Marquez nodded in sympathy at Vandemere’s frustration that this woman his son had been so enthusiastic about was so cold to him. The date of the last email was August 6 and in all this, what Kendall hadn’t told him, what he learned now, was that Jed Vandemere’s birthday was August 7 and it was understood that he was going to call his parents.
“In the last few years have you talked to him on his birthday?”
“Always on his birthday, but forgetting us, he knew Caitlin would be waiting for the phone to ring.”
“Was that Caitlin who left as we came in?”
“Yes.” Vandemere was quiet a moment. “Caitlin had made him a card and a present. There’s no way he would have missed that call and no doubt in my mind that he was killed in that twentyfourhour period.”
“He mentions seeing two men at the end of July that were looking around his campsite-” “I know the email you mean.”
“He doesn’t describe the men in the email. Did he ever mention them over the phone?”
“Yes, but he never gave a physical description, just that they were acting funny. Oh, he did say one was an older man.”
“Did he ever meet Sophie’s family?”
“He told me she wanted nothing to do with them. So I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”
“Sophie’s father did time for trafficking in bear products.”
“Detective Kendall never told us that.”
“He may not have known, and it doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”
Marquez said good-bye, thanked him, and promised to pass on anything he learned. He saw Caitlin in the window as he drove away. On the road east he told Alvarez he’d be back in time to help cover Sweeney. During the ride back to Placerville he reread several of the emails. He thought about Nyland’s pretending sympathy when Vandemere talked to him.
Marquez arrived in Placerville a little after 4:00, just before Sweeney left Sacramento. If Sweeney stuck with his itinerary he’d continue up the highway fifty miles beyond Placerville to the South Lake Tahoe casino where he’d spend the night.
When the budgets were larger, Marquez’s team had been ten wardens, twice what it was today. With ten undercover officers it was much easier to follow a suspect over this kind of distance. A larger team could spread out, float ahead and behind, but with only five it was more of a hopscotch and handoff game. Sweeney’s driver sat in the fast lane and rode the accelerator. Most of the SOU was strung out along the highway ahead of Sweeney. They communicated using their four-digit call numbers, calling out just the last two numbers for ID. They’d assigned a number to Sweeney as well-the number twenty-one because his first destination was a casino and their informant had told Bell that Sweeney was a big blackjack player. It was also, Marquez had decided, a number that most juries might associate with good luck, one that a defense attorney would have trouble twisting into a politically malicious symbol.
Sweeney’s car rolled through successive green lights as the highway cut through Placerville. Marquez picked him up there, reading nothing through the tinted windows of the black car as it passed. He called out each exit sign Sweeney’s vehicle passed.
Then it was beyond Placerville and starting the long climb.
“In number one at seventy-five,” he said, giving the lane number and speed. A few minutes later, “Passing Apple Hill, still lane one at seventy.”
Near Pollock Pines, he saw its headlights come on, relayed that on. Sweeney’s car moved steadily up the highway and everything was calm enough that he made a quick call to Katherine to check on her and Maria. He knew they’d left the Bay Area about the same time Sweeney left Sacramento, heading south to Katherine’s mother’s house outside Bishop in the Owens Valley.
“We’re on Highway 5 almost down to the cutoff to Yosemite.”
Her voice was light, enjoying her time with Maria despite the reason for the trip. “She’s driven the speed limit the whole way,” Kath added, and he chuckled. “She wants to drive the whole way. Here, I’ll hold the phone to her ear.”
“Hi, Dad.”
“Hey, Maria.”
“So what are you doing?”
“Checking out a tip. How’s the drive?”
“It’s empty out here. I’m listening to music. Mom fell asleep right away.”
“Maybe it’s your music.”
“Very funny.”
Up ahead, Sweeney’s car changed lanes, and Marquez knew he’d have to hang up.
“When you get tired you hand the wheel to your mom, okay?”
“What if she’s asleep?”
He smiled, said good-bye, and then relayed Sweeney’s position ahead to Roberts, who had the next leg. Roberts started ahead of Pollock Pines-running a reverse point, watching Sweeney’s car in her rearview mirror. She continued up the river canyon ahead of Sweeney’s car as Marquez trailed and then broke off, heading toward Wright’s Lake, winding out through forest and meadow, driving past a county cruiser hiding near Chimney Flats, knowing that Petroni would spot the cruiser just as easily.
Kendall was in Petroni’s Wright’s Lake cabin with Hawse. They’d separated Petroni’s belongings, spread them out on the couch and floor.
“What are you looking for?” Marquez asked.
“A key to a storage unit,” Kendall said.
“Who told you to look for it?”
“The dark angel,” Hawse said. “Sophie.”
“She ever been to it?”
Neither answered that, but Kendall elaborated. Sophie was pretty sure that’s where most of his belongings had gone after he’d moved out of Georgetown. Though they hadn’t found the key, they had found his logbook and were puzzling over Petroni’s leaving it here. Or maybe not puzzling, possibly baiting him? “What do you make of him leaving it here?” Kendall asked.
“He may really believe his career is over.”
“There are all kinds of names in it. We found a name that he’s entered twice very recently. Did he say anything to you about Howell Road?”
“No.”
“Take a look.”
Kendall handed the log over. “Howell Road,” was written in pencil, underlined, and near it was written “Johengen.”
“We found it here too,” Kendall said, showing him the inside cover of a paperback book they’d spotted “Johengen” written in as they’d opened it. It was finding it in the paperback that provoked their interest.
“So who’s Johengen?” Hawse asked, his round face a moon of innocence.
Marquez stared at Petroni’s handwriting, thinking about it. He had nothing to offer, though all of his team knew Howell Road.
“A bear hunter, a poacher, someone Petroni had a beef with, a friend he might be staying with?” Hawse prompted, then smiled at his next idea. “Yet another girlfriend? So far we can’t find a Johengen who lives on Howell.”
“I get it, Hawse, but I don’t know of a Johengen.”
Howell was a long road that ran forever out into backcountry. Once you got out a few miles it turned rural real fast. Some of the marginal people Petroni complained about had set up shop out there. Could be that he’d seen something out there and was paying attention to it. Marquez flipped through other pages of the log.
“Nothing clicks for you?” Kendall asked.
“No, though I’d bet Johengen’s is out Howell Road.”
Petroni had his own code for noting things. He’d written another entry that had a capital J and the note “needs looking at.”
They talked about that, and Kendall gestured around the cabin, said that they were in touch with the owner and that it was as Petroni had claimed. The owner was a friend and had loaned Petroni the cabin for as long as he needed it. In the light of the single pale bulb overhead the cabin looked particularly spartan, the walls with pine paneling, cold in the October twilight.
“Have you eaten?” Kendall asked.
“Not yet,” Marquez said.
“Why don’t we grab a bite and talk a little more. Let’s see if we can get around our recent snag.”
“We’ve got a surveillance running, but I’ll meet you for an hour.”
On the drive to Pollock Pines to have dinner with Kendall and Hawse, Marquez checked with his team. Cairo had the last leg. He called out Sweeney’s position coming into South Lake Tahoe. The black car was just pulling up to the casino.