Ice Hunter (12 page)

There were also two probationary conservation officers in the class: Sarah Pryzbycki, who was currently under the supervision of the Ketchums, and Dan Beaudoin, who had once been a navy SEAL. Pryzbycki and Beaudoin had brought good records from training assignments in southern Michigan. As probies, they would spend a year moving from area to area working with different COs, learning on the job, adjusting to different styles, and being evaluated daily. It was a taxing year for most probies, moving every two to four weeks and working the most distasteful and routine assignments. The word was out that these two would make good COs, and Service saw immediately that they fit in well.

Sergeant Ralph Smoke was the class instructor. Smokey worked out of District 6 in Mio and over the years had taught nearly every CO in the state how to handle physically unruly people. Smokey was short and muscular with a Hitler mustache and an occasional stutter, but he knew his job and the others listened.

After twenty years on the job Service had been through every kind of training the DNR had, the fad shit and the real stuff. He believed in training. You could always learn something new or reinforce old knowledge, and if he got one idea at a training session, it was time well spent.

Still, he had too many things he'd rather do than spend the afternoon putting arm twists and fingerlocks on his colleagues. As far as he and other veterans were concerned, the use of pressure points was pretty limited. A CO's main weapon was his brain, and his ammunition language and ability to talk to people. To be effective, you had to learn to size up people and situations quickly and talk them into a safe and calm place. You had to learn to listen as if your life depended on it because there would come a time, sooner or later, when it did. If suspects bolted, which they sometimes did, you ran them down and tackled them, or kicked their legs from beneath them, and usually when they hit the ground the fight was gone. If you had to resort to PPCT or anything else physical you were already behind the power curve and on the precipice of failure.

McKower waggled him out of class before they went outside for practice.

“Did you talk to Limpy?”

“I think he's playing some sort of screwy game with us.”

“Shall I pass that analysis on to Doolin?”

“Not yet. I want to play along with him for a while, see where it takes me.”

She said, “It's your call.” Then, “I got my score back on the lieutenant's test.”

He was surprised and showed it. “I didn't know you took the LT test.”

“They want me in Lansing next week for the interview.”

To advance to sergeant and lieutenant in the DNR you had to take a written test; if you scored high enough, a grueling interview followed. Those with the highest scores and best interviews got put on a waiting list. When a lieutenant's job opened, the most qualified got the first call.

“You'd move?”

“It goes with the territory.”

“Yeah,” he said. He still thought of her as his youthful probie of long ago. “What's Jack say?” Her husband was a self-employed electrician.

“He says they need juice other places, just like here.”

Jack was a no-nonsense guy. Not much of a sense of humor, either. Service had always thought she deserved better, but she never complained and in the final tally it was none of his business.

“The kids?” She had daughters, nine and four.

“You know how kids are. They won't want to move, but if we do, they'll adjust.”

“I guess,” he said.

She said, “You're not taking this very well.”

Service said, “Sorry.”

McKower had been a sergeant for six years now and although he was not one of her direct reports, he had come to depend on her. She had been a great field officer and was an effective sergeant who knew how to lead and direct. She'd make a great lieutenant and down the road she could probably run the whole Law Enforcement Division, but he just wasn't ready to part with her.

“I'll let you know about Limpy. Guess I'd better get outside in the dirt.”

McKower laughed and squeezed his arm. He walked outside and Candy McCants jumped in front of him, screaming, “I know PPCT and I am a lethal weapon!”

Service raised his hands in mock defense. “I know first aid and I'm not afraid to use it!”

After that, the group pretty much went through the motions. Sergeant Smoke lost his temper and told them they all had to buy beer for him after class.

When Service got home, Kira's truck was parked in the place where he usually parked. He immediately thought about moving her truck, but gave it a second thought and reminded himself, Use the time you have.

“I'm home, honey,” he shouted as he pushed open the front door. Lehto was sitting on the bed, wrapped in a blanket. “We have the flu,” she said.

“We?”

“I figure twenty-four hours for you,” she said with a raspy voice.

“I'll make chicken soup,” he said.

“It won't help. It's a virus.”

“And fern tea.”

“Fern?” She made a face.

“You'll see.”

