Kirk Russell - Redback

‘She told them she wanted to be left alone,’ Desault said.

‘But they know where she’s camped.’

‘John, your daughter left the hotel on foot and walked away on a trail. She may have been picked up by one of her friends, but that’s not confirmed yet. It seems they’ve got two cars but only one make and license plate was written down on the camping permit. The other car was parked outside the park gate and we haven’t located that car yet. We believe Maria is in it, but we’re not sure.’

There was more, but it all added up to Maria with the help of her friends leaving Yosemite and avoiding FBI protection.

‘If you hear from her, you need to call immediately.’

She didn’t call or answer her phone. But that didn’t really worry him or Katherine. It was pretty clear Maria and friends created a ruse to get her out of the valley. Or that’s how it seemed that night. The next morning was a nightmare.

In the cool gray light near dawn a deputy sheriff on the eastern slope of the Sierras spotted a late model black Hummer parked off the road under trees up Rock Creek Canyon. After spotting the Hummer the deputy pulled over and put his light on it. He got out with a flashlight and looked inside. When he shined his light through the driver’s window he saw a woman slumped against the passenger door and assumed she was sleeping.

Then his flashlight beam caught the wound at her throat. He held the light there a long moment and then moved it down, saw broad dark stains on her shirt, her skirt, the seat. Blood was everywhere, and yet, it still took him a moment to absorb what he was looking at. He leaned over, looking in, and then took his hand off the car roof and stepped back, realizing he shouldn’t even touch the vehicle. He shouldn’t touch any more than he already had. He walked around to the back, wrote down the license plates and ran them. The registered owner was a Raymond Mendoza with an LA address.

He reported an apparent homicide and within an hour, somewhere, someone connected Raymond ‘Rayman’ Mendoza to an ongoing DEA investigation and lapped that into the Bureau’s widening search for Maria Marquez and Jack Gant. Marquez got the call from Desault. That was at 8:30 in the morning after he’d been trying for hours to reach Maria by cell phone. He found his wallet, keys, creds, and badge as his muscles went weak with fear. His hands shook. Rock Creek was north of Bishop in country he knew well. It would take him five hours to get down there, maybe less if he pushed hard.

‘They’re moving the victim in the next hour or so, and we’re impounding the vehicle. The Bureau is getting involved. There’s no identity on the woman yet. She’s approximately twenty-five with brown hair, and hazel eyes, and John, this is very hard to say, but from the description we can’t rule out Maria. They’ll fax me a photo. Why don’t you come into San Francisco and wait here with me.’

‘It’s not her.’

‘I’m sure you’re right.’

‘She’s with two friends, but I’ll drive there now.’

‘You don’t need to do that.’

Desault almost said, you don’t need to do that yet. He barely caught himself. Marquez walked out to his truck, still talking to Desault as he started the engine.

‘Raymond Mendoza is who you gave the message for Stoval to, correct?’

‘Yes.’

‘Mendoza is in custody. We picked him up at home this morning. He claims the Hummer was stolen and that he didn’t report it stolen because he was traveling. Or some story like that. A neighbor who hates both the vehicle and Mendoza, and pays attention to his coming and going in it, says Mendoza was home last night and the night before, but not his vehicle.’

Desault tried to talk him into turning around, but he couldn’t do that. He drove and tried Maria’s cell several times and got through to one of her friends and learned they’d smuggled Maria out of Yosemite last night and she and two others were supposed to be camped at June Lake on the eastern side. Marquez got the names of the friends and the car make and model and called the Mono County Sheriff’s Office.

But they didn’t find the car in the time it took him to cross the Sierras. By then he had called Katherine at work, though he didn’t tell her the homicide victim’s physical characteristics were similar enough that the FBI was faxing a photo of Maria. He couldn’t do that, and Desault was right; Maria was fine. She and her friends had ditched the FBI last night and were somewhere no one would think to look for them.

When his phone rang next he could barely breathe as he answered. It was Desault calling with the victim’s identity.

Years ago, when he and Katherine couldn’t get enough of each other and decided to marry, some wealthy friends of Katherine’s threw a party for them in St Helena in the Napa Valley. Maria was in a dress with a big blue bow in the front and her hair pulled to one side and with flowers there that she kept touching delicately on the drive up. She had shiny red leather shoes and was very excited about the party, and then in the summer heat and with the adults drinking wine and eating, and the older girl she had been told she’d be playing with being unfriendly to her, she had gotten flustered and overwhelmed.

An acquaintance of Katherine’s, a noted winemaker with an odd pale narrow face, watched this and then tried to get Maria to sit on his lap. She pulled away from him and he scooped her up from behind and lifted her high in the air as if imitating some amusement park ride. He made sounds like she was on a ride as he whooshed her along and smiled widely at the people nearby as he set her down. When she burst into tears, he said, ‘You must not be old enough for a big party like this.’

Maria ran to their car parked on the crushed gravel beneath an arbor. Katherine followed. The car was unlocked and by the time she reached her Maria had climbed into the backseat. Her face was streaked with tears, the flowers that had been in her hair lying where she had torn them out and thrown them on the gravel. Marquez could see Maria and Katherine in the car and near him the winemaker joked with a small circle that kids hated him and that no matter what he did they cried.

Katherine talked Maria out of the car but she broke free and ran back and an exasperated Katherine said, ‘I don’t want her in the car out here alone. The car is way too hot anyway. I don’t know what she’s so upset about. I guess the party is just too much excitement for her.’

‘I’ll talk to her.’

And that was probably where he first connected with Maria. He got in the car and asked, ‘Can I sit with you?’

She didn’t answer. She’d had enough of adults and was feeling sorry for herself and very disappointed after all the expectation of what the party would be. She kept her head pressed against the window. Her left hand gripped the hem of her dress and tears still ran down her cheeks, though she didn’t make a sound.

He lowered the other windows to cool the car off and kept talking to her. He talked her into getting into the front seat where he knew she was used to sitting with her mom and hadn’t been since the three of them started riding together. Her world had been disrupted. The mom she’d had to herself, she didn’t have in the same way anymore.

‘Let’s get out of here for a few minutes,’ he said. ‘Let’s go for a drive.’

Heads turned as he backed out. The hostess looked over reprovingly at this unnecessary indulgence of a little girl who just needed a nap, and this Marquez, this game warden, leaving in the middle of a party that was a nicer event than he’d probably ever been to. With Maria he stopped and got an ice cream. They drove slowly back and looked at vineyards and she told him about starting first grade and the friend she met, and now she was going to be going to a new school and wouldn’t know anybody at all.