Ice Hunter (35 page)

Service stared at the murderer. “Don't let the bedbugs bite, asshole.”

McKower called while he waited for support from Delta County.

“The permits are not going to be signed,” she said.

Service exhaled in relief.

“What's your status?” she asked.

“I have Fox. I'm waiting to transfer him.”

“Great job. What about the Knipes?”

“Del Olmo will take Ike Knipe and I will personally see to his father.”

21

The Crystal Falls police chief's name was Pallaviano. He was a tall man with long hair and a scraggly salt-and-pepper beard that made him look more like a logger than a cop. He wore a T-shirt; his badge dangled around his neck from a purple shoestring.

Pallaviano and del Olmo met Service late in the afternoon at the Jewel of Iron County—the Romanesque county courthouse that sat atop Superior Street, overlooking the Paint River Valley. They met with a judge named Hjalmquist. Pallaviano made a brief introduction and Service quickly outlined the evidence, finishing with the tape of Fox's confession.

Fox was housed temporarily in the Delta County Jail; Ike Knipe was in Iron County's facility. It was time to move against Seton Knipe before the arrests hit the news.

“Seton Knipe is well connected,” the judge cautioned.

“Not for long,” Service said.

The judge signed the warrant and a writ allowing them to search Knipe's house, Fox's place in Crystal Falls, and the Wildcat compound outside town.

Service, del Olmo, Pallaviano, and one of his deputies drove to Knipe's house, which was perched on a steep hill above Mastodon Creek near Buck Lake, south of the old mining village called Alpha. It was dark when they got to the house, which sat above them.

“No fence,” Service said. And no shrubs or trees around the place, which meant no cover.

“This ain't fence country,” Pallaviano reminded him.

Service didn't like the looks of the place. Anybody in the house would see the headlights of approaching vehicles.

“It's your bust,” Pallaviano said magnanimously. “You've earned it.”

Service shook his head. “Take Simon and serve the warrant.”

Pallaviano looked surprised. “And you?”

“Leave your man with the vehicles and I'll go around back and come up from behind.”

“You're one of those overly suspicious types?”

Service laughed. The Knipes had bailed out of Pelkie and didn't seem the kind of people to willingly face the music, unless they were the conductors. The CO circled the house through jagged rocks that made for slow and tricky footing. His shoulder ached and every time he used his right arm for balance, pain shot through him.

There were no lights in the citadel above.

In back he could hear Mastodon Creek tumbling lazily along. Pallaviano had to be at the door by now, but the house remained dark.

Not a good sign.

The CO climbed down through the rocks to the creek's edge. Caddisflies were thick in the night air, and a couple of small trout were splashing the surface as they grabbed at emergers. Service edged north and saw the shadow of something in the water. It was more than a plank and less than a bridge. He used it to cross the creek. A narrow trail led from the water's edge on the other side up to a flat area and a low cinder-block building with two garage doors and no windows.

He stood in darkness against the side of the building. After ten minutes he saw lights come on in the house and from the direction of the creek heard shoe leather scuffing gravel. The shuffling was slow and halting.

“Evening,” Service said when the man drew close.

“Who in blazes are you?” a startled voice asked.

“Mister Seton Knipe?”

“Who the hell else would I be?”

“Did you talk to Sheriff Pallaviano?”

“I don't chew the fat with wops.”

Service turned on his flashlight and the old man raised an arm to block the beam.

“Turn that thing off.”

“Mister Seton Knipe, you are under arrest.”

“Is that a fact?” The old man was not easily intimidated. Service activated his tape recorder.

“Yessir.”

“I expect it's my son you want. He runs things.”

“Is that so?”

“He did it all.”

“All what?”

“That diamond business.”

“You knew about it, but did nothing to stop him? That's conspiracy at a minimum.”

Knipe coughed. “I want my lawyer.”

“You're gonna need him,” Service said.

While the elder Knipe was being processed into the Iron County Jail, Service went to see Ike Knipe in his cell.

“You,” Ike said, his face betraying surprise.

Ike obviously remembered the night they had met in the Tract.

“Your father says the whole deal was yours and that he had nothing to do with it. He called a lawyer for himself, but not one for you.”

Service turned on the tape of his conversation with Seton Knipe.

Ike glowered. “That bastard.”

“Fox says it was all your old man's doing and that you both just followed orders.”

So much for familial bliss. Seton would sing. Ike would sing. Fox would keep singing. A jury would hear the tune and name it in three notes. It would be a hit—for the Mosquito Wilderness. He hoped his father was watching.

22

McKower sat behind her metal desk, her hands primly folded on the blue paper blotter. She looked distinctly unhappy. At least Captain Ware Grant wasn't with her. Grant, the U.P.'s law boss, was a straitlaced, by-the-book iron jaw who had once been in army intelligence.

