Night Game jm-2

by Kirk Russell

  “He mentioned it to me.”

  “I didn’t know he wrote it down. Didn’t seem like he wanted to listen at all when we first reported Jed missing, and I know all kinds of people go missing. But he didn’t acknowledge that we knew our son, and, of course, it was in the wilderness area, not his territory.”

  “But it’s his case now.”

  “It is, and it wouldn’t have made any difference.” His voice quavered. “My son was already gone.”

  “I’m very sorry.”

  Pete raised a hand, didn’t say anything, then, “I’m not doing well with this.” He picked up a manila envelope off his desk. “These are copies for you. All the emails he sent this past summer. He was an enthusiastic young man, had a great life ahead of him.”

  He looked up and stopped talking about his son. “Do you know this Sophie Broussard?” he asked.

  “I know who she is and I’ve met her. Has Detective Kendall talked to you about her?”

  “No, he won’t talk to us about the case. He says he’ll keep us apprised of real progress. Well, you should know this, he got angry with me because I tried to do my own investigating when I didn’t feel anything was happening. I asked the wrong questions too early, before Jed’s body was found.”

  “Did you talk to Sophie?”

  “Yes, I talked to her and another young man named Eric Nyland. He was quite helpful and she was unfriendly. She works at a bar in Placerville and wasn’t the person I expected at all.” He paused, studying Marquez’s eyes. “The detective has told me not to speak to anyone about this, but I’m going to tell you. She told me she had a short fling with my son and it didn’t mean anything to her, said she could barely remember his name.”

  “When did you have that conversation with her?”

  “In late August. That’s hardly three weeks after that email in your hand where he’s talking about what they’re doing together. So you can imagine the things that have gone through my head. I know from emails that he met her in June and the relationship went on longer than she claimed. Jed wouldn’t lie about something like that, or anything else. Whether she wanted to shock me or cover something up, I don’t know.”

  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 beli
eve 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.

  “I may play a little blackjack,” Cairo said.

  “If you lose your money, don’t lose him.”

  “I’m lucky at the tables, Lieutenant.”

  “Talk to you in a couple of hours.”

  Kendall and Hawse ordered hamburgers, onion rings, beer, Hawse making the remark it wasn’t going to do much for his diet.

  Marquez picked at the night’s special, turkey meatloaf with mashed potatoes, a mistake that brought a little humor to Kendall’s eyes.

  “I need to understand why Petroni called you,” Kendall said.

  “The very first time we interviewed him after Vandemere’s remains were found, Petroni said I should be talking to you and your team, not him. He was disparaging when I asked who you were, said they’d drummed you out of the DEA after you were the only survivor on an undercover operation and the DEA was no longer sure which side you were on. Then through connections you got a job at Fish and Game.”

  “The first part of that is true, but not the second, and either way, Petroni got that story from me.”

  “How many died on this DEA operation?”

  “Eight, but five of those were Mexican nationals and at the time the DEA wasn’t counting Mexicans.”

  “You’re bitter.”

  “I lost some good friends.”

  “So why did he confide in you? Why did he bring you to his Sunday confession?”

  “I volunteered he might want me there. He said no at first.”

  Kendall took a pull of beer, his face serious as he closed his eyes with the bottle tipped. When he put the bottle down he said, “Petroni’s name has come up too much.”

  “And you think I know more about that.”

  “You knew about Wright’s Lake, but I don’t know why he told you. Petroni is the type of guy who’s always up against the whole world. Everyone is always backstabbing and screwing him. He’s always getting fucked by a superior. Right now, it’s your Chief Bell. He’s the type of guy it happens to all life long and from the way he talked, you did it to him also. So why come to you unless it fits into a bigger plan, a way to get even, for instance.”

  “I don’t have the answer.”

  “You’ve asked yourself?”

  “Sure.”

  “He’s turning to you in his time of need when everything is on the line.”

  “Let’s hear your theory.”

  “All right. He’s taking bribes and learns your team is in the area and starts worrying you’re going to find out. And by the way, I’ve got testimony from more than Brandt.”

  “If the other is Bobby Broussard, you can throw it out.”

  That surprised Kendall. He put his beer down.

  “What’s the matter with Bobby Broussard?”

