Blue Wolf In Green Fire (23 page)

19

The parking lots of Lansing's Sparrow Hospital were jammed. Service beached his vehicle at the front entrance and hurried inside. A blue-haired woman sat at the reception desk. “Maridly Nantz,” he said.

The woman smiled insipidly. “What a beautiful name. Is that a man or a woman?”

He was tempted to reach over and grab her by the throat. “She was brought here this morning.”

“Let me check.” The woman awkwardly punched some numbers into the computer console. “The machine's dreadfully slow this morning. Aren't you glad the snow hasn't come yet? I can't wait to get to Palm Springs.”

Service wished she were there now. He left her fumbling with the computer and went back to Emergency Services. The seats in the hallway were filled with pale people, some with fresh bandages, some with tissues pressed to their faces.

He grabbed a doctor by the arm. “I'm looking for Maridly Nantz.”

“Ask there,” the doctor said, pointing at a window.

The young woman inside looked exhausted. “Maridly Nantz,” Service said.

The woman's eyes narrowed. “ICU,” she said.

Service found his way without asking for directions and found Chief O'Driscoll sitting in a waiting room with his hands folded in his lap.

“Chief?”

O'Driscoll looked up. “Detective, I want you to take a deep breath. Maridly has had a rough time. It appears she was attacked.”

Attacked? Service felt his blood boil. “Where is she?”

“They've done some surgery and she's under heavy sedation.”

“Goddammit, Chief!”

“We don't know what happened, Grady. She was found in the hallway at her hotel.”

“This wouldn't have happened if she was still at the academy,” Service said. He was on the verge of exploding, realizing that this had happened
after
he had talked to her. “When was she found?”

“About an hour before I called you. Why were you headed to Lansing?”

“Nantz got it in her mind to go visit the governor.”

O'Driscoll looked concerned.

“She called me about 4 a.m. and I decided I'd better get down here. What happened?”

“We don't know yet. There was an anonymous call to nine-one-one. The Lansing police and hotel personnel found her. The police said the door to her room was open.”

Service had to fight to keep his temper in check. “How bad is it?”

O'Driscoll shook his head. “We'd better wait for the doctor.”

Service sat unmoving for twenty minutes. Above him was a
no smoking sign.
He ignored it, took out a pack, and tapped out a cigarette. Chief O'Driscoll stared at him, glanced at the sign, and said, “Got an extra one?”

The doctor finally showed a half hour later. He looked to Service like an undernourished high school student—a sophomore, not a senior.

“I'm Doctor Caple.” The diminutive man faced Chief O'Driscoll. “Ms. Nantz is stable. Her sixth and seventh ribs are severely fractured in the rectus abdominus area. Her clavicle has been shattered between the trapezius and sternocleidomastoid. She has a spiral fracture of the upper radius.”

Neither Service nor O'Driscoll spoke.

“I'm not a forensic specialist,” the doctor said. “I'm a surgeon—a mechanic—but it looks to me like Ms. Nantz was struck forcefully on the clavicle, perhaps to deny her use of her arms. Blows were then delivered to her ribs, and her arm was brutally twisted to produce the fracture of the radius.”

“Somebody beat the shit out of her,” Service said.

“Yes,” the doctor replied, “but I don't think he counted on her fighting back. Her knuckles are lacerated and we have recovered flesh samples from under her fingernails. You find who did this and you are likely to find some deep scratches and horrendous bruising. She fought hard, despite the pain that must have radiated from the clavicle. Ms. Nantz must have a very high threshold for pain.”

O'Driscoll surreptitiously squeezed Service's arm to calm him.

The doctor said, “I've inserted a pin in her clavicle. It will be there a while, and then we'll take it out. We've also pinned the radius. More surgery may be needed. We won't know that for a while.”

“Permanent damage?” the chief asked.

“Probably not,” the doctor said. “She's fit and seems to be a resilient young woman.” The doctor put his hand on Service's shoulder. “There was no sexual assault.”

