“Yeah,” Tree said, “stool pigeon. How old’s this lady?”
“Forty she claims.”
“You doubt her?”
“I would guess closer to fifty, but you know, she’s like sensitive!”
Treebone said, “FYI, Ms. Sensitive hired two young bucks to beat the living shit out of an old man. I hope she don’t find out you dimed her ass.”
Service asked, “What were the Drazels doing here?”
“Loot,” Trelawney said. “Treasure.”
This caught both of them off guard. “What the hell does that mean?” Service asked.
Trelowney held up his hands. “I assume you know as much as I know, you being law enforcement.”
Treebone asked, “Your arrangement with Andronica, a matter of heart or cash?”
“I resent the implications of your question,” Trelawney said.
Service said, “Resent what you want. Did you pay for it, or not?”
“Different people see intimate relations differently.”
“If you say so,” Tree said.
Service asked, “When did the woman leave?”
The man sucked in a deep breath. “You missed her by thirty minutes.”
“She stayed here last night?” Tree asked.
“Well, I couldn’t very well take her home, could I?”
Trelawney had stalled them earlier to give the woman time to get farther away. Now his only concern was his wife. Scumbag. Service said, “Let’s have a look at your receipts. I assume you sold them something.”
“Paint,” the man said. “The records are in back.”
It took an hour to get more information to go on. The bill was from a credit card in the name of Drazel Sisters, A Subsidiary of D&D Hop Farms, Leelanau County.
“What about my wife?” the man asked as they walked out the front door.
As they crossed the street, Service gave Treebone a phone number on a different scrap of paper. “His home number, presumably his wife’s as well.”
“You’re a mean sumbitch.”
“I learned from you. You gone call his lady?”
“Not sure yet.”
Chapter 37
Slippery Creek Camp
Various police agencies were looking for the woman Andronica, aka “Andy.” Service had little hope anyone would find her. Eventually, maybe. She was typical of a slew of certain modern humans who slithered along beneath the radar of decent folks. It wasn’t so much that these people were adept at evading detection as it was that authorities and police agencies were too strapped for bodies to conduct anything close to focused, sustained searches.
They had hoped for a line of inquiry into the origins and ownership of D&D Hop Farms, which should have been a straightforward proposition, but this didn’t happen. Even Googling the name turned up nothing remotely useful, and nothing at all in Leelanau County, including its phone book. Wherever they looked it was no dice, and one cop or a few, no matter how well intentioned, could not do everything alone. This conclusion resulted in Service pushing the search effort to M in Ivy Free Hall, and to Fellow Marthesdottir in McFarland.
Thirty minutes after transmitting the requests, M reported back, the first time he’d talked to her since East Lansing. “Just to let you know, this is going to be a slog through the quirks of offshore-holding-company-land. I’ve tapped Delaware, which is easy enough, and I already have pointers at Ireland, Belgium, and Cyprus. I have no doubt this will lead to many other locations.”
She continued, “What happens is a rich fella can build himself what looks like a huge empire, by borrowing and building and continuing to borrow more until even he can’t really determine what he owns or what he’s worth. Even if it’s legal, you have to ask how much tax they pay. The answer is often not even one thin dime and it’s all perfectly legit, a legal tax dodge.”
She paused, waiting for Service to absorb the info. Her voice crackled to life again, “I have a superior source close to the judge for the minerals case and I’m hearing some early leanings in the MWT. Is it all right to call it that, MWT, which is shorter and more succinct than Mosquito Wilderness Tract?”
“Fine by me.”
“Well,” she went on, “said judge is apparently not leaning in the direction you desire.”
I desire? I thought we were all in this effort together. What is M’s angle? “The judge is leaning toward finding for Kalleskevich?”
“So it would seem. If you have some magic up your sleeve, now would be an opportune moment to bring it out into the light.”
“I thought you were the master miracle worker.”
She said nothing. “We can always file an appeal,” he said, “to buy us time.”
“This is one of those cases,” she said, “where an appeal will surely be lost—assuming the original adjudication has used Cadillac academic and forensic sources to evaluate the provenance of claimant evidence. What would be far more helpful would be a competing claim based on equally compelling evidence. You can, of course, appeal, which is the nature of our system, but like the Bible says, ‘the end is writ plain.’”
Service had never considered the Bible a plain source for anything, and he could feel his shoulders drooping as the conversation drew to a close. “Are you trying to tell me we’re about to have a fork stuck in us?”
“That is certainly not how I would characterize the situation, but that visual certainly has some merit. You are a very blunt man.”
After hanging up he walked outside, telling himself he needed air but knowing he was going outside to be alone so he could sulk and bathe in self-pity. Two generations in his family, their lives given to the Mosquito, and why? What has been the damn point of so much sweat and blood. Both the old man and I have shed blood in and for the damn land.
Tree followed him outside. “Bad news?”
