“Really?” she asked, excitement in her voice.
“That’s affirmative.”
“Computers are having some problems today. Might be late before I can get through.”
“Never fails,” he said.
“Call you when I get something.”
Service turned to Ulupov. “Can you tell us how to find this Volvo?”
“Nemozny—impossible. I must insist to show you.”
70
Tuesday, January 20
KAISICK HOLES, HOUGHTON COUNTY
It was past 10 p.m. by the time they got back to the Tahoe. Service discovered he still had Ulupov’s knife and tossed it in the way-back. He dug out MREs for them to eat, put water in a bottle in the flameless heater that would fire on magnesium dust, salt, and iron dust; he put the pouches in their boxes and waited for two meals to heat. He and Allerdyce would share, Ulupov would get the other one. The Czech moved with the same tireless gait as the old poacher and also wore snowshoes.
Allerdyce used a Pocket Rocket camp stove to heat water for instant tea and made a cup for each man, emptying a honey packet into each.
They ate quickly, without talking.
“How far from here?” Service asked the Czech.
“Six kilometers.”
Service converted in his head. Four miles. “Terrain?”
“You want to drive close?”
“Can we?”
“Off M-28 we can get within two kilometers, all flat, easy walking there. From here, hills and very steep, deep cuts, not good walking.”
They tossed their trash into the truck, got in, and drove west on M-28 to where Forest Highway 1200 cut south, but there Ulupov directed them north on a good gravel two-track. When they reached a Y, he had Service veer right, almost due north. Another half-mile and Ulupov said, “Okay, iss good here.” There was an old tote road mostly grown over, virgin snow, untouched. “Two kilometers,” their guide said, pointing.
A while later the Czech said, “Here.”
Service stopped and called Denninger on the 800. “You outside?”
“For a while.”
“We’re west of Sidnaw. You see us on the AVL?”
“Got you stopped, engine off.”
“Just a sec,” he said, turning the key back on for a moment.
“Got you for sure.”
“Yep. Come sit on our vehicle if you don’t mind. If we need you, you can drive to us by following our tracks. There’s three of us, and it’s relatively flat and easy going to where we are now.”
“Moving your way,” Denninger radioed. “One Two One Niner, clear.”
“Distance from here?” Service asked Ulupov, unslinging his shotgun.
“Half-kilometer, no more than one.”
“Road?”
“Old.”
The Czech led them forward to the west and down a steep defile. The tote looked like it went up to the trees and stopped. Ulupov kept them moving to the end and stopped. “I go no more. Your business, I must not do more.” This said, the Czech turned northeast and briskly walked away. No time to argue.
Service tapped Allerdyce’s shoulder and urged him ahead. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
Ulupov was right. Finding the place with verbal directions alone would have been impossible.
The structure was roofed, low, hard to see even when you were almost on top of it. The two men stopped to slow their breathing. There was a clear space at one end of the building and an old door. Garage: Not room for a full-size Ford truck, but high enough for a Volvo.
“You go left, I’ll go right, meet in back,” Service said.
Allerdyce moved immediately. The snow was coming heavier. Service slid along the east wall, heard a dull sharp noise, and stopped to listen. No more sound. Go slowly.
He peeked around the corner at the end. Allerdyce said “Over ’ere” in a low, throaty voice. “Door on my side, window broked,” Limpy whispered. “Somebody mebbe tried break in, eh.”
Service shook his head in the dark. Guess who. “Tracks?”
“Nah,” Allerdyce said. “You check in, I go bit nort’, down trail.”
Service couldn’t see a trail, but said, “Okay, but don’t get too far.”
•••
An hour later Allerdyce returned, sliding up to Service inside the garage with no sound. The Volvo was inside, locked. “Don’t touch anything,” he told the old violator.
“Din’t.”
Service had given the structure a thorough look. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Trail run mebbe two hunnert yard to trees, steep drop, den no trail. I know dis place, sonny.”
“You do?”
“Heard of ’er, eh. Old Finndians Sidnaw hunt big bucks down ’ere, late in year when snow come and deers migrape south. Don’t use no ground trails. Dey climbed up trees, lop off branches, make trails can be used all winter. Could go miles, I heard.”
“Up in the trees?”
“You betcha. Got dose glory pines mixed all up with udder trees, all tangle to hell, mebbe t’irty feet up—can move okay up dere, I hear.”
“Thought you didn’t know if there were glory pines over this way.”
“Said never seen, and I ain’t,” the old man said in his own defense. “Dis stuff run for miles. Can go long, long way. I t’ink youse tell me go climb up look ’round, follow me, and we meet up, okay?”
“No way.”
“Just to look. Find somepin’, I wait for youse.”
Service looked around the garage, shining his light. He saw snowshoes on the wall, but no tracks. “Okay,” he told the man. “But just a look-see, and if you find anything, stop there and wait. You’ve got your 800. Be on it.”
Allerdyce nodded, left him.