Service wrenched away. “I want to see her.”

“She's sleeping,” the doctor said.

“I don't give a fuck,” Service said with a menacing growl.

The doctor led him into the business end of the ICU cube farm and showed him to the one marked 14–3. Service sucked in a breath when he saw the tubes and monitors attached to her. He sat down beside the high-tech table-bed and held her hand and felt tears welling in his eyes.

The doctor and the chief were talking quietly when he emerged from her room. “I'll take one of your smokes,” the doctor said. “To hell with the rules.”

Service offered his pack.

“Doctor Caple thinks she'll recover just fine, Grady.”

“But I do have a concern,” the doctor said. “Her X rays concern me. We'll do some tests, but Ms. Nantz appears to be lacking bone mass, which could presage injuries in the future. What does she do for a living?”

The chief spoke before Service could. “She's a conservation officer.”

The doctor nodded. “Physically strenuous and dangerous. I want to do more tests.”

“Some people have thin bones,” Service said in his girlfriend's defense.

“It's not that simple. Probably we have nothing to worry about, but if she has thinning bone mass, we will want to find out why and take the appropriate steps. You can't be physically confronting people if your bones are going to break easily, right?”

Service tried to wrap his mind around the concept of Nantz and thin bones and couldn't. “How long will she be in the hospital?”

“Three days, four max. We want to guard against clots. If all goes well, she'll be released from ICU recovery after twenty-four hours.”

At that moment Service saw someone at the end of the hall who made his blood pressure skyrocket. Governor Samuel Adams Bozian was waddling down the hall, an overcoat draped over his shoulders and flapping as he walked, making him look like an obese vampire.

Service clenched his fists, but O'Driscoll's hand held him in place.

“Officer Service,” the governor said with his most concerned political stump-face. “I am so sorry about Maridly. I heard about the accident when I reached my office and came right over. How is she?” Two of the governor's bodyguards hovered down the hallway. “Chief O'Driscoll,” the governor added coolly.

“Governor,” the chief said in a low and threatening voice. “This is the
last
place you should be.”

“It wasn't an accident,” Service said.

Bozian ignored Service and talked to O'Driscoll. “Maridly's father was my friend. I've known her since she was a wee one.”

Service was shaking, but his chief held on. The chief said, “Governor, there was no accident. All the evidence points to an assault, and Governor, we are going to use every law enforcement resource in the state to find out who did this and then we are going to put the coward so deep into lockup he'll never crawl out. Him and anybody else involved.”

The implied threat in the chief's voice was clear. The governor took a step back.

“Good God, Lorne. I know my people and your people have had some political and philosophical differences, but you can't seriously think I'm responsible for this.”

The chief did not back off. “You ordered Nantz out of training, Governor. You stuck her in a bogus task force in an empty office with nothing to do and left her there. You have a personal problem with Detective Service, Sam, but you don't have the balls to go after him head-to-head. You picked on Nantz and now she's in ICU. How would you read it?”

“What are you talking about?” Bozian asked, stammering. “Lorne, do you honestly think—”

“I only know what I know,” the DNR law enforcement chief said, cutting off the governor. “And right now I don't like what I know.”

“I'll get to the bottom of this,” Michigan's governor said, jerking a tiny cell phone out of his suit pocket and launching his massive body back down the hallway, the bodyguards falling into step beside him.

Chief O'Driscoll released his grip on Service's arm.

“If that bastard had anything to do with this, he's dead,” Service said.

“If that turns out to be the case, we will do our jobs and use the system the way it is designed to be used. There will be no vigilante effort, am I understood?”

Service nodded, but thought, We'll see. He toyed with telling the chief that Bozian may have targeted Nantz because of what she had done last summer to help him, but decided the chief didn't need to look at the situation from a new angle. O'Driscoll was pissed and Bozian deserved to sweat.

“Grady, there's nothing you can do here now.”

“I'm going to be here when she wakes up.”

