Deer Park, Luce County
TUESDAY, JUNE 12, 2007
It had been a pleasant night with Jeffey Bryan and his girlfriend, Stella. The two men had kept her laughing for a long time with stories about a deer-season dispute between local Amish and Mennonites some years back, and how they had stumbled into the middle of it and been forced into peacemaking roles, something neither of them was fit for.
Stella taught school in Grand Marais, eighteen miles west by dirt road, and she left for work before he and Bryan were even awake. The couple had an English bulldog they had rescued from a shelter. Its name was Struts, and for some reason it stuck to Service’s side, drooling on his bare feet and gasping for breath like it had just run ten miles uphill.
“Struts likes you,” Bryan said.
“That makes my life complete,” he muttered under his breath. “Are your fire people aware of how bad conditions are around here? Hell, it’s only June.”
“They know, but what can they do?”
Service had no answer.
“You working on this side for a while?” Bryan asked.
Service briefed the sergeant on Sedge’s artifact case, but said nothing about horse rustling.
“You know Father Charlie over at LOL?” Service asked.
“Yeah. He’s a pretty good guy.”
“You know anyone around here who collects Native American artifacts?”
“Pot hunters? Most locals probably have a piece or two. If you’re in the woods you always stumble across things; you just can’t count on it happening unless you find a honey hole.”
Service stepped outside. Bryan’s house was built on a bluff forty feet above Lake Superior. The view and the sound of the waves were astounding.
From the wraparound porch Service checked his cell phone. No bars. Bryan came outside. “End of the porch, last four feet to the east. The phones always work there. Nobody knows why; they just do.” The young sergeant spread his hands in exasperation. “Is what it is, sayin’?”
Chief Waco answered his own phone. “Go,” the chief said peremptorily.
Service talked him through the discovery of the horse carcasses and the human remains, and outlined the plan to have the attorney general’s office oversee an exploratory excavation by Professor Toliver, with actual digging approved by DEQ. It would be the AG’s call on bringing in NAGPRA.
“The logic is that Toliver already has a plan for the site and it’s been approved by the state archaeologist. Seems to us that he can modify his plan to cover our interests, and DEQ can give him the go-ahead,” Service said.
“Without expert archaeological oversight?” Chief Waco asked.
“We could ask Dr. Shotwiff to evaluate the plan. He’s the expert for things Native American east of the Mississippi.”
“Shotwiff’s already been to the site?”
“Affirmative.”
“All right. I’ll get our lawyers talking to the AG and we’ll set up a meeting, our lawyers and them. You may have to drive down here for that. Call Shotwiff and ask if he’ll pitch in. We’ll put him on a consultant’s per diem.”
Service had no idea what that per diem entailed, or even that such a thing existed.
“You’d better call Toliver, too,” Waco said. “You sure he’ll play along?”
“I think he’d agree to almost anything to break ground. When he hears there are bodies in the flex position, he’ll jump on it.”
The chief hung up and Sedge called. “You still at Bryan’s place?”
“Right.”
“Sheena and I are at the district office with Tina Calabreeze.”
Service looked at his watch. Zero seven hundred. “You guys started early. Calabreeze?”
“The retired biologist.”
Start writing stuff down, dummy. “Yeah, okay.”
“You gonna work your way in this direction?”
“I am now. More horses?”
“Something more tangible,” Sedge said, and broke the connection.
More tangible?
41
Newberry, Luce County
TUESDAY, JUNE 12, 2007
There was a woman with Grinda and Sedge. She had long auburn hair that hung nearly to her waist. She looked like an over-the hill hippie, at least Service’s age, but she inexplicably had the face of a fourteen-year-old.
“More tangible?” he greeted the women.
Sedge held up a plastic bag with a faded orange plastic cap in it. “Remember this?”
Service nodded.
“I’m Tina,” the third woman said. “Calabreeze?”
“Sorry,” Sedge said. “Should have introduced you two.”
“Not a problem,” the biologist said.
“Tina saw the cap on my desk,” Sedge said.
Calabreeeze stepped in and spoke. “I asked her why she had a trank-dart cap.”
“Trank-dart cap?”
“You know the cap-gizzy on the plunger?” The woman made a gesture with her thumb. “This one I’d guess is off a Type P practice dart. The other one, I’m certain, is from a DNA dart.”
Service sat down. “Can I have all that in English?”
“Sure,” the retired biologist said. “Darting animals with tranquilizers comes down to accuracy with the projector, selecting the proper agents, getting the drug combination and dosage right—all skills you acquire over time.”
“Projector?”
“Sorry—the dart gun. Could be a pistol or a rifle, but probably the latter if the target’s at any distance. Pistols are used pretty much for animals in confined trap devices—boxes and clover nets and so forth.”
Scientists. “Uh-huh,” Service said, trying to absorb what she was telling him. “You said something about DNA?”
“Right. You can use special darts to collect DNA samples, or for a biopsy. Or you can use a transmitter dart so you can track your animal when it runs. They almost always run,” she added, “and increased exertion drives up the heart rate, which increases mortality from the procedure.”
“DNA,” he repeated.