Service used his SureFire to locate three old Michigan license plates nailed to a wall beam, got out his notebook, recorded the numbers and years. The most recent was 1982. There was a good four feet on either side of the Volvo. Not much overhead space, but side to side was good. Service moved up along the Volvo, checked the right front. Black specks on the dirt, lots of them. The headlight was shattered, plastic gone, the fender crinkled, the grill pushed in. Service took off his gloves, wet his finger, probed the black specks. Blood. How fast does cold degrade DNA? No idea; another deficiency in my knowledge. He took some specks for samples and put them in an evidence bag, took photographs of everything, and decided he had probably found the vehicle that had killed the Minnesota man.
A voice on the 800 said, “Youse up dere, sonny?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, I been puttin’ up dem bright eyes. Come morning, t’ink she still be real dark inside da trees—like monkey’s ass at night. Put light on eye-tacks, find me easy, okay?”
“How will you see?”
“Don’t worry, sonny. Not no problem.”
Service guessed the old man had infrared and maybe even a thermal imager in his pack. “Youse use name your old girlie name, security challenge, okay?” Allerdyce said.
Nantz. Service almost choked on her name. Service toggled his 800. “One Two One Niner, Twenty Five Fourteen. You there?”
“Affirmative.”
“I’m coming out alone. Bump Friday on the cell. Tell her I’ve got the Volvo. Have her collect Tree and Noonan, and Jen Maki. They should dress warm and bring bear-paws. Call your sergeant and tell him we need him here, too. If there are any overtime issues, don’t worry. I’ve got it covered. Copy?”
“Affirmative, One Two One Niner, clear.”
He was grateful Denninger hadn’t asked any questions. He took a look at Allerdyce’s tracks, dropped a GPS reading for the garage, and headed back to meet Denninger.
He found her parked by the Tahoe. He got into his truck and uncased his rifle, re-cased the shot
gun, took off his pack, and put the rifle and pack in her backseat and got in with her. It was almost too warm with the engine running, the heat on.
“They’re all rolling west,” she reported. “Tree and Noonan are meeting Friday at Humboldt, will follow her. May take a good two hours. Willie will be here soon. Whole western and central U.P. is getting clobbered by a storm. They’re saying twelve to sixteen more tonight. What the hell is going on?”
He filled her in as best he could, then went over and started the Tahoe and turned on the lights so incoming vehicles would have a target to shoot for. If necessary they could put both trucks’ spots into the treetops as a signal to the help coming.
“You think this is the hit-and-run vehicle?”
He gave her the evidence bag with the black flakes from the garage. “Make sure Maki gets these. Might be blood.”
She tucked the evidence bag into a larger bag on the seat beside her, and Service wrote a note saying he had transferred evidence. Dani signed it.
“How’d you get onto way the hell out here?”
“Not sure myself.” Intersection of weirdness maybe. I feel old and drained. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
“I’ve got plenty of fresh coffee,” she said.
“Bless you,” he said.
He called Friday on the 800. “You remember the woman we talked to, from the East Coast?”
“Affirmative.”
“I’m going to give you a name, one time only. Got a pen?”
“Go.”
“Uniform-Lima-Uniform-Papa-Oscar-Victor, no read-back, break.”
“Got it.”
“One more word. Nationality is Czech, that is Charlie-Zulu-Echo-Charlie-Hotel—copy?”
“Affirmative.”
“We need all available information—wake people up, rattle cages. How’re the roads, break?”
“They suck.”
“We have the vehicle,” he told her.
“On the way,” she said calmly.
“Hurry,” he said. “Clear.”
71
Tuesday, January 20
KAISICK HOLES
Jen Maki looked half asleep, mumbled “Blood” when she saw the evidence bag from the garage.
“DNA still good?” Service asked.
“Maybe. Is this all you got?”
“No, there’s a lot more on the vehicle.”
“We should be okay, but I can at least get a blood type. I’ve got an ABO sample kit. That ought to give us some direction. The vick was AB negative, which is about one percent of the population.”
“You don’t need a fresh blood draw?”
“Ordinarily and ideally, sure, but if I can get enough, I can liquefy it and test that.”
Celt had been first to join them. Then Maki, Friday, Treebone, and Noonan.
Down in the garage they helped Maki set up her equipment and add extra lighting. Jen Maki grinned when she saw the blood on the Volvo, and fifteen minutes later announced, “AB negative—certainty of ninety percent, worst case.”
Service looked at Friday. “Call your people, have them pick up Varhola for questioning. If he’s not there, have them sit on his place. You think Quigley should hear about this?”
Quigley will hear, but it’s lousy cell coverage here; I’ll have to move,” she said. “Where’s Allerdyce? I haven’t seen him,” she added as she walked toward her vehicle, Service beside her.
When he explained where the old man was, she said simply, “Have you got enough people?”
“For this. Bump me on the 800 if they grab Varhola.”
She patted his rump and jogged toward her own Tahoe.
Service briefed the others on what lay ahead. Only Treebone had a question. “You trust Allerdyce?”
“No choice. We’ll hike down to the tree line. Bring your snowshoes, tied to your packs.” Service handed his shotgun to Tree. “Limpy’s marked the way. Everybody got their IR? There are tack markers. They should show up like spotlights under infrared. We don’t move from one tack until our point finds the next one. Dani, you’re point, then me, Willie, Suit, and Noonan. Slow and easy. Added security: Our challenge word is ‘Slow.’ Response word is ‘Roller.’ Slow Roller—everybody got that?”
