Shauf and Roberts waited on the ridge above Nyland’s trailers.
When Marquez left here he’d join them. They had a search warrant for Nyland’s trailers and were only waiting until Sophie went into work, didn’t want her present when they went through things. Nyland’s arraignment was on the docket for 1:00 this afternoon and that was another reason to go in this morning. They expected him to be released.
Along with the Sacramento police, Alvarez and Cairo had knocked on Durham’s door late last night and talked to a live-in maid who’d told them the owner was out of town for several days.
She reiterated what she’d said to police yesterday, that she didn’t know where he was, he never told her where he was going. They didn’t have a warrant in place yet for his house, they had asked for one and it was questionable whether they’d get it, though they did get a warrant for Sierra Guides. It was Marquez’s plan to search Sierra Guides later today.
He drank coffee and read the San Francisco Chronicle’s account of Sweeney’s adventure as he waited. Kendall had missed his headline, but the Chronicle caught it perfectly. “Fish and Game Does Catch and Release with State Senator Sweeney.” It was a page A4 article, not many inches and with little detail. The arrest had already turned into a nonevent, the writer treating the bust as though it were a bizarre incident Sweeney had stumbled into via well-meaning friends, who according to a spokesman had made all the arrangements for the hunt. No mention was made of the SOU, and Sweeney only made the cryptic statement that he was not a hunter but that there were many hunters in his district and good land management should accommodate the interests of all citizens. The hunting guide would be arraigned today and could face felony charges if convicted of commercial trafficking in bear parts, but it didn’t say anything about why he’d be charged with that. There was no mention of the gallbladders. It concluded with the sentence that poaching a bear in California was a misdemeanor with a maximum fine of one thousand dollars and up to six months in jail, and it noted that the California bear population was thought to be stable at roughly twenty-five thousand black bear but that bear species in general were pressured globally.
When the records office opened he wasn’t sure he was in the right place, but the diminutive white-haired woman across the counter looked like she knew her way around. Her hearing was bad, and he wrote the name on a piece of the newspaper, handed it to her, then watched her evaluate the request.
“On Howell Road,” he said, and her eyes pondered him. Then she gave him the answer without needing to retrieve any files.
“I remember the Johengens. They were Swedish and had family in Minnesota or Wisconsin. He was a very intelligent man and nice mannered. He trained as an engineer in Stockholm, and I remember he always wore a hat.”
She described a felt hat now and seemed to want some explanation of why he was asking, as if perhaps he was prying into her privacy, not the name Johengen. He was close to showing her a badge but prodded her instead.
“Did they live on Howell Road?” he asked.
“For many years. They had a Christmas tree farm and grew apples. I don’t think they called it a farm though. I seem to remember it was Johengen’s Ranch. They had a wooden sign he’d carved.
He was a very capable man until he got sick. Just a minute.”
She went into a back room, was gone twenty minutes, and then came back out with an address on Howell.
“If it was me, I’d look for the rows of trees.”
“Thank you.”
As he left he checked with Roberts and Shauf, told them he was on his way to them, and Roberts reported that Sophie had left and that Alvarez had followed her to Placerville, saw her park and go into work at the Creekview. Alvarez was on his way back for the search of the trailers.
“I think we’re good to go,” Roberts said.
When Marquez arrived they popped the door on Nyland’s trailer and cut the chain on the second one. Two hounds were locked in the main trailer, and they got them outside and clipped them onto long chains attached to a cedar tree. Marquez petted both, kneeling with them for a few minutes before going back up the iron steps.
Inside, the air was thick with the smell of dogs. A TV was the focal point in the tiny common space, sitting on the short kitchen counter, facing the table. Marquez worked his way through clothing and belongings back in the bedroom, looking for anything that might help build a bear-poaching case, and Shauf went up to the second trailer to start searching there.
They hadn’t been inside the main trailer long when Alvarez called. “We’ve got company.”
“Sophie’s back?”
“No, it looks like Kendall, Hawse, and two or three cruisers.”
Marquez walked forward, looked through the window, and saw the vehicles crossing the meadow, Kendall and Hawse leading in a county SUV.
“How do you want to handle this?” Alvarez asked.
“Keep going until we know otherwise.”
Alvarez had finished with the little kitchen and hadn’t found anything, was flipping through magazines on the table now. A checkbook would help, a record of Nyland’s banking.
“Gentlemen,” Marquez said, when Kendall and Hawse clanged up the iron steps to the door. He took a look at their faces and guessed correctly they didn’t have a warrant to search the trailer.
“We came out to look at that fire pit you found the bone in, but why don’t you invite us into the trailer?” Kendall said. “It is a piece of femur though very old. We’ll have a warrant for the trailers by afternoon and if I’d known you were here, I would’ve asked you not to come in ahead of us.” Kendall studied Marquez’s face, shook his head. “If I were you, Marquez, I’d be sitting in a bar counting my fingers and toes.”
“I’m okay.”
“Are you?”
“I’d like to find Durham.”
“We’re doing what we can. You know Nyland will be out today.”
“Yeah.”
They looked at each other, not saying anything, the moment awkward. Kendall didn’t want them here, and they weren’t leaving without a search. Marquez asked about the piece of femur, though he could tell Kendall already had some sort of explanation.
“It’s very old, and it may explain vandalism and grave robbing in the old cemetery in Placerville. They’ve had a problem with it for a couple of years.”
“Not someone Nyland murdered.”
“Would I be asking you to invite me in?”
Kendall and Hawse followed him back to the tiny bedroom. Hawse picked up a pair of Sophie’s panties and started moving them along, walking them across the room as though Sophie were in them.
“Like to see that,” he said, and Kendall jumped him.
“Cut it out or wait outside,” Kendall said.
“Hey, I was just making a joke.”
“Make it outside.”
“Christ, what’s the matter with you today?”
Hawse left, muttering to himself, and Kendall asked without touching it, “What’s this skull?”
“Bobcat.”
The bobcat skull was very white, probably bleached, and sat on a little polished wood stand with an iron spike running up through where the brain had been. The spike tilted the skull so that the eye sockets stared straight forward. Near it was a necklace of claws strung on a silver chain and a photo in a gold gilt frame of a smiling Sophie naked and sitting on a horse. From the background, it might have been taken here in the meadow. There was also a black-andwhite photo of a man in a much smaller frame. He looked enough like Sophie that Marquez wondered if that was her biological father.
There were hunting rifles and two handguns that Marquez bagged and tagged. In a drawer he found a razor-sharp hunting knife beneath Sophie’s folded clothes and a small jewelry box that held maybe fifteen human teeth, three with gold crowns.