Blue Wolf In Green Fire (21 page)

17

Service had his second shower of the day in the locker room at the Sault Ste. Marie Troop post, put on the fresh uniform he kept in the truck, and was ready for the meeting five minutes before it was scheduled to begin. The same cast as last time filed in. Judge Vengstrom from Marquette, Sheriff Freddy Bear Lee, Barry Davey, the two Feebs, the hulking Lieutenant Ivanhoe from the MSP, the same two guys in dark suits slouched in chairs in back. No sign of the county prosecutor. Cassie Nevelev was last to arrive, sweeping in with an air of being so busy she could barely squeeze in the meeting. She wore a chic black suit and high heels that sounded like she was pounding the tile floor with a ballpeen hammer.

“We've missed you, Detective Service,” she said, looking over at him. “Have you interviewed Ms. Genova?”

“If she's under surveillance, you already know the answer.” He was in no mood for games.

“Yes,” Nevelev said. “Of course we know you were there, but we have been patiently awaiting your presence to receive your report. I'm asking specifically about the content of that discussion. An oral report will suffice for now.”

“She's not part of this . . . thing,” he said, groping for a noun.

Nevelev rubbed an eyebrow with her finger. “Would you care to enlighten us with regard to how you reached this conclusion?”

“No,” Service said. “I wouldn't. What I would like to know is why it took a CO to find four of the five wolves at Vermillion—with three of the four still inside the compound. I also want to know why you didn't disclose this to my captain, and why FBI personnel at Vermillion told Officer Ketchum it was not in the DNR's jurisdiction. These are just for starters,” he said, pushing his chair back. Freddy Bear Lee tapped his leg and grinned supportively.

Nevelev looked amused, enjoying the leverage her position gave her. “You were at Vermillion the night of the explosion, Detective. Why didn't
you
find the wolves? The animals were your
only
reason for being there. You have not answered the question about the suspect, Detective.”

She had hit him in a tender place. Service leaned forward and stared at the woman. “Hey, if
you're
going to withhold information, why not me? We all know the steps to
that
dance.”

Judge Vengstrom coughed, suggesting he might speak, but he kept quiet.

It was Lieutenant Ivanhoe who jumped in. “This is unprofessional,” he said indignantly.

Service knew from experience that when rank started attacking and jawing about professionalism, they were feeling discomfort, and he was not about to let up.

“Yes,” he replied. “Thank you, Lieutenant. That's precisely the point I'm trying to make. If this is a team, fine, but the concept of sharing cuts all directions. If not, then maybe we should forget all this window dressing and save the taxpayers their money.”

“I'm for that,” the sheriff said, siding with Service. “We're not getting a bloody thing from you people. Homicides in my county are my business.”

Service watched Ivanhoe and the others looking nervously at each other and trying to do it inconspicuously.

“When there is relevant information to share, I can assure you it will be shared,” Nevelev said.

Service said, “Genova was never part of the AFL. She was used as a conduit. She got anonymous warnings, which she passed on to government agencies. She saved lives.”

Peterson, the FBI counterterrorism expert, rolled his eyes. “You believe
her?
”

“Give me evidence to show me differently,” Service snapped, tapping the table for emphasis. “It's innocent until proven guilty, or is that rule down the toilet?”

Peterson reddened, but made no comeback. Nevelev audibly sucked in a breath.

“What the hell is going on at Vermillion?” Service asked. “What's the status of autopsies, where is the crime scene report? Do we have a cause of death? Where are the wolves now? And again, why was one of my colleagues told that Vermillion is outside our jurisdiction?”

Nevelev looked at Barry Davey, who said calmly, “The animals have been relocated to a secure location.”

“Where?”

“To a safe place,” Davey said evasively.

“What about the fifth animal?”

“It will be recovered,” Davey said.

“How, by whom?”

“We have resources,” the USF&WS man said.

For the next hour Service and the sheriff pressed the others for information, getting nothing but evasive and general responses. It took a great deal of willpower not to storm out of the room.

Freddy Bear Lee intercepted Service in the parking lot after the meeting. “This is bullshit, but we've put those assholes on notice,” the sheriff said.

“I should have found those animals,” Service said.

“Never mind the mea culpa. How much do you know about what they were doing at Vermillion?”

“Not much. I went there once to meet the director.”

“Did you see the animals?”

“No.” It had struck him as odd then, but the director had explained they were shy and couldn't be approached by strangers because it upset them.

“What did they tell you they were doing?”

“Wolf research.” He clearly remembered that the director had not been specific and that he had not pressed him because the meeting was strictly a fill-the-square visit at the behest of his captain.

“Did you see all the facilities?”

“I saw the main office and laboratory.”

“I mean
all
the facilities.”

There were more? “I don't know.”

“Maybe it's something different than they say it is, eh?”

Service looked at his friend and thought about it. “What do you know, Fred?”

“I know when they built that sonuvabitch that it was classified. Usually the feds have to file a plan so the state and county can look at the general design. Even the feds have to abide by local building codes and ordinances, eh? All we got was a plan that showed the outline of the area—no buildings, no nothing. The county raised hell, but the feds talked to the state, who said that's just how she is—national security. Now what in the hell do wolves have to do with national security? Makes ya wonder, eh?”

This just added to his questions. “What about the autopsies?”