“If news is consistently and continuously bad, does new data qualify as bad qualitatively?”
Tree said, “You need to see your woman, if you take my meaning. Your mind fluids are all mixed up.”
“That bad?”
“We have known each other a long, long time. Whole lot of folks, maybe most, got no clue how to read you, but me, I don’t have that problem. You’re feeling something, I know.”
“The judge is leaning toward Kalleskevich’s claim on the mineral rights.”
Treebone stood next to him sniffing the wind, said only, “Man.”
“Exactly.”
Allerdyce came out on the porch and looked the direction the others were looking. “What out there?”
“Nothing,” Treebone said. “Grady just heard the judge may rule for the other side for the property in the Mosquito.”
“Wah,” Allerdyce said, “how he can do dat?”
“Evidence analysis and evaluation,” Service said.
“What means dose words?”
“He believes the other side.”
Allerdyce was quiet and frowning and said after a while, “Wah, can’t be right, dat. Know it ain’t right. When we eat, hey?”
“I’m not hungry, help yourself,” Service said.
“Me either,” Treebone said.
“Limpy need food,” Allerdyce insisted.
“The cupboard and fridge are full. Help yourself,” Service said.
“Don’t want none dat crap. Take truck?”
“Keys are inside,” Service said.
Allerdyce drove Service’s truck away.
Treebone said, “You’re right, something’s wrong with him. I need a drink, you?”
“Why not.”
Treebone poured double jiggers of pepper vodka, set one in front of his friend, held one in front of him, and said, “It don’t mean nothing,” and chugged it down.
Service hesitated just for a moment, then picked up his telephone and called Marthesdo
ttir.
“Fellow, we learned that Limpy got jumped coming out of your place. Did he tell you?”
“Are you sure it was here?” she asked.
“Who knows that you two are seeing each other?”
“Nobody,” she said.
“You’re certain?”
“Let me think on it, all right?”
Service broke the contact and drained his shot.
“Another?” Treebone asked, bottle in hand.
“Hit me.”
After another shot, he made coffee and called Marthesdottir again. “We’re coming your way.”
“When?”
“Now, tonight. Make coffee.”
Chapter 38
McFarland Area
Marquette County
Fellow Marthesdottir looked past the two men towering over her at her door. “Where’s the wee one?”
“We’re not welcome without him?” Service asked.
“Of course you are, it’s just that he’s always with you.”
She showed them in. “You seemed out of sorts when you called,” she said. “I have coffee.” She paused, then continued, “I’ve been thinking on your question of who knows about Allerdyce and me and no answer pops up. You two and nobody else, unless you two or Allerdyce told someone. There’s one sort of vague possibility,” she added. “I wonder if someone saw me when I was out installing new equipment and servicing disks and batteries. Maybe they recognized me.”
Service said, “Or followed you back to your place. But seeing you alone doesn’t put a link to Limpy.” Service looked over at Treebone, who nodded and said, “I’ll go take a look at her surveillance gear. Got to be set only so can see the back door or a vehicle with someone getting out, right?”
Marthesdottir said, “Are you suggesting someone has cameras on me?”
“We’ll find out,” Service said. “Goose, gander, right?”
“That’s a disturbing thought. I have all kinds of security with no holes in my perimeter. I even have an app that provides a continuous evaluation.”
“May be nothing,” Service said, “but Tree will take a look—for peace of mind if nothing else.”
Treebone said, “Shouldn’t take long,” and departed.
The woman poured more coffee for Service. “I take it things aren’t going well?” she asked.
“More like not going at all. We’re missing something here. How about we go over the W. Stafinski stuff again, chew it like a cud.”
“Certainly. I thought you said it was a myth.”
“I might have been a tad wrong.”
“A tad?”
“Like totally wrong.” Every time the Stafinski name had come up in his life, it had been bantered and joked about by his old man and Allerdyce, who had said it was bullshit and not important.
Service said, “Limpy knew W. Stafinski as a man named Wally Staff out of Michigamme.”
“I’ve just begun getting the wind on that story, and I learned that apparently Mr. Staff caught Mr. Allerdyce poaching his land one night and turned him over to your father.”
Violator games. This fit the pattern of the old-timers. “I never heard that exact story, but it may fit somewhere in all this.”
“Challenging my veracity?”
“No, ma’am, not in the least. I didn’t mean it that way, sorry.”
“We’re both stepping on our tongues tonight,” Marthesdottir said.
Service explained, “Limpy confirms he knew Wally Staff, aka W. Stafinksi, who was an extensive landowner and builder and one to bend the fish and game laws now and then. Limpy also knew my old man busted Staff for fish and game violations.”
“My research shows that Mr. Staff was a rock in the community—sober, disciplined, hard-working, all that—and he had a son who was nothing like his father, a profligate with serious drinking and spending problems,” Marthesdottir told him.
“A son?”
