“How long do you think you’ll be?” she asked.
“We need for you to be here when your husband arrives,” Service said.
“Then I can go?”
Ficorelli said, “That’s fine. Just give us a number and I’ll call you when we’re done.” The woman took off her jacket.
A little after noon a brown pickup pulled into the driveway and a lanky man with a mullet haircut got out. He wore a Packers hat facing backward and had a beer can in his hand. He took a swig and threw the can in the bed of his truck.
Service and Ficorelli stood on either side, inside the front door.
Charley Fahrenheit walked in and saw his wife standing a few feet down the hall. “What the hell’s so important?”
“These fellas want to talk to you,” she said, grabbing her jacket off a hook and heading for the back of the house.
Fahrenheit was a tall man, all muscle, with the opaque eyes of a cat. “What the fuck, dudes?”
Ficorelli held his hands up. “No problem here, Charley. I’m Warden Ficorelli and this is Detective Service.”
“The bitch,” Fahrenheit said.
“Why don’t we take a seat in the kitchen?” Service said.
Fahrenheit’s shoulders slumped as he walked into the kitchen, pulled a chair out and sat down.
“What’s this about?”
“Mary Ellen told you if you give up Colliver, she’ll drop the divorce?” Wayno said with a grin.
“What makes you think I want her ta drop it,” the man said.
“For one thing,” Ficorelli said, “as long as you two are married she doesn’t have to testify against you. Divorced, she can sing like a bird. You know that song, ‘Six Bears in Iron County.’”
Colliver looked puzzled. “That’s not a song.”
“We write the titles,” said the Wisconsin warden. “You get to write the lyrics.”
“I give you Colliver and what do I get, my job back?”
“The job’s gone, Charley,” Service said. “But you’re still free. You give us Colliver and we’ll try to cut you some slack on the bear killings.”
“I won’t do time.”
“It’s not up to us to make that decision,” Ficorelli said. “But if you cooperate, it won’t be nearly as bad. You’ve fucked up big time, Charleyboy. Why not spit it all out, get rid of it, give yourself a chance to start again? We can do this the easy way or the hard way—your choice.”
Service thought someone should write a country song using all the one-liners game wardens used with violets.
“This is like a nightmare,” Fahrenheit said.
“Always is when it comes time for payback,” Ficorelli said.
“You worked with an old man in Michigan. He got a name?” Service asked.
Fahrenheit got up from the table and looked down the hallway. “My old lady gone?”
Ficorelli nodded. “At a friend’s.”
“I’m gonna tell you the truth here: I never met the man. Colliver knows him. I dealt with a woman.”
“Does she have a name?” Service asked.
“She’s Indian, man.”
“What’s her name?”
“Hannah.”
“Are you telling us she set up the cable theft?” Ficorelli asked.
“She wanted the cable. She didn’t say why.”
“You gave it to her?”
“That was the deal.”
“When?”
“July, about a week after I got it.”
“See her since then?”
“Week, ten days ago.”
“Was Colliver with you?” Service wanted to know.
“It wasn’t business this time, know what I mean? Colliver dealt with the man, I dealt with Hannah.”
Ficorelli rolled his eyes.
“Where’d you meet?” Service asked.
“Casino up to Watersmeet. She got us a room. She gets them comped.”
“Why?”
“Don’t know man, she just does. I think she used to work there or something.”
“What’s she look like?”
“Dark hair, pretty.”
“Tall, short?”
“Little thing.”
“Age?”
“I don’t know. Thirties, forty, I guess. Listen, we didn’t do nothing we didn’t both want to do.”
“You had a fight with a man named Kitella.”
“Wasn’t much of a fight. Fucker is crazy. Man, we’re just walking around looking for sign and this fucker come out of nowhere with a baseball bat.”
“This was in June?”
“We were scouting for the fall.”
“Were you on his land?”
“Hell no, it was state land, but this asshole says it’s his, he’s got the license as a guide.”