Force of Blood

by Joseph Heywood

  “What kind of people are we dealing with?” Korfu asked. “I know Father Charlie, and he’s a good guy.”

  “We’re looking for a woman named Marldeane Brannigan, attractive, fortyish—she’ll stand out. She won’t be a problem,” Sedge said.

  “The Kerses like it rough sometimes, but they are incidental to our mission,” Service said. “If they get in the way, smack them down fast and secure them for pickup later, then get on with business. Any other questions?”

  Silence. They knew what they had to do.

  • • •

  Service and Allerdyce were in position early, and both looked around for worn trails that might indicate possible escape routes for runners. There was one faint path toward the little river and another to the west, neither particularly well traveled. Service had watched Allerdyce as they hiked to their area. He seemed to grow younger with each step he took in the woods. He was stealthy, alert, and tireless. It was a creepy and disturbing observation.

  He checked in with the others at ten till and said only “Go at noon.”

  “Youse like dis stuff,” Allerdyce observed. “Jes’ like youse’s old man.”

  “Shut up, Allerdyce.”

  “Is good ting,” the old poacher said. “Youse tink we get dis gal youses want?”

  “No idea.”

  Service’s cell phone vibrated. Six till. He was shocked to have coverage, almost afraid to connect. “Yeah?” he answered.

  “Ghizi here. Jane called. Toliver’s missing.”

  “When, and what’s that mean?”

  “Couple hours ago, and we don’t know. He took one of his chickie-poos and left.”

  “What’s Jane want us to do about it?”

  “She just thought you should have a heads-up. She’s questioning the rest of dig team right now.”

  “Katsu?”

  “She didn’t say.”

  “We’re sort of pressed right now,” Service told the U.S. Fish and Wildlife man. “Give us an hour, okay?”

  “Roger that. I’ll tell Jane,” Ghizi said, and hung up.

  Service grinned at his phone. She’s the boss, not Ghizi.

  Service waved Allerdyce to the west and he walked east toward the Betsy River.

  Time seemed to stand still. Service’s adrenaline was topped out and he was ready. Allerdyce was hunched down, watching south. It struck Service that the old man looked like a calm, battle-scarred predator accustomed to ambushing victims. It was a less-than-comforting observation. At least he’s on our side this time, he told himself.

  71

  Halfway House, Chippewa County

  SUNDAY, AUGUST 19, 2007

  Service had given the signal and the radio had gone silent. It had been thirty minutes since the pinch was supposed to have happened. Finally, he heard Sedge’s voice.

  “Those damn Kerses were kneeling piously one moment, eyes toward heaven, and the next they were on us like rabid dogs in heat,” she said. “The whole damn family—mom Annie included—are major pains in the ass. We have got to get tasers, Twenty Four Fourteen. Two One Thirty, clear.”

  Rabid dogs in heat? Okay, then, things didn’t go as planned.

  “You got her?” Service asked.

  “Negative. The Kerses went from Hail Marys to kick-ass at light speed. We just now got them under control. Barely. I’m serious about tasers!”

  “Ask Father Charlie about Brannigan.”

  “I did. She left early this morning.”

  Great.

  “What do you want us to do?” Sedge asked.

  He could hear frustration in her breathing. “Calm down, Jingo. Take a deep breath. What’s your status?”

  “Korfu’s called for Chippewa County deps for backup and transport. We’re going to charge the Kerses with obstruction and assault and battery; every damn one of them has a pocket full of speed, and the old lady’s purse is loaded with weed. It exploded when she smacked me in the head with it. The deps aren’t close yet. This is going to take a while.” Service heard a rustling sound. “Dave, sit on her! She just tried to head-butt me again.”

  To Service: “Can I get back to you?”

  “Get things taken care of there. Where did Marldeane go?”

  “Father Charlie’s not sure. She was staying in a tent, never showed for coffee this morning.”

  “Meaning she could have left last night.”

  “Pretty much.”

  Damn. “Allerdyce and I will push north, Jingo.”

  “To the frog’s hut?”

  “Roger that. Twenty Four Fourteen clear.”

