Service waited until the room was crowded before easing in. The group loitered in clusters, attracted by forces Service couldn’t decipher. There were cookies, coffee, tea, and soft drinks on a series of tables along a wall. Service wandered over and got a Diet Pepsi and noticed a small sign on one of the tables: refreshments courtesy of piscova, inc. Service nudged Denninger and went looking for Flinders.
“Mr. Flinders, Grady Service,” he said, announcing himself and pointing to his partner. “Conservation Officer Dani Denninger.” Flinders blinked and tugged at his beard. “Chief, Piscova is being investigated for illegal activities with eggs owned by the people of Michigan. Don’t you find it ironic, if not offensive, that this is the company sponsoring the refreshments here—or is your organization changing its name to the Resource Rape Group?”
Flinders sucked in a deep breath and hissed, “You sonuvabitch!”
“No argument with that characterization, Chief—but you’re not answering the question.”
“You are not authorized to be here,” Flinders stammered.
“Conservation officers are all about rescuing and saving resources. That authorizes us.”
The blond woman who had introduced Flinders tried to intervene as people began to gather. “Would you gentlemen like a private room to continue your discussion?” she asked.
“The gentlemen would not,” Service said. “This thing has been kept in private rooms for too long. It needs to be out where people can hear about it.”
“Call Security,” Flinders said to the woman, his eyes on fire.
Service said, “We’re officers conducting a legally authorized investigation, Chief.”
“Are you happy? Are you happy?” Flinders said, his voice rising. “Jeff Choate turned in his paperwork to retire this morning. Is that what you want? They’ll get me next!”
“Who will?”
“You know who!” the Fisheries chief said, wheeling around and departing the room at a brisk clip.
“What’s going on?” a man in a white shirt and tie asked.
“Just business.”
Service and Denninger returned to his vehicle on the parking ramp. Service called the North Dakota Game and Fish Department and asked to speak to director Gar Kochak. The department receptionist didn’t ask any questions and put the call through. The director answered his own phone. “Gar.”
Service couldn’t imagine Eino Teeny answering his own phone, much less with his first name. “Director Kochak, I’m Michigan DNR detective Grady Service. I understand North Dakota has contracted with Piscova, Inc. for paddlefish egg collections.”
“That’s correct,” Kochak said.
“Are you aware that Quintan Fagan has been convicted of IRS crimes in the state of Florida?”
There was a long pause. “What kind of crimes?”
“Illegal cash transactions and tax evasion. There were five counts, and he pleaded to two.”
“Is that right?” the North Dakota director said slowly. “What’s your name again, and your phone number?”
Kochak hung up, and called back ten minutes later. “Detective, thank you for the information. I can’t say that Piscova’s ever done anything but honor the contract here, but I’ll be damned if this state is going to award contracts to felons.”
Service hung up and looked at Denninger.
“Why didn’t you tell him about the eggs?” she asked.
“We haven’t proven anything in court, but the convictions in Florida are a matter of public record.”
“Are we going to have everybody in the state of Michigan pissed at us?” she asked.
“Maybe,” he said. “You still in?”
Denninger nodded.
Next, Service called Law Enforcement Divison chief Lorne O’Driscoll. “I just heard Jeff Choate is retiring.”
“Turned in his letter this morning and cleaned out his desk. He’s going to take unused vacation.”
“Sort of sudden,” Service said. “What happens to the salmon contract liaison?”
“Like you said, it’s sudden. Too soon to tell how Fisheries will play this.”
“What kind of reaction are you hearing about his retirement?”
“Some astonishment, I’d say. People are surprised.”
“Chief, Officer Denninger met with Choate last week.”
Silence on the other end. “Do you think that precipitated his decision?”
“I’m going to try to find him and talk to him.”
“I’m not sure I agree with that,” O’Driscoll said. “Let me talk to the interim director before you do that.”
Service was not pleased by the response and wished he had not told his chief what he was planning to do. “All right.”
They were on their way out of Lansing when the cell phone rang. “Detective, this is Cecil. Lorne told me about Officer Denninger’s meeting with Choate. What exactly did she say to him?”
Service handed Denninger the phone. “Acting Director Hopkins wants to talk to you.”
“Director Hopkins, this is Officer Denninger. Yes, sir . . . Cecil, I understand. I told him he was being investigated, and that we have evidence he was provided female company by Piscova.”
Service saw that Denninger was sweating. He reached over and patted her shoulder supportively. “Yes, sir, there’s a woman who runs a call-girl service in Lansing, and she confirms that Choate and Horn were clients, paid for by Piscova. The person who provided the arrangements confirms it. We have her statement. She left us with the impression there might be more personnel involved, but this is as much as we have so far.”
Denninger looked over at him and tried to smile as she listened to the voice on the phone. “No, sir, I didn’t threaten him. I only stated the facts of the investigation. He was huffy at first, then he sat back in his chair and didn’t say anything. All right, sir.”
