by Kirk Russell
She pushed her hair back behind her right ear, a nervous habit. “Say that again,” she said, and he repeated, “Kath, I’ve got to go back up. I think Durham will try to get to Nyland. My team will be better at finding Nyland than the county if he’s hiding in the wilderness.”
“Hiding with a rifle and no future.”
“As far as I know he hasn’t been charged with anything yet.”
“But you know he will be. Haven’t you done enough already?”
He was still talking with Katherine when another call came in. A Mercedes registered to Marion Stuart had been found by the highway patrol near Mono Lake. That was between Lillian’s house and the Placerville area. It strengthened the idea that Durham had been the assailant. When he hung up, he continued with Katherine.
“When we went through Nyland’s trailer we found articles he’d clipped on the antiabortionist who evaded the FBI for so long down south, the guy that took to the woods. A lot of people with the police after them would be in a car a thousand miles away by now. But what we’ve got is a report phoned in early this morning that someone who looks like him is in the Crystal Basin. For me, that fits, and I’ve got to go back up there and try to help find him because I really do believe he’s the key to locating Durham.”
“I’d like to say I understand, but all I see is you taking risks.”
Marquez didn’t drive straight to the mountains. At 10:00 that morning he walked into Armand’s Outdoor Sport Guns in South San Francisco. The small balding man behind the counter said he was the owner, and Marquez showed him photos of Durham and Nyland. Through his computer records the owner confirmed what they already knew, Durham had purchased two rifles here, both .30-30 Winchesters.
Marquez watched the owner rub a ring finger that looked swollen with arthritis. Then he let go of his finger and reached to touch Durham’s photo.
“I do remember him. He’s a very particular man.”
“Was he with anybody?”
“Not this other young man you’re showing me, but there was somebody with him.”
“Can you remember anything about him?”
“No, he never came to the counter.”
Marquez questioned him further, thanked him, and told him it was likely he’d hear from a Detective Kendall about the rifles Durham had purchased. He got as far as the door of the small shop and turned back, looked at the owner, owl-like behind the counter, the shop small enough where someone not at the glass counter would still be close enough to see.
“This man who was here with him, you saw him well enough to know he wasn’t the other man in the photo, so you must remember something about him.”
“I get all kinds of people in here.”
“Young, old?”
“He could have been in his thirties.”
“Was he standing where I am?”
Marquez knew the owner was trying to remember. The main lights were all behind the counter, and someone standing here wouldn’t be as distinct.
“He wore a cap turned around the way they do now. I don’t know if this is true but he may have had some Asian blood, or been from one of the islands, but I really don’t know. I won’t be able to identify him if that’s what you’re hoping. There’s no chance,” and Marquez heard more than lack of memory in the owner’s emphatic voice. He knew the man had decided not to remember either way. He didn’t want any part of ID’ing someone who was wanted. Now Marquez walked back to the counter.
“Look up another name for me, okay.”
“What name?”
“Kim Ungar.”
Marquez leaned over the counter so he could see the screen. Ungar’s name came up as a gun purchaser. The same guns that showed in their file on him were listed here. Two handguns. Two Glocks. No rifles.
“Thanks,” Marquez said. “I may have other questions. Do you have a card?”
He took the card and drove to Ungar’s apartment complex, used his cell phone to call Ungar from the steps of the apartment.
Ungar didn’t answer his phone but did answer the buzzer when Marquez hit it.
“I’d like to come in and talk with you.”
“Now is not a good time.”
“Just a few questions.”
“I have a guest, and the TV said there was a body of a warden found in a well and evidence of bear farming. I heard it again this morning. They’re looking for the man who leased the property, so it sounds like you’ve found him.”
“Is he the man?”
“You’re the one that should know.”
“I’m asking you.”
“We haven’t made our deal yet. You haven’t made any offers and I can’t talk right now. I want to meet you somewhere, but not here.”
“The DA wants your cousin’s name. They need to know he’s not wanted for other crimes before they’ll make the deal.”
“I can’t give you his name without a deal first.”
“Can you give me the name of the man in Sacramento as a show of faith?”
“Let me think about that. I’ll call you.”
43
On the drive to the mountains he took a call from Kendall. “Rifling matches,” Kendall said, referring to the gun Sophie led them to. “Or let’s just say the turnings are similar enough.”
“Anything on the gun?”
“Wiped clean with solvent.”
“So now you really need her to come across with more.”
“Yep.”
“Has she ever seen the rifle?”
“She says no. Nyland only alluded to it.” Kendall elongated the word alluded for emphasis and followed with his opinion that Sophie was systematically disassociating herself, the same point he’d made last time they talked. “We need a full confession from her and she’s dancing around the edges. How’s your daughter?”
“Shaken.”
“Keep an eye on her today.”
In the midafternoon Marquez hooked up with the team, and they trailed Bobby Broussard into the Crystal Basin, then to Carr’s Grocery, a general store and bar that had survived decades in a remote pocket of the Crystal Basin by selling the forgotten pieces of equipment, food, fishing lures and bait, maps, and, of course, alcohol. Pine wainscoting in the bar had darkened over time, and the yellowed walls above it were decorated with hunting photos of bear and deer kills, old black-and-whites that had yellowed with smoke and time. Proud hunters gripping antlers or lifting the head of a black bear laid out in the back of a forties-era truck.