“The feds brought in their own people and closed the proceedings and the records.”

“They can't do that,” Service said.

“We've got a federal judge and prosecutor on our so-called team. I think they can bloody well do what they want. You know the old saw, it's easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.” The sheriff paused. “Look, Grady, one of my people heard from somebody who heard the crime scene team picked up footprints in the dust near the bodies and the footprints don't fit either of the vicks or the techies.”

“Somebody went inside
after
the explosion?”

“That's the way the feds see it.”

The conversation with Freddy Bear Lee haunted Service during the short drive to Bay Mills.

DaWayne Kota was not in his office. Service was directed again to his house, and when he arrived the tribal CO was outside, standing on his driveway.

“Been looking for you, DaWayne.”

“I heard,” the tribal CO said.

“What were you doing at Vermillion that night?”

“I already said.”

“You didn't say shit.
Nind apenindimin,
we will trust each other. We have to.”

Kota chewed his bottom lip for a moment and nodded. “
Geget,
truly. You want to drive?”

They drove to Vermillion but were stopped a half mile short of the security gate by men wearing FBI windbreakers. Both men presented their badges but were told it was a federal security area; they were not authorized to enter.

“They've sealed 'er off,” DaWayne Kota said as they drove back down Vermillion Road. “Stop here.”

Service stopped and Kota pulled out a piece of paper. The crude drawing showed the oval wolf compound, the lab building, the small security gate, and two other small buildings, both of them located near the area designated as protected for piping plovers.

Kota took a pencil and made some marks inside the oval. “I don't know this for sure, but when I was in the army I worked with dogs and it looks to me like that compound is equipped for that kind of training.”

Service let the man's words sink in. “They told me it was there to let the wolves get adjusted before they're released.” Although Yogi Zambonet insisted the state would never allow such a release.

“Could be,” Kota said, his tone implying he didn't believe it.

“Goddammit, DaWayne. What the hell were you doing out there?”

“Kids,” Kota said, shaking his head. “I heard some of our kids from Bay Mills were planning some pranks, going to shake up white hunters coming north.”

“A
bomb?
That's your idea of a prank?”

“No kids did that, especially
these
kids. They can't put air in the tires of their bikes and pickups, but I heard there was a problem out here and I thought I'd better have a look just in case. You never know, right?”

Service didn't respond. A cop's gut was his compass.

Kota said, “After we met that night I looked through the compound. It looked to me like they were training animals in there. I don't know for what. I also looked in the lab. Those people were shot, Service. There was a bomb, but they were also shot.”

The detective stared at his colleague. Something Freddy Bear Lee had told him suddenly registered.

“How'd you get in?”

“I walked in while the rest of you were jabbering, and before the crime scene people got set up. They were around, not paying attention. They're used to dealing with the dead, not the rest of us. It was easy.”

“You left footprints,” Service said.

Kota shrugged.

“There were two security camera mounts inside the lab,” Service said.

“Yah, one camera was blown all to hell.”

“And the second one?”

“I wanted to have a look, make sure it wasn't them kids.”

“You took it?”

Kota nodded.

“What did it show?”

“Not kids,” Kota said, evading the question.

“Where's the camera now?”

“I have the tape.”

“Jesus, DaWayne.”

“Things happened so fast. I have it and I don't know what to do with it.”

“You could've dumped it.”

Kota shook his head. “Couldn't do that. It shows something.”

Service let him simmer. “You could give it to the FBI.”

“Don't trust feds, and then I'd have to explain why I was out there. I could give it to you.”

Service felt a chill. “We're withholding evidence.”

“Givin' it to you makes it your call what you do with it,” Kota said.

“Where is it?”

“Safe,” Kota said.

“Keep it that way.”

“You don't want it?” Kota asked, showing a rare flash of emotion.

“Not yet. Tell me about the kids you were concerned about.”

“They didn't do anything.”

“What caught your attention?”

“They were making noise about Indian land and all that treaty stuff.”

“And?”

“I heard they were gonna paint some stuff, let hunters know this is their land.”

It didn't seem likely that kids defending their traditional hunting grounds and rights would be painting anti-meat slogans.

“Talk to them, DaWayne. Be damn certain.”

“I have talked to them. That mean you'll take the tape?”

“Yes, but not yet.” He needed to talk to McKower, find out exactly what legal swamp he was wading into.

He wasn't sure why he was avoiding the tape, except that the intuition thing was working again, and it was telling him there was more to this than homicides; if he accepted the tape, he might be drawn into something too big for him to handle.

Service drove back to Bay Mills, delivered Kota to his house, got on the radio, and arranged to meet Joe Ketchum, who was working with Kathy, checking hunting camps several miles west of Hulbert Lake. He wondered if someday he and Nantz would be working together. It was a nice thought.

The Ketchums met him at a crossroads COs called Dodge City. The couple looked tired.

Service brought cinnamon rolls he grabbed on the fly from a roadside Stop-and-Rob, and fresh coffee, all of which the couple attacked voraciously.

“Must be nice not catching this duty,” Kathy said.

Service shrugged and turned to Joe. “Did you get a good look at the grounds at Vermillion—inside the compound?”

“I took my sweet time. I found the three wolves near a shelter inside the fenced area. The shelters were low, two-by-fours covered with a spruce roof.”

“They weren't inside the shelter?”