It was the same lawyer Service had met before, and once again she seemed sweaty and wore the same tracksuit, but her attitude was calm and businesslike. “What’s the problem here?” she asked Service.
Vandeal said with a grunt, “I’m the client.”
Service shrugged and watched the two huddle. The Troop was standing by the boys on the wall and looked like he was hitting on Denninger.
The lawyer came back to him. “Constance Algyre.”
“I remember,” Service said.
“My client has nothing to say. If you have charges, file them.”
“Hardball,” Service said.
She shrugged. “It’s the client’s call.”
“We’re not charging anyone with anything at this time. We just came here to talk to Louis Veatch and we’ve done that. There will be warrants later.”
The lawyer looked skeptical. Willem Vandeal didn’t object.
Service looked at Veatch, who went and fetched a plastic bag filled with eggs. The lawyer blocked Veatch’s way and said. “You need a warrant to seize product.”
“Probable cause. We watched the company’s employee acquire illegally taken eggs from an illegal source and bring them here.”
“Those eggs are not in the company’s product.”
Service looked at Veatch holding his bag of eggs and wondered if he had screwed up. Technically the lawyer might be right. Would it be better if they had waited until Veatch’s batch was already mixed? “Probable cause,” Service said weakly.
“This won’t stick,” Algyre said.
“Go,” Service told Denninger.
“Carry on,” Service said from the doorway. A couple of employees showed him the bird.
They drove to the state police post, got evidence coolers and ice, repacked the eggs, had coffee with the Troop, thanked him, and headed for Gaylord.
Denninger nodded off, awoke with a start, and said, “Do you ever sleep?”
“When I have to,” he said. “You give that Troop your number?”
She laughed. “You mean pink-cheek boy? No way.”
Pink-cheek boy. How had he gotten so old?
When they got to the Gaylord office, Service called Roy Rogers in New York to tell him he had eggs, but offered no details of the seizure. He handed the phone to Denninger to get instructions on how to pack and ship the samples and left the room.
Since something had popped in his leg on the Pine River, his calf had been aching like hell. He had iced it for two days and since then, had tried to ignore the pain and tightness. But tonight it was hurting in such a way that he knew he couldn’t ignore it anymore. He took off his boot and sock and saw that the ankle was swollen twice its normal size, the foot a rainbow of ugly colors that suggested internal bleeding. Fuck!
He called Vince Vilardo at home in Escanaba. Vilardo was a longtime friend, internist, retired medical examiner for Delta County, and the only doctor he would go to.
“Geez, Grady, why can’t you operate during normal hours?” Vilardo complained sleepily. Service explained what had happened and asked his friend if he could meet him at the hospital in Escanaba the next day.
“Are you out of your mind?” Vilardo yipped. “Get your butt to the nearest emergency room and tell them you need a CT scan. Is there any redness in your leg?”
“I haven’t looked.”
“Look now.”
Service slid down his trousers and looked. The swelling reached above the ankle, but there was no redness. “Looks okay to me,” he reported.
“You had any shortness of breath?’
“No.”
“That’s good—but go and get the scan.”
“Or what?”
“If there’s a clot in there it could blow up your heart or your brain.”
Service grimaced and hung up.
Denninger came back into the room, looked at Service’s naked legs, and grinned. “All packed and ready. We can ship first thing in the morning. You want me to leave you alone?”
“I need to go to the emergency room,” Service said.
Denninger raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”
“Did something to my leg,” he said, showing her the discolored foot.
“Totally yuck,” she said. “Does it hurt?”
“Not much. Mostly it’s swollen. I called my doc in Escanaba and he wants me to get a CT scan.”
It took five hours in the ER to get a technician in to do the scan and for a doctor to show up. The doctor declared no clot and told him he could keep exercising. They visited a stop-and-rob to replenish Service’s ibuprofen, got back to the district office at 6 a.m., pulled up chairs in the conference room, and tried to go to sleep, but Service kept replaying the night’s sequence of events and wondered if he had overlooked something.
21
Tuesday, November 2, 2004
LANSING, INGHAM COUNTY
They shipped the evidence by 8 a.m., grabbed a greasy breakfast sandwich at the drive-through BK Lounge, and delivered Denninger to her vehicle in Alpena County.
“You did good,” he said.
“Anytime you need a partner, yell,” she said, heading for her truck. Last summer he had worked briefly with her and had had the impression she was too cynical for someone so early in her career, but this time she had shown none of that. He was impressed.
He was just west of Alpena when his cell phone buzzed.
“I see you on the AVL,” Chief O’Driscoll said. “I need to see you in Lansing ASAP.”
“For what?”
“I’ll explain when you get here.”
It wasn’t like the chief to be so mysterious. Service immediately called Miars on his cell. “The chief wants me in Lansing.”
“Me too,” Miars said.
“Any idea what’s going down?”
“I smell a shitstorm,” his sergeant said.
“See you there.”
