Shadow of the Wolf Tree (26 page)

39

Crystal Falls, Iron County

THURSDAY, JUNE 8, 2006

He was vegging on Grinda's deck when his cell phone sounded. The number window said only private.

“Grady Service.”

“This is Evers Gorsline. You left a succinct message for me, Detective, tinged with irritation, so let me take care of your question directly. I'm sure you are a fine conversationalist—most detectives are—but as you might imagine, I'm a very busy man. If this Last Carde thing is intended to mean something, I'm afraid it eludes me.”

“Last Carde—aka Art Lake.”

“You're talking nonsense, Detective.”

“You're the attorney for Art Lake.”

“I fail to see your point.”

“I'm interested in Art Lake.”

“You are not alone.”

“What exactly is the place?”

“It is a retreat for artists, for exceptionally creative people, a place for them to work without interruptions from the outside world.”

“What kind of creative people?”

Pause. “Detective, I have neither the time nor the patience for insipid patter. If you have something to say, please do so now.”

“I want to visit the retreat.”

“Many share your desire, but residency is by invitation only. People are selected; they do not apply.”

“I don't want to be a resident. I just want to see it.”

“May I ask why?”

“Police business.”

Another pause. “Please don't be offended, Detective, but if you have official police business, and a valid reason, you can obtain a warrant, and we will of course comply.”

“I meant this as a friendly call.”

“Received as such, Detective, but we each have our own portfolios of responsibility. This conversation is terminated. Please don't call again unless you have a reason.”

A polite fuck-you-very-much.
The man was smooth, his tone amiable, yet businesslike.
Gorsline had clearly laid out the rules of engagement: Find a legal reason to enter, probable cause to support it, a warrant to flow out of that. What probable cause?

Art Lake owns the property where the remains were found. A judge will shove this up your ass. The wolf tree is not on Art Lake property. Taide Jarvi, Art Lake—is there a legal business connection?

Elza Grinda came out to the porch and sat beside him, her long curly hair freshly washed. “Am I interrupting?” she asked.

“More like saving me from myself.”

“You look troubled.”

“Call it stumped.”

“You hear about Candi?”

“That she interviewed for stripes in Clinton County?”

“She got the job,” Grinda said.

“She'll be a great sarge,” he said, his stomach flipping a little.

“Everyone thought—”

“She's my friend and colleague, that's it.”

“I didn't mean to pry.”

“Of course you did.”

“Yeah, I did! Sorry. By the way, Friday's nice. Simon and I both have really good vibes. She good at her job?”

“Seems to be.”

“Well, I just wanted to tell you that Simon and I like her.”

“I was really concerned about that.”

“You can be a real SOB,” she said.

“Get anything from your girlfriend on the drug team?”

“No suspects. UPSET thinks it's not an actual drug operation. They're setting up outside too early for a dope crew, and most of the crews up here have gone hydroponic. Hydro THC levels are in the twenty to thirty percent range, and in some places hydro farmers can trade their dope ounce for ounce for coke. Why go outside at all? But some growers up here realize the drug teams have limited manpower, so they're setting up decoys, hoping to draw law enforcement resources to surveillance on dummy operations.”

TCH was short for delta-9-tetrahydrocannabinol, the ingredient in marijuana that produced psychotropic effects. “The team's encountered decoys before?”

“Increasingly.”

“Some crews set up a decoy and you happened to stumble onto it? And then they beat the shit out of you to add to the authenticity? Bullshit.”

“Too many other things to think about to worry about it,” she said.

“Have you talked to the partner of the dead guy recently?”

“I told him to stop calling me all the time and to talk to Friday because it's her case.”

“He was insistent with you, then nothing? We haven't heard from him.”

“Normal mourning progression?” she offered.

“The deceased . . . how much do you know about him?”

“Squat. I interviewed the partner at the bridge and gave the tape to Mike Millitor. Not my case, right?”

“I'll talk to Mike.”

“Did I screw up?”

Typical of the most competent officers to continually question their own performance,
he thought. “No.”

“Cool. How's little Mar?”

“Going through a stage.”

“Really.”

“She has a vocabulary of two words. It's hard to have a meaningful conversation with your grandpa when your vocabulary amounts to two words.”

“Enjoy it,” Grinda said. “Soon the words will come in paragraphs—torrents of paragraphs and words. Your life will never be the same again.”

“It's good to be the grandpa,” Service said.

Grinda went inside.

Service called Friday. “It's Grady. Did you and Mike do a report on the dead man at the bridge?”

“Early on. He and his pal live in Indianapolis. The Marion County, Indiana badges interviewed the widow for us. Her statement is in the files. Ask Mike.”