Fish and Game was tolerated here, even liked by some of the younger family members that ran the business, and yet, Marquez felt that the place carried the presence of those who resented restraint or laws regulating hunting and for whom the rules changed with opportunity. But then, it had been years since he’d had a drink in the bar.
Bobby Broussard was alone at a table in the corner, his eyes darting from Marquez to the doorway behind.
“It’s legal to have a beer, isn’t it?” Bobby asked, grasping at a toughness he couldn’t own. “What are you people following me for?”
“I want to tell you what I think will happen to Nyland if we don’t find him first.”
“He ain’t going to no prison because he didn’t kill anybody.”
“Cut the hick talk, Bobby, and listen for a minute. You don’t want to become an accomplice and that’s the way you’re heading.”
Bobby grinned and lifted his beer.
“Did I say something funny? You know, Petroni was found,” Marquez said.
“The warden killed his wife and got what was coming.”
“What did he do after that, Bobby, drive out Howell Road where you’ve been milking bears, wrap himself in a hide, sew it shut with fishing line, and throw himself in a well?”
“What are you trying to put on me?”
“You’ve helped with the bear farms.”
“I don’t know about any bear farms.”
“Milking the bears puts you at Johengen’s where Petroni’s body was found. Y
ou can figure the rest out yourself.”
“Sophie said you’d show up like this.”
“There were thirty-two gallbladders in that barn, a lot of paws and hides. You’ll be locked up a lot longer than Troy was and maybe for a lot longer than that if you get named in a murder warrant. They’ve played you because they don’t think you’re bright enough to know the difference.” He paused a beat. “Nyland is going down. So is Durham, but you don’t have to let them take you down with them.” Marquez got his phone out. “I’ll let you listen to the voice mail I got driving up here. You’ve talked to Detective Kendall, you know him, don’t you?”
Bobby shrugged, took a pull of the beer like nothing he’d heard interested him. He smirked as Marquez called up the voice mail message and replayed it, pressing the phone to Bobby’s greasy ear. Kendall was talking about the murder warrant issued this morning. The county was going out to the public, maybe even as they sat here, warning that Nyland was armed and dangerous and wanted for questioning in the death of both Jed Vandemere and Bill Petroni.
Marquez pulled the phone back.
“When you kill a peace officer you get special circumstances.
If you call Troy right now, I’ll bet he’ll tell you police have been out to the house this morning.”
“They already been out.”
“There might be a way out for you still, but Nyland is going down. He’s in a lot of trouble, and Sophie is working with the detectives.”
“She talks a lot of nonsense sometimes. They’re meant to be together.”
Marquez knew from the way Bobby delivered it, that last statement hadn’t been his own. Maybe it was something Nyland had said to explain everything, but it sounded a lot like Troy talking.
“You’re not hearing me, Sophie flipped, she’s helping Kendall put the case together. She’s feeding the detectives information because she doesn’t want to go down with Nyland. She isn’t going to keep him supplied. She might make you think she is, but she isn’t and that leaves you holding the bag. If you can give me your exact routine at Johengen’s farm, what you did out there and who directed you, then maybe I can help you. And I need to know where the other farms are. Where are the bears now?”
Bobby grinned like that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard, repeated it, “Where are the bears?” Then he stared and appropriate of nothing, said, “Supposed to snow tonight.”
“Is Nyland here in the basin?”
“You’re the one that doesn’t know what’s going on.”
Bobby grinned again and Marquez left him in the bar. Half an hour later they watched him transfer two sport-type zip bags from Sophie Broussard’s pickup truck. As Bobby pulled away and they got ready to follow, Marquez took a call from Kendall.
“Thought you were with your family,” Kendall said. “You didn’t say you were up here.”
“We followed Bobby Broussard into the basin, and he just picked up a load of supplies from Sophie.”
“She’s cooperating with us. So is Broussard. Nyland is somewhere in the Barrett Lake area and we’ve got people in there where the drop is going to happen, but let’s hope it doesn’t goddamn snow before we get him. All Bobby needs to do is drop the supplies and haul ass. We’ve got it from here, Marquez. This is ours now.” Kendall waited a beat and then his voice hardened.
“Are we clear on that?”
“Barrett Lake?”
“Don’t even think about.”
“You plan to arrest him when he picks up these supplies?”
“Yes.”
“He’ll see you coming.”
“There’s a SWAT team with a lot more training than you’ve got. You’ve got to stand aside now. I’ll call you after we book him. I’m serious about this. This isn’t even a conversation we should be having.” Kendall hung up.
44
“We stepped into the middle of it and Kendall was doing his best to be nice,” Marquez said after he’d pulled over with Shauf down the road.
“So what do you think?”
“If they catch Nyland picking up the supplies, we’ll back off.”
“Why not otherwise?”
“Because Nyland is the only reason I can think of for Durham to come back this direction rather than run.”
