressed as he was, painted the same and carrying shovels, and bags. Jane Rain, in a T-shirt, shorts, and and hiking boots, was last to step out.

“Toliver had a girl with him when he came out this way,” Service said.

“She’s fine. We have her,” the U.S. Fish and Wildlife special agent said. “We saw the whole thing here. I was just getting ready to move in when I saw Bolf and Delongshamp, and decided to let it play out.” She grinned. “Got sort of dicey, eh? Good thing you had that old-timer on your team.”

Allerdyce muttered
old-timer
in a tone of utter disgust.

“It seems clear now,” Service said to Rain. “You didn’t have
someone
in Katsu’s camp. You had Katsu.”

“He’s not a felon,” Rain said. “That was fabricated to help us.”

“He hasn’t lost his dental license?”

Katsu looked at Service. “I never had one. I realized there were more important things in my life.”

“You have a plan here?”