She moved to the table in her blanket while he boiled water and heated chicken soup from a can. She kept the blanket tight around her and shivered continuously.

“I ought to put you back in bed.”

“Maybe you should sleep on the footlockers tonight,” she said.

He shot her a look. “No way.”

She sipped the tea tentatively. “It tastes . . . fresh.”

“Most people use the leaves. I use them too, but this month and next you throw in a few nuts to add flavor.”

“I like how you know stuff,” she said, sniffling. “It's a turn-on.”

“Yeah, well, Mister Know-It-All learned something today he didn't know before. The state owns all the land in the Tract, but some parcels have been leased out to private individuals for ninety-nine years.”

“So?”

“So, just when you think you know everything about something, you find out that you don't.”

“So?”

“You sound like a kid saying, ‘Why?' The so is this: What else don't I know about the Tract?”

“Life and death hang in the balance,” she said sarcastically.

“You get surly when you're sick.”

She said, “We'll see how you well you handle it when your turn comes.”

“I don't get the flu,” he said.

She gave him a look. “It's a virus. It's neither intimidated nor dissuaded by hardheadedness.”

“It won't affect me.” He kissed the top of her head.

“Don't,” she said.

“Would you like your soup now?”

“Don't patronize me, Service.”

“I'm just taking care of you, honey.”

A tear formed in her right eye. “I know and I'm being a bitch.”

“You're just being sick.”

“Same thing,” she said.

She ate all the soup and made sounds of appreciation.

In bed that night, he spooned in behind her.

She said, “I parked in your place on purpose. I wanted to see how you'd handle it.”

He said, “I thought about moving your truck.”

She sighed. “But you resisted the urge.”

“So far,” he said. “It's not morning yet.”

She put an arm around his neck. “We are doing so good.”

11

Maridly Nantz sounded tired and unhappy when she called Service. “There's been another fire,” she said wearily.

“Been?” He was trying to wake up and sort out her words. Usually he was instantly awake in the night, but not this time.

“About five acres,” she said, “but it's contained and we're sitting on it tonight in case hot spots flare up. I think you'd better come take a look. I'll meet you at the old log slide.”

“The fire was near there?”

“The fire
was
there,” she said.

“Rolling,” Service said. Nantz had a cool head.

Kira asked, “What is it?”

“Another fire in the Tract.”

“Oh no.”

“Go back to sleep,” he said.

“You don't have to twist my arm,” she said, folding a feather pillow over her head. He gently squeezed her foot when he was dressed. No response. She was an instant and deep sleeper.

The log slide. The night of the Geezer Hole fire, the old man called Voydanov said he thought the driver of the vehicle he'd seen may have been fishing the log-slide area. Why had he thought this? More important, Service thought, why hadn't he asked Voydanov more about his reasons for thinking the stranger had been fishing? Got to get yourself focused, Service, and stay that way, he chided himself as he raced the truck down dark gravel roads.

Nantz was soot covered and frowning through bloodshot eyes. “It's too damn early in the summer for this. It hasn't been dry enough for natural causes and the tourists don't invade until the Fourth,” she said angrily.

They waded into the river and stood in knee-deep water. The bottom was loose cobble, which made for unsteady footing. They shone their lights up the steep embankment on the east side. It was denuded of vegetation and blackened by fire. Tendrils of smoke plumes curled upward from the charred ground.

“It came all the way down to the water's edge,” he said.

“I think it started down here by the water and burned upward,” Nantz said, correcting him. “The wind was west-northwest at about four knots, gusting to eight. Behind our backs. We have to climb up to see the rest.”

Service followed her downstream to where the land dipped down closer to the water; they got out and cut back to the northeast on a gently rising game trail. He was impressed that she seemed at ease walking in total darkness. Most people couldn't deal with it; many conservation officers labored to overcome natural fears of the night. When they closed in on the southern edge of the fire site, Nantz switched on her light.

“There,” she said. “See it?”

There was a fire line, three feet wide, scraped cleanly down to the mineral earth.

He was surprised. “You and your people worked quickly to contain it.”

She got down on one knee, keeping the beam of her light on the earthen scar as she pawed at the dirt. “We didn't dig this,” she said disgustedly.

