“I’m Ficorelli,” Wayno said. “He’s Service.”
“Fuck the both of youse.”
“I had to tell ’em,” Fahrentheit said in his own defense. “The old lady put ’em on to us. They know everything.”
“Keep your chow hole shut, Bear Boy.”
Service walked around the house. There was a gutted deer hanging in a tree by the river. He almost missed it, but a crow fluttered up as he passed and caused him to stop and look.
“Got a deer out back,” Service said.
“Out of season,” Ficorelli said to Colliver. “And you don’t have privileges if it was, asswipe.”
“Put a liplock on my love muscle, you little faggot,” Colliver said.
Wayno used his radio to call Les Reynolds and the county. He advised Reynolds to get a search warrant.
Colliver said nothing while they waited.
He was tense and looked like he would bolt at the first opportunity. Ficorelli warned him, “Go ahead and run, you fat fuck. I’ll break both your fucking legs.”
“You talk big with a gun, man.”
Ficorelli started to unbuckle his gunbelt and Colliver hung his head. Service glared at Wayno. The Wisconsin warden was a cowboy. He’d never cut it in Michigan.
Warden Reynolds arrived with two county patrol cars right behind him.
Service showed him the deer. Reynolds checked the opacity of the eyes. “Late last night, early this morning,” he said. Service had come to the same conclusion.
Another deputy brought the search warrant.
Colliver whined but didn’t resist when they went into the house.
There were three freezers in the basement, all of them filled with packages of meat. They found four bags of bear galls, a dozen of them. Two mason jars filled with weed were in plain sight on the kichen counter.
Ficorelli held up the bags with the galls. “Looks like you aren’t his only Bear Boy,” he told Fahrenheit.
Ficorelli and Reynolds read Colliver his rights, but he refused to talk and demanded his attorney. Service stood beside him while he made the call, noted the numbers, and grinned. It was Sandy Tavolacci’s number.
It took two hours to search the house, log what they found, and transfer the men to the county jail.
Reynolds made a call to an assistant prosecuting attorney and explained what was going on.
He invited Service to sit in on the interrogation, which wouldn’t start until Tavolacci arrived.
Ficorelli made a phone call, and announced he had to get back to his own turf.
Service called the Crosbees and asked that they watch Newf and Cat for another day.
The assistant prosecutor’s name was Minerva Branch. She was in her fifties and wore thick glasses and spoke with a speech impediment. She said, “Leth ith really happy to nail thith one.”
“He’s not nailed yet,” Service said. “His lawyer’s good.”
“I know Thandy,” she said. “We’ve fenthed before. He lotht,” she added with a wink.
“I didn’t know he was a member of the Wisconsin bar.”
“Michigan, Withconthin, Minnethota, Illinoith, Indiana, Ohio, a weal Midwetht legal forth.”
A speech impediment made it tough to compete in a profession where speech was the primary tool. Service wondered if juries sympathized with her.
A deputy brought Colliver a tray of food. The prisoner threw it against the wall. “Fucking swill!” he said pushing the tray away.
Service and Branch ate hot dogs brought in by one of the jailers. “I keep tellin’ them brath, but all they bring are dogth.” She sounded resigned to gustatorial hell, and ate the whole dog.
“Lookth like you guyth went by the book,” she said as they ate. “That helpth a heap. How’d you get to them?”
“Front door all the way,” Service said.
She smiled. “You got inthide, thath all thath matterth.”
Service tried to think about an old man and an Indian woman named Hannah. While they waited, he called Grinda and asked her to meet him in Watersmeet.
“It’s on my way home,” she said. “You want a bump?”
“No, I’m driving up there tonight. I’ll TX when I get close.”
“See you tonight.”
When Tavolacci arrived he found Service sitting with Les Reynolds, the APA, and his client. Sandy looked at Service, and shook his head. “What the heck is this? You’ve got no jurisdiction here,” the lawyer said.
“I’m an observer,” Service said. “Remember what I told you on the phone?”
The lawyer frowned and stuck his nose in a notebook.
Minerva Branch passed a signed Miranda card to Tavolacci. “By the book, Sandy. Firtht item of buthineth, no bail.”