Force of Blood (8 page)

Crispin Franti was sixtyish and white-haired, but had a pencil-thin, coal-black mustache, which looked like it had been painted on.

The Havelock Café was plain and small, and filled with people who dressed like farmers just in from fields or tractors, or whatever it was that they did.

“You know the word ‘havelock’?” Franti asked.

“No.”

“It’s that cloth sunshade doodad hanging down the back of a hat, which means this place is here as the refuge from the sun, which is the farmer’s friend and his foe. But you want to talk about Ladania Wingel.”

“How did you know that?”

“Aunt Marge called me after I agreed to meet you. Everybody around here knows Wingel: On campus she’s a banshee howling in a bugle factory, and nobody pays her any mind because she can’t get her voice heard above the academic din. But here in town on the school board it’s different, and she’s cut herself a real swath in the town’s collective feelings. I just read that the IRS says an estimated 75,000 people make their livings as ETAs—Elvis Tribute Artists. Can you believe that? Ladania is a blowhard. She loves to go bitchcakes in public and watch people cringe. Me, I think she’s entertaining, but then I know to not take any of her shit personally.”

“If people don’t agree with her?”

“She inducts your ass into the Universal Club of Racists. You met her yet?”

“No.”

“Wingel has dinner every Wednesday night at the Bounty House. She’s the ultimate control freak. She’ll be with the school board president, who is a dandy piece of work in her own right, but well-intentioned. Walk in on them and she’ll have no choice but to play nice. Her public rants are mostly
directed at teachers, students, parents, administrators and so forth, but she publicly and verbally kisses the school board president’s ass.”

“You don’t care for her.”

Franti grinned. “The only reason we don’t shoot some people is because it’s against the law. I’m hungry. Let’s order.”

• • •

Aunt Marge tried to feed him another lunch after the lunch with Franti. She and Newf were already bonding. “Crispin, he’s a good guy, eh?”

“You were right.”

“What you want for supper tonight?”

“I’ve got a meeting.”

She frowned and shook a finger at him. “Work, work, work, the same as Wayno, and look where that got him,
capisce?
”

• • •

The Bounty House was in downtown Jefferson, across the street from an old firehouse, which now housed a national agricultural PR firm.

Finding Ladania Wingel wasn’t difficult. She was the only black person in the restaurant. The woman with her was attractive, spiffed and polished, a high-upkeep type in a tight, bright-red top and red fuck-me heels.

He approached the table. “Excuse me … Dr. Wingel?”

“We’re in a meeting here,” she said tersely, through a forced smile.

He flopped open his shield. “Detective Service, Michigan Department of Natural Resources.”

“You have no jurisdiction in Wisconsin.”

“Actually I do. I’m also deputized as a federal marshal. You want to see those credentials too?”

“Would you care for a drink?” the other woman asked. “Razzie martoonis here are yummer-yums.”

Wingel sighed. “This is about the dig.”

“It’s about the remains you harvested and mysteriously reburied.”

“I reported all this. Winter unearthed the remains, not me.”

“So you wrote in your report.”

“Oh good, it’s nice that you can read. If you’ve comprehended what you read, then our business is concluded. Good-bye.”

Service pulled out one of the two extra chairs at the table and sat down. “I’ll say when we’re finished, Dr. Wingel.” He turned to the professor’s companion. “I’m Grady Service—I won’t be long.”

“Marldeane Youvonne Brannigan. Stay as long as you like. You don’t have to hurry on my account. Can we girls buy you a martooni?”

“I’m on duty, but thanks for offering,” Service said.

“Shame,” Brannigan said. She ordered a raspberry martini and drained the drink in hand. There were already two empty glasses on the table. As soon as the waiter brought her a new drink, Brannigan got up and left the table.

Service looked over at Wingel. “Before you find some bullshit reason to accuse me of racism, I want to do something.” He pushed the speed-dial number for Treebone and put the phone on speaker. “You all set?”

“Good to go, man.”

“Dr. Wingel, Lieutenant Luticious Treebone of the Detroit Police Department is on the line. He is a black man. If I say anything to you that is in the slightest bit racist, he will jump in. Shall we proceed?”

“I’m good,” Tree said.

“This is highly irregular,” Wingel said.

“I know,” Service said, “but Tree and me are highly irregular guys: We spent a long time together in the marines in Vietnam, we were state cops and game wardens together, and I’m godfather to his kids, so there’s no bullshit between us.”

“We gonna jaw-jaw or do this thing?” Treebone complained impatiently.

The woman’s eyes were wide, a deer in the headlights.

