Force of Blood (22 page)

“We’re placing you under arrest,” Grady Service announced to the boys. He took a laminated card out of his wallet and began to read the boys their Miranda rights.

“Arrest for what?” Andrew asked.

“Grave robbery—to start,” Service said.

“We did
not
rob no graves, dude,” Andrew said emphatically.

“Stuff on the beds in there says differently.”

“Dude, we just picked that shit up from the ground. We did not dig up no fuckin’ graves.”

“And that motherfuck stiff us on the job, too,” younger brother chimed in.

“Who?”

“The Frogman,” Andrew said. “We want a lawyer.”

Service finished reading them their rights and stepped over to the girls. The girls stared up at him. “You sure you two are eighteen?”

“We don’t look it?” one of them asked.

“I need to see some ID.”

One of the girls snapped her string bikini bottoms and her gum. “Where we gonna carry ID, dude, like up our twat pockets? Whyfor you hassle them boys?”

“They’ve been robbing graves,” Red Ring said.

“
Eeeeww!
” the girls said in unison. “That is so
nasty!
”

Former DNR lieutenant Eugene McKirnan had retired fifteen years ago. He had a summer home near the Allegan dam, and wintered in south Texas. Service dropped off Professor Shotwiff with his retired colleague and headed for the county jail to talk to the Kerse brothers.

The two were still being processed into custody when Service got to the jail. The shift sergeant greeted him with a nod. “You want them booked?”

“Not if I can work a deal. They call a lawyer yet?”

“Nope. They’re pretty quiet and behaving right now.”

“Weed?” Service asked.

The dep said, “Was speed we’d be goin’ rounds with ’em. You want ’em separately or together?”

“Together will work.”

The sergeant pointed down the hall. “That room.”

“Their old man still here?”

“Is indeed. Bail bondsman said he’d come see him Monday. You want him in this powwow too?”

“Sure, we’ll make it a trifecta of assholes.”

The sergeant laughed and left him.

• • •

The three sat at one table, not looking at each other. They wore orange jumpsuits and paper slippers.

Service introduced himself to the father, Arno Kerse. “Your boys tell you what they’re doing here?”

“Me and them two ain’t got much to say.”

“No gratitude for them kicking the ass of the guy who was
schtupping
your wife?”

The father looked at the boys. “You done that?”

“We wasn’t lettin’ him get off free,” Andrew said.

“Stiffed us, too,” brother Al added.

Service announced, “They’re being charged with grave robbery, a federal Class A felony, ten years for each count.”

Arno Kerse looked befuddled. “Them two ain’t no angels, but they don’t dig up no damn dead bodies.”

“Artifacts at their place tell a different story,” Service said.

The father looked shocked. “Arrowheads. This is about
arrowheads?
”

“Artifacts,” Service said. “You can’t take them off public land.”

He had not had time to run down all the technicalities of charge possibilities and was making this up as he went. His gut said these three were meaningless, but that they might point him somewhere important.

“People pick up arrowheads all the time,” the father argued. “You can buy them anywheres up there. Hell, the Boy Scout leader here has crates and bottles filled with that shit.”

“I understand what you’re saying,” Service said, “but laws pertain.”

“Look, my boys’re all pussy when it comes to dead bodies, graves and shit.”

The sons glanced at their father. “We ain’t no pussies,” the younger one said defiantly.

“What law did they break?” the father asked, ignoring his younger son.

“Archaeological Resources Protection Act, the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act, and the Michigan Penal Code.”

“Dude,” the eldest son said. “There wasn’t no bones. No bones and no damn graves.”

“Which is a good thing,” Service said quickly. “Otherwise the charges would be a lot more severe.”

Arno’s voice was rising. “Some dumb brave drops his goddamn quiver, the arrows rot, and my boys find the points like a million years later, and
this
is a fucking felony? Are you
fucking serious?
What’s happening to this country?”

Service sensed an opening. “Why don’t you tell me where the points were found. If it’s different than the site we have identified, maybe we can make an exception here.”

“Maybe we oughta get them a lawyer,” Arno Kerse said.

“That’s your right, Mr. Kerse, but no charges have been filed yet, which means we have time and space to talk. You bring in a lawyer, everything gets formal and no road leads home. Understand?”

Service could see that the man was trying to weigh his options. “What if my boys could tell you where and who they work for?”

“Depends on what they have to say, and how it checks out,” Service said.

“They won’t lie, will you, boys?” the father said, looking at his sons.

The younger son stared at the floor.

“Delongshamp,” Andrew Kerse said. “We set nets for him and that other weirdo.”

“Peewee,” the younger son contributed.

“Nets?” Service asked.

“For the big buck,” Andrew Kerse said. “Huge guy.”

“You’re telling me you both set capture nets?”

“Yeah, and we run some deer with our four-wheelers. Bolf, he’d come up on the radio and tell us where to go, and we’d go and yell and scream and drive crazy and run the deer at them nets.”

“You get any?”

“Wun’t let us see,” the elder brother said.

“But you knew there was a big buck.”

“They had pictures, ya know, from trail cameras over bait. A twelve-point.”

