Bad Optics

by Joseph Heywood

  “We don’t have actual partners.” Service felt he should explain. “It’s just the way we talk about having a second officer nearby.”

  “I meant Allerdyce,” Brezek said.

  “He’s not a CO.”

  “But he acted as your partner. Care to explain your thinking?”

  “He knows more about poaching and violating than maybe anyone up here, living or dead. I took him as an asset. It was a temporary thing.”

  “Yah, I heard. Let me say up-front if you want him along with you now, that’s no problem for me or the government, as long as he doesn’t violate his parole. This work gives us some pretty damn strange matchups, and you’ll get no guff from me.” Brezek took a badge out of a desk drawer and said, “Raise your right hand, and repeat after me.”

  The difference between this federal oath and the one he had already taken was one word. Instead of Special Deputy Marshal, he was now appointed fully as a deputy marshal reporting to the US District Court of the Western District of Michigan. Every time he swore any oath, it put a lump in his throat and jacked up his adrenaline. The new badge was a single circle surrounding a cutout star in the center. Fifteen seconds later he had the sidearm and badge of a special investigator for the US Attorney.

  “Limitations on this commission?” he asked Brezek. “With COs we’re limited in the things we can do on behalf of the Feds, like half-breeds or something.”

  “Nope, no limits here. You have the full powers of your commission, which will remain in place until your situation with your own department gets resolved. Welcome aboard, Deputy Marshal Service.”

  He got two badges, one to pin on his clothes, and another in a leather folder for his pocket. His new weapon was a Glock in the S&W.40 caliber, pretty much the same as the Sig Sauer he had carried as a CO. Brezek said, “Pam’s my assistant. We call her the armorer. She caches ammo and holsters and stuff. Feel free to grab what you need; just make sure to sign for it.”

  Pam led him into another room. He selected a holster to wear in his pant waist and passed on ammo. He had too much at home to even count it. The DNR believed in keeping officers well supplied so they could practice and keep their skills up for that one moment when they might find themselves needing a firearm.

  A thermos of coffee was waiting for him when he returned to Brezek’s office. “Have to tell you we’re all looking forward to watching you rattle some fat-cat cages. Kalleskevich and Bozian: You do set your bar high.”

  “I don’t set the bar,” Service said. “Others do.”

  “I hear you. Those boys like to play all their games with the finesse of gorillas. You want to take me through what you’re dealing with here?”

  It took awhile, as he made his way slowly, leaving out almost nothing, including Miss Molly’s strange story, the astonishing cave system, and a brief mention of pictographs. He withheld his knowledge of the other cultural artifacts and the human remains. He knew he was skirting the legal and ethical edge, but felt he needed to protect the Mosquito for as long as he could. The only thing he kept entirely to himself was the diamond-bearing kimberlite pipe in the vicinity. He tried to calmly assemble everything into a coherent story, which was not easy. Brezek made only an occasional note and, like most government attorneys, listened more than he talked or reacted until the telling was at an end.

  Brezek smiled. “You have a helluva record for making some very bizarre and complex cases. I read all about your work against the Piscova outfit with the tainted salmon egg caviar. You chased that fella Fagan all the way to Costa Rica.”

  “He fled when he was supposed to report to serve his sentence.”

  “It was a great case and a great job. Anniejo Couch asked me to convey her regards.”

  “You know her?”

  “She’s my mother-in-law.”

  “Small world,” Service said. Anniejo Couch had been his protector in the US Attorney’s office when he went after a case involving Michigan and New York companies dealing tainted salmon eggs to the Russian mafia on the East Coast.

  “And getting smaller every day,” Brezek said. “The way I see it right now, you’ve got several things on your plate, beginning with finding the owner of mineral rights for the land in question. If Kalleskevich can prove out his claim, you realize he’s pretty much going to be home free? Your department will have to give him permits to explore and all that.”

  “Understood.” Not liked, but understood.

  Brezek said, “Let’s talk about those cave paintings. Did you see anything to suggest formal burials, cultural practices? You know where I’m going with this.”

  “I didn’t see anything particularly significant, and neither did Officer Wildingfelz, but this stuff is not in our normal work experience. If you are asking if we found enough to activate NAGPRA, then no, I don’t think so. But that doesn’t mean we won’t find something later. As for the paintings, I have no idea how they fit the NAGPRA notification requirements. The paintings are cultural but they’re not burials, and pretty much what we concern ourselves with are human remains and all that. We didn’t see the entire . . . cave.” He almost slipped and said cave system. “Could there be burial remains down there? No answer to that. The other thing is that the cave entrance is damn marginal and unstable. It could seal up any time. Dangerous down there.” He hoped he had given himself wiggle room. Was throwing a dead body into a cave the same as a ceremonial burial?

  “I hate all this NAGPRA junk,” Brezek admitted.

  “Me too,” Service said, wishing the man would get off this subject. “Why are you interested in this?”

  “I guess it’s more for you,” the government lawyer said. “You realize that if this is a site that meets NAGPRA notification, that would probably trigger a delay in any development—on cultural grounds. If so, that will allow us and you to explore other legal strategies.”