Service took out a piece of paper he’d prepared earlier at Aunt Marge’s. The map he’d sketched included the area with the sand bowl and the place Sedge had described as an amoeba. He put the map on the table in front of Wingel and handed her a pen. “Where exactly did Old Man Winter cough up said corpse?”

Wingel said, “You don’t intimidate me—
either
of you.”

“Wrong answer. Where exactly was the corpse?”

She studied the drawing and finally, tentatively, made a small, shaky
X
, the ink barely legible on the paper. The mark was on the southwest extremity of the amoeba.

He tapped the area. “Any idea what that is?”

“It’s not written anywhere, but the late chairman of the Madeline Island Reservation once told me that according to oral tradition, there once was a small, protected harbor there. Obviously time and weather have closed it in and filled it up.”

“Madeline Island?”

“Wisconsin,” she said haughtily.

“Did this alleged chairman make a dying declaration?”

“Don’t be an ass,” she said.

“When you conducted your first dig, were you aware of the harbor?”

“There was only one dig.”

“I take it the answer is negative?”

“Don’t presume answers on my behalf. Winter brought up the burial bundle, not my digging.”

“There was a bundle?”

“I believe I just clearly stated that.”

“Describe it, please.”

“I don’t remember. It was years ago.”

“I’m not trying to twist your thong,” Service said. Then, at the phone: “Did that qualify as racist?”

“Could be a bit sexist, but definitely not racist. How you know she wearing a thong? If she commando, you’d be inaccurate. Sister, listen to me: Cops, we don’t buy into convenient memory lapses.”

“You heard him,” Service said. “About that bundle?”

“It was wrapped in birch bark—the remains were enclosed in what appeared to be bark.”

“Is that significant—professionally speaking?”

“
Na-do-we-se
.”

“Iroquois, right?”

“Yes, correct,” Wingel said with a slight nod.

“You didn’t think that worthy of follow-up?”

“The season uncovered it and it needed to be put back.”

“Where’d you rebury it?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Tree?”

“Before she gets on the racism or sexism horse, your professor there needs to tell truth, hear?”

She took the pen and made another tentative mark—across from the filled-in harbor where the bundle had been found.

“Why rebury it there instead of closer to where you’d found it?”

She shrugged, stared at the wall.

“You
did
rebury it, yes? I mean, if we get search warrants, we’re not going to find bones in your house, or your office at school?”

“I reburied it,” she said coolly.

“Immediately?”

“I think I want to call my lawyer.”

“So you didn’t bury it right away.”

“Of course not. I examined it before putting it back.”

“But you didn’t put it back where you found it? Technically that’s not putting it back, is it?”

“How long must I endure this?” she asked.

“Answer him, sister,” Tree commanded from the phone.

“Where did you dig the first time?”

“There was only one time,” she said again. She tapped her finger on the north side of the sandy bowl, which was close to where Katsu had been.

“You find much?”

“Quite a lot.”

“All Ojibwa?”

“No. Of course, there were certain items that came from trading with other tribes.”

“Where’s that stuff now?”

“It was turned over to the State of Michigan, which is what the laws require.”

“I see. Describe the remains.”

“I did—in my report.”

“Sister,” Tree chimed in.

“What is it you want to know?”

“Bones, a skull—what?”

“Most of an entire skeleton.”

“Skull too?”

“No!”

“The skull wasn’t with the bones?”

“A few feet away.”

“In what condition?”

“It had been interred underground for a long, long time.”

Service looked her in the eye. “You’re trained to observe. So am I.”

“The skull appeared to be fractured,” she said cautiously.

“In what way?”

“Broken.”

“By what?”

“I wasn’t there.”

“Guess.”

“A projectile.”

“Pointed or round, large or small?”

“Round, small.”

“Like a musketball?”

“That would not be an unreasonable conclusion.”

“You think this is where the 1662 fight took place?”

“That could not possibly be determined without further excavation.”

“By you?”

“My days in the field are long done,” she said.

Dr. Wingel’s companion Marldeane Youvonne Brannigan came staggering back to the table with another fresh drink in hand, put a card under his hand-drawn map, and loudly blew back the strands of hair hanging in her face.

“Thank you for your cooperation, Dr. Wingel. Tree, we’re done.”

“Cool,” Treebone said, and hung up.

“I hope our next meeting isn’t in a courtroom,” Service said. “If it is, I won’t be nearly so polite.”

“You poor-white racist trash,” she said with a snarl.

“Later, ladies.” He got up and walked outside. He looked at Brannigan’s card, on which she had scribbled “I’m discreet—are you? Have a nice day!” She had written a cell-phone number under the name and added a smiley face.

