Chasing a Blond Moon(44)

The name on Gus’s plat book said R. BROWN. “You know the owner?” Gus asked the deputy.

“Met ’im coupla times. Lives ta Houghton, works ta college.”

“Let’s get him out here,” Pyykkonen said.

“Tonight?”

“Soon as he can get here,” she said.

“I’m t’only uniform on duty in da county tonight,” Dupuis whined as he shuffled off to his patrol car to make the call.

“This may be nothing,” Pyykkonen said.

“Maybe,” Service said, but two incidents involving laced chocolate-covered figs and both involving the same family name made him think they’d caught a break.

R. Brown turned out to be Reinhardt Brown, who was assistant head of maintenance for Michigan Tech’s Student Development Center. It was close to fifty miles from Houghton to the cabin, all along twisting, narrow, and unlit roads, and it took the cabin owner more than an hour to get there. He drove a several-years-old Toyota pickup with bad suspension and an engine that was spewing blue exhaust and sounded ready to cough up a rod.

He pulled up in the trees below the cabin and waddled up the wooden steps. Service saw a wide-bodied small man with a shaved head and long neck, with the overall effect of a lightbulb on steroids.

“Da blazes is dis?” Brown greeted them as he huffed up the stairs. He had a high-pitched, cartoon voice. His face was flushed from the short walk up from his truck.

“Looks like somebody tried ta break into your cabin,” Keeweenaw deputy Dupuis explained. “We need ta get inside and look around, make sure everyting’s okay.”

“Dis couldn’t wait? You know what’s on da tube tonight?”

Service, Turnage, and Pyykkonen introduced themselves.

Brown grunted. “Youse like da fuckin’ Untouchables or somepin’?” He took out a key and opened the front door. He stepped inside, turned on the lights, and held the door open for them.

The officers pulled on latex gloves before they went inside.

The first thing Service noticed was that the interior was too dust-free to have been unoccupied long. There were no cobwebs along the windows or in the corners. Pyykkonen went directly to the small kitchen and opened the refrigerator. It was empty.

“That would’ve been too easy,” she said over her shoulder.

The room he had seen through the window looked like the main living area. Service stood by the table with the vise and looked at the arrow. Graphite, not bamboo. It looked like someone had shaved some of the fletching.

“What’s in the gun lockers?” Service asked the owner.

“Don’t got a clue,” the man said.

Gus stared at him. “What did you say?”

“Don’t got a clue,” the man repeated. “None a dis junk’s mine, hey? I leased da place last spring.” He quickly added, “If Deputee Dog woulda gimme half a chance, I woulda tolt ’im on da Bell, hey? But no, he makes me drive all da way out. Youse know how much gas costs?”

“Who leased it?” Service asked.

“Gook prof from da college.”

“Professor Pung?”

“Yah, guy croaked on da canal Hancock, hey?”

“Was there a contract?” Pyykkonen asked.

“We done cash, month at a time,” Brown muttered.

“How much a month?”

“Why I gotta tell youse?”

“We can get a court order,” Pyykkonen pressed. “This is a felony investigation.”

“A thou.”

“One thousand dollars a month? That’s way over local prices for a place like this,” Service said. Even with the view the place was old and too modest in size for a thou.

“Now I’m gonna have to pay bloody taxes on it,” Brown complained.

Service stayed out of it. The U.P. had a well-established barter-and-cash economy that existed outside the official economy. Some Yoopers would go to great lengths to avoid paying taxes.

“Did you write receipts for the professor?” Pyykkonen asked.

“Shook on ’er, man to man,” Brown said. “Don’t need paper for dat, eh?”

Gus Turnage said, “Play ball with us and maybe your cash business stays yours.”

Brown looked at Gus. “For real?”

“If you play ball,” Gus said.

“If you don’t cooperate,” Limey Pyykkonen chimed in, “I will personally go to the IRS.”

Brown quickly raised his hands in surrender. “I’m in da game, guys.” He made a pained face, said, “TV’s shot all ta bloody hell anyhow. I got beer inna truck. You guys want one?”

They said no. Brown and Pyykkonen left the cabin together. Service lit a cigarette while Gus disappeared through a door and down some stairs.