“You were pretty funny this morning,” he said.

“Nobody reacts the way I do. I won't blame you if it's too much for you to deal with. The first time it happened to me, I thought I was going crazy. I talked to my doctor and he just laughed, told me I probably release more endorphins than normal.”

This was a real thing?
“How's the reading going?”

“It's probably a waste of time, but it's good to finish what you start, right?”

“Depends on what it is.”

“Is something wrong?”

“The Art Lake lawyer called back. He was polite but made it clear we can't get into Art Lake without a warrant.”

“The proverbial probable-cause hurdle.”

“There it is,” he said. “Are you absolutely certain about Last Carde, Tuesday?”

“Aren't you?”

“I just don't understand how Art Lake fits anything we've got going. I feel it and I sense it, but I can't see it.”

“The wolf tree?” she said.

“Not on their property.”

“I know,” she said. “You want to come over?”

“You've got reading to finish.”

“I can read and share space at the same time.”

“Thanks anyway.”

“Jello-O mode anxiety?”

“Are you kidding?”

“Good night, Detective Service.”

“Good night, Detective Friday.”

40

Iron River, Iron County

THURSDAY, JUNE 8, 2006

Service sent an e-mail to the Marquette lab, asking that the chain of custody on the gold dust be reviewed. The samples had been sent to Gabby, and pressing by e-mail was all he could do short of driving up there and doing a physical search that would just piss off everyone.

The transcription of Grinda's interview with the dead man's partner, the individual who had discovered the body, was next on his agenda. It made for interesting reading.

GRINDA: You guys came up here to fish?

MR. TIMBO MAGEE: [hereafter TM]: Jimbo and I live in Big Nap, and we'd never heard of the Paint until that pamphlet showed up. Usually we fish Tennessee and West Virginia, or even North Arkansas. But the Paint looked interesting, so we decided to drive up and give it a go.

GRINDA: Big Nap?

TM: Ya know, Indianapolis? Actually, we live in Speedway, but it's all Big Nap.

GRINDA: You mentioned a pamphlet?

TM: It's in my truck; you want to see it?

GRINDA: Please. I'll make a copy and give yours back to you. Where are you staying?

TM: Golden Lake Campground.

GRINDA: Tell me what happened today.

TM: Jimbo and me parked at the bridge. I went through the woods to get around the holes, and he went upstream.

GRINDA: Did you hear the shotgun?

TM: (Shakes his head) There was too much river noise to hear
anything
.

GRINDA: Speedway?

Service grinned. She was asking questions down one line, then jumping to another line to keep him off balance.
Grinda is good!

TM: A little west of downtown—you know, home of the Indy 500?

GRINDA: Indianapolis is a long drive from here.

TM: You got that right. Are you people gonna call Magahy and tell her?

GRINDA: Magahy?

TM: Jimbo's wife.

GRINDA: Notifications will be made.

TM: I could do it. I mean, it feels a little bit my fault, hear what I'm sayin' . . . that we come up here in the first place.

Service underlined certain passages in the transcript and passed his copy to Friday.

“Claims he never heard of the Paint,” she said. “Then he says, ‘I went through the woods to get around the holes.' ” She looked up at him with questioning eyes.

“If he's never heard of the Paint or been here, how did he know there were holes downstream of the bridge? They aren't visible from the bridge.”

“Good question,” he said.

She started rereading the transcript.

“Do we have the report from the Marion County people?” he asked Millitor, who dug in a folder and handed it to him.

The report was short and to the point: 1520 EST, 4-30-06, 5700 White Horse Drive, Speedway, Indiana. Senior Detective Woodrow Agnew, Speedway Metropolitan Police Department. “I drove to Mr. Macafee's home on White Horse Drive to inform Mr. Macafee's wife of his death. She met me at the door and informed me that her husband (Jimbo Macafee, 41) had driven to Upper Peninsula, Michigan, three days before (e.g., April 27). Mr. Timbo Magee, Jimbo's partner (age 32), left two days before her husband for unspecified business in the Milwaukee area. They were to meet up in Michigan to fish for trout. Mrs. Macafee (age 29) reacted normally and emotionally when informed of her husband's death. I got water for her and tried to calm her to find out if there was someone who could come stay with her, but she told me she is alone. Her husband and Mr. Magee are owners of Real Stuff Sporting Goods in Speedway. The business was started by Mrs. Macafee's late father, who sold it to she and her husband four years ago. Mr. Magee joined them as a partner last year. Mrs. Macafee was distraught because she said she had to nearly throw her husband out to get him to take some time off to go trout fishing. According to her, Mr. Macafee is a workaholic who does not like to be away. Macafee and Magee work together, and when both are away, she runs the establishment. She says she grew up working the business. Like riding a bicycle.”