Service made a show of checking his watch as he stepped into her cubicle. “Hey, I'm even on time.”

“Sit down, Grady.”

Not a request; a calm order, in her somber in-charge demeanor.

“That bad, huh?”

“If they were doing psychological profiles back when you joined, they wouldn't have hired you.”

Uh-oh. “They wouldn't hire the people who made up the tests either. What's that tell you?”

McKower's head moved slowly, side to side. “You have made a shambles of law enforcement jurisdictions.”

“This isn't the old days. Jurisdictions are approximate now. We all share. We ebb and flow, cooperate.”

“Don't play semantic games.”

“I don't play games,” he said, defending his honor.

“Not the ones you should play,” she said.

Okay, the blow was coming. “Spit it out, Loot.” Was she enjoying this?

“If the lawyers in Lansing could figure a way you wouldn't sue the state, you would be out and unemployed.”

Service said, “I'd never sue.”

“
They
don't know that,” McKower said. “To them you are a loose cannon capable of anything. Lansing hates unpredictability.”

Lansing, not their DNR bosses. “Hell, Lis. It was you who squeezed Bozian's balls.”

She looked across the desk at him for a long time. “It wasn't me, Grady. Somebody else got to him—and just in time.”

Service winked. “Right, LT.”

“It's the truth, Grady. Somebody got Bozian to withdraw his support, but it wasn't me.”

If not McKower, who?

“Lansing would terminate you, but you solved two murders and a host of other crimes and they can't ignore that or sweep it away. But they want you punished and I quote, ‘put in his place,' end quote.”

“And you get to be the messenger.”

“I'm your lieutenant.”

“Okay,” he said. “Give it to me. I can take whatever you dish out.”

“Whatever I decide, you will accept it.”

“Right.”

“I mean it, Officer Service. I want your solemn promise.”

“You've got it,” he said, wincing.

“Effective immediately, you are on a sixty-day suspension without pay.”

Shit. He had money in the bank, so that part was no big deal. But sixty days? Usually suspensions lasted a few days at most. This wasn't a slap; it was a two-by-four between the eyes.

“When the suspension is over,” she said, “you will report back here to me.”

“That's it?”

“Most of it,” she said.

“Money doesn't mean much to me,” he told her.

“I know that.”

“Anything else?”

She stared at him.

He got up. “You want my badge and sidearm?”

She nodded. “Under the circumstances.” He placed them on her desk and started for the door, but stopped. There was something peculiar in her voice and manner.

“Most of it?” he asked, turning back.

“Thank you for your cooperation . . .
Special Investigator Service
.”

He stared at her with an open mouth. “What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

He charged her desk. “No fucking way, Lis.”

“You gave me your solemn promise, Detective.” She was grinning. “You snookered me.”

A smile stretched across her face. “I did, didn't I.”

“I am a CO, pure and simple.”

“Grady Service, you are anything but simple and I will not even attempt to address the purity issue.”

“No way,” he said.

“Chief O'Driscoll has decided it's time to extend the special investigations mission to the Upper Peninsula. You'll report directly to me, with a dotted line to Captain Grant.”

“Jesus H. Christ! What are you trying to do to me?”

“We're trying to save your ass,” she said. “And harness your power.” She formed a steeple with her fingers and sat back. “Captain Grant and I figure that since your cases always turn complex, why not just immerse you in complexity from the get-go? You'll be doing what you always do and now nobody can bitch.”

“What about the Tract?” he asked.

“Day to day, it will no longer be your concern.”

“Whose?”

“McCants.”

He grunted. She would do a good job and he could always check on her. “You think you're pretty smart.”

“No, Grady. I
know
I'm smart.”

He shook his head in resignation and flipped McKower a casual salute. “Maybe when I get back in the saddle, the first thing I'll do is take a long, close look at the governor.”

His long-ago protégé held her head in her hands and began to laugh uncontrollably.

23

Service had checked Nantz's house on his return from Crystal Falls but there had been no sign of her or his dog. When he got to his cabin he called her but she didn't answer. Nobody at the district office in Escanaba knew where she was because she had called in to take four vacation days. Just before fire season? Service thought. She was up to something.

Out of desperation he drove to the Tract, but found no sign of her truck. He hiked the contour trail to the log slide and headed north along the river. She was not there either and he chided himself for hoping she would be. He poked in the water where Newf had found the diamond. He had to find the source and do something about it. What this would be he had no idea, but he had to look, and get his mind off Nantz.

The bottom here was shallow and the river a series of rocky ledges, like steps. He had gone a mile or so when he sensed something and froze, looking up a slight rise on the eastern bank.