  If Captain Grant is listening to this radio work he’ll be wigging out. The captain demanded that his officers always sound in control and professional.

  Service saw that Allerdyce was already nosing his way north and he turned to parallel the old man, who was alternately pointing at his eyes and at the ground. The old man was letting him know he had cut some kind of sign.

  Service stepped up his pace and kept parallel to Allerdyce. Twenty minutes later the old man flicked a hand and pointed at an angle intersecting Service’s route of travel. The trail is coming my way.

  Allerdyce continued north. Service did the same, head down, looking for the trail, assuming Allerdyce was moving toward him. He found a track, at least size twelve, less than a day old, definitely not a woman. What the hell? He looked up. No Allerdyce. Shit! Should have told him to stick by me. No, I should have left his miserable ass in south Marquette County.

  “Two One Thirty. You still punksitting?”

  “Affirmative. No Chip deps here yet. They caught a vehicle accident on the way out.”

  “Can you move up with us? I’m nearing the frog’s cabin.”

  “Problem?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “There quick-like, Two One Thirty.”

  “I’ll wait, Twenty Four Fourteen.”

  While he waited he moved up to the camp and looked around. The big prints had angled past the cabin and down to the river, where the person appeared to have crossed. He started working a circle pattern, spiraling out from the cabin, and eventually saw a print. Pure luck that he did. Allerdyce knew how to move in the woods.

  Sedge showed up on the run, sweating, and Service explained what had happened.

  “You think the old man was trying to lose you?”

  “No idea.” With Allerdyce I can’t rule it out. He told her about Toliver and Jane Rain and Ghizi.

  “Where’s Katsu?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Tell me again what Father Charlie said about the woman.”

  “She was there last night, but not this morning.”

  He was moving along, following Allerdyce’s prints.

  “Can you see sign?” Sedge asked.

  “Bent grass, slight impressions, not much. This guy’s good at hiding himself.”

  “Is he hiding from us?”

  “I don’t think so. I think it’s habit.”

  She looked at the ground. “God, I don’t know how you can even see it. I couldn’t see it at tracking school either.”

  He stopped and showed her and she rolled her eyes. “For real?” she asked skeptically.

  The tracks were meandering north. “You recognize this place?” she asked.

  He didn’t.

  “This is where we tussled with Toliver the night we met.” She pointed northeast. “There’s an old two-track that runs past West Pond. Toliver used to drive up Vermilion Road to where it branches north. He’d continue west to where the road eventually peters out, but you can see where it once was. It cuts diagonally across Michigan Nature Association property.”

  “I didn’t think we were that far inland.”

  “We ran several hundred yards in that charge,” she recalled. “The main hill is north-northwest of us, and that landlocked state forty is southeast of us. You really ought to carry a GPS,” she chastised.

  Advancing north, they reached a small but sharply angled sand hill, and along th
e lip saw Allerdyce on his back, looking away from them. As they came forward he looked back, raised an eyebrow, and made a patting motion with the palm of his hand. They crawled toward him and Allerdyce pointed down in front of him. Service scanned around him first. This looked like the area the poacher had shown Professor Shotwiff and him. Below he saw Marldeane Brannigan in a halter top and shorts, her skin red from sun. She seemed to be looking down at her feet into what appeared to be a hole. Service looked over at Allerdyce. The poacher dragged three fingers slowly across his eyes.

  “Hole?” Service mouthed.

  Allerdyce nodded, made a ladling motion with his hand. Brannigan seemed to be talking softly and swatting at insects as dark clouds began to sweep in from the big lake, and Service heard thunder dragooning in the distance. Weather up here could change in a blink, any day of the year.

  As he reflected on rain, a new figure appeared beside Brannigan. Jesus! It was Ladania Wingel, holding a clipboard and jawing at her companion. Service mouthed to Sedge: “Wingel.”

  Both women seemed focused on the hole.

  Service tapped Allerdyce’s shoulder. “Can you get close enough to them to see what’s going on?”

  Allerdyce nodded. “Want clipperbird?”