What was she trying to say? “No?”

“Whoever started this used the river on one end like an anchor and dug a line around the other three sides. They even chain-sawed some trees to keep the fire from jumping the line. It looks like they didn't want it to spread. They made a fire, but not too big. I don't get it.”

Service understood what she was describing, but couldn't imagine a reason. “You mean it's a deliberate, controlled burn?”

“It sure as hell looks that way,” Nantz said.

Service examined the fire line again. “Were your people up here?”

“No, one of them spotted the line where it came down to the river on the north end. As soon as I saw that, I came up here alone and checked to the south and east and found that the line was all the way around the burn. I kept my people back. I didn't want them bollixing any evidence. They're downriver now, in a clearing. I'm on watch for hot spots.”

“As usual, you're right on top of everything.”

“This deal pisses me off.”

“We should hole up and wait for first light,” he said. “Is arson coming?”

“They've been notified.”

“When will they be here?”

She shrugged. “First light at the earliest. They don't like working nights. We can brew some coffee by the river. I have chow coming in the morning for the crew. You bring your fart sack?”

“I can doze by the fire.”

“Don't let me fall in,” she said.

Service built a small pit fire using green wood to make heavy smoke. They both doused themselves heavily with DEET in an oily preparation. The mosquitoes were bad, and billowing smoke would keep them at bay. Blackflies wouldn't attack until sunrise; nothing would stop them when they came, and it would be well into July before they were finished.

Nantz lay down on her side, using a small pack for a pillow. She looked over at Service.

“How'd you find this one?” he asked.

“I was downriver at the first burn and smelled smoke.”

“You were out here?”

“I wanted to walk the other area when it was cold. Another fire,” she said. “Goddammit!”

Service got water from the river for coffee and set the pot on a small gas grill she had brought in.

Nantz was asleep before the coffee was ready. He found himself staring at her. She was good at her job, committed, too good for this to be her first time. Like some women in jobs that used to belong exclusively to men, she could be pretty abrasive and aggressive, but she was a dedicated professional. Her behavior reminded him how tough it was to be a woman in what was still largely a man's world. He could remember when the first female COs were hired and all that they had gone through to prove themselves. Some couldn't deal with it and moved on, but many stayed and some of them were now sergeants and lieutenants; some, like McKower, might very well run the whole show someday.

Service didn't sleep. He kept the fire going all night and swatted at bugs. At first light he left Nantz and began scouting the fire line, looking for tracks, tool prints, anything to give them a lead. The blackflies were thick, but he tried to ignore them.

Nantz showed up during his second circuit. Her face was smudged, her hair matted and greasy.

“Anything?” she asked.

“Not so far.”

“Figures,” she said. “Whoever dug this line knew what they were doing. It looks to me like they intended to keep the site clean.”

Logical conclusion, Service thought. “Is it safe for us to move into the burn yet?”

“Safe, but let's wait. My people will make a sweep soon and they'll go over the ground methodically. We should wait until they finish. Besides, some of the bigger rocks in there may still be hot.”

He looked at her, thinking he had misheard. “What rocks?”

She told him to get on a nearby snag and pointed into the burn. “See those outcrops?”

It took a minute for him to focus, then he saw them. Granite. In fact there seemed to be a dozen or so in a rough, curving line. Between them were charred white and gray, chalklike stones. What the hell was this?

“I never saw rocks here before. Not like those,” he said, stunned by his own ignorance.

“I'm not surprised,” she said. “There's only a couple of places in the Tract like this—this one and another back east a bit. They could all be connected down deep. Glaciers moved through here and dumped all kinds of shit on the bedrock. Hell, in some places you've got to dig down two, three hundred feet to hit bedrock. The fact is that underground, everything is connected in one way or another. The granite here is what makes for the steepness. Back when loggers briefly used this, they probably understood the rocks would hold up and this would be a great spot to dump their take into the river.”

Service wasn't listening. Granite
here?
It was yet another instance where he suddenly understood that he still had much to learn about his wilderness. Every time he thought he knew it all, he found out that he didn't. The price of hubris, he chided himself. How did she know so much about the Mosquito?

