Free Force of Blood by Joseph Heywood Page A

but are they valuable?
“Why would people steal this stuff?” he asked her.
    “Because they can?”
    “Is there a market?”
    “Katsu says there is, but I haven’t really looked into that yet. The thing that sticks in my mind is that if all this little stuff is on the surface, what sort of big stuff is there, and how much is still below the sand?”
    “I hear you,” Service said.
    “You’re sure we want to sit on this place?” she asked.
    “I think we need to mark some things, come back every couple of days, see what happens. If stuff gets scarfed up, then we’ll sit on the place.”
    “That’s closing the barn door too late,” she said.
    “Most people aren’t smart enough to limit exposure. If they score early, they’ll come back again. Greed usually blinds: A thief is a thief. Trail cameras,” he added.
    “The district’s only got three,” she said.
    “Lucky for us, I’ve got six in my vehicle,” he said. “Starmites.”
    Sedge’s mouth hung open. “From where?”
    “My dime.”
    “At seven big a pop?”
    “Hey, they work, high-res, day-night range to sixty feet.”
    “Wildlife Resources Unit?”
    “My own,” he said. “We’ll have to go back to the truck and fetch them. With six I think we can ambush any bad boys.”
    “Let’s go,” Sedge said.
    Returning, they put everything in place. With the cameras set, there would be no need for close on-site surveillance. The cameras had built-in motion-detection triggers. Some cameras they set for still photographs, a couple for motion clips. And then they left.
    “You going to stick around?” Sedge asked.
    “No, I’m thinking I’ll use my pass days to talk to Aunt Marge, find out if she knows Wingel. And spend some time in the libes in Marquette.”
    “Sounds like a plan.”
    “The library in Marquette has English translations of the
Jesuit Relations
.”
    “Is detective work satisfying?” Sedge asked.
    “Mostly it’s scut work, dotting i’s, crossing t’s, all that regular police detail work. But once in a while all the sour notes fit together and you get some very cool music.”
    “I like solving puzzles,” she volunteered.
    “You’ve found a good one here—which reminds me, you need to brief your el-tee, and I also need to brief mine. Never know; somebody somewhere may know more about this crap than we do.”
    “What do I tell McKower?”
    “The same things you told me—the truth.”
    “She intimidates me.”
    “She’ll be your biggest booster if you trust her; she’s so smart it’s scary.”
    “I heard you two were close.”
    “You heard right,” he admitted. “Tell her what’s going down.”
    “It’s still my case, right?”
    “Absolutely. Yours all the way.”
    “No sneaking back here without me.”
    “Paranoia is unprofessional.”
    “What do you expect from someone who paints her you-know-what?”
    “I hear what you’re saying. What’s the fastest way back to this place?”
    “There isn’t a fast one, but there are clearer routes. I’ll show you on the AVL when we get back to the truck. Why?”
    “I don’t believe in approaching a place from the same direction or route every time.”
    “That also sounds applicable to a lot of things,” she said.
    Service tried to ignore her. Her youth, candor, and ways of thinking were unnerving, and he needed to adjust to her.
Keep your mind out of the gutter
, he told himself.

11
Marquette, Marquette County
TUESDAY, MAY 8, 2007
    The bound facsimile set of the English translation of the
Jesuit Relations
were shelved, a neat row of black books with gold type and a layer of dust suggesting they were seldom touched, much less read. Service went through the index, found VOL. XLVIII, “Lower Canada, Ottawas: 1662–1664.” He went to the shelf, pulled out the book, and took it to a table.
    It began with a preface written by Reuben Gold Thwaites, listed as secretary of the State Historical Society of Wisconsin. The preface was dated 1899. Chapter IV was