Kirk Russell - Dead Game

“When this is over I’ve got a new role for you in the department. I want you to train wardens in undercover work. It’s a position we can afford and the best way to make use of your experience. And you’re due for a promotion.”

“If I make captain then I’ll be behind a desk and never run the SOU again.”

“The SOU will go down until there’s new money budgeted for it.”

Nothing was said for a minute. Marquez watched a squirrel run along the deck railing outside.

“I’m going to give you some time to think it over, but I want you to stay.”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t like my idea.”

“It’s a fine idea, but I don’t see myself behind a desk writing training programs. I belong in the field, or maybe it’s time for me to call it.”

Baird ran out of time and had to get to the city and meet his wife. On the way out the door he paused, turned, took in the big frame of Marquez blocking the light, sun-gold hair with gray in it, the broad face.

“I have not forgotten why we are here, Lieutenant. I will never forget.”

They stood looking at each other a moment. Then Baird nodded and left.

They’d told him one other thing when he was at the FBI, that Anna had hired an expensive lawyer. Jack Batson. Marquez knew of Batson and had read about his plush below-ground office on Montgomery Street the press had dubbed “The Bat Cave.” That was where he wanted to meet Marquez when he called the next morning. They agreed on the delta instead, and Marquez got there early enough to walk the trail out to the water and find the place up on the levee where the photos of Anna and Karsov had been taken.

A BMW dropped down from the levee road, and he recognized Batson at the wheel. Batson’s car was a BMW M5, an older model, dark blue. Batson got out, looking like he was dressed for a safari, and maybe that’s what coming out here meant to him. The delta reached back into a different time and didn’t have the fast roads the high rollers needed to get from place to place. BMW seemed to be the car of choice this week, though this older model was probably not his regular car. Not with the money he was making. But give the guy a break. He’s just another lawyer.

“Lieutenant, thank you for meeting me, and I know you’ve been through a lot and my client feels deeply responsible.”

“She should.”

They shook hands, Batson with a firm grip, warm brown eyes, eyebrows like Bin Laden.

“This is where she faked the abduction,” Marquez said.

“Faked may not be the right word.”

“It may not be, but I don’t know what she was thinking. I’m just speaking from my point of view. Her car was right about where yours is when I pulled in.”

“She didn’t want anything to do with it. Are you familiar with the Patty Hearst syndrome?”

“Is that what you’re going with?”

“We’re going with the truth.”

Marquez nodded. “Well, the truth sometimes works. It’s at least worth a try.”

“She was forced to deliver a stolen vehicle to Las Vegas. That’s where she went from here. I doubt the FBI has told you that. She left her car and drove that car to Vegas, as she has done other things to protect her son.”

“Well, I don’t have anything I need delivered, so what can I do for you today?”

“Karsov forced her into all of this, and instead of following through with the deal the FBI cut with her in return for her help bringing him down, they’re now trying to bring murder charges against her. They’re claiming she was part of a conspiracy to commit murder. They’re not interested in justice, only revenge for their officers killed. Anna has asked me to approach you and see if you’re willing to help.”

“What could I possibly do for her?”

“On the stand you could counter the manner in which the FBI will paint her character. She’s not a killer, and they’re going to frame her. At the moment she just wants to talk to you. She did help your team before all this happened.”

“Not really.”

“You encouraged her, you told her she did.”

Marquez couldn’t believe it was possible but had to ask. “You do know she burned us, right?”

“No, she did what she had to. She didn’t burn your team, and she shares the same intense feelings about the land.” Marquez thought, forget it, what a waste of time meeting Batson. He took the conversation back to the car.

“So she picked up a car here?”

“That’s right, her instructions were to leave her car and call you. One of these mobsters was waiting here with a stolen Hummer that she then drove to Las Vegas. His was the voice you heard. She was used, extorted, if you will. It’s gone on for years, and the Bureau has essentially participated in it. There’s an around-theclock suicide watch on Anna. She needs your help.”

“I would like to talk to her again. Tell her that.”

He watched Batson drive off. Then he drove to meet Crey to talk about the Raburn killings, how it might be a business opportunity for them. They spoke out in the bait shop lot. He told Crey he’d been the one to find them, because somehow it was going to come out and he didn’t want Crey to discover it later.

“They took me in and questioned me all day and almost all night, really tried to mess with my head. The wife ran the caviar making out of that shed. You knew Cindy, right?”

“Yeah,” Crey said. “Nice little ass on her.”

“She did some work for me through Abe, and I don’t know how they found out about it, but they were trying to tell me I offed the family.” Marquez held his hand out, fingers spread, his big scarred hand riding a few inches above the bar. “They wanted to test my hands for residue, you know, wanted me to volunteer to let them. I did the lie detector test, residue test, all that shit, but I passed everything.”

“What were you doing out there?”

“Trying to find Abe. He owed me a hundred bucks.”

That made Crey laugh. Raburn dying and getting away without paying just fit perfectly.

“That’s just perfect,” Crey said.

“I collected.”

“What? You got in his wallet when he was lying there?”

“No, man, but I went down to that canning room for a reason. I stepped over them and grabbed a stack of labels and jars before calling 911 to report they got smoked. I’ll show you what I got. It’s the official stamp, the whole thing. There’s more stashed out there. I couldn’t hide it all in my truck.”

They moved the conversation from the parking lot to a bar now, walked up Main Street, and the bartender brought a gin and tonic for Crey. He brought a beer for Marquez.

“I’ve got to make some calls but it’s possible we can get something going tonight.

“Want to play a little poker tonight? There’s some guys that might show up who I’ve done business with before. They’re interested in talking about doing more together. I figure it’s a good time to introduce you.”

“How do we know they’ll show up, because if it’s just poker, I already went to high school.”

“I’m going to make some calls, then I’ll call you later. These guys could be good for like a hundred grand a year.”

Marquez nodded, didn’t believe any of it, though he’d call and talk it over with the SOU. It sounded like more Crey bullshit until the last line.

“There’s a guy in San Francisco with a store,” Crey said. “He’s got another one in LA and one in Seattle, and he sells all kinds of caviar over the Net, only not on English websites. These guys supply him. Goes from the water through us to them to this dude in San Francisco. We’re not going to get the business right away, not with Raburn getting offed, but after things cool down. Tonight is the night to meet these guys. I’m going to make the call, then call you.” He grinned. “How’s poker sound now?”