Bapcat understood. Webster had just told him the best time and conditions to look for the bat hole. They finished their coffee in silence, and when Bapcat got up to leave, he said, “I look forward to seeing you again, Cap’n.”
The man cackled. “You do, ’speck we’ll all be dead and huntin’ on the other side.”
93
Central Location, Keweenaw County
MONDAY, OCTOBER 27, 1913
When Central Mining Company had gone out of business years before, Calumet and Hecla had swept up its land and assets on the cheap. Bapcat remembered hearing about the events, and had wondered then why C & H seemed so intent on buying up tapped-out mine operations.
Back when Bapcat was just beginning to trap, the village was called Central Mine, and contained a couple hundred small wood-frame houses situated along narrow, well-maintained streets. The town in those days had a vitality and life, but now each time he saw it, fewer and fewer houses were occupied, and fewer people were about. You could almost smell the end in the air.
A man in a baggy dark suit stood on the porch of Moyle’s General Store, smoking a pipe. A sign on the door said closed.
“Reverend Philamon Hedyn?” Bapcat asked.
“Aw right, me ’ansum. ’Ere now, this pars’nage ’owse sit dreckly a-hind me ’ed is the church,” the man said, chopping at a general direction with his pipe.
Bapcat hid a smile. Cousin Jacks were a cocky lot. They put down other immigrants for slaughtering the English language, even though they had their own peculiar ways of bending words, and there were plenty who were incomprehensible to all but their own tribe.
The “ ’owse” behind the church was two stories, painted white, well cared for. There was even some grass in a small yard fenced in with black metal pickets.
A man in a suit came out the front door and to the yard gate. Small man, ruddy face; Bapcat immediately saw a likeness to Captain Madog Hedyn. The game warden presented his badge.
“Sorry to disturb you. Are you Reverend Hedyn?”
“Say yer piece, man.”
“Your stepson is a Houghton County deputy named Raber; is that correct, or have I been misinformed?”
“None of yer business, you.”
“Is he here?”
“ ’Ere? ’Im?” the man said, nearly spitting out the words. Dangerous to interpret, but Bapcat wondered if things were not so good between stepson and stepfather.
“You saying he doesn’t come around much? That must bother your wife.”
The man stared skyward and sucked in a long, deep breath before letting it out slowly.
“You are Reverend Hedyn, yes?” Bapcat said.
“Wasn’t more important business for the Laird, I’d open da gate and give you a proper t’rashin’, ” the man said in a growly voice.
Way too aggressive too quickly. Touching some soreness here, but what?
“Your brother tried that once, and it didn’t go all that well for him. Turns out his mouth’s bigger than his fists.”
The reverend looked to be seething, but made no move to open the gate.
“If you see your stepson, you might want to let him know that we will be talking to him about some illegal deer. I just thought he might be here, and that might save us all some trouble.”
“Ain’t ’ere, you,” the man said, clipping his words again.
“All right. Sorry to have disturbed you, Reverend, and my apologies to your wife. You do hunt deer, don’t you?”
“Get on wit’ you,” the man said.
“Wouldn’t look good, a man of your station mixed up in illegal activities.” Bapcat saw that the man was on the verge of exploding, and knew it was time to back off.
“Again, I’m sorry to have disturbed you, sir. Perhaps we’ll meet again under better circumstances. In fact, I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”
The man hurried up the walk, across the porch, and slammed his front door with a report that swept over the village like a rifle shot.
94
Houghton
FRIDAY, OCTOBER 31, 1913
Assistant Prosecutor Echo got a subpoena, but Deputy Sheriff Raber came in voluntarily, accompanied by a lawyer who introduced himself as an attorney with the firm of Rees, Robinson, and Petermann.
Zakov examined the card and looked over at the lawyer. “Your firm works for the mine operators, yes?”
“The firm does some work along those lines, yes,” the man said.
He had a shiny face, like it had been waxed. Bapcat instinctively didn’t care for him, or the self-assured way he presented himself.
“Why are you here with Deputy Sheriff Raber?” Zakov asked in a tone suggesting impropriety. “Can it be that this illegal deer-killing case involves the mining companies?”
“Nonsense,” the lawyer said. “Friends of Mr. Raber asked me to advise and assist him.”
“Assist him with what?” Bapcat asked, speaking for the first time. “No charges have been brought. We just want to talk to Mr. Raber.”
“It’s a man’s constitutional right to legal representation and advice,” the lawyer countered.
“At what price, and who pays for you?” Zakov asked.
“This is none of your business, sir, and if you insist on this childish wordplay, I will advise Deputy Raber to leave this meeting.”
“There is a subpoena extant,” Prosecutor Echo said from behind the table.
“I come in willingly,” Raber said.
Echo placed the subpoena on the table. “Until now this was informal. But now you’ve been legally served, and this is now a formal interview.”
“It’s a non-distinction,” the lawyer said.
“What do you advise the deputy to do?” Echo asked.
“We’ll listen to your questions,” the man said, sitting beside the deputy.