There sat a grinning Maridly Nantz with Newf beside her. Nantz wore running shorts, a gray tank top, and her work boots. Her hair was in a green doo rag and she was glistening with perspiration. The dog wagged her tail.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” he asked. “I've been calling for days!”

“I've been waiting for you,” she said quietly.

“You didn't tell anyone where you were.”

“I knew you'd find me.”

“And if I didn't?”

“You did.”

Unassailable logic. Newf bolted down the embankment and jumped into the water, barking and splashing him. They climbed up the incline together and he saw Nantz's tent pitched about twenty yards back. She had dug a firepit and neatly lined it with stones. He saw a white plastic cooler and two foldable camp chairs.

“You look pretty smug,” he said.

“Do I?” She said, rubbing Newf's ears.

“I know you, Nantz.”

“Not biblically,” she said. “Yet.”

“Don't tease.”

“Believe me, I'm not. Teasing time is over, buster.” She got up took his hand led him north. As they walked, he told her what had happened.

She stopped them at a small, rocky outcrop above the water's edge.

He looked at the color and frowned. “
Another
pipe?” Service felt his belly roll.

“No, my dear. This is
the
pipe.”

The eroding outcrop barely protruded from the bank, about five or six feet over the water. She knelt beside it. Service joined her.

“The stones come from here,” she said. “And tumble downstream.”

“It's a tiny,” Service said.

“Some good things come in small packages.”

“We have it all now,” he said. “I just wish I knew who put the muscle on Bozian.”

She grinned mischievously.

Suddenly he understood. “
You
.”

“I've known that jerk forever. Dad had known him since he was in the legislature. Sam said he was happy to see me when I went over to the island, but he wasn't so happy when I left. I told him the Knipes were involved in two murders and it wouldn't look too good if he was seen as trying to cut red tape for murderers and thieves. Not with his political stance against crime and criminals.”

Grady Service suddenly had no words.

“The deal is this,” she said. “The rock erodes a little each winter. Water gets into the cracks, freezes, expands, and causes pieces to break off. Some of the pieces have gems in them.”

She stood, held out her hand, and led him into the forest to a little clearing where there was a green tarp. Under it were bags of cement, two shovels, trowels, and buckets.

“It took me two days to lug all this stuff in here. The gravel for the cement we take from the Mosquito,” she said.

“You brought all this in here? Alone?”

“If we cap the rock, we can stop the erosion. We just need to check on it from time to time and do some patching.”

“The weather will get to it.”

“Not if we keep capping.”

“You've got this all figured out.”

“No diamonds, no rumors. No rumors, no stampede. I called Rocky, who told me what to do.”

Service peeled off his shirt and hoisted two bags. The pain was agonizing. One more time, he told his shoulder. Don't give out now.

They worked all afternoon. First they covered the outcrop with thick plastic. Then they installed wire mesh over the plastic. Finally they poured the cement, and Nantz finished it by placing other rocks and logs in the wet cement to make it look more natural.

“I don't know,” Service said when the work was done.

“Don't worry,” she said. “Nature always takes over.”

“Always?”

“Yeah and right now she's saying forget work.”

They hauled shovels and empty bags and other gear back to the campsite.

“I'm suspended for sixty days,” he said as they walked.

“Did you deserve it?”

“Probably,” he said.

Nantz smiled. “You mean you have two months of summer with nothing to do?”

“Looks like.”

“I hope it rains cats and dogs,” the fire marshal said. “I think you are going to have one hell of a lot to do inside.”

They both laughed and kissed tenderly.

Dark was falling. They cooked freeze-dried pasta and Italian vegetables over a two-burner Coleman stove. Nantz opened a bottle of Brunello di Montalcino and cracked two loaves of hard bread into pieces.

After dinner they went down to the river and bathed in the icy water. It felt good.

“Tree huggers would kick our asses for using shampoo in the water,” Service said.

“Let 'em kick,” Nantz said as he rubbed shampoo into her hair.

They carried their clothes back to camp. Nantz added wood to the fire.

Nantz produced a bottle of champagne and poured it into tin cups. “To an end or to a beginning?” she asked, raising her cup.

“To us,” he said.

She touched his arm. “Okay,
Banger
, it's time we determine the validity of that handle.”

The sky was filled with stars and Service lay beside the fire on an air mattress, Nantz on top of him. He had no idea how long they had been making love. Time was suspended and even his shoulder no longer ached.

In the distance a bottle rocket flashed up from treetops and burst into a shower of gaudy sparks.

“Somebody's shooting fireworks,” Service said.

“We're making our own,” Nantz whispered.

“They could start a fire.”

“Let 'em. It won't be anything compared to the one we've lit.”