“All right, but after that you will let Fae and me worry about Maridly. We have plenty of space. When Maridly is released from the hospital, she'll come home with us. If she finds you hanging around all the time, she may start wondering if the doctors have told her the whole truth. She'll be fine with us. When did you last eat?”

Service shook his head. He couldn't remember.

“I want you to go down to the cafeteria and get some food in you. Then come back and wait for your lady to wake up.”

Service ate a toasted bagel with veggie cream cheese in the cafeteria and went out to the parking lot to have a cigarette. He called Treebone, but his office said he was on the way to Lansing. He wasn't surprised. If it were Kalina in the hospital, he'd be there for Tree.

Grady Service went back up to Nantz's room, pulled a chair next to the bed, and sat there. “As soon as you can speak, Nantz, I am asking you to marry me and you'd better say yes.”

20

Treebone called on the cell phone while Service was out for a smoke break.

“ETA in ten, where you at? How's Nantz?”

“I'm in the parking lot in front of the entrance. She's still sedated.”

Treebone arrived in a black van and when he removed his massive frame from the vehicle, it rocked in relief. A woman got out of the passenger side and followed behind him.

The two men embraced briefly. “What's the story?” Treebone asked.

“Somebody attacked her.”

Treebone sucked in a deep breath and chewed his inner cheek. “They get the perp?”

“She was found in the hallway outside her room at the hotel where she's been staying. But she fought back. There was skin under her nails and her knuckles are torn up.”

“Hotel where she's staying? She's at the academy, Grady.”

“I'll explain later,” Service said.

The woman joined them. She was tall, her skin the color of obsidian, henna-colored hair cropped short. “Shamekia Cilyopus-Woofswshecom, meet Grady Service,” Treebone said solemnly.

The woman's handshake was firm enough to let him know she was strong, but pliant enough to communicate the greeting.

“You won't believe it man, but Shamekia and I were once an item back in our college days. She went on to law school. Smart lady.”

The woman smiled and nudged Treebone with an elbow. “Luticious has an overdeveloped fantasy life and a terrible memory. He and Kalina have been an item since way back. I ought to know. I tried to move in, but Kalina . . . that sister's
baaad
when it comes to her property, know what I'm saying?” she said, her eyes flashing.

Kalina was Treebone's wife of almost twenty-five years. Service had been their best man. “Kalina's prayin' for Nantz,” Treebone added. “I want to see her.”

Shamekia Cilyopus-Woofswshecom said, “I'm going to get a cup of coffee. I'll be in the cafeteria.”

“It's in the basement,” Service said.

“Naturally,” the woman said as she glided away.

“Who is she?” Service asked as they walked the halls.

“The brightest lawyer I've ever met. She was with the FBI, special agent in the Office of Liaison and International Affairs. She had three years in the London Legat before she got retired.”

“
Got?
”

“Yo,” his old friend said. “You listen good for a white-boy woods cop. She sued the Bureau for discrimination, so they pulled her bodacious bootie out of Washington and put her in London. S'posed to be a prize assignment. Hoped they'd buy her off, but it didn't work. Shamekia gets outraged, only way to settle it is to make it right, dig? They settled big. She's back in Detroit six months, partner in Fogner, Qualls, Grismer and Pillis. Tight-ass old Wasp firm. They brought her in because the woman is connected, see? You want dope on Brits, she can bring it on most quick. You want to throw shovels of dirt on the Feebs, she'll be even quicker.”

Treebone stared at Nantz in the bed and shook his head. “Motherfuckers,” was all he said. On their way to the cafeteria Service explained what had happened, including the whole Task Force 2001 business and Bozian's unexpected appearance at the hospital.

Treebone stopped Service and looked at him. “I know you and the governor got bad blood, but Bozian's no fool, Grady. This can't be the Man's work. Our governor-man wants to be You-Ass-of-A's main man and he ain't dumpin' that for no pissant woods cop.”

“I know,” Service said. After his initial anger, he had reasoned his way to the same conclusion. Besides, he was pretty sure that Nantz, despite her vehement opposition to the governor's political views, had a soft spot for him.

