“You said you were police,” he said. “You could have been anyone.”
“We’re not in an interrogation room, Mr. Smith. No one is recording us. The sooner you tell me the truth, the sooner we can get off this lake. I want to know about the badge.”
“What badge?”
“The one my friend took from you in Machias.”
“He stalked me, that motherfucker. Stalked me all the way up here. And then, he forced his way inside my house and beat me to a pulp. It was embarrassing! A guy that old.”
“You must have provoked him.”
“He’s got Alzheimer’s or something. He should be locked up in a nursing home.”
“Describe the badge.”
“It was brass, tarnished, and said STATE OF MAINE WARDEN on it.”
“Was there an identifying number?”
“Maybe. I don’t remember. Look, I’m going to catch hypothermia if we stay out here.”
I grabbed his rigid knee to turn him toward me. “By now, you’ve probably realized that I can be a pretty violent guy myself. What was the number on the badge?”
“One thirteen.”
The digits meant nothing to me, but clearly they had mattered to Charley.
“And where did you acquire it? I want the truth.”
“People bring me things. I give them cash up front if I think I can make some scratch. It’s just normal, everyday business.”
“Which people?”
“People who have stuff they don’t know what to do with.”
I sat down across from him in the driver’s seat. “What happened to you, Smith?”
“What do you mean?”
“You crashed your bike, right?”
“Hit a moose. I should be dead.”
“Where?”
“Route 11 north of Ashland. That road is fucking moose alley.”
“I believe you,” I said. “Hearing you tell the truth is helpful because it makes me appreciate what a talented liar you are.”
“Fuck you!”
I put my hand on his knee as if to wrench it but restrained myself.
“What is it with you game wardens? Can’t you see I’m handicapped? This is more police brutality.”
“You just tried to murder me, asshole.”
“I didn’t know who you were or what you wanted. You looked dangerous. You are dangerous!”
“That’s a common problem for you? Having dangerous men show up at your door?”
“When you live in the sticks—”
“Here’s the deal. The police are going to be waiting for us when we get back to shore. I don’t know how your other neighbors respond when they hear a gunshot on the lake, but I’m pretty sure Mr. Glassman has called the cops.”
“I was in fear for my life. And when I saw you chasing me in Max’s boat—”
“How long have you been selling stolen merchandise?”
His lip began to tremble again, but not from the cold.
“That’s a big part of your business,” I said, “selling items brought to you by burglars. Heroin and meth addicts need quick cash for drugs. The problem is that pawn shops are pretty well policed. And the cops keep an eye on Craigslist and eBay. It’s not so easy for nonprofessional thieves to find fences.”
“That’s a bogus accusation.”
“We’ll see what turns up in your house.”
“You have no grounds for a warrant.”
“Judges tend to be permissive when a person opens fire on a law enforcement officer. But I’m not sure your biggest worry is what the cops are going to find inside your garage. I’d be more concerned about my criminal associates hearing you were spilling their names as part of a plea deal.”
He jerked his head up. “I would never—”
“But how can they be sure?”
“You’d lie and put my life in danger?” Fear had made his voice into a thin squeak.
“You tried to shoot me, asshole.”
Back at the northeast side of the lake, I saw blue lights pulsing amid the trees. At least one state trooper had arrived.
“Have it your way,” I said.
“I bought the badge at a yard sale!” Smith said. “I bought it from a college girl up in Presque Isle who didn’t know what it was.”
17
Smith didn’t remember the address of the yard sale where he’d purchased the badge, but he knew the street in Presque Isle, which was something.
Less helpful was his description of the woman who’d sold it to him.
“Great tits and she liked showing them off. She kept leaning over the table. And she was wearing those basketball shorts with the stripes up the side. Nice ass, too.”
“What about her face?” I asked. “I’m assuming she had one.”
“You wouldn’t have needed to put a bag over her head or anything.”
I resisted the urge to swat him again. “What color were her eyes?”
“Brown.”
“And her hair?”
“Dark.”
Smith hadn’t caught her name, but she had a roommate or roommates. They were college students, clearing out a rented house before they scattered for the summer.
“How much did you pay for the badge?”
“Twenty bucks. I tried talking her down, but she wouldn’t budge, the little bitch. She was hard-nosed. I think she must’ve been French.”
By French, he meant Franco American. Many of the people living this close to the New Brunswick border were descended from Acadians who had hid in the forests when the British decided to round up the first settlers and “transport” the ones who surrendered. Thousands perished on the ship voyages. Le Grand Dérangement, as this wretched episode came to be called, was an act of genocide, noteworthy only in that it had been committed by Europeans against Europeans. Some of those Acadians, or Cajuns, ended up in Louisiana, where they would end up inventing zydeco music, crawfish étouffée, and one of the most colorful dialects in the English language. I was of Acadian descent on my mother’s side.
“Did she have an accent?” I asked.
“No.”
“Then what makes you say she seemed French?”
“She was wearing makeup. The women up in the St. John Valley are all into cosmetics and dyeing their hair. Like the chicks in the bars in Québec City. You ever been there?”
“I doubt you and I frequent the same drinking establishments. Did you tell Charley Stevens about this woman?”
“Yeah, but he didn’t believe me. He was sure I’d stolen that badge or gotten it from someone who’d stolen it. Please, dude, my balls are turning into ice