  “I’ve seen him perjure himself.”

  “I still think it all fits. Sophie is tied in with Nyland, Nyland is tied in with poaching, and Petroni suddenly has new financial demands. He knows the bear population is relatively stable, and he can let these guys take a few. I’m saying he’s got a financial need, there’s a conduit through Sophie to make an offer, and he crosses the line.”

  “As long as I’ve known him he’s been proud to be a game warden.”

  “Right, and he was an Eagle Scout too, so were some of those Enron guys, weren’t they? But let me finish. You’re up here with your team and he doesn’t want anything to do with you, but in order to keep track of your whereabouts he’s got to weave you in.

  So lately, he’s started to make contact and feed you information.”

  “He didn’t make contact all summer. We barely spoke.”

  “This theory has a few gaps, but hear me out. Stella figures out that he’s got more money than he should have. She lived with him a long time and she knows the money. She senses something is wrong, confronts him, and maybe even tells her lawyer to start threatening him and he panics.”

  “How much money are you talking about?”

  “You tell me.”

  “It’s not going to be big money unless some guide is passing it on to a client. Maybe a grand a month otherwise.”

  “That could be the margin of difference.”

  “It’s a big step for a warden.”

  “Big step for any cop.”

  “I can’t see Petroni doing that.”

  “Right, and deep down he’s actually a really good guy who talks shit about everybody because he has an insecure streak we should all forgive him for. Walks like a duck, talks like a duck.

  We’ve got people talking bribes and Petroni evasive about who he’s talked to and when. I don’t like the way it feels, and I’ll throw another one at you-Jed Vandemere figured it out, saw Petroni involved in something.”

  “Then he wouldn’t be the guy I knew.”

  “Marquez,” and Kendall’s frustration surfaced, “Petroni doesn’t have anything good to say about you.”

  Marquez pushed back from the table. They left it that they’d talk tomorrow or as soon as either knew anything. Then as Marquez walked out he saw Troy Broussard’s truck parked near Kendall’s sedan. A cigarette glowed in the darkness behind the windshield, and Bobby, sitting in the passenger seat, called “Hey, you,” as Marquez walked past. Though he knew he shouldn’t, he veered toward them.

  “They’re going to put him down like a dog when they find him,” Bobby said. “We’re calling everyone to help hunt him down.

  Detective has asked our help finding him.”

  Troy turned to face
Marquez more directly. “Don’t you think we know you, you sonofabitch?”

  “Who is it you think I am?”

  Troy started his engine and touched his forehead. “A man kills his wife like that deserves a bullet right here.”

  Marquez watched their lights disappear down the road and found his hands were shaking as he got in his truck. He sat for several minutes before picking up the phone, checking with Cairo again, then Shauf. Cairo reported Sweeney was downstairs at the casino and happily gambling. Shauf had watched Nyland load restaurant waste and scraps at the back door of a Chinese restaurant.

  “Looks like egg rolls at the bait piles tonight.”

  “Is he alone?”

  “He is and he’s worked hard to lose anyone tailing him, but it’s hard outrunning a satellite.”

  “Give him plenty of room tonight.”

  “We will.”

  Near midnight he called Katherine, and Maria answered, saying Mom was asleep and she was on Highway 395, it was beautiful and she wasn’t tired at all.

  “The clouds are really white in the moonlight and I can see these tall mountains off to my right. I guess I got driving from you, because I feel fine.”

  “Those mountains off to your right are the ones John Muir called the Range of Light. We’ll hike up there together someday. You okay taking it in from there?”

  “I’m fine, Dad.”

  “I’m sorry about this, Maria, sorry we’re doing this to you. I know it’s hard on you.”

  “I already have a C in chemistry and I’m going to miss an English test.”

  “At least you’ll get to see your grandmother.”

  “Grandma isn’t going to take the SATs for me.”

  “How’s your cell phone working?”

  “I’m talking to you on it.”

  “Call me when you get there, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “I love you.”

  He heard her quiet “I love you too,” and then hung up.

  29

  The next morning he heard from the Stockton vice cop, Delano. The bust had gone splendidly, yielded four pounds of crystal meth and six suspects. They’d also found more bear paws.