The two men got coffee and joined the former FBI agent at a table.

“Call me Shamekia,” she said with a smile that showed perfect teeth. “No one can pronounce the rest of it. Do you mind if I take notes? I don't trust tape recorders. Too long with the Bureau, I guess. They're only now moving to online reports.”

Service nodded and began. “There's a woman named Summer Rose Genova. She's a veterinarian who runs the Vegan Animal Rescue and Reclamation Service in Brevort. That's just west of St. Ignace. She's been there about eight years. You've probably seen media reports about animal activist stunts in the U.P.?”

“I saw,” the woman said grimly. “Green fire. Two dead, which is odd in the United States. Animal rights activists rarely kill people here.”

Green fire.
That term again. “Right, but I have my doubts about animal activists at Vermillion. The rest, I don't know about. They're not my business. The FBI moved in on Vermillion almost before the dust cleared. They took over the wolf research lab where the deaths occurred and started dismantling it. The vicks were shot rather than killed in the explosion. The Feebs moved in with a federal prosecutor and judge and they have a state police lieutenant in their pocket. The federal prosecutor is heading the investigation.”

“Not the Bureau?” she asked.

“No. First thing they did was seal off the site and create a team. The resident agent from Marquette isn't even on the team. I'm part of it, only it's not a real team. We're spoon-fed what they want us to have, which so far isn't much,” he said, stopping to let her catch up with her notes.

“Right out of the gate they announced that Genova was a prime suspect in the Vermillion incident and they cited her history in England, which was where she was before she returned to the States. They claim she was a member and the spokesperson for an animal rights group that killed people. Early this morning she was arrested at an antihunting demonstration in Trout Lake. She denies the allegations about the U.K., but freely admits to organizing and leading the demonstration. She's proud of it.”

Service paused. “This morning I learned that the victims at Vermillion were shot with a .380. The Feebs got a warrant and found the same caliber weapon at Genova's place. They're now doing ballistics. SuRo thinks they're stacking things against her.”

“What do you think?”

“The jury's still out,” he said. “I want to believe her. What bothers me is how quickly they fixed on her as a suspect. They claim she's been under continuous surveillance since she returned to the States.”

“Surveillance for eight years? As in twenty-four seven?” the lawyer asked skeptically.

“That's what they claim.”

“What do you want to know?” the former agent asked.

“Everything about SuRo, starting with what actually happened in England. Have the Feebs really had her under surveillance since she returned to the States and if so, why? If she's guilty, fine. If not, I don't want to be pushed where evidence doesn't lead.”

“Please excuse this question, but why is a woods cop worried about this?”

“The man has an overdeveloped sense of justice,” Treebone chimed in. “Nearly got our asses shot off more than once.”

“My concern is the wolves.”

“What will you say if the ballistics match?” Shamekia asked.

“That would bother me, but that alone won't mean she was the shooter. She's obnoxious and opinionated, but I just don't buy what the Feebs are trying to sell. It feels to me like they landed with a case already made, and that gives me the willies.”

“Where is the BATF in all this?” the former agent asked.

“Basically MIA,” he said. “I saw an agent at the crime site the night of the explosions, but there's no BATF rep on the team.”

“And the Bureau's resident agent is out of the loop?”

“Way out, but he's running the investigation of the bomb incident at Tech, so maybe I'm reading more into this than I should. When I asked him why he wasn't part of the Vermillion team he said it was ‘above his pay grade.'”

“Did he? Above his pay grade,” the lawyer said, pushing her chair back. “There are some very nasty people in the animal rights movement,” she added. “You should see the psychos in Europe.”

“SuRo may be a zealot, but she's not a psycho.”

“The Bureau's swooping in like Mighty Mouse to take control and put together an investigative team, that's standard operating procedure. But a federal prosecutor leading the investigative team—that's not standard.”

Her voice told Service she had doubts. “And?”