He watched her mull that over. A thing he’d always liked about Shauf was that despite the tough persona she cultivated, she was a gentle human being at heart. She understood how to intimidate and create fear, but she didn’t respect violence and didn’t take any pleasure in it. Ninety percent of the people they chased were motivated by money. Some were brutal and dangerous if given an opportunity, but her mind didn’t turn as readily as his did to the darker qualities of humanity.
He had no trouble picturing Durham taking risks to get to Nyland and meeting him at a prearranged rendezvous spot, perhaps a lonely spot on a dirt road in the Crystal Basin, a contingency plan made long ago. Durham might pull up in a pickup, Nyland step out from under the trees, glad to be rescued, thanking Durham and crawling under a tarp tied down over the pickup bed so he’d be hidden from view. He might lie on a dirty piece of foam as the truck bounced its way back to a paved road. Then he’d hear the reassuring hum of the tires on asphalt and believe he was safely away from the law.
But Durham had plenty to lose if Nyland was apprehended and then traded testimony against him for a lesser sentence. He might well hold the testimony that would put Durham in prison for life, so Marquez saw a different ending, Durham telling Nyland he needed to stay hidden until they reached a safe place, a remote cabin, for example, the spot where Nyland could hole up while the next plan was made. But what would that plan be and why would Durham want the liability and expense? There was a simpler way.
It was a big step, but maybe not so big for Durham if he was the guy they suspected he was. Park somewhere a gunshot wouldn’t matter, lower the pickup gate, and watch Nyland slide out from under the tarp, even help him. Then before he stood and straightened, two shots. The testimony Nyland could trade would end in a shallow grave.
Snow started while Marquez was on the phone to Katherine in the midafternoon. The conversation was laced with a bittersweet sadness, and they decided that she and Maria would stay at a hotel tonight because he wasn’t going to come home. He told her Nyland had been found and he was going to do what he could to help bring him in.
“There’s a jeep trail that runs five miles from the end of the paved road out to a lake named Barrett. He’s near there and on the move. A SWAT team is on its way in and maybe they’ll get him.”
“Enough force and Nyland won’t fight it,” he said.
Marquez drove out past Wright’s Lake and down to the entrance of the Barrett Jeep Trail. Shauf met him there, driving the jeep she’d picked up so she could get them off-road. Snow was falling in light grainy flecks that the wind swirled and tossed.
Marquez stood with his hands in his coat pockets, snowflakes tickling his stubble of beard. The real storm was yet to hit, not forecast to for several more hours, but the sky was dark gray, the light already turning toward dusk. The radio was on, tuned to the band the SWAT team was using. Marquez listened to the backandforth as a helicopter backed away due to turbulence.
“Anything they do to catch Nyland is going to be on foot,” Marquez said. “They just pulled their helicopter out.”
“Where’s he going to go in a snowstorm?”
“Wherever he’d planned to go if police showed up, but let’s hope when we drive up they have him in custody.”
Marquez stripped down and put a long-sleeved Thinsulite shirt, a Kevlar vest, then a fleece pullover and a Gore-Tex parka over that.
The parka had a hood and drawstring to cover most of his face. He pulled on Thinsulite pants and thermal waterproofs over those, Gore-Tex boots, then packed gloves and additional clips for the Glock into his coat. He slipped the night goggles into a pocket and loaded almonds, chocolate bars, a hunk of cheese, juice, and water.
He added a handful of aspiri
n, Advil, teabags, a small gas stove and canister, a survival blanket, Second Skin, extra socks, bouillon cubes because they always seemed to work for him. He packed bandages, compresses, a morphine shot. Bivouac sack and liner. GPS locator. He’d carry plenty of water. He had a radio and satellite cell phone. In an outside pocket he zipped in handcuffs.
They started up the rocky entrance to the trail, the jeep straining over the bigger boulders, tires slipping and then crawling forward.
Then the road became dirt and much easier to drive. In a few places they had to climb over deadfall. They drove out of the forest and across a meadow with the wind scouring the road ahead, the sky a dark gray. Light would fade fast today. Twenty minutes later they pulled up to the Barrett campsites and watched the faces turn.
An officer stepping forward and already directing them to turn their vehicle around.
“Let’s go talk to them,” Marquez said.
“Are you sure about this?”
“Not yet, let’s see what they’ve got going.”
“This storm is coming in.”
“I’m carrying my locator. The satellite phone will work fine and I’ll hang a distance behind him.” He turned to her. “But they may have him or a good enough plan.”
Marquez left the day pack in the jeep, and they went to find Kendall among the officers mingling around the camping area. He counted twelve vehicles and watched the SWAT commander stride toward him.
“Why are you here?” the commander asked.
“Nyland’s wanted for commercial trafficking in bear parts.”
“That’s the least of his problems,” the commander said, and the officers near him chuckled. “You don’t need to worry.”
“Have you got him?”
“We will.”
“Where is he?”
“Up there. We’ve got his campsite secure.” The commander pointed to trees off to the left. “He was camped up behind them and he must have heard us coming.”