“Yes. Let’s say you want to know if the animal has a certain line of DNA; the dart will take a sample for you, which you can then process in the lab.”
“And if the animal runs away, you follow the transmitter’s signal?”
“Exactly,” Calabreeze said. She looked at the other women and added, “He’s not as dumb as you guys said.” All three women laughed, and Service wondered what the hell was so funny.
“If you don’t want the animal to run, what do you do?” Service asked.
“The question is not whether the animal will run, but usually how far; the farther it goes and the greater its heart rate increases from fear, the greater your potential problems. So,” she continued, “selecting the correct agents and dose are of paramount importance.”
“And?”
“You estimate weight in pounds and convert it to kilos, which is about point four five. The desired dose for Xylazine, for example, is kilos times five milligrams per milliliter. You have to calibrate every time. The best dart rifles are effective up to ninety yards, but nobody would be so stupid as to attempt that long a shot, right? The drugs you’d use would probably be Xylazine and Telazol, and maybe Ketamine.”
Good God. Can she not focus? “I’ve seen Telazol and Ketamine used on bears,” he offered.
“Right, but with deer you need to add an agonist, either yohimbine or Tolazine.” Calabreeze looked at the other women. “Yohimbine bark is supposed to help the guys …” She made a fist and stiffened her arm. “Yohimbine HCL, you know, indole alkaloid, but the libido deal is strictly anecdotal.”
“Viagra sort of put yohimbine in the backseat,” Sedge said.
“Deer,” Service said. “What about deer and tranks. Agonist?”
“Yes, agonist—to undo the anesthetic effect,” Calabreeze said. “Like, reverse the pharmacokinetics and pharmacological action?”
“Would you call it a system, the rifle and
such?”
“Sure, it’s a system, and I only saw it used in grad school. We never used it here. We do it differently: We trank our animals up close and personal. Our way is cheaper and safer.”
“If you don’t mind bruises and multiple contusions,” Sedge chimed in.
“True,” the biologist said with a smirk. “It can get pretty physical.”
“Back to the orange caps,” Service said. “You conclude what from those?”
“Well, it’s just an educated guess, but it seems obvious, doesn’t it? I’d say someone was practicing to increase accuracy with a practice dart, and wanted DNA to be sure they were targeting the right specimens.”
“For?’
“You guys are law enforcement,” Calabreeze said. “My job was biology and science.”
“How about cervid rustling?” Service offered.
Calabreeze’s eyebrow rose at an angle. “Possibly,” she said.
“Does Luce County have the right DNA?”
The biologist lowered her voice. “There are state-record racks here,” she said in a near whisper. “Plural, as in many.”
“Where?”
“She drew a map for us,” Grinda said, holding up a piece of paper.
Sedge caught his attention and nodded without speaking.
“Okay, tell us the limits of this approach,” Service said. “This system.”
“You have to find the target and get at least as close as a bow hunter. The target needs to be calm, not harassed. The projectors are loud, and as you no doubt know, even a noisy bowstring will make an animal jump and often cause you to miss. Getting the right drug combination is difficult, and calculating dose is a special challenge, bordering on an art form. Then you have to get good at using the projector.”
“Anything else?”
She raised her eyes for a moment. “Projectors are considered rifles and are subject to federal law. Shipment is limited to the military, law enforcement, and holders of federal firearm licenses. If you don’t have an FFL, you have to get a local dealer to receive for you. This can be done, but it’s a lot of work, and a lot of dealers want no part of all the government’s red tape.”
“Vets have trank guns, and animal control officers?”
“Some, not all. The systems are fairly expensive, like up to two grand for a good setup.”
“Is there a trank rifle here?”
She shook her head. “You’d assume, but the reality is that only a few districts have them. You have to plan ahead and make arrangements to get them on loan. That’s why some of your people and regular cops end up needlessly euthanizing animals. They can’t get trank guns quickly enough.”
“You’re familiar with cervid rustling?” he said, changing the subject again.
“Heard of it, sure. Familiar? Not hardly.”
“Rumors of it happening in this state?”
“Not that I recall.”
The biologist excused herself to check something in her old office area, and when she was gone Service said, “Convenient loss of recall.”
Sedge was silent. Grinda said, “That’s not fair.”
“Hey, it’s just us badges now,” Service said. “Some biologists don’t like working with us. They’re convinced we drive away the public, which means they aren’t getting the maximum amount of data they want.”
“Tina wasn’t like that,” Sedge said in the biologist’s defense.
Service picked up the plastic bag with the orange cap. “Talk about luck.”
“The power and mystery of serendipity,” Sedge said.
Service stared at her. “Yeah, that too. We need to ask her more questions,” he added, and Sedge left the cubicle immediately.
Grinda sat back in her chair. “She’s a good one. Know what Jingo’s hobby is?”
Here it comes. “No, what?”
“She’s a painter.”
“Houses?”
“Don’t be a moron. Canvases. She’s an artist.”
“Picures of what?’
Grinda shrugged. “Does it matter?”
Sedge and Calabreeze came back and the biologist apologized for leaving.
