“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. You 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?”