Chasing a Blond Moon(48)
“Explain,” the captain said with his customary directness.
“Pung was involved in a Korean archery group. There’s a club in Wisconsin, which happens to be where the Masonetsky kid lives. I asked McCants to talk to the archery club, but the director went hard-ass on her. We found a photo of Pung in traditional archery gear. It had to come from someplace, and the Masonetsky kid and the Pung kid are connected, or so I’m thinking.”
“Have the Wisconsin authorities been contacted?”
“By the prosecutor and Judge Pavelich in Houghton.”
“What about Wisconsin Fish and Game?” the captain said.
“Not yet,” Service said. He added, “You’ve got contacts in Washington?”
“Fewer each year,” the captain said. He didn’t seem dismayed by the fact.
“There’s a man lives in Iron County. His named is Ollie Toogood. My father introduced me to him when I was a kid. He’s a decorated Korean war vet, on full disability, a former POW. When he got out of the VA hospital system, he came up here and has been here ever since.”
“It sounds like you already know everything there is to know about him.”
“I thought I did, but could you use your contacts to pull his service record for us. And, if possible, the address where they’re sending his checks?”
“Priority?”
He didn’t really know, but Trapper Jet’s disappearance was beginning to bug him. “Not overnight, but soon should do it.”
“Anything else?”
“No, that’ll do it.” He thanked the captain, hung up, and tried to call Nantz, but got her voice mail. “Hey, it’s me. I’m headed to Wisconsin, near Milwaukee. I’ll have my TX along. I miss you, Mar. By the way, Walter did good. I’ll tell you all about it later.” TX was cop jargon for telephone.
He parked at Simon del Olmo’s house near Crystal Falls. Simon’s truck was gone. His personal truck, an old Ford, was in the garage. It was nearly 3 p.m. and he called Pyykkonen and asked if she needed directions.
“You gave them to me once,” she replied. “Not all women are directionally challenged. I should be there in ten minutes.”
Jefferson, Wisconsin, was an attractive little farm town and county seat about halfway between Milwaukee and Madison. It was close to three hundred miles south of Crystal Falls. Pyykkonen didn’t have much to say as she concentrated on her driving. They grabbed burgers at a fast food joint south of Green Bay and kept going.
En route he called Roger Guild, a Wisconsin game warden who had responsibility for the county that butted up against Iron County. Wisconsin wardens were limited to fish and game work and did not have full police powers. He had known Guild for several years.
“Rog, Grady Service. I’m headed down to Jefferson. Who’s the warden down that way?”
“Wayno Ficorelli, why?”
“I need to plumb his mind.”
“You won’t need a long string,” Guild said. He gave him the warden’s cell phone number.
“Somebody else I should talk to?”
“No, Wayno’s okay, just a little unorthodox.”
“Thanks, Rog.”
“It’s cool.” Service stared at the phone. Why was everyone talking like a sixteen-year old?
“What?” Pyykkonen asked, seeing the look on his face.
“Never mind,” he said.
He immediately called his son. “Hey, I thought you ought to know—if you get down to the house, there’s a high school kid named Crosbee taking care of the animals. He’ll be coming in every night.” It was strange to think that his son was in college and younger than Crosbee.
“Thanks, but I’ve got homework and hockey.”
“Just thought you ought to know so you wouldn’t think we had a break-in.” The words sounded feeble in his mind. “Okay,” he concluded. “I gotta go.”
“You seem distracted,” Pyykkonen said.
“Aren’t we all?” he countered.
She looked down the highway and nodded.
He reached Warden Ficorelli on his first try.
“Your dime, start talking,” Ficorelli answered.
“This is Grady Service. I’m a DNR detective up in the U.P. Roger Guild gave me your number.”
“You know Roger?”
“For a few years.”
“Okay, he’s one of the good guys.”
“The good guys?”
“He doesn’t have his tongue surgically fitted to the bureaucratic butt-cracks in Madison. You a Packer-backer?”
“No.”
“Good, I hate those fuckers. What kind of team can you build wearing yellow for chrissakes?”
“Lombardi did okay.”