He opened his cell phone as he sat by the river. The professor’s telephone number and e-mail address were listed at the bottom of the article, and after being transferred a couple of times he learned that Professor Ferma had left in August for a yearlong sabbatical in Cambodia and Vietnam. The departmental secretary advised him to try the professor’s e-mail because she would be checking it daily, using a satellite phone to an uplink even when she was in the bush. She used her computer to upload research data and observations.
Service didn’t want to wait for e-mail. “Does she have an assistant?”
“Cameron Gill is taking her classes this semester. Would you like to talk to her?”
He would.
“Ms. Gill,” she said when she came on line.
“Professor?”
“It’s Cameron or Cam. I’m a lowly instructor here.” She sounded like a twelve-year-old unhappy with her lot in life.
“I’m a detective in the Michigan Department of Natural Resources, Wildlife Resources Protection Unit. I’m looking for information about blond moon bears.”
“Are you with one of those insipid reality television programs?”
“No, I’m a cop.”
“I can’t help you,” she said.
“Should I try to reach Professor Ferma by e-mail?”
“She’s not amenable to interruptions when she’s in the field.”
“I really need to talk to her. We’ve found hair and scat samples here and the federal Fish and Wildlife forensics lab in Wyoming think it’s Selenarctos thibetanus. The hair samples are blond, and definitely not from one of our bears.”
“Where are you again?”
“Michigan.”
“It’s not possible for thibetanus to be there unless it’s in a zoo. Thibetanus is translated literally to Tibetan moon bear, and the name alone gives flight to a lot of fancies.”
“We have the hair samples and you know what Sherlock Holmes used to say.”
“Sherlock Holmes?”
“The detective.”
“In Michigan or Montana?”
“In fiction, in London. He was English.”
“I don’t have time to read make-believe,” she said. “Did somebody kill the bear?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“Well, I can tell you the bear didn’t kill a human. The Cambodians use thibetanus as entertainers. They’re fairly docile when raised in captivity.”
“The feds think that this may be a blond moon bear. They have a reference sample and the new hairs match.”
“They’re mistaken. It’s no doubt a color phase of thibetanus,” she said.
“From the little I’ve read, that’s one school of thought. Is there any way to talk to the professor?”
“Not directly.”
“This isn’t a lark,” he said. “There’s a homicide involved, and I can always get in touch with Montana Fish and Game, get a judge, get subpoenas.” No way this would happen, but it was worth floating as a trial balloon.
She said, “Look, I’ll pass the word to the professor. That’s the best I can do.”
“That would be great.” He gave her his phone numbers and e-mail address and hoped she’d follow through.
Back in his office, he rested his elbows on his desk and his forehead against his hands.
“You look like I feel,” Fern LeBlanc said.
“How’s the captain?”
“They’re holding him overnight for observation. His doctor says it’s not a stroke, but I don’t believe the man. Either of them. Did you see the captain’s leg?”
He had seen. “No sense letting our imaginations run wild,” he said.
“Don’t patronize me,” she said. “Observation is not imagination. This has happened before. The captain does not take care of himself.”
“He looks good.”
“You can’t see inside him,” she shot back.
The combination of her concern and bullheadedness was interesting.
Her voice softened. “Has he said anything to you about retiring?”
“The captain doesn’t confide in people.”
“He admires you, Detective. He’s logical and cerebral. You are emotional, impudent, and impulsive, Hyde to his Jekyll.”
“Isn’t it Heckyl?”
She rolled her eyes. “Everything is a joke with you,” she said. “Testosterone,” she added, as she whirled away.
He was tired and decided his next to last task of the day would be a call to Sandy Tavolacci.
“Hey Sandy, it’s Service.”
“What’s the good word from the woods cop shop?”
“I’ve got two of them for you: Charley Fahrenheit.”