“Why would somebody intentionally burn this over?” he asked.

“Crazy people have crazy reasons,” Nantz said, “but they're still reasons.”

He grunted and wondered if the stranger with the camera and hammer was connected to this. “Aerial photos might help,” he said.

“I can try,” she said. “Why?”

“I'm not sure. Different view, maybe. Sometimes a little distance or time or a different angle help us see more clearly.”

She shrugged. “It can't hurt and it's early in the season. I still have budget. If the fires get going this summer I can always appeal to overspend. I'll get on it right away. You going to hang in here?”

Her understanding of budgets tagged her as veteran. “For now. This was about five acres?”

“That's a WAG, but it's close enough for government work.”

“How long would it take to dig a fire line around five acres?”

“That depends on the severity of the burn, the number of people working, the weather, their experience, and their equipment.”

“Let's say there were one or two people.”

Nantz rubbed an eye socket with the back of her hand. “There are a lot of roots and crap and it's steep as hell in parts. I'd say one or two days of hard, steady work.”

“Meaning somebody would have to be here for a while before they torched it. If they wanted to avoid involvement, they'd wait to dig the line straight through, then set the fire and split.”

“Makes sense to me,” she said, studying him. “What's your point?”

“If somebody was here for a couple of days, or came in several times to dig a little at a time, they'd risk being spotted.”

“Witnesses? That's a long shot.”

“Long shot or not, we have to consider the possibility.”

“How?”

“Use the media maybe.”

“Reporters seldom get anything right,” she said disgustedly. “Make that never.”

He continued to think out loud. “If somebody was here more than a day,” he said, “they probably came in and stayed. They wouldn't come and go. They'd want to minimize discovery. That's what I'd do.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Meaning they'd have a camp nearby?”

“Not a permanent camp, but a temporary resting spot. And they'd be dropped off rather than park in the area and risk their vehicle being spotted.”

She wiped her mouth. “I think I'm following you.” The sparkle was returning to her eyes.

“One person would be a lot less conspicuous than two or more.”

Nantz nodded. “So the guy gets dropped, treks in, stays till the job is done, lights the fire, and hikes out to be picked up.”

“It could be just like that,” he said.

“More than one person would make it a conspiracy,” she said.

“Maybe, but the second person might not know what the first one was up to.”

Nantz motioned for him to follow. She took him to a tree stump just inside the fire line. “That's fresh. Done with a chain saw and, judging by diameter, not a small one. The second person wouldn't be blind to such a huge chain saw.” She showed him the top part of the tree on the other side of the line. The bottom had been trimmed to keep it off the fire line.

She was right. “Yep. Two people at least.”

“Should we look for a place where somebody rested or staged?”

“We'd probably never find it,” he said. “All they'd have to do is get up in a tree.”

Nantz's radio squawked. She answered with her name.

“Fire sweep,” she said to Service. “Okay,” she radioed. “My people and the arson crowd will sweep the burn.”

She led him to the southern edge of the burn behind where the sweep began. He saw eight people spread about twenty yards apart. Service recognized the chiseled features of Sergeant Robo Peterson, the UP's chief arson investigator. Peterson looked over from the center of the line and saluted, but immediately returned his gaze to the smoldering ground ahead.

Service and Nantz squatted to observe.

Someone shouted from the west side of the sweep line.

“It's Bravo,” Nantz said. “She's second in. Let's move.”

Service followed her. She crossed the burned ground as gracefully as a deer.

Bravo was a tall black woman with her hair done in intricate cornrows. She held a baseball cap in her hand and looked glassy eyed. When Nantz got to her, the woman pointed over her shoulder and vomited, spewing on Nantz's leg. Nantz immediately put her arm around the woman and bent her forward at the waist. She looked at Service and nodded for him to check ahead.

The area was rocky as hell, but he was surprised to see a narrow crevice among the granite outcroppings. At the bottom he could make out the figure of a human being, but it was eight or ten feet down and on its face. And the rocks were hot. He took off his shirt, spread it out and wrapped both hands in it, and then climbed down using the shirt to protect his skin. At the bottom he found that the body was badly charred, its clothes burned off. Nantz appeared above him.