Zakov took out the October 24 edition of the Mining Journal and spread it out so that the men across the table could read the substantial headline. Zakov said nothing about the newspaper, and instead said, “You paid Mr. Nesmith to store wooden boxes containing ore.”
“I certainly did not,” Raber said. “Did he tell you that?”
Zakov said, “Our information tells us that you sell the meat and heads to Nesmith, and he turns around and resells the meat to other customers, and delivers the heads to those who have put out a private bounty on deer.”
“That’s a lie,” Raber whispered in a low voice. “I was just visiting Nesmith in the line of duty.”
Zakov said, “Which time—the morning we served the search warrant, or the previous afternoon, right after the boxes had arrived from Champion? We saw you both times.”
“Don’t answer that,” the lawyer advised Raber.
“You told us on the morning of the search warrant that you were worried about a break-in, but when we began to open the wooden boxes, you suddenly departed. Who reported a break-in? Your departure seems strange—both then and now—especially for a peace officer claiming he was concerned about a possible break-in.”
Raber was sweating.
“You know,” Bapcat said, “we asked Sheriff Cruse to attest to your value as his deputy, but as you can see, the sheriff isn’t here, and now you must be wondering what we will think about that. It’s puzzling for sure.”
“Could it be that the sheriff sees no value in you?” Zakov chimed in.
“The sheriff’s a busy man,” the lawyer said.
“Certainly true,” Zakov said. “Or this also may be Cruse’s subtle way of informing Deputy Raber that he’s on his own. It’s well known that the sheriff is a cautious man.”
“Don’t listen to this garbage,” the lawyer said.
“I don’t know nothing about no deer-meat shipments,” Raber said.
> “Plural?” Zakov said immediately. “Shipments, as in more than one?”
“Slip of the tongue,” the lawyer said. “A simple case of lapsus calami. No transcription here, no formal record; this is simply a conversation.”
Echo came forward and said, “To be precise, which is expected of those of us who practice before the bar, lapsus calami refers solely to a ‘slip of the pen,’ a written slip, and what we have here is lapsus linguae, a verbal slip of the tongue,” Echo said. “Rest assured, said lapsus linguae will invite extensive questioning. As it stands, it seems to provide the deputies here with motivation and reason to investigate any long-term relationship between Mr. Nesmith, Nesmith Victuals, and Deputy Raber.”
“Do what you have to do,” the lawyer said.
“Hey!” Raber said with a pained yelp.
“Not to worry, Deputy. These men are only fishing,” the lawyer said, looking calm and bright.
Bapcat leaned toward the Houghton deputy. “Our fishing has taken us out to Central mine to talk to your stepfather.” Bapcat saw Raber claw at the table. “He a hunter too?”
“Do you hunt, Deputy Raber?” Zakov asked, joining in.
“None of this is relative to anything,” the lawyer said. “My client will answer no further questions.”
Echo came into the conversation again. “When did Deputy Raber’s status shift from a favor for friends to client?”
“We’re done with this nonsense—now,” the lawyer said.
“Nonsense?” Zakov said. “You see, the mine operators send someone from their mouthpiece firm as a favor, and as soon as the discussion turns to illegal deer, the man is declared a client. This, of course, makes us wonder what the mine operators have to do with illegal deer.” Zakov looked at the deputy. “Do you understand what your attorney is telling us through his actions—the fact that the mines, having sent him, will take him away if things start to look bad for their reputations?”
“Ignore their yammering,” the lawyer said.
Raber’s eyes showed uncertainty.
“Today we just talk,” Echo said. “Next time we call, there will be an arrest warrant followed by an arraignment.”
The lawyer grabbed the deputy and physically steered him out of the room.
Echo looked calmly at the game wardens. “Engineers look to build foundations, prosecutors to crack them. I think today we made a fine start on a crack.” To Zakov he said, “You should consider a career in the law.”
Zakov beamed at his partner as they left Echo’s office. “Career in the law; you heard the man.”
“This was nothing but play today,” Bapcat said. “No formal rules, no stakes—a skirmish, and nothing more than that.”
“Did we not make our deputy friend wonder if he is all alone?”
“The question is, what does he do now, and where the hell is Davidov? Two of us aren’t enough to go around, and we can’t expect Cruse and his people to help us. We’ve got to be smart in choosing what we do while we’re waiting to see what Deputy Raber and the others do.”
Echo came outside and joined them. “You know that Nesmith and his attorney have already fallen on their sword for the meat and all the illegalities surrounding it, which came as a surprise to me. What does it tell you?” he asked Bapcat.
“Not sure. How about you?”
“The Rees, Robinson, and Petermann man’s presence suggests that the mine operators have some stake in the outcome here, which I must confess I cannot yet ascertain.”
Bapcat rolled a cigarette for the man and handed it to him, then proceeded to tell him the full and unabridged story of what was happening away from the street, where strikers and strike-breakers were butting heads.
When the game warden finished, Echo blew a smoke ring and sighed. “Gentlemen, I think we might expect with some certainty that the worst is yet to come. How is Cruse involved?”
“We don’t know,” Bapcat said. “So far it seems he just does what the mine operators and MacNaughton want, but who knows?”