  “Take a look only if you get a safe chance, but right now, just see what they’re doing and we’ll work our way in from another direction.”

  The old man slid backward on his belly and crab-crawled westward along the hill’s military crest. Service motioned Sedge back. “What’s he doing?” she asked.

  “Recce.”

  “And us?”

  “Get below—get ready to move in from the east.”

  “Is there a third person down there?”

  Service said softly, “Probably.”

  “Digging?”

  He wasn’t sure, had no answer.

  “Wish we were closer to see what they’re actually doing,” Sedge said.

  They lost sight of Allerdyce, but moved to the cover of leaning white cedars, paused, listened, and tried to see.

  Nothing. The air was dead. Sedge held out her hands, her eyes questioning.

  “Predators strike when they’re ready, not before,” he whispered.

  “I thought this was recce?”

  “Nothing is ever strictly anything with that old man.”

  When it came it was explosive, and almost too fast to take in. Wingel seemed to make a violent motion to her right with the clipboard as Allerdyce popped into view, twisted the clipboard away from Wingel in a single fluid motion, and smacked her hard in the side of the head with it, sending her out of sight.

  The Brannigan woman shrieked, seemed nailed to the ground.

  Service and Sedge started forward, but there was another shout and two men with shotguns appeared from the north, pointing their weapons at Allerdyce, who was grinning and nodding.

  “Kermit?” Sedge whispered.

  “And his faithful companion, Peewee.”

  Nobody had bothered to mention that Bolf was six and a half feet tall and massive. Service used his arm to hold Sedge back. “Slowly,” he whispered, easing his .40 caliber SIG Sauer out of its holster.

  They had good cover to within thirty feet of the assemblage. “My signal,” he told his partner, and urged her to spread out to the right so they would present two targets and force choices.

  Wingel struggled back to her feet and began slapping Limpy, who neither cowered nor said anything. Kermit pulled Wingel away.

  “Hands behind your head,” a shaky Delongshamp told the poacher.

  Bolf pointed his weapon at Limpy, who chuckled. “Go ’head. Ain’t same ta kill man look in ’is eyes, eh. An’ youse’re all under arrest.”

  Deslongshamp said, “You’re crazy. You’re not no cop.”

  Marldeane Brannigan said, “I don’t like this, J.P. Go ahead and shoot the man. He smells bad.”

  “Move!” Service said hoarsely, and he and Sedge charged forward, racing into the opening as fast as they could move, both of them shouting in unison, “DNR! Put the weapons on the ground! DNR! Do it now!”

  The armed men hesitated and glanced at each other, neither seeming to know what to do next. Allerdyce pivoted swiftly and planted a kick between Bolf’s legs. The huge man gasped and went down, and Allerdyce twisted the man’s weapon away from him as he fell, turned it around, and rammed the butt into Kermit’s neck, making him scream, clutch his throat, and fall away.

  Allerdyce was suddenly standing over them, brandishing the rifle. “Youse two split-tails shut your big yappers. Asswipe down dere in ’ole, crawl up here wit’ us human beans.”

  Toliver edged sheepishly out of the hole. He was sweaty and covered with dirt. There was an explosion as lightning struck just east of them and rain began to come down in sheets. Service peered into the hole, saw two skulls.

  “Naughty, naughty man,” Service told Toliver.

  “This, I will remind you,” the man said haughtily, “is a state-approved excavation.”

  “Not here it isn’t,” Service said. “At this site it’s called grave robbing.”

  Marldeane Brannigan screamed and flung herself toward Service, but Limpy intervened and cross-checked her with the rifle, sending her down into the hole, which was quickly forming into mud. Allerdyce looked down at her. “Hey, girlie, grab dose skulks while youse’re down dere.”

  The Brannigan woman cursed him

  Limpy said. “I can see youse’s nippults wit dis rain.”

  More cursing.

  • • •

  Korfu, Bryan, and Booker, another Chippewa County CO, met Service, Sedge, and their prisoners on the remains of the old two-track that cut across the Michigan Nature Association parcel. The first thing they did was cuff all of them with disposable plastic cuffs. The suspects would be booked in the Soo.