The two officers went into the chief’s office together and were told to sit.
“You raided the Piscova plant last night?” Lorne O’Driscoll asked.
“I wouldn’t call it a raid,” Service said as he outlined the chain of events.
“Did you have a warrant?” the chief asked.
“We saw an illegal egg buy and saw the eggs handed off to an individual who took them into Piscova, and he was working on the caviar line. There were New York eggs being mixed with ours.”
Service suddenly wondered why DeKoening had given the eggs to Veatch and not taken them directly to the plant herself. O’Driscoll offered Service and Miars coffee from his thermos.
“Our department’s assistant general counsel for law enforcement just told us you may be a little into the gray area on this one,” said O’Driscoll.
“Will it stand up?” Service asked.
“According to our lawyer, it might and it might not.”
“What’s going on, Chief?” Service asked.
“Piscova filed suit this morning, claiming illegal seizure, violation of civil rights, the usual litany of wah-wah. The judge has already granted an interim restraining order, which means the seized evidence is to be placed in the court’s custody until this gets settled. There will be a full hearing in about ten days.”
“The evidence is en route to New York,” Service said. “It’ll be there tomorrow. Who’s the judge?”
The chief remained composed. “Valakos, one of Bozian’s golfing pals. Call New York and have them hold the eggs until the court decides what it wants to do.”
“This is bullshit, Chief,” Service said.
“I know, but Teeny has blown his stack,” the chief said. “He’s ordering reprimands and all sorts of crap for the both of you. I told him there’s nothing I can do.”
Service looked at the chief. “I don’t understand.”
“I knew this was going to blow up,” the chief said. “It’s just happening sooner than I’d anticipated. Two days ago I talked to the U.S. Attorney in Grand Rapids. Effective October thirtieth, you are reporting to one of his assistants here in Lansing. This way nobody inside the department can touch you. When your investigation is complete, you’ll be transferred back. With the IRS involved and apparent Lacey violations, this is appropriately a federal case.”
The Lacey Act laid out a wide-reaching law governing the trade and treatment of animal and plant life in the U.S. It had been signed into law in 1900 and amended numerous times over the intervening century. It was the legal linchpin in both federal and state efforts to manage certain natural resources.
“What about Denninger?” Service asked. “Sergeant Miars wasn’t with me.”
The chief chewed his lip for a moment. “Miars stays where he is. If Teeny can’t get at you, he’ll come down on Denninger. I’ll call her this morning and assign her for the duration of the case.”
“You can do this?” Miars asked.
“Our lawyer says it’s unusual but entirely legal—there’s precedent in other states—and in this case, it’s probably appropriate. She doesn’t like Teeny or her boss, and she’s always been good to law enforcement, even when she has had reasons not to be. The U.S. Attorney is Anniejo Couch. She’s been with the Justice Department a long time and is in a preretirement slide. Give her a bump, go see her, and get your marching orders and rules of engagement. She’s good people, and won’t get in your way.”
“What about her boss?” Service asked.
The chief frowned. “Riley Endicott is a card-carrying neocon, and definitely not a wave-maker. But Couch will provide a wall to let you proceed with your investigation. All we can do is gather the facts and present the case.”
“Grady’s not part of the DNR?” Miars asked.
“Spiritually, yes; technically and administratively, no. When the job is done, we’ll bring him home.”
The two officers took the elevator downstairs and bumped into Eino Teeny in the lobby. “I’ve been looking for you,” the director said.
Service raised his eyebrows. “Me?” The last time he’d seen Teeny he had been with Governor Sam Bozian.
“You will report to my office immediately.”
Service looked at the man. “You’re the director of the DNR, right?”
“You bloody well know I am,” Teeny snapped.
“Yeah, well, here’s the thing, sir: I don’t work for the DNR,” Service said, and though he knew he was on safe ground, the words felt awful and sent a chill down his spine.
The two officers left the director standing there with his mouth open.
When they got outside Service stopped and lit a cigarette. “This feels pretty weird,” he said, holding the pack out to his sergeant.
“I still work for the DNR,” Miars said. “And I’ve got twenty years in.”
“You could’ve gone with Teeny if you feel so strongly about it. Do you trust the chief to run interference for us?”
Miars nodded.
“Me too,” Service said. “Let’s not worry about political stuff and get after these assholes.”
Miars said, “I guess you’re gonna call on the U.S. Attorney.”
Service looked at his sergeant and admitted, “I’m nervous, too.”
“Did you ship the evidence right away because you smelled this coming down?”
“I shipped it because it’s perishable, and the FDA in New York has a DNA test that will help us determine what we have.”
The sergeant nodded as Service headed for his vehicle.
Okay then, Service thought. Your ass is way out there this time.
22
Tuesday, November 2, 2004
GRAND RAPIDS, KENT COUNTY
Assistant U.S. Attorney Anniejo Couch looked to be in her early fifties, had hair the color and consistency of dry straw, stood no more than five feet tall, and was squarely built and muscled like a pint-sized linebacker. She wore a baggy pantsuit and square-toed shoes with no heels.