“MacNaughton’s role?”
“No idea at this point, but if we had to point a finger at the main man, it would be Cap’n Hedyn.”
“What’s next for you fellows?”
“A day off to think,” Zakov said.
“Spoken like an attorney,” Echo said. “You men stay in touch. Lucas will have a deep and abiding interest in the case, or cases, you develop, you can depend on that.”
“Can you help get search warrants for the Champion depot by talking to your counterpart in Marquette?”
“I can make some calls. Anything else?”
“Food,” Zakov said, and Echo laughed.
“Also high up on a lawyer’s hierarchy of values.”
95
Red Jacket
SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 2, 1913
Bapcat had talked to Assistant Prosecutor Echo twice the day before, and once again that morning, Echo revealing Lucas’s interest. Like O’Brien, Lucas was from a miner’s family that had struggled their whole lives. Bapcat wanted a sit-down with MacNaughton.
“He sent his family away and sleeps in different places every night. Moving target,” Echo added. “Never without his bodyguards.”
“It’s hard to hide a group,” Bapcat said.
Echo was quiet momentarily. “I’ll talk to Lucas and get back to you.”
Bapcat gave him Vairo’s telephone number and made a note to tell Harju they needed a telephone installed on the hill. It seemed it was getting so you could do little without a telephone. You come into the job expecting to be outside in the woods, and you spend more time inside four walls. Telephones speeded things up and let you do multiple things at once, and not waste time on travel. Echo and Lucas were working the request, but Bapcat had Vairo get in touch with Bruno Geronissi and ask him to come for a meeting.
•••
“Dottore,” Bapcat greeted him when Geronissi came swirling in with a cape draped over his shoulders.
“Signore Vairo told me you wanted to see me.”
“You know what goes on around here. You have your finger on the pulse.” Geronissi made a dismissive hand gesture and Bapcat continued. “MacNaughton: I want to sit down with him, talk across a table, eye to eye.”
“He has his own army and moves around alla time,” Geronissi said.
“I’ve heard that.”
“What’s your interest in MacNaught?”
“Time he and I met.”
“MacNaught, he don’t like make no talk with regular people.”
MacNaught—not even his full name, just the blunt front—a slight. No wonder Big Jim’s ducking. “I don’t want him to kiss me, just talk.”
Geronissi chuckled. “And you think Bruno, he know where MacNaught go?”
“I think Dottore Geronissi knows how to find out.”
“Another favor; you sure?”
“Yes, and there’s no time to waste.”
“You think some storms, they comin’ close?”
“Don’t you?”
Geronissi said, sniffing, “Si, like poison in air.”
“You know the operators are poisoning streams and ponds, flooding dens, slaughtering deer, cutting timber so there’s no nearby firewood?”
“Bruno knows they also cut down the fruit trees, so no fruit for people, poison some wells if somebody too tough in strike, maybe set house fires.”
“I don’t know, but I want to look him in the eye and hear what he has to say.”
“Can’t make such meeting,” Geronissi said.
“Just help me find him and I’ll figure out things from there.”
Geronissi gave him a lingering look of appraisal. “You do all that shit for animali? I’m glad you game warden, not la polizia.”
Strange comment. Hard to have to ask for help from the likes of Bruno, but he could think of no other way. It was reduced to priorities.
“Grazie, Dottore.”
“Ciao. We talk soon,” Geronissi said, got up, and swept away.
A six-foot-tall raven wobbled into the bar and stood across from Vairo. A white face emerged from under a large, black-cloth beak. “Sambuca, Dominick, si non ti dispiaci.”
“What you supposed to be today, Carlo?” Vairo asked the costumed man, who shrugged and said, “Bird of hope.”
“Wearing all black?”
The man held up the drink. “This damn strike, he got everyt’ing down-side up, eh?” Carlo’s vulpine mouth opened, showing badly yellowed teeth as he chugged the shot in one gulp.
Bapcat looked to Vairo for an explanation of the costume. “ ’Alloween, for Italians. All Souls, eh?”
96
Kearsarge
FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 7, 1913
Zakov had gone north into the woods to search for Canady yew and deer, while Bapcat unhappily remained townside, waiting for word from Echo or Geronissi.
The assistant prosecutor finally called and said he was sorry, but he couldn’t figure out a way to get to MacNaughton. Geronissi sent a messenger telling Bapcat to meet a man named Marinello that morning, in Kearsarge. The building stank of creosote and old smoke. Marinello, editor of Il Minatore Italiano in Red Jacket, stood with a pair of men who looked like miners.
“I get word you want to meet MacNaught,” the mustachioed editor said.
That shortened name again. “True. Can it be done?”
Marinello looked him over. “MacNaught, he been having secret meetings with miners, tries convince come back work, bring others.”
“I’m not a miner.”
“This morning he meet three men near here. He never meet them before.”
“What’s your role?”
“Delivery boy. In September, I write strike not so good for Italians. MacNaught, he drop by one day, tell me I seem like reasonable man, he like reasonable men, and grazie-prego, can I introduce him to other reasonable men, Italian miners.”
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