“Let's just say I wouldn't accept what they're dishing out at face value. As you know, Hoover took the Bureau into a lot of places it didn't belong and despite the best efforts by some leaders since, the organization has a way of backsliding to old habits, especially in times of stress,” she said. “Tearing down the facility with such haste is unusual—to say the least.”

“Can you work through the Bureau?”

The lawyer laughed. “The only way I talk to them is with a judge as referee. No, I know people in the U.K. and they will be considerably more forthcoming than my former colleagues. I would think you're pressed for time.”

“Definitely,” he said.

“I'm sorry about your friend,” she said.

Service nodded.

“Now, I'm going to leave you gentlemen and get on back to Detroit and do what I do best.”

Service didn't understand. “I thought you rode with Tree.”

“I did so we could talk, but my car and driver were right behind us,” she said. “She'll be waiting.”

The two men stood as she excused herself and departed.

“Is she for real?” Service said.

“Ain't no act, brother,” Treebone replied. “When that woman mosey down the Cass, pit bulls be looking to hide in their masters' assholes.”

Nantz awoke twenty hours after surgery. Service saw her eyes flicker as fear and confusion flooded into them. He immediately punched the call button for a nurse and one came barreling in, followed soon thereafter by Dr. Caple. Service stepped outside while they examined Maridly. He found Treebone in a subdued conference with a short, muscular man in a double-breasted black blazer over a purple shirt and gray sharkskin slacks.

Treebone turned to his friend. “S'up?”

“She's awake.”

“I like it when God pays attention to Kalina's prayers,” Treebone said, turning to the man in the blazer. “Detective Johnelvis McMann, meet Detective Grady Service.”

McMann stuck out his hand. “Your lady okay?”

“She's awake.”

“I just told Lieutenant Treebone we've got her assailant.”

“Where?”

“Right here. He was brought in a couple of hours ago. He's been incapacitated by pain, vomiting, in and out of consciousness, the whole deal. His old lady panicked and called nine-one-one. He's being prepped for surgery.”

“Are you sure?”

Detective McMann nodded and motioned for them to follow him.

There was a uniform guarding the door to a private room off the surgical pre-op area. McMann pushed open the door and motioned Service and Treebone inside. The man in the bed had long, deep cuts and scratches all over his face. “We'll do a DNA workup,” McMann said, “but this looks like our man. He works for the cleaning service that takes care of the office where Ms. Nantz works. He apparently met her there and decided he'd like to see if she was friendly. He told one of his asshole buddies at work about it. Obviously your lady didn't take to his advances. He has a crushed testicle and he is one sick puppy.”

Service stared at the man, torn between anger and relief, ashamed of his paranoia. The attack had nothing to do with the governor.

“Get on back up to your woman,” Treebone said, pushing him toward the door.

He found her alone, propped up in bed, awake, but not entirely alert, looking small and drained of her spark.

“Grady?” she said with a raspy voice. “I hurt, honey.”

He sat down on the bed and held her hand tenderly. “You're going to be okay.”

Her eyes welled with tears, but she fought them back. “I really hurt,” she said.

“It's going to be all right,” he repeated, patting her hand.

“Why?” she asked. It was not a question he could answer.

Minutes later Service heard shouting in the hallway and left her to ask for quiet. Treebone was being angrily dressed down by the Lansing detective, who was a head shorter than his friend, but pressed against his chest like an attack dog.

“It was
you,
goddammit!” McMann said angrily.

Tree held up his huge hands and shook his head. “I don't know nothin', man.”

“Sonuvabitch,” McMann said.

“Keep it down,” Service said.

“Your pal here assaulted the assailant.”

“Motherfucker's gone woo tang,” Treebone said, holding up his hands again.

Service waited for an explanation.

McMann supplied it. “We left right after you, but your pal said he forgot something in the room. I let him go back in alone. Then, when we get back here, my uniform calls and says the nurses found the perp writhing in pain and they rushed him into surgery. His other nut's crushed. Jesus.”