“Allerdyce?” Tree asked.
“He knows.”
“He armed?”
“Not with a firearm. He knows how to be invisible. Let’s go. I’ll take point to the tree line and Dani will jump to the front from there.” She was younger, far more nimble.
•••
The marker was easy to see. Service climbed up and gasped at the walkway built from tree to tree across connected and intertwined branches. Two-by-fourteen cedar planks were installed end to end. Dani came up behind him and moved down the catwalk until she found the first up-top marker.
“Got it,” she said.
“Stay right there and let me get the rest of them topside with us and up to you before you move out again. You good?” he asked.
“Never better.”
Denninger turned back to Service, who estimated that they had traveled three hundred yards on the catwalk before it branched. The right angle was the same planking as what they had already covered. The left branch was aspen-pole bundles, three or four each and bound with wire. “Stay right,” he told Denninger, turned, and passed the word back.
Two minutes later Service heard Dani say “roller” and Allerdyce was suddenly there, swinging down to them from the branches above. Service noticed Limpy was shaking. “You all right?” he asked the poacher.
“Fiffy paces here, hit intersex. Go right twinny, dere’s hut, windows blacked, built on platform. No sound inside. Generator wired to hut, not on. Go leff from intersex, go twinny-five, t’irty yard, find two platforms with what looks like freezers.”
“Freezers?” Denninger queried.
“T’ree of dem. Two on one platform, one t’other.”
“You look inside?” Service asked.
“Touched nothin’, sonny. Deys all got spinner locks. Guessin’ nummers won’t be no good. Have ta break ’em off, eh.”
Combination locks. “The hut have a door?”
“Yep, spinner lock dere, too.”
“Just one?”
“All I seen.”
“Windows?”
“One in door, one on end, smudge wit’ black paint.”
“How big a structure?”
“Twelve by twinny-five.”
“Hang here while I get the others up and briefed.”
The old man didn’t protest. Service checked his watch: Just after 0400. Four and a half hours until sunrise. No snow or light inside the trees. The snowstorm will delay light.
The others moved ahead with Treebone hanging back to secure their six. Denninger moved up to the cabin and came back. “Two feet clearance on both sides of the shack on the platform. Got a 6,800-watt Yamaha wired to inside controls. Twelve horsepower. Tank’s full.”
“Look for the fuel supply,” Service told Willie Celt.
Willie went and Service moved up to the cabin door. Locked tight, built tight. What’s our probable cause? Ulupov had taken off in a hurry, Service thought. He knows about this place, too. Of course he does, a wood tick like him. Knows about it, and doesn’t want any part of it. Service turned to Allerdyce. “Three freezers?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Let’s take a look. You lead.”
They got to the first one and stood there in silence, Service looking and thinking. Huge, GE, six feet by three feet high. Deep sucker. He used his red penlight.
Built-in manufacturer’s lock under the handle, and a second lock, a Yale attached to bolted steel plates. Does opening something without provable PC soil the rest? Damn law is always a tiptoe, latest interpretation by some damn court here or
there. Latest he knew, PC could be based on a “fair chance of criminal activity.” Private land here, or State?
Service called Friday on the 800. “Your AVL working?”
“Yep.”
“You know where Jen is. Public or private?”
“Probably public,” she said.
“We’re about a half or three-quarters of a mile west of her. What about us?”
“All public in your direction. Any private land is east, and not that close. Got something?”
“Tree house on a platform and some freezers on platforms. Trail from where Jen is leads almost directly to here, but I don’t want to piss in our punch bowl. Gonna take this slow.”
“Names on anything?” she asked.
“Negative.”
“Ask me, you’ve found illegal structures and abandoned goods on public land. That equals a free pass.”
Service went to Noonan. “You’ve got more experience with building entry and room clearance than some of us. Go check the cabin, tell me if you think anyone’s inside.”
Bluesuit was back in five minutes. “Ain’t nobody. It’s clear. And ain’t no booby traps. I did once around perimeter, no trip wires or triggers.”
“Sit on the place,” Service told the Detroit detective. “We’re gonna deal with the freezers.”
Treebone felt all around the first freezer for booby traps. “No trip wires, but that ain’t sayin’ there ain’t no trigger on the internal lock mechanism.”
Shit. Think. This place is as remote as remote gets. Somebody felt secure enough and was skilled enough to build all this shit. The Yale locks are afterthoughts, peace-of-mind dissuaders. If an internal lock is set to an explosive, why add a second lock? Mind game? Nah.
“We’re gonna blow the combo locks,” Service told the others. He took the shotgun from Tree. Allerdyce stepped up and jammed a stick into the combo lock to stabilize it, then stepped away.
“Everybody back but Tree and me,” Service told them. Tree lit the lock with his penlight. Service knelt below, lined up the barrel, touched off a round.
The lock disappeared. His ears were ringing, though the trees seemed to have eaten most of the sound. Weird.
Killing a Cold One Page 38
