“No, I know he disappeared and we’re looking for him, and it could have been his voice. But I’m not certain at all.”
“We’re going to take this young lady next to me back to the station with us. She’s going to teach us how to keep our cool under fire.”
“I’m headed your way but it’ll take me five hours.”
“Your daughter is safe with us.”
There’d been no delay getting the word out on the truck, but it was open desert country and the few police available were spread out. Marquez told Maria he was on the way and then called Katherine and told her what had happened. The normally pacifist Katherine was quick.
“I hope he bleeds to death on the side of the road somewhere.”
If it was Durham, how had he found his way to Bishop and did that mean he’d followed Katherine when she drove Maria down? Marquez drove hard as he tracked alongside the eastern side of the Sierras down to Bishop, on the phone to the different police municipalities along the route, and back and forth with the CHP. He watched the traffic across the highway and when he dropped down on Mono Lake and was making the run into Lee Vining, he wheeled around and chased a truck that turned out to be a couple of middle-aged women.
The hospital wanted Lillian to stay overnight for observation, and Lillian argued against it, which didn’t surprise Katherine. But Lillian had a concussion and was mildly disoriented, a bad headache, and the hospital prevailed. When Marquez arrived she was in a hospital bed, her face pale, several of her network of friends standing in the room joking with her.
“If he comes back it’ll be his last mistake,” Lillian said to Marquez. She looked at the photo of Durham that Marquez had and said that it might not be him. Then he drove to Lillian’s house with Maria and she showed how she’d crouched and aimed. He studied where they’d taken dirt samples trying to recover enough of the blood splatters to get a DNA sample. When Maria said she knew she’d hit him she started crying, and Marquez put an arm around her shoulder and held her close. Later, as they were driving north heading home he handed her the picture of Durham and saw the same uncertainty in her face he’d seen in Lillian’s.
“It could be him,” she said.
He looked over at Maria’s profile in the darkness, reached, and touched her. “I’m really proud of you.”
“Do you really think he would he have killed us?”
What was the truest answer to give her? They couldn’t know, of course, and he didn’t want to leave her with nightmares, but she’d also stood her ground and had the poise when it mattered.
She’d earned his permanent respect.
“I think he was there to do that, and you did the only thing you could and you did it well.”
42
They had the choice of going home to Mount Tamalpais or to the small house in Bernal Heights in San Francisco that Katherine still owned and where she’d stayed last night with her best friend, Janet, who leased it from her. Bernal Heights was where Maria had lived her first eight years, and he wondered if there wouldn’t be a certain comfort going there. Then he learned from Bell that state police were already en route to Mount Tam and would guard his house.
They got in near midnight, and Marquez talked to the state cops parked out on the street. He listened to what they had for a description and debated bringing Maria out to talk to them, then decided against it, doubted the wounded man would come here. He offered food and coffee, which the officers declined.
Katherine scrambled eggs, fried chicken-apple sausage, and they ate while Maria numbly told the story of what happened. Her hands trembled, and she said she was going to take a shower and call one of her friends who she knew would still be awake. She wanted to go to school tomorrow, insisted she’d drive herself.
Listening closely to her, Marquez knew she’d be okay. Then just before going to bed she came back out and asked if he thought there was any chance the man would come here tonight. He shook his head, said no as he had several times during the long drive home, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders and held her. After Maria was in her room he talked more frankly with Katherine about the possibilities.
“How badly is he hurt?” she asked.
“He lost some blood outside on the gravel, and they think the way it was flung suggests his arm was hit.”
“So it might not be a bad wound.”
“Hard to say.”
“But they did get samples?”
“Yeah, they’ll be able to type it and compare DNA.”
“Then if they catch him they can hold him.”
“DNA results will take weeks to come back, and the case doesn’t have the components that would bump it up the list. Lillian is okay, Maria is unhurt, so most likely they’d hold him as long they could, then set a very high bail while waiting for DNA results. I talked to Maria on the way home, and it’s anybody’s guess whether she’d have a shot at picking him out of a lineup. He came in the house with a mask on, and you can bet if caught he’ll say he only meant to talk to Maria, not hurt her.”
“But he’s wounded.”
“Yeah, he’s wounded. Two slugs got pulled from the woodwork; the third hit him.”
“How did he get away on those desert roads they can fly a plane along?”
“Probably by switching vehicles. My best guess is he followed you when you drove down, but that means he was here and may have had other plans the day you drove Maria away. He may have been casing this house.”
Later, Marquez walked out the gravel drive and talked to the state cop. He felt agitated and worried, and though he believed tonight was safe, he felt uncomfortable. He walked the perimeter of the house, returned to the back deck, and locked the slider, something he rarely did. He showered with Katherine, felt her water-slicked skin against him, steam clouding around them, her dark hair wet, and then Katherine pressing against him, lips finding his with fear-driven urgency. Her hand slid down his abdomen, and he traced the curve of her spine and hip with his fingers, touched the smooth skin of her inner thigh as she reached to arouse him. He didn’t know where the desire came from tonight, but when he lifted her, pressed her back against the tile and entered her, he thought of nothing else. She felt very light in his arms, and afterward she held him tighter still and wept.
Toward 4:00 in the morning he lay awake with a hand on the warm skin of her back and a tightness like a clenched fist in his chest. He listened to Katherine’s quiet breathing, remembered the emotion in her face as Maria walked in the door tonight. He dozed, woke again, before dawn made coffee, and took a mug up to the state cop, who said the only thing he’d seen were deer and maybe a bear, though he asked Marquez not to tell anyone that last part. They’d never stop laughing at him.
“You’re not crazy,” Marquez answered. “The first black bear sighting in a hundred years in West Marin was this last spring. That bear is an adolescent and still around here somewhere. He got into garbage and then beehives in Green Gulch near Muir Beach, then showed up at the northern end of the Golden Gate Bridge near Kirby Cove. He may be on the mountain here somewhere.”
On the back deck he sat with his notes in front of him and talked to Shauf, Alvarez, Cairo, Roberts as a plan formed. When Katherine came out they sat in the cold dawn and he talked it over with her. He believed that if it was Durham who’d made the assault, the way he figured it, Durham had good reason to try to find Nyland next. He told Kath what he’d learned this morning.
“There’s a report that Nyland was spotted in the Crystal Basin last night and that makes sense to me. I think he’ll take to the woods. But he probably has a way to contact his partner, Durham, and some prearranged escape plan. I’m going back up there to try to find Nyland because I think he’s the key to Durham.”
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.”