  “Coming?” Sergeant Bryan asked.

  “We’ll be along. You want to check them into the hotel?”

  “Charges?”

  “Resist, assault, and grave robbery.”

  The sergeant looked confused. Service handed him two skulls in plastic evidence bags. “Grave robbery,” he repeated.

  “I’ll make sure our guests get rooms with a view,” Sergeant Bryan said.

  • • •

  Service, Sedge, and Allerdyce returned to the site. “You,” Service said, poking Allerdyce in the arm. “Stay right next to me.”

  “Youses’re welcome,” the old poacher said disconsolately.

  “You are a felon,” Service said. “Under the terms of your parole you may not possess a firearm or be with anyone with a firearm.”

  Allerdyce grinned and his eyes twinkled. “Guess youse’re in cahoots wit’ dis felon. Youse invite me go ’long, an’ youse got guns, sonnyboy.”

  Service looked at Sedge. “You get to be the hero in our report.”

  “Me?”

  “Can’t say it was dickhead here. They’ll send him back to jail.”

  “Who youse call dickhead?” Allerdyce said.

  “Shut up,” the officers said in unison.

  “Toliver brought a girl but I don’t see her,” Service told Sedge.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m not. I just want to account for her,” he said, leading them toward the scene of the confrontation.

  They scoured the area and found several holes and two large black plastic bags filled with various artifacts and remains.

  Service held up a hand, and a voice said, “Decision time.”

  Service looked up. Duncan Katsu towered above them. He was wearing deerskin breeches and moccasins, his hair loose, face painted grayish-white and streaking from the rain, which continued to pound down.

  “Dr. Katsu,” Service said.

  “I prefer Four Hawks,” Katsu said.

  “You knew all along that the site was here, and not at the fishing village.”

  “I did,” Katsu said. “But I also knew it wouldn’t take long for Toliver to expand his sear
ch. I guessed Wingel already knew, but I couldn’t figure out how she fit. I figured she got away with some stuff, got scared, and backed off.” Katsu looked left and right and twenty men stepped into sight, dressed as he was, painted the same and carrying shovels, and bags. Jane Rain, in a T-shirt, shorts, and and hiking boots, was last to step out.

  “Toliver had a girl with him when he came out this way,” Service said.

  “She’s fine. We have her,” the U.S. Fish and Wildlife special agent said. “We saw the whole thing here. I was just getting ready to move in when I saw Bolf and Delongshamp, and decided to let it play out.” She grinned. “Got sort of dicey, eh? Good thing you had that old-timer on your team.”

  Allerdyce muttered old-timer in a tone of utter disgust.

  “It seems clear now,” Service said to Rain. “You didn’t have someone in Katsu’s camp. You had Katsu.”

  “He’s not a felon,” Rain said. “That was fabricated to help us.”

  “He hasn’t lost his dental license?”

  Katsu looked at Service. “I never had one. I realized there were more important things in my life.”

  “You have a plan here?”

  “Rebury my people.”

  “Na-do-we-se are yours too?”

  “They deserve no less.”

  “Who buried them originally?”

  “We did,” Huronicus St. Andrew said, huffing up to his son, breathing heavily. “All that stuff about a road of skulls and such, that was all crap made up by those few who ran away from the fight, got back to their people, and didn’t want to come back this way again. Even after the battle, it took twenty, thirty years for our people to move back to Bawating. I told you my son was a good boy, Service.”

  “Your vision for the future working today?” Service asked Santinaw.

  “It don’t work that way, paleface.”

  EPILOGUE

  Sault Ste. Marie, Chippewa County

  FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 7, 2007

  Sedge knew the judge, convinced him the whole lot were flight risks, and no bail was allowed.

  Delongshamp began to crumble first. He claimed he and Bolf had not been involved in the artifacts business to start with. Their sole interest had been big cervids for a dealer in Texas, but the big deer they had trapped died en route, and they had buried it near his late sister’s cabin. One day Service drove him out there and he pointed out the grave immediately.