by Kirk Russell
“Why did Durham get involved?”
“I told him I’d make him rich.”
“Did you?” Ungar looked away. “Was Petroni on the take?”
“Five hundred a month.”
“To stay out of an area?”
“And provide information.”
“And then you got it back from him with sales.”
That was the first thing to fluster him and he couldn’t hide it.
“What are you talking about?”
“Selling to Mark Ellison.”
“I don’t know any Mark Ellison.”
Marquez wanted to say it all now, but Kendall would confront Ungar with hard evidence, the wooden box with Petroni’s badge in it when they tried to get him to confess and bargain. Killing a law enforcement officer made Ungar eligible for the death penalty, but if he helped resolve the Vandemere and Stella Petroni murders, and gave a full confession on Petroni, it was likely the county DA would let him bargain for a life sentence. Ungar was a bright guy and thinking fast. The first edge of doubt was in his eyes. As Marquez got ready to go he had to leave Ungar with something.
“In the end, Petroni beat you,” Marquez said. “He outsmarted you.”
“He wasn’t any brighter than you.”
“He didn’t have to be.”
Marquez cut off what Ungar said next as he closed the door.
52
Ungar didn’t go down as easily as Kendall had anticipated.
At the arraignment for Petroni’s murder he pled not guilty. It was another two weeks before he fired his lawyer and made the deal with the prosecutor, and even then never confessed to Stella Petroni’s murder, which Kendall now believed was an effort to frame Petroni, taking advantage of the discord in Petroni’s life.
Ungar did admit to paying Nyland ten thousand dollars to kill Vandemere because the county wouldn’t make the deal without that confession, and evidence of the payment showed in his records.
The only explanation he’d give was that Vandemere had pried into business that wasn’t his. A week later, Marquez stopped by the Placerville mini-storage alone. He punched in the numbers, drove through the gate and down to the unit Petroni had rented. It was empty now. There was really nothing to see, but for some reason he wanted to stand in the space and try to visualize what had motivated Petroni to keep his investigation to himself, how bitter he must have been, and yet, in here, checking the recording equipment, knowing he was building a significant case. It was remarkable he hadn’t revealed it to try to save himself from being suspended.
Marquez looked at the holes Petroni had drilled in the shared wall, thought about him working in here. The storage unit was similar to some the SOU had rented in the past, and very similar to a unit his and Petroni’s teams had shared a decade ago. He knew, despite all the talk otherwise, Petroni had never stopped thinking of himself as an undercover wildlife officer. He must have been waiting for the moment he’d call for backup and make the bust. He must have pictured the vindication, the feeling of taking down Durham, Ungar, Nyland, Sophie, Bobby and maybe Troy, all at once.
He had a conversation now with Petroni, one in his head, a conversation with the ghost of the guy he’d known. He let Petroni know how impressed he was that he’d pulled this off and said that he wished Petroni had taken a chance on opening up to him, that they could have worked together again.
Later that week Kendall, who’d been keeping him updated, said Ungar had unraveled another piece for them. He’d been behind another murder, the unsolved prior case that had drawn Kendall into the Crystal Basin murder of Vandemere. The watch and ring found in the hunting shack were taken from the earlier victim. Ungar had placed them on the shelf in the hunting shack.
“Why?” Marquez asked.
“Not completely clear whether it was part of some elaborate notion of framing Petroni or whether he was planting evidence that later would implicate Nyland. Several times he’s talked about watching Petroni have sex with Sophie up at that shack, and I get the feeling it may have been part of setting up the framing of Petroni before killing Stella.”
“But he’s made his deal.”
“Yeah, he’d have to want to tell us more. Listen, the real reason I called was we’ve got files off his computer there in the storage unit that you’re going to want. A lot of names and contacts. I FedExed you a package with them. You ought to get it in the next day or so. And we’ve finally gotten through his passwords.”
“Yeah, my chief told me.”
“There are more files that will help you.”
There was proof now that it was Ungar who’d hacked the DFG personnel files. He’d downloaded info on everyone working for Fish and Game. They’d also learned that he was something of a financial wizard, leveraging the $412,000 he’d made selling bile products into double that in value in real estate and stocks.