She said, “Yes, Elder Staff, originally Elder Stafinski, and it was said in some circles that when Wally died, the boy got everything and quickly squandered it all. Sorry to be so earthy in my word selection.”
“I hear a but in that story.”
“You do indeed. Wally Staff also had a daughter, who was just like him, and who got an education and moved downstate. She was a teacher and school administrator. Her name is Molly.”
Service felt a stab in his gut. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, I am, and I have learned from a good source that Wally Staff made sure son Elder did not get any of his estate.”
“He gave it all to his daughter?”
“Possibly, probably, but there are no records anywhere of who owned various land parcels, except of course people Wally Staff sold land to over the years. My understanding is that he was very active in land sales and trading. He once sold eighty acres for two draft horses and a wagon.”
“What happened to Molly Staff?”
“She married, lived downstate until she retired, and then moved back to the U.P.”
“Her name is Molly Cloud now?”
“Yes,” Fellow Marthesdottir said, “and she owns property just north of the Mosquito.”
Service said, “Five miles north of the Mosquito, to be precise, and she has been diagnosed with early onset Alzheimers.”
“You already knew about her?”
“I did not know her maiden name was Staff. She had an episode not long ago and I got called in to find her. Allerdyce was with me. Actually it was him who found her. She was loopy and claimed she was coming to see me because she possibly was being pressured by Drazel Sisters to sell her property. That’s not confirmed, but that’s where my gut is right now.”
“Why you?”
“Because I think in her mind she links the Mosquito to my father and to me, and she must think we are defending the land around there. I suppose in her mind I’m a safe haven. But she also may be too damn confused most of the time to have a clue what she’s thinking, much less saying.”
“How awful,” Fellow Marthesdottir said.
“It looks like the judge may find in favor of Kalleskevich,” Service told her.
“I know. M called me, and I reminded her that judges rarely talk about cases under active consideration and this is more likely some sort of disinformation game designed to make a loop back to the judge. Kalleskevich and Bozian both know how to manage such games. The thing is, Grady, Kalleskevich may have evidence that is clear and indisputable, or a bit cloudy, but at some point that evidence has to be shown to the state and then it’s res ipsa loquitur.”
Service shook his head. “I failed Pig Latin so badly I didn’t dare take a run at the real stuff,” he said.
Treebone came back into the house and held up a game trail camera. “It was in the cedars fifty feet from your back door and aimed right at it. They came through the swamp behind your property and never got into the open so your stuff wouldn’t pick them up. And that Latin, my Woods Cop friend, translates to something like ‘the cards will speak for themselves.’” He held up the camera. “Top of the line, you want me to put it back?”
Service said, “I’m going to assume it was Drazels and they’re gone, so why leave it up?”
Marthesdottir said, “The judge will decide based on opinions from experts he interviews, selects, and hires to advise him on the validity of the provenance of the submitted claims evidence.”
“Experts who will be known to the public?” Service asked.
“Not as I understand the process,” she said, “unless, of course, His Honor decides to make that information public, which I think would be unlikely unless the case is appealed by the losing side.”
“I feel . . . ,” Service said.
“Helpless,” she said, finishing his sentence for him. “You have no control and that fact is w
eighing you down.”
“No luck either, it seems.”
“You’re just used to mankind’s greatest shared condition,” Fellow said. “You always exude control because right or wrong—and it is wrong—you think you have control. When we think we have control, luck is our servant and when we don’t it’s not.”
“Is that supposed to cheer me up?”
“I had no idea that cheering you up was part of our contract,” she said.
“It’s not. You think the daughter got the land from her father, but you have no proof of that and can’t find any evidence, pro or con.”
“I got this from a good source, but it’s not yet confirmed, and it may be only Molly Cloud who can set the record straight.”
“Allerdyce and Grady’s dad both knew W. Stafinski?” Treebone asked.
“Yes,” Service said. “Allerdyce claims he was tight with W. Stafinski and thought my father pinched the man several times, and he claims there was never any lingering personal animosity. Limpy mentioned a son, but gave us no details, and I don’t remember any mention of a daughter. What I do remember is that he told the lawyer O’Halloran that Staff had no family.”
Service closed his eyes and tried to remember exactly what the old poacher had said. With his eyes still closed, he continued, “He said that Staff had no real family.” Was this one of the old man’s silly, twisted definitions?
“What the hell does that even mean?” Treebone asked.
“Same question,” Marthesdottir said. “He had to have known the daughter if he knew there was a son, right?”
“You’d think,” Service said. “Why did you ask if he was with us tonight?”
“Because he told me he’d be back after I saw him earlier.”
“He was here tonight?”
“Three hours ago. Said he had errands.”
“Did he say what errands and where?”
“Not exactly.”
“But you have a notion?”
“We were relaxing, you understand, and he told me how you rescued an elderly woman, but he did not tell me her name and I was . . . uh, too distracted at the time to ask?”
Bad Optics Page 29