I hate smiley faces
. He dropped the card in a curbside trash bin.

Sedge wanted to meet at nine. Service decided to drop by the district office. Sergeant Jeffey Bryan met him at the unstaffed reception desk. There was no room in state budgets for such positions anymore.

“S’up?” the six-foot-six officer asked.

“Dunno. Just drove in from Wisconsin.”

“You hear we have a new chief? Just announced yesterday. And Teeny’s gone.”

“Huh,” Service said noncommittally. “Your el-tee in?”

“She’s with the new chief. For a while they were yelling at each other.”

“You think they need a ref?”

Bryan grinned. “El-Tee can take care of herself.”

Service headed for McKower’s cubicle and got there as Eddie Waco stood up, shook McKower’s hand, and departed, looking tired. He nodded to Service as he passed.

“
You
,” McKower greeted him. Her tone was menacing, and the blood drained out of her face as he stepped into the office.

“Me what?”

“You know damn well what.”

“I heard there was some kind of ruckus back here.”

“Ruckus my ass. This is
your
doing.”

“Lis what are you talking about?”

“I saw you two exchange the secret boys’ club nods just now. This was your idea. You two are in cahoots!”

“You need to calm down.”

“He just asked me to be assistant chief.”

“Who asked?”

“Chief Waco.”

Service looked behind him. “Was
that
him?”

McKower pounded her table with a fist. “You know damn well who he is. You two are pals.”

Service held up his hands. “Did the man tell you that?”

“He didn’t have to.”

“Well, there ya go.”

“You numbskull. I read all the case reports from Missouri, his and yours, remember?”

Damn her memory
. “One case, way back, does not constitute friendship.”

“For Christ’s sake, Grady. I talked to Lorne. He told me you met the chief in Lansing on the thirtieth.”

Time to clam up
. “Old business. You accept?”

“What do you think, Geppetto?”

He nodded. “Yeah, you’ll do it.”

“Which you knew.”

“All I know is that everyone in the department thinks you’re destined to be chief one day, and here it begins.”

“My kids will
hate
Lansing!”

“Live outside the city. Assistant chiefs can choose.”

“What I should do is kick your ass,” she said.

“But?”

“The chief and I have a better idea.”

Don’t like this
.
Don’t like this one bit
. “Which is?”

“You’ll see. By the way, Sedge briefed me on the artifact case.”

“Good officer,” he said.

“And eccentric,” McKower added.

“True that. Got any advice?”

She smiled. “I briefed the chief. Know what he said?”

“You’re gonna tell me?”

“He said let Grady run with it.”

“He did not say that. It’s Sedge’s case.”

“You’ll never know, will you?”

“Geez, rank going to your head already?”

She seemed amused.

“So what did you and the chief argue about?”

“We had a discussion, not an argument.”

“About?”

“You.”

“What about me?”

“Time will tell.”

Service stood. “I’ve taken enough abuse, thank you.” He turned to leave but spun back and held out his hand. “Semper fi.”

“That’s not our outfit,” she said.

“It’s you and me, Lis. Always will be.”

“Stay where you are, Detective.”

She moved some papers on her desktop, revealing two sets of chevrons, each with six stripes, one of them with a diamond in the middle. She held that set out to him.

“I believe these are yours, State Chief Master Sergeant Service.”

“Not a chance,” he said, taking a step back. “No way.”

She smiled. “You knew I’d take my job, and I know you’ll take this one. Besides, it’s an order, you big jerk. Your first job is to select the state master sergeant.”

“What the hell is going on?”

“Coasting time’s done, big boy. Time’s come for you to step up and lead.”

“Master sergeant. Who?”

“That’s your choice.” She glared at him triumphantly. “You can’t help doing the right thing. Usually.”

“Grinda gets the detective opening,” he said.

“Talk to Milo—persuade him.”

He held up his hands. “I will
not
waste time in meetings in Lansing.”

She smiled, clearly enjoying herself. “Your job is to move around the state, work with everyone. Figure out which officers should be groomed for sergeant, which sergeants for el-tee. Weed out the bullshitters, lightweights, and politicians. Chief Waco and I both want only the best officers moving up.”

He hesitated for a long time.
You have to say something, asshole
.

“But no meetings. I mean it.”

She wiggled the chevrons. “Fine, no more plainclothes stuff. Wear your uniform.”

“Hey, you want me to do this damn job, I’m going to do it my way. What about Sedge’s case?”

“You always finish what you start, Grady. I can’t see you changing now.”

“Bite me,” he said, snapped a salute, turned, and fumed out of the office.