Service said, “We’re sort of floundering, trying to get a grip on a case. We’ve all worked with biologists to incapacitate animals for various reasons, but not to relocate deer any extreme distances. Be patient with us, okay?”
Calabreeze smiled.
“We have a deer we want to move and it’s down. What next?”
The biologist nodded. “You come up on the animal from behind, always from behind it. Be real quiet, avoid any sudden noises—like your radio squelching. Kneel down, make sure the animal’s air passages are clear and that there’s no stuff around the mouth or nose that might get inside and cause problems. Then you check respiration and heart rate.”
“You have instruments?’
“Right. Then you check circulation. Do you want me to go into the details of each procedure?”
“No, significance is enough,” Service said, looking at Sedge and Grinda, who nodded their agreement. “Why check circulation?”
“To help us understand the animal’s level of excitement. Elevated heart rate increases mortality.”
“Okay. Next?”
“Put a covering over the deer’s eyes and hobble its legs A blindfold not only protects, but it also helps calm the animal. Then comes the hard part. You need to help the animal achieve sternal recumbency, specifically ventral recumbency.”
“English?”
“Sorry,” Calabreeze said with a giggle. “The animal needs to be on its brisket—its chest—with the legs tucked underneath, like it’s sleeping.”
The three officers nodded.
“If you have to roll the animal over, first put it on its stomach, then move it over to its side. The deer’s digestive system is hypersensitive and delicately balanced, and it will twist out of shape and shut down with the slightest provocation. Rule of thumb is that a deer that goes on its back will be dead within three days. The damage from that mistake can’t be undone. Questions?”
“What about antlers?” Service asked. “How do you protect the rack?”
“We don’t, because we do our work in winter here, and most sheds are off by then.”
There were no more questions.
Calabreeze continued. “When you get the animal stabilized on its brisket, you check for any injuries or signs of disease. You also check the dart site. You can hit an artery and bleed them internally into shock. The internal bleeds are hard to spot at first. Deer checked, use the Aniham to move the animal into the transport, secure it in its cradle, and make sure someone is with it to monitor its signs.”
“And it will survive?” The process she had just laid out was pretty much what Allerdyce had told him, albeit with less eloquence and technical precision; yet more evidence that Limpy seemed to know what he was talking about.
“A minimum of five percent die, even when you do everything right. Most mortality rates are much higher. Good teams can keep it at five percent or even a little lower.”
“You need a vet to do this?” Grinda asked.
“Ideally, because of the drug complexities, but a competent vet tech could also do it.”
“Aniham?” Service asked.
“Animal hammock—a fabric carrier under the deer, like a firewood carrier, human carriers on the sides. You lower the Aniham into the cradle under the deer and leave it there until you reach your destination.”
“Could you safely move a deer a thousand miles or more?”
“Nonstop, I doubt it. I certainly wouldn’t attempt it. More likely you’d have to do it in stages. Go from A to B, release the animal, stabilize it, then after a period of time, move from B to C, and like that until you reach your destination.”
Service looked at the women. “Rustlers can get up to a hundred thousand dollars for a trophy buck. Stages of movement, special equipment and transport, the need for highly skilled, specially trained personnel—all this s
ays we’re talking high overhead, which means this isn’t your basic redneck poaching crew.” He turned to Calabreeze. “Are there special vehicles for this?”
“Out west they relocate a lot of mule deer,” she said. “They have trucks with built-in cradles.”
“What did you use?”
“A temporary, collapsible wooden cradle we could assemble in a pickup bed in ten minutes. Once tightened, it was safe and sturdy.”
“The trucks out west, like, livestock eighteen-wheelers?”
“No; they have small ventilated boxes, six to nine cradles max.”
“Can you use the vehicles for other species?” Grinda asked.
“Sure,” the biologist said. “I once saw them move some buffalo in Yellowstone.”
“In cradles?”
“No, they just herded them into the truck like livestock—ya know, up a chute—and let them mill around the cradles inside until they drove them where they wanted to unload them.”
Service thanked the retiree for her help and watched her march out of the office.
After the biologist was gone Sedge said, “Nine cows. Makes you wonder, eh?”
Service understood. Trucks with six to nine cradles.
Grinda punched in her speed-dial number for del Olmo. “Can you call Sommers, ask them how beef is transported to Midwest stores, and from where? No, I’m not crazy,” she said. “I don’t know,” she added. “Yes, that will be good.”
She looked at Sedge. “Sommers is a meat shop in Crystal Falls. Simon wants to know when I’ll be done with the assignment here, and he says he’ll patrol my area while I’m gone.”
“He’s horny,” Sedge said with a smirk.
“Aren’t they always?” Grinda said.
“Hey, hey,” Service muttered.
42
Harvey, Marquette County
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 13, 2007
“Bootie call?” Friday asked with a knowing grin.
It was nearly 5 p.m. “Been bouncing all around Luce County,” Service said. Slept in my truck last night. I just wanted to see you and the kid and sleep in our bed,” he said. “So you wouldn’t mind skipping sex tonight?”
“Up to you,” she said with a shrug. Then she pushed him hard in the chest. “Now hear this,” she declared. “There will be sex in our bed tonight.”
Force of Blood Page 20