“What were they going to do with the animal? It’s in velvet, right?”

“They didn’t tell us nothing ’bout that.”

“How would they get the animal out of there?”

“Little crick over east of Vermilion. They usta put a boat up there and park their truck in the public tourist lot.”

“In daylight?”

“Only night,” Andrew said.

“How often did this happen?”

The brothers made eye contact. “Four times—five?” Andrew said.

“For pay?”

“Beer and twenty bucks each, but las’ time, Frogman, he skip the lou on us, sayin’?”

Andrew added, “Then we hear Mom been scrompin’ wid dat Frog, and we went and give ’im da what-for. He say Bolf would pay what we earned,
that it was an overbite or something. But we never seen them guys again,” the younger son recounted.

English as a second language
. “So this happened recently?”

“Night before they defended my honor,” Arno said with an odd touch of pride.

Arno’s playing dumb
. “Delongshamp told us we were done, that they was leavin’,” Andrew explained.

“And my old lady announced she was going
with
the Frog!” Arno shouted.

Service closed his eyes. “This is the sixteenth. You’re talking about the night of the eleventh, yes?”

“Afternoon. Don’t ’member date,” Andrew said.

“Delongshamp say what he and Bolf wanted with the big buck?”

“They didn’t talk much.”

“Where’d the arrowheads and axheads come from?”

“From where we was settin’ nets. They was just layin’ all over the ground.” Andrew Kerse seemed to describe the exact place Service and Sedge were dealing with.

“You saw a boat, or they told you about one?”

“We seen it. She was maybe twenty feet, had a deck built on the back, and two sawhorses on top the platform.”

“Sawhorses.”

“Looked like lat us,” Andrew said.

“You saw the men in the boat, or with it?”

“Nope, we just seen the boat one night.”

“Color, registration numbers?”

“Gray, a beater, we didn’t notice no numbers.”

“But the
truck
was black,” the younger son said.

“They had a truck?”

“ ’Lectrick. It was real weird, with a flatbed and more sawhorses.”

“Like the boat?”

The young men nodded and shrugged.

“That Frogman nark on us, man?” Andrew asked.

“He didn’t have to. If you cause physical harm and damage, the victim doesn’t have to file charges. We can do it
for
the victim.”

“We ain’t got nothin’ more,” Andrew Kerse said. “What happens now?”

“You sit tight and I’ll get back to you.”

Service left them together and went outside and telephoned Sedge and filled her in. “You gonna kick them?” she asked.

“I’m going to issue written warnings for illegal possession of Native American funerary objects.”

“We don’t know if it’s a burial ground,” Sedge said.

“I just need some flypaper to get them back if we need them.”

“You need cites from the penal code?”

“Yeah, but I’ll turn the tickets in at the court, and one of the magistrate’s people can help me find what we need.”

“Don’t bother,” she said. “Nobody’s gonna be working the weekend. Write them on 750.387 and 750.160. That will take care of it. Basically disturbing graves. Why were they out there?”

“Setting nets for Kermit.”

“No shit? Ribbit, ribbit,” she said happily. “They saw him use the nets?”

“Nope, they set them up and admitted to herding animals with their four-wheelers. Kermit and his pal Peewee had a boat stashed at Vermilion, and it sounds like it was outfitted similarly to the truck we heard about.”

“You want me to head over that way and look around?”

“Can’t hurt.”

“You?”

“Gotta get Shotwiff back and find home myself.”

“I’ll call you after Vermilion,” she said.

He and the professor would spend the night at McKirnan’s and head north in the morning. It felt like a year since he had seen Shigun or Tuesday.
Balance
, he told himself.
Seek balance
.

Sedge called as they were driving east of McBain angling toward US-127. “Katsu wants a meet at his place,” she announced.

“When?”

“Where are you now?”

“Approaching Vogel Center, west of Houghton Lake.”

“Okay then. Northbound is good.”

“Did you get out to Vermilion?”

“Not only that, I found the boat.”

“In the creek?”

“No, on a trailer on a road near old Whitefish Cemetery. Someone called it in.”

“Plates?”

“Reported stolen from downstate.”

“Where?”

“Okemos.”

Near Lansing.
“What’s Katsu want?”

“He won’t say. He sounded kind of edgy. He asked about Shotwiff, and wants to talk to him too.”

“Good, we’ll be his daily double. You want to give me some directions?”

“Better. I’ll meet you at Strongs Corners on M-28 and lead the way. Bump me when you cross the big bridge.”

“Three hours, give or take,” Service said.

Shotwiff was watching him. “Sedge,” Service told the professor. “She says Katsu wants to see both of us. You in a hurry to get home?”

“It’ll still be there when I get there,” Shotwiff said. “Have you any idea why the Five-Pack Creek Band hasn’t gotten federal recognition?”

“It’s a slow process, I guess.”

“That’s true, but were I a betting man, I’d wager the Sault Tribe is blocking them. The Sault group takes umbrage at any of their Native American brothers getting any gains in power, real or imagined. The infighting between tribes can be quite nasty, and it’s vastly misunderstood and discounted by the government.”

“But the Five-Pack Creek Band is real?”

