“I’m going to make a call,” I said, the boat going up and down beneath me. “Why don’t you get some boys down here and we’ll load up the pigs?”
“Already done,” Wally said. “The cutter radioed in. Got a farmer from over in Rochester on his way.”
“I’m going to make a call,” I repeated.
“You do that,” Wally said. “I’ll tie this off.”
I got Mrs. Maines. She didn’t recognize my name, but she said Clarence was out back. Out back, I knew, could mean he might be anywhere in twenty acres or so of land.
“I’ll beep him,” she said.
“Clarence has a beeper?” I asked.
“Yes, he does. He likes to stay modern about those things.”
“Okay.”
“Let me put you on hold.”
She put me on hold. I watched the boat bobbing at its dock. Some other lobstermen came over to watch Wally tie up. They weren’t happy. They wore rubberized overalls, yellow, and turtlenecks. It was October so it was already cold out on the water. One man smoked a pipe. The others held coffees.
“Clarence Maines,” Clarence Maines said.
“This is Detective Poulchuck. Do you have a minute, Clarence?”
“What do I have if I don’t have a minute?” Clarence asked. “You ever think of that?”
“I’ve got a pig question,” I said.
“You raising pigs?” he asked, then I suppose he covered the mouthpiece of the phone, because I heard him shout something to someone. When he came back on, he said, “Got a boy up here running a bush hog and he doesn’t know his ass from his elbow.”
“Clearing land?”
“Naw, just keeping it free of saplings. You know. So you have a pig question? I thought you were transferred down south over to the coast.”
“I was,” I said. “That’s why I’m calling.”
I explained the situation.
“And you don’t know which one it is?” Clarence said. “They’re likely to bind up if they can’t pass it.”
“I guess so.”
“You could give them some kind of physic.”
“We don’t want to kill twenty pigs, is the main thing,” I said.
“Funny situation,” Clarence said. “You could X-ray them. You consider that?”
“No, I didn’t think of that.”
“Go to a vet’s office and he could do it.”
“That might be what I should do. Anything else you could recommend?”
“It’s just good meat,” Clarence said. “Nothing much to killing twenty pigs.”
“I don’t think I want to kill twenty pigs.”
“You a vegetarian, Detective?”
“Thanks a lot, Clarence,” I said.
“Spank the lot of them,” he said. “That’s what I’d do.”
Wally said, “I just talked to the Coast Guard and they’re now saying they’re not even sure the guy fed the pot to the pigs. He might have thrown it over.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The guy’s brother is a lawyer. He’s saying all we have is a bunch of pigs and a lobster boat. No one taped anything, I mean. It’s all just hearsay.”
“They have any advice?”
“They said we have to recover the pot or release the lot of them.”
“Back to the guy?”
Wally nodded.
Just then a livestock truck pulled into the dock area.
“Get him,” I told Wally.
Wally went off and brought the driver back. The guy inched his truck as far as it would go down the pier, then climbed out. Lobster crates jiggled at the hum of the truck. He was a big fellow with bad teeth. He wore bib overalls and Sorel boots. The bib overall had a nameplate on one strap: Porky.
“These the pigs?” Porky asked, notching his chin toward the boat.
“Yeah,” I said. “You know much about pigs?”
“Hate the bastards.”
“But do you know anything about them?”
The guy, Porky, shrugged.
“You know how to make a pig upchuck?” Wally asked. He had come up to help out. He took one step to the side when a gull swung down and nicked onto a light stanchion. The gull looked at us sideways as if he was hearing our confession.
“Listen,” said Porky, “I come to load them. That’s it. You want a vet, you better call one.”
I asked, “How you going to load them?”
“Got a chute.”
“All right, start loading them. We’ll figure something out.”
Wally said, “The Coast Guard said the guy said he was bringing some pigs back from an island offshore. That’s all. I don’t know the name of the island. But there’s a pig farm out there. The story’s not too bad. It’s a good cover.”
“Help Porky load them,” I said, “while I figure out a couple of things.”
“Okay, Detective.”
I stood watching while Porky and my deputy, Wally, lined up a livestock chute. The chute had a telescopic extension that could stretch twenty or thirty feet. The pigs could go right up the ramp and into the livestock truck.
Porky bounced it a couple times and yelled back and forth with Wally. Wally angled it one way, then back, then settled it. Porky yelled to open both gates. The pigs didn’t enter at first. They appeared suspicious. Then Porky yelled sueeeeeeeeeee pig pig pig pig sueeeeeeeeee and rattled two pans together. It replicated the sound of slopping, I guess, because the pigs grunted and started squeezing their way up toward the truck.
The pigs were about half loaded when a station wagon pulled up. I saw the insignia when the woman opened the door. It was the New Hampshire Humane Society. The woman wore a camera around her neck.
“Uh-oh,” Wally said, seeing the same thing that I saw.
“I see her,” I said.
“I bet the lawyer brother called her. He’s smart, I’ll give him that.”
“Keep the pigs moving,” I said.
One of the lobstermen whistled at the woman. She was young and pretty, blond. Her shoulders were wide. She wore a red mackinaw and jeans, barn boots on her feet. She looked over the pig ramp before she came to talk to me.
She snapped two pictures at the pigs, then shook her head.
“Who called you?” I asked her.
“Are you in charge?”
“The pigs are in charge.”
“Funny. Are you?” she asked.
“I guess I am.”
“And what’s your name?”
“And what’s your name?”
She looked at me. Then she raised her camera and clicked a few more pictures. I was grateful Porky didn’t use a prod on them. Wally slid the chute door closed once the last pig had left the boat. The last pig shuttled up the ramp quickly, nervous at being the final one to leave.
“I’m Greta Niedleman with the Humane Society,” the woman said when she finished taking pictures.
“I’m Detective Poulchuck. Who called you?”
“It was anonymous.”
“Of course it was,” I said.
“Many of our tips about animal abuse are anonymous. I’m surprised you don’t know that, Detective.”
“I have a lot to learn.”
“Why are you confiscating the pigs?”
“We think someone fed them pot.”
“Loose or in baggies?”
“Baggies,” I said. “You know how to make them evacuate?”
“There are different ways,” she said. “Are you certain they swallowed the baggies?”
“That’s what the Coast Guard says.”
“Just hold them for a while, can’t you? See what happens?”
“No pot, no crime. No reason to hold anyone.”
“Clever method,” Greta said. “And you’d have to turn the pigs back to the boatman?”
“Exactly.”
“And he could take the pigs somewhere new, right? I get it now.”
The pigs squealed. Their voices got caught in the wind and the whole mess swirled around. Wally and Porky started pushing the telescopic chute back into the truck. Porky gave the commands. When it was stowed properly, Porky came over and asked me where he should take the pigs.