  “Are there others?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just trying to think ahead.”

  Service said, “But if the state owns mineral rights, all that becomes moot, right?”

  “Not exactly. Now that you’ve told me about the cave and painting, that pretty much cinches that we involve certain agencies and people.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “First and most importantly, we need archaeologists to get in there and evaluate.”

  This was not what he wanted to hear, and it sickened him momentarily. “What if all the painting predates the Ojibwa and the Sioux, if it was made by people here long before our Indians? How can NAGPRA apply to pre-tribal people? Hell, we don’t even know what to call them.” Shut up, you’re rambling, he told himself.

  “Those are interesting questions, and I guess the archaeologists will have to make such a determination, or paleontologists or whomever. If it’s prehistoric, scholars may be able to link it forward to existing tribal populations.”

  Service added, “But if there are remains and they predate all the local tribes, what then?”

  Brezek sighed, “I take your point, Grady, and again, I don’t know, but I’m sure we can find an archaeologist who will jump at such a rare find.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Grady Service said. “Does the find have to be made public?”

  “Yes and no,” Brezek said, “but I’ll have to have a chat with my colleagues and the judges on this. If it is announced, there is a system in place for masking and hiding where the place is from citizens. The system’s been on the state’s books for decades. Only approved scholars and scientists will know exactly where the place is.”

  “And their secretaries and their research assistants and their spouses, blah, blah, blah. That’s not a secure system, sir. And you can’t hide anything like this from locals.”

  “The whole process for this could take years, maybe ten, maybe longer. Hell, you and I will be retired and dead by the time it’s resolved.”


  Service understood this, but it was the period between the public learning about the site and the whole issue getting settled legally that concerned him. Now he was sorry he’d told the US Attorney anything about the cave. “The process will take years even if Kalleskevich has mineral rights?”

  “If the man has damn deep pockets, and determination, he might get to do whatever he thinks he is applying to do—quarry limestone, right?”

  Decision time. “That’s his public reason.”

  Brezek looked across the table at him. “There’s something else?”

  Service took a deep breath. “Diamonds,” he said quietly.

  The attorney said, “Are you shitting me,” and sucked in a loud, deep breath. “Really?”

  “Seriously and definitely.”

  “Industrial size and quality?” Brezek asked.

  “Gem quality. High gem quality.”

  “Ouch,” the attorney said. “Really?”

  “I had samples appraised some years back.”

  Brezek got up, locked his hands behind his back, and started pacing the conference room, and after awhile a huge smile crept onto his face and he stopped. “I think this is going to be some major damn fun, Service.”

  “Only if we win.”

  Brezek agreed.

  Service understood that the irony here was that the federal Wilderness Act was written in such a way that all legal matters fell to circuit courts and the Feds had no legal redress, meaning this was going to be a state show, start to finish, unless NAGPRA got dealt in, which could lead to separate complications and problems.

  “Here’s something,” Brezek said, “and remember, I’m no expert, but if Kalleskevich gets permitted for limestone, he can’t extract diamonds unless he amends his filings and gets permits for diamonds as well. If he’s permitted for limestone only and evidence shows diamonds coming out of the operations, his ass will be in a huge legal sling.”

  “Even if he owns the mineral rights?”

  “It’s one thing to own them and another to ask permission to take something specific from a site. You can’t just dive in willy-nilly and do what you want, without letting the state, as the steward, know and oversee.”

  “But if he’s caught saying he’s doing one thing and actually doing another, how does that break down legally? Bait and switch is bait and switch.”

  “That’s all outside my technical ballpark, but it’s at least conspiracy to defraud the people of the state. Where are the diamonds relative to the cave?”

  “Roughly adjacent. I know about where the kimberlite pipe is, but nothing about depth there, or anything else.” Here he decided to keep his mouth shut about the likelihood of the cave being a major system that could, at least theoretically, have a kimberlite pipe running through it and damn diamonds laying all over the place like King Solomon’s mine.

  “May want to involve geologists on this too, USGS, bring all the guns to the fight.”

  “But if we bring in all the guns, we’re sure to have a leak. Then we’ll have to deal with every asshole diamond hunter in the eastern United States. There will be fights and killings and every social problem known to man, and with that we can kiss the wilderness goodbye.”

  “No choice, Special Investigator Service,” Brezek told him.

  “I don’t like it,” he said. “It’s too risky for the Mosquito. The wilderness is priceless.”

  “I hear you loud and clear, Grady, but we are compelled to set in motion certain processes created by law. The good news for you is that you have a badge now and you’re sworn. If you need anything else, give me a bump. Keep me informed as you develop more information.”

  “What about setting those processes in motion, when does that happen, like contact with the state archaeologist?” The process always began like this, and Service had been through it once before and had no respect for much of Lansing and some of its people.

  “Not until we know enough to make that determination.”

  “What if this is all we ever know about this deal?”

  “It’s not enough to push the GO button,” Brezek said. “Listen, do me a favor. Sometime when you have a spare, quiet moment, I’d like to meet Allerdyce. Everyone knows of him. Few have met him, and I’ve heard he is a very complicated piece of work.”