After the disks arrived Marquez and the team started working down the network Ungar had built. It was like peeling an onion and they would take it slowly, figure out how to build the cases with the help of U.S. Fish and Wildlife, as several of the connections were out of state. Locally, they had a list of people who sold his bile products, and Marquez set up another sit-down with Ungar. He tried to get more information from him by bringing up a competitor Ungar had referenced in computer files and writings.
Two guards and Kendall were in the room with Ungar, one guard chewing gum until Kendall stopped him. Ungar had lost better than ten pounds, leaving his face gaunt, the lines more pronounced.
He’d paled, and he rubbed his thumb and index finger together continually.
“I don’t want the guards in here,” Ungar said. “Not you, either,” he said to Kendall, and that wasn’t any problem. Ungar was chained to the ring, wasn’t going anywhere. The guards and Kendall left.
“You want me to bring this guy in Vancouver down.”
“I’m asking for your help,” Marquez said.
“You won’t stop bile products from coming here. Can’t stop people from using medicine they’ve used a thousand years or more. It’s like smoking weed. The laws aren’t going to even slow it down. Your side is losing everywhere.”
“Not everywhere.”
“You tell your daughter hello for me.”
Marquez felt his breath catch in his throat. Despite corroborative DNA results and a case that was moving toward trial, Ungar had never admitted being in Bishop. He stared back at Ungar, asked him if he was admitting to being in Bishop. Ungar didn’t make another sound, and later he told Kendall he wouldn’t speak with any Fish and Game officers ever again.
In early December on a bright clear morning Marquez got a sad call from Shauf, her voice breaking before she could get it out, telling him her sister had died just after dawn. The following Tuesday with the rest of the SOU he attended a service for Debbie in Folsom, where the pastor spoke about the fragile preciousness of life, how we so often are unaware of our days passing, and how aware and close to God Debbie had become in her final days.
Whether that was true or not, Marquez had no idea and sat silently in the pew. He saw the children standing near their father and Shauf grief-stricken and turned inward. He said good-bye to her in the parking lot and tried to make sure she understood he’d do whatever he could for her and the family. He knew her well enough to know he’d have to come find her, and he would.
On the drive home from Folsom he stopped to see Keeler and helped him transplant several orchids in the greenhouse. Later, as they drank a beer, Keeler asked, “How are you doing?”
“In what way?”
“With what’s happened.”
“If Petroni and I had talked at all, he’d still be here.”
“He kept it from everyone, that’s a choice he made, John.”
They had another beer together before he headed home.
The following Saturday he started laying out the new addition with Maria. They were down along the corner of the house when Kendall called. Marquez walked back up to
the deck, scraping mud off his shoes and sitting down at the picnic table, listening as Kendall sketched more details of Stella Petroni’s murder, how he was going to make a case against Ungar after all. He believed he could prove Ungar had hired Nyland.
“Am I going to see you before Ungar’s trial?” Kendall asked.
“I’ll give you a call.”
“I still owe you a lunch.”
“I’m sure I’ll be back that way.”
Maria yelled up at him, and he told Kendall he’d call next time he was in town, though he knew he probably wouldn’t. He laid the phone on the redwood table, came down off the deck and around to where they’d built batter boards and strung line to lay out the new foundation.
“What do we do now?” she asked, and he looked at her young face and the warm enthusiastic light in her eyes.
“We tape out and mark the piers. The drill rig comes Monday.” She held an end of the tape on the mark he’d pointed to, and Marquez smiled back at her, pulled the tape, dropping a stake where the center of each pier would go, a total of six. As he pounded them in Maria sprinkled flour around the stakes. Someone had told him it was an easy way to keep track of the stakes after the drilling started and dirt got tossed around.
“Did you hear,” she asked, spilling flour on the hammer and his hand, “that same black bear was down near the Golden Gate Bridge again last night. Can you believe that a bear is almost to San Francisco? Wouldn’t it be funny if he walked across the bridge?”
“He probably won’t do that.”
“I really like it. I mean, as long as he doesn’t get into our house or something.”
Marquez pounded in another stake and glanced up at her, very happy that they were starting this build together.
“I mean it’s really cool,” she said. “I like to think of him walking around here. Do you know what I mean, Dad?”
He glanced over at her. “Yeah, I think I do.”
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-d37987-8c88-9c4e-199e-1ad4-043c-0fcc66
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 12.12.2011
Created using: calibre 0.8.30, Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6 software
Document authors :
Kirk Russell
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