She handed the phone back to Service.
“Why did you send her to Choate?” Hopkins asked.
“I wanted to get a reaction.”
“Well, I guess you got one. I don’t think you should talk to him again. I’m sure he will lawyer up and that will just make it a mess. If you think your evidence is solid, let it speak when you lay out your case. You with me on this?”
“I was hoping to convince him to share details,” Service said.
The interim director took several seconds to respond. “I’m going to have to overrule you on this one. Leave the man be and develop the case. How many others are involved beyond Horn?”
“I don’t know.”
“All these articles keep coming out. You think Teeny is staying at Fagan’s place in Florida?”
“I only know what I read in the funny papers,” Service said.
Cecil Hopkins laughed. “Ware Grant told me you’re a piece of work.”
“You know the captain?”
“Long time. Tell me you’re going to leave Choate alone.”
“If that’s your order.”
“It is. Have you heard that your activities are dividing the department?”
“I heard something along those lines.”
“It’s hard to remove bad apples without bruising a few good ones along the way,” Hopkins said. “Keep at it and let me worry about morale and attitudes.”
“You’re telling me to take it all the way?”
“I don’t know what all the way is, Detective. I’m telling you to take the case to its natural conclusion, no less, no more. Keep it professional at every step.”
“And keep pissing people off?”
“That’s the risk you run.”
In one way he was getting a vote of confidence, but if so, why did he feel so out on a limb, all alone? “Thanks,” Service said, closing the phone. Hopkins hadn’t said we.
“We always swim in shit,” he said. “We just need to pay attention to the direction and strength of the current.”
48
Tuesday, November 30, 2004
SARANAC, IONIA COUNTY
Service and Denninger had finished their run, showered, and were drinking coffee. Leukonovich sat at the table, working on her laptop.
“Fish and Wildlife are unlikely to prosecute Crimea over the adulterated caviar,” the IRS agent announced. Her pronouncement came out of the blue.
“You have contact with Fish and Wildlife?” Service asked.
“Zhenya will graciously ignore your crude attempt to pry. The point is that Fish and Wildlife will use Crimea for leverage against bigger fish.”
“If that’s true, what does it mean for our investigation?”
Leukonovich looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “Impossible for Zhenya to say, but if Fish and Wildlife does not pursue Crimea, Zhenya will not allow their decision to affect the outcome of her case against Piscova. I believe there will be a satisfactory outcome for you and for me.” She took two sheets of paper out of a folder and slid them over to him.
Service scanned the pages, which contained two names. “Askin and Hough?”
“They are fish technicians in your department. It has been alleged that they live somewhat beyond their means. An audit shows no trust funds or exogenous income adequate to explain their lifestyles.”
“They’re on the take?”
“I deal in numbers,” Leukonovich said.
Service and Denninger spent the rest of the day trying to gather information on the two names, Dewayne Askin and Darwin Hough.
49
Wednesday, December 1, 2004
PLATTE RIVER STATE FISH HATCHERY, BENZIE COUNTY
Service and Denninger left Saranac at 6 a.m. and drove north in a dusting of snow toward Honor, 130 miles away. The hatchery that employed Askin and Hough was four miles east of the resort town. Not wanting to risk spooking the biologist manager of the facility, Service last night had placed a call to Sergeant Jed Ernat, whose area included Benzie County, and who had been a CO almost as long as Service.
“Jed, Grady Service.”
“The witch hunter,” Ernat said. “Or is it shit disturber—I always get those two confused.”
Service cringed. Word was spreading fast, as it always did. “I need help.”
“We all knew that years ago,” Ernat joked. “What’s up?”
Service asked if he knew the two fish technicians at the Platte River Hatchery.
“I’ve met them, but can’t say I know them.”
“Are you in a position to find out if they’re working tomorrow?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll call you back.”
Askin was scheduled to work. Hough wasn’t.
Denninger used a laptop to find Hough’s home address. He lived south of the hatchery near a village called Wallin on Aylsworth Road.
They found the address just before 9 a.m. There was a new Ford pickup truck under a carport next to a double-wide trailer. There was also a small pole barn on the property, a trailer with a snowmobile, a trailer with a Honda ATV, another trailer with a personal watercraft and a dirt bike, and another trailer with a bass boat under a cover.
“Up-north yard decor,” Denninger said, deadpan.
“Give him a call, see if he’s home,” Service said.
She dialed the number and a man answered.
“Who am I talking to?” Denninger said.
Denninger hung up. “Male voice. Someone’s there. You want me to creep the property?”
“Not without a warrant. Let’s just go knock on the door and see what happens. I’ll talk, and you look around.”
They hammered on the door for a long time. A man finally cracked the door. “Wha—?”
“Darwin Hough, we’re conservation officers; can we come in?”
“Is there a problem?”
“We just need to talk, and it’s kind of cold out here.”