  Grady Service smirked. “You heard right.” And he’d heard too. If further exploration of the cave was physically impossible, then the hordes of government, academic, and general snoops would be averted. For how long, he couldn’t guess, but for now it would prevent violation of the cave system and what was inside. Only one decision now: Close the cave. ASAP and as permanently as possible.

  Chapter 29

  Slippery Creek Camp

  While Service was getting sworn in at the US Attorney’s office in Marquette, he sent Treebone to recon and probe Drazel Sisters L.L.C. Satellite Services & Earth Surveys at the company offices in Ford River, south of Escanaba.

  Treebone had been a huge success as a vice cop, his skills remarkable. He had a rubber face and complete control over every nuance in his voice. He could be a clown or wear a funeral mask. His normal voice and timbre tended to be deep and tense, but when he inhabited an alternate personality he quickly became an entirely different person. This ability to play different roles with all types of people made him an outstanding detective. Service knew his friend could have been a successful actor.

  Treebone came back to camp that night wearing a neutral mask, his eyes flat as slate. “They see you?” Service asked.

  The retired Detroit detective put a tiny digital tape player on the kitchen table and flipped the on-switch. “Better than just see me.”

  Service listened to the disk play.

  TREEBONE: Good morning, ladies, this the place to come for a land survey?

  FEMALE VOICE 1: Do you have an appointment, sir?

  TREEBONE: Listen darlin’, I just drove me all the way over from Chippewa County. Do I really need an appointment if I’m here and got business to do and money to pay?

  FEMALE VOICE 1: I guess not. Did someone recommend us to you? We’re quite new.

  TREEBONE: I’ve got friends in Lansing. Big friends, see what I’m sayin’? But see here, I got to ask a few question—like do you got your own satellites, and if you got ’em where they be shot up from? I think satellites and such be way cool.

  Service heard his friend pronounce ask, “axe,” and knew he was shining the Drazel crew. It made him smile. Treebone could speak the Queen’s English as well as an English toff.

  How many taped interviews have I listened to over my career, Sevice wondered. Transcripts were fine, even necessary for evidentiary purposes, but woods cops learned early on that no transcript could let you hear a raw voice the way a tape could. Sometimes tone, pauses, emphasis, and other immeasurables told you more than mere words on flat paper.

  FEMALE VOICE 1: You’re from the east side?

  TREEBONE: Got a camp over Chippewa-Mackinac County. Great deer, bear hunting, high land, marshes, a stream, acres and acres of limestone, some ponds, a small sinkhole, sayin? I be just north of the Fiborn Quarry.

  FEMALE VOICE 1: Fiborn, the old worked-out limestone quarry?

  TREEBONE: Weren’t worked out. Got abandoned ’cause they found cheaper limestone sources. Money talks, sayin? Got a whole lot of limestone still over there, sister. On my property and all the property around it.

  FEMALE VOICE 1: You want your limestone surveyed?

  Service heard a level of caution in the woman’s voice.

  TREEBONE: No, no, no, I don’t got me no interest in no damn limestone, I just want my camp lines set. Got this neighbor, five nasty trespassing signs, say’in? Gone fence my place in, prosecute all the way, stop them keep stealing my game.

  Treebone was laying on the heavy black brother shtick.

  FEMA
LE VOICE 1: Has your limestone ever been worked?

  TREEBONE: Not I heard of, no ma’am.

  FEMALE VOICE 1: Any sinkholes or caves?

  TREEBONE: Well trut’ is I hear stories sayin’, but me I don’t know. Never seen none. God, maybe two sinkholes, little ones. Why you ask there be caves?

  FEMALE VOICE 1: Call it professional curiosity.

  TREEBONE: If there be a cave on my place it ain’t no easy find. No cave.

  FEMALE VOICE 1: And you’re surveying so you can post against trespass?

  TREEBONE: That what I tell people.

  FEMALE VOICE 1: There another reason?

  TREEBONE: I got to say?

  FEMALE VOICE 1: A client’s goals help us to design the survey plan to help us get you the most for your money.

  TREEBONE: I hear you people more expensive than others, but worth the money. You folks don’t come cheap and I be okay with that.

  A new voice pops in here.

  FEMALE VOICE 2: Heard that about us from whom?

  TREEBONE: I ain’t at liberty to say exactly. Republicans, Lansing? Catch my drift? You go around annoucing all your clients? See what I’m sayin?”

  FEMALE VOICE 2: We announce only if potential clients make a formal request and insist on it.

  TREEBONE: There you go. You understand I ain’t gone spit it out. I tell you ladies my land be almost full section? I think maybe sometimes I divide it, give each parcel some fine feature to sell it. Do this need them maps got them up-down lines, sayin? Can read hills and such.

  FEMALE VOICE 1: That’s very forward thinking. A topographical survey to begin and a land survey to determine parcels after that. May I ask if you own the surface and subsurface rights for your property?

  TREEBONE: I didn’t, I be here axing you ladies do work for me?

  Silence here until Tree breaks it:

  TREEBONE: You ladies use latest ’quipment?

  FEMALE VOICE 2: Yes, the latest and the best. Would you care to see?