“It
was
. Makes you wonder if the Sault crowd understands the potential downside of Katsu’s site.”

“It’s that significant?”

“Not in the grand scheme of the planet, but in the American Indian world, it’s a big deal for sure. The Saulteurs have already made out how they led the battle against the
Na-do-we-se
in 1662, even though history suggests it was a combined, thrown-together force; in any event, most Saulteurs were way over in Keweenaw and not likely to be back this far east in any significant numbers. The lighthouse at Iroquois Point attracts tourists from all over. They shop and eat in Brimley and lots of them gamble at Bay Mills and over to the Soo. Take the battle away from the lighthouse site and what happens? Only hardheads would make their way out to Katsu’s remote site. The point is, word will spread that Iroquois Point isn’t the place, and that’s likely to concern Sault and Bay Mills leadership.”

• • •

Friday called as they refueled in Indian River. “Where are you now—Jamaica, Shanghai … Mars?” She sounded happy.

“Indian River,” Service said.

“Karylanne called.”

“Everything okay in Houghton?”

“Little Mar and her mom are fine. She was just checking in.”

“As in checking up on me?”

“Pretty much.”

“How’s our little man?”

“Hungry,” Friday said. “At this rate he’ll be six foot when he’s five. Are you gonna have some pass days when you get back?”

“I hope.”

“
We
hope, you dope.
We
. Home tonight?”

“We hope,” he said.

Friday giggled. “See, old dogs
can
learn new tricks. Where are you headed now?”

“Strongs. I called Shark a few minutes ago. He’ll be over to spend the night, take the professor home in the morning.”

“God,” she said. “I loathe delayed gratification.”

• • •

Duncan Katsu’s home was precisely as Sedge had described it: a one-story box in the woods. There were seven or eight dogs of indeterminate lineage running loose and barking excitedly. Their presence made Service nervous about getting out of the truck, but the professor got out and the dogs mobbed him, tails wagging, like he was some kind of pied piper.

Katsu met them at the door and invited them in. He pointed at a table in a breakfast nook, made fresh coffee, and heated frybread in the microwave. Service looked around. No artifacts, little decoration of any kind, few personal touches, but the place was spotless and organized. Somehow, not what he’d expected.

“You wanted to see us?” Service said.

“Try the bread, sip coffee, slow down,” Katsu said.

Is he laid-back or uptight? Can’t read him. This is a new mood
.
Something’s changed
.

“Very good bread,” Shotwiff said, chewing slowly. “You get a visit from the Sault boys?”

Katsu was caught off guard and stammered. “You privy to tribal drums?”

“I’m old, and believe it or not, experience counts. They don’t like your find, am I right?”

“They say I’m wrong—that tribal history says the original place was the site of the battle.”

“They come with carrot or stick?”

“Both,” Duncan Katsu said. “If I back off they pledge to throw their weight behind the band’s recognition drive.”

“And if you don’t?”

“The opposite—unspoken and unspecified, of course.”

“Their evidence for their site vis-à-vis yours?”

“Possession … tradition.”

Shotwiff grunted softly. “They come on strong?”

“More direct than strong, you know, calm and businesslike. The strongarm will come later, behind my back, hit and run.”

“Your criminal history,” Sedge said.

Katsu nodded. “One of their points, absolutely.”

“Are you asking us to back off?” Service asked.

“I just thought we should talk about developments.”

Vacillating, unsure
. “How about this development? Our chief went to bat for you with the acting state archaeologist. With slight modifications Toliver will be allowed to test-dig.”

Katsu’s faced pruned.

“We know you don’t trust Toliver,” Sedge said, “but he
is
qualified, and this way you can sit right with him and monitor his work.”

“I won’t have a role,” Katsu said. “Lac Vieux Desert, Keweenaw, Saginaw, Sault—these are the federally recognized Chippewa groups eligible for BIA services. Under NAGPRA the U.S. Park Service will be responsible for securing the site and will coordinate with BIA to determine cultural affiliation. If this is the battle site, they’ll probably call in the Mohawk and Oneida too.”

“NAGPRA’s got no real authority on state land,” Shotwiff announced. “NAGPRA applies only to federal and Indian land, and, in some cases, to private land with exterior boundaries of Indian reservations, whatever the blazes that means. Because this is state land, a permit will need to be issued under the auspices of the Archaeological Resources Protection Act, the state archaeologist, and the DNR. The feds will have nothing to do with it unless the state invites them in. The Sault Tribe has no legal transport into the game.”

“They can delay with litigation,” Katsu said. “Some call them the S-U-E tribe, and that’s not meant as a joke.”

“They can delay,” the professor agreed, “but this is the sort of thing public opinion can play a role in. People will want to know the historic truth. In my business we call this the Indiana Jones legacy. People actually care about this stuff.”

“With Michigan’s economic problems, the Sault Tribe will claim the State can’t afford excavation costs.”

“Let them,” Sedge said. “The state’s not paying. Toliver’s college is funding the dig.”

Shotwiff held his cup out for a refill. “Might be some bumps ahead, but they’ll be moguls, not mountains.”

“
If
this is the place,” Katsu said, not exuding confidence.