“So, you’re my new operative,” she greeted Service, leading him into a small conference room off her office and nodding for him to sit.
“Lorne and I go back a long way,” she began. “He said you poked your dick into a hornet’s nest, which tells me you like pain. Hell,” she added, “I like pain too. If I had a dick, I’d probably stick mine in the hornet’s nest and stir it like pancake batter.”
Grady Service stared at the woman and had no idea what to say.
“The way this will work is you will build your case and charge all expenses to my budget.” She handed him a stack of folders. “Forms, procedures, account numbers, and details are in there. When the case is over we’ll either tack the expenses onto costs at trial, or the feds will eat them. The state’s broke, so they can’t handle it. Lorne called a few minutes ago and said there’ll be a second officer with you.”
“Denninger,” Service said.
“Right, the female. You two gonna operate out of your own places, or do you need a place to stay?”
“We haven’t gotten that far,” Service said. “We just learned about this a couple of hours ago.”
Couch said, “If you need somewhere to crash down this way, my brother has a place over by Saranac. It’s empty, it’s free, and you can use it whenever and for as long as you need it.” She went out to her office and came back with a key on a ring. “Make extras if you want, or hide this where you can find it. It’s a pretty basic place. My brother bought it to develop as a cross-country skiing lodge, but that lasted one winter. My brother’s not good at sticking to anything except my sister-in-law because she has the money. The good news is that there’s a sauna and it’s got hot and cold running water, a stove, cable, computer line, fridge, and all that good stuff. You’ll be about halfway between Lansing and Grand Rapids, with easy access onto I–96. That will help make your life a little easier.” She put her elbows on the desk and stared at him. “Lorne briefed me on the case, but I’d like to hear it from you.”
Service laid out the case for her.
“Piscova and Quint Fagan,” she said, shaking her head and grinning. “You met Fagan yet?”
Service shook his head.
“Total asshole,” Couch said. “You got a forensic accountant on your team yet?”
“No,” Service said.
“That IRS agent you mentioned, Leukonovich? I’ve heard of her. Supposed to be good, but you’ll also need somebody from state.” She scribbled a name on a piece of paper and slid it across the table. “Emma Jornstadt’s a little arrogant and weird for my tastes, but she’s good at her job. You want me to call her, or do you want to do it?”
“You can,” Service said.
“A lot of people think I’m a bitch and just waiting to retire,” she said, grinning. “They’re half right. I love this work, and I’ve got no time for anything but ballbusters and hard chargers. You need anything, call. Use initiative and creativity and don’t back off Fagan. I’d like a briefing every week or so to keep me in the loop.”
23
Tuesday, November 2, 2004
SARANAC, IONIA COUNTY
Service found the property on Jackson Road, off Riverside Drive. A line of cotton-woods formed a ragged natural fence along a creek bank behind the house.
He had stopped at a grocery store in Saranac and done some basic shopping for supplies. After a quick tour around the place he decided he liked what he saw. Not fancy at all, but pretty well equipped, and private. The main building was a sort of Dutch colonial A-frame with a sleeping loft that contained two double beds. There was a woodstove downstairs and a stack of wood on the back deck. There
were woods twenty yards away and he could see a lot of deadfalls cluttering the creek bottom. A pole barn next to the house would hide their trucks.
Denninger pulled in around the time he was getting ready to grill pork chops on a Weber grill on the deck that extended toward the creek. The young officer walked in and threw a couple of bags on the floor. “Beer in the fridge,” Service said. “Pork chops work for you?”
“What the hell is going on?” she asked, opening the refrigerator. “Am I in trouble?”
“You didn’t ask any questions about our visit to Elk Rapids, but now that you’re part of it, you need to know what we’re up against.”
Denninger popped the tab on her beer, took a swig, and listened intently. When Service finished she asked, “Does this mean I’m gonna have a short career?”
“Hell, no,” he said. “You’re gonna have an interesting career, but all interesting careers have some major bumps along the way.”
“What about my area? Deer season is coming up,” she said.
“The chief will take care of it,” Service said. He wondered how she was going to handle missing deer season, the highlight of most officers’ work year. Better than me, he hoped.
“He told me to just get my butt over here, and not to talk to my sergeant or my lieutenant.”
“The fewer people who know what we’re doing, the better,” Service said, accepting a can of beer from her. “There’s potato salad and pea-and-peanut salad in the fridge. You want to set the table?”
“I don’t like domestic work,” she said.
“Me neither,” he said.
She smiled. “Great. We’ll be Oscar and Oscar.”
They talked about the case while they ate, and Service began to lay out the next steps from his perspective.
“Our people on the take?” she asked in an incredulous voice.
“Assumed until we rule it out.”
“We’re in thin air, aren’t we?”
She shook her head.
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