“I’m trying to sleep, sirs.”
“It won’t take long,” Service said. He smelled marijuana smoke wafting out of the trailer.
The man reluctantly opened the door. The interior was unremarkable except for being relatively clean and well kept. The man didn’t offer coffee or even for them to sit. “What?” was all he said, looking nervous.
“Where’s the doobie?” Service asked.
The man looked like he was in pain. “Doobie?”
“We can smell the damn thing, Darwin. Go put it out.”
The man shuffled toward the back and shuffled back, sputtering. “I don’t smoke regular. Just when I need to sleep.”
“You work at the hatchery?”
“Yeah, when I’m not out at the Platte weir.”
“You have contact with Piscova people?”
“Sometimes, but not all that much, ya know?”
Denninger picked up a photo. “Sweet Vette. Oh-three?”
“Oh-four. It’s my brother’s.”
Denninger set the photo down. Service said, “Some contact with Piscova people; like, how much is some?”
“You know, we just see each other around.”
“At the weirs.”
“Like that.”
“You got some nice toys in the yard,” Service said.
The man shrugged.
“Tech ten, eleven?” Denninger asked.
“I’m an eight, but I should be a nine,” Hough said, clearly unhappy with his civil service rating.
Service said, “You make what, fourteen, fifteen an hour?”
“What’s this about?”
“Seems like a lot of hardware in the yard on thirty grand a year,” Service said.
“My truck’s paid for; I live in a trailer. What are you sayin’, sir?”
“What I’m saying is that I figure your Polaris goes for around ten grand, your bass boat around twenty, the Honda ATV, six, the dirt bike another six, the WaveRunner close to seven. Four trailers at four each, probably on the low side. If my math’s correct, that’s close to sixty-five grand, and the Vette’s another fifty. So how does a guy making thirty grand afford all the brand-new toys?”
“I live on a budget, sir. What business is it of yours?”
“You sell weed, maybe, generate a little side cash?”
The man looked horrified. “No, man, I swear, I just use. I don’t deal and I’m not answering no more questions.”
“Where’s your dope?”
“Man, what the fuck is your problem!”
“I don’t have a problem, Darwin. You do. State employees can’t smoke dope.”
“You busting me?”
“Not if I don’t have to.”
“This isn’t right,” he said.
“I know, life’s a bitch. Word’s out that you know the Piscova folks more than just a little.”
The man reached into his pocket for a cigarette. His hand shook as he lit it. “Can I sit down?”
“Go ahead.”
“Man.”
“You got something to tell me?”
“Am I gonna lose my job, sir?”
“I’m thinking you ought to be more concerned about losing your freedom.”
“Fuck, man,” he said. “Okay, Piscova slipped us a little cash if we looked the other way when they were over their collection limit. I mean, what’s the big deal—they had more than we needed. We’re just gonna dump the surplus in the river, and if we made a little off it . . . not a big deal, right?” He looked at Service, dropped his eyes, and said, “I need a lawyer, right?”
“That�
��s your right,” Service said. “Who’s us?”
“Look, sir, I’m not naming no names unless my lawyer tells me to.”
“Have it your way, Darwin.”
“Man, we’re just talking about a bunch of nasty old eggs.”
Service motioned Denninger to the door and turned back. “You want to show us the Vette?”
“It’s my brother’s, sir.”
“No problem; let’s just look at the registration and proof of insurance.”
“It’s not there. He’s supposed to bring the paperwork. The Vette’s new.”
Service looked at Denninger. “Go run it through the computer, check Sec State, and let’s see what pops up.”
“Wait,” Hough said, holding up his hands. “Okay, it’s mine, but it’s registered and there’s insurance.”
“Why’d you lie?”
“You make me nervous, sir.”
“Okay, Darwin. Here’s the deal: We’re going to get some paper for you and you’ll write the details of your interactions with Piscova—how much they paid, when, how often, everything. When you finish writing, read it into the tape recorder.”
“I’m gonna get fired, sir.”
“That could happen,” Service said, “but if you’ve been scamming the state and doing dope, you could get worse than fired. What say we forget the dope?”
It took an hour to get Hough’s statement on paper and tape.
Denninger said, “He rolled easy.”
“Let’s hope Askin does the same.”
When they got to the plant they talked to Askin’s supervisor and discovered Dewayne wasn’t there; he had called in last night and asked for a week’s vacation.
“You always give vacation on such short notice?” Service asked the supervisor.
“Slow time of the year,” the man said with a shrug.
“Askin say where he’s going?”
“Probably fishing. He’s always headed south to fish for bass. He’s in tournaments all the time, thinks he’s gonna make it to the big time and become the next KVD.”
KVD was Kevin VanDam, a Kalamazoo boy who had broken into what was then pretty much a Southern bass tour and risen to become the all-time biggest money winner on the pro bass tour. “We all gotta have dreams,” Service said.
Death Roe Page 24