Service looked at Friday. “The wife said the men departed and drove separately. Take another look at Grinda's transcript.”

She read silently. “Magee says ‘We decided to drive up.' He doesn't say they drove
together.
”

“But it sounds that way in context.
We
didn't know about the river, got the booklet, we decided to try it,
we
drove up. Everything is we.”

“It's probably nothing.”

“I also wonder about that last statement of Magee's—how he feels like it's a
little
bit his fault.”

“Look at the notification report. The wife says
they
had to talk the vick into going.”

“I know, but it just seems a little too gratuitous.”

“You can't analyze every word someone says.”

“Don't want to analyze everything—just the stuff our guts say to question. I'm going to call Detective Agnew and talk to him.”

There were office and cell phone numbers at the bottom of the report. The detective answered on the first ring. Service explained who he was. “Got a few minutes to talk about the interview with Mrs. Macafee?”

“It's your dime, and I don't mind thinking some on Magahy Macafee.”

Calls her by first name. Why?
“Memorable lady?”

“World-class looker, if you like women. Which I do.”

“Seems like she had to convince her husband to take the trip.”

“Seems like, and I bet I know how,” Agnew said. “She called him, and I quote, a ‘work-jerk.' ”

This was not in the report. How much else had Agnew excised or ignored. “Jokingly?”

“There was a smile on her face, but it didn't sound all that playful to me.”

“Her husband's partner left two days before him. They drove separately.”

“She called Magee
our
partner.”

“She seem broken up?”

“You know, the usual burst of tears, red eyes, some snot. I got her a glass of water.”

“Is there a reason you noted ages in your report?”

“Mrs. Macafee's the live-wire type. I got the feeling hubby wasn't.”

“Did she say why they took on a partner?”

“I quote: ‘To infuse cash to enable us to grow.' ”

“Happy marriage?”

“Are any?”

“Have you had calls from Mr. Magee?”

“Not really.”

“He called here a lot, right after it happened—to Conservation Officer Grinda, our first responder. The case team hasn't heard from him or from the widow since.”

“I had one call from Magahy asking when the body can come home. I explained the rules. She didn't seem too happy.”

“When was this?”

“Couple of days after the notification.”

“You tell her about disposition of the body when you notified her?”

“SOP.”

“Have you been to their store?”

“No reason.”

Service made a decision. “We might want to drive down there and talk to Mr. Magee and Mrs. Macafee.”

“True what I heard, it was a booby trap?”

“Where'd you hear that?”

“From the widow.”

How did she know?
“When?”

“When she called about the body. She was weighing closed versus open casket, wanted to know how bad off hubby's body would be.”

Magee was back home by then. Did Grinda tell him about the booby trap?
Had he seen it that day?

“Okay if we drive down? We'll give you a bump if we do.”

“Works for me,” Detective Agnew said. “That widow's major eye candy.”

Service went outside for a cigarette and Friday and Millitor went with him.

“Why don't we just smoke in the office?” Millitor said. “We're all out here all the time.”

“Our hosts wouldn't like it,” Friday told him, and, “plus, I don't smoke.”

Service related his conversation with the Speedway detective. “Something about the widow and the partner is bugging me,” he told them.
Could be you're reaching,
he cautioned himself.
But if you don't reach, you can't get the brass ring.

“You guys ever been to Indianapolis?” Service asked.

“Got a third cousin lives down there,” Millitor said.

“I'm thinking there should be a chat with the partner and the widow.”

“When do we leave?” Friday asked.

“Not we—you and Mike. This homicide stuff's your ballpark.”

“You?”

“Not sure.”

“That again,” she said with a smile, and went inside, talking animatedly with Millitor. Service went to the radio in the Tahoe and turned his channel to District One's frequency. “Three One Twenty, Twenty Five Fourteen.”

“Go,” Grinda said.

“Got your cell?”

“Affirmative.”

“Give me a bump.”

“Three One Twenty.”

The cell phone buzzed and Service answered and said, “Did you talk to the vick's partner about the device?”

“Negative, and I told the techs not to say anything to anyone either. Anything else?”

“Thanks,” he said, hung up, and went back into the post.

“That trip to Indianapolis . . . I think I'll join you two.”

Millitor said, “No need for all of us. I'll stay here in case someone needs to contact the team.”

“What about your third cousin?”

“A regular See-You-Next-Tuesday,” Millitor said with a grin.