Kirk Russell - Night Game

“Am I?” Marquez pointed at Kendall and the deputies crossing a snowfield, their guns drawn and their voices starting to carry up. “They plan to lay it all on you and you know Kendall, he’ll do it. He’ll make it work. If you know anything more that can help you, you’ve got to tell me now. I’m looking for the bear farmer, and if you’re telling anything like the truth you need him found as badly as I do.”

Nyland didn’t answered, stayed focused on the approaching men.

“Where’s this ranch, what’s it look like?” Marquez asked.

“It’s got some metal buildings way out in a field. There’s a little Chinese dude that lives out there all the time, but I’ve only been there once. I didn’t shoot Vandemere. I’ve been bear baiting, that’s all.”

“Maybe they put you up to shooting Vandemere. Durham and the other guy, the bear farmer. You could get a much lesser sentence for that, but they’ve got you for that one. You wiped the rifle with solvent but not well enough. DNA is like dandruff, falls everywhere, nothing you can do about it.” Marquez paused. “And you know Kendall. If he doesn’t have the evidence, he’ll make it. This guy has a name, you’ve heard a name.”

“We just call him Bearman.”

“Who knows his name?”

“Durham knows fucking everything.”

The hound surged forward and Marquez grabbed his collar before he could charge the officers. There wouldn’t be but another sixty seconds to talk.

“What road is this ranch in Minden on?”

“Old something road. I don’t have anything to do with the freak’s bear thing. I wouldn’t do that to an animal.”

The dog lunged, and Marquez lost his hold. When that happened, Nyland jumped off the side of the trail, pulling the rope out of Marquez’s hand as Marquez struggled to get a hold of the dog.

Nyland stumbled, ran, his strides long on the steep slope, sloughing through snow toward trees below.

“Freeze, Nyland, freeze,” Kendall yelled.

Then came a warning shot, but Nyland made it down into trees and there was a lot of yelling as the county officers spread out and went after him. It wouldn’t take long to catch him, and Marquez tried to slow a deputy hustling down.

“Hey, hold up, he’s hurt, he’s unarmed, he’s not going to get far. We can talk him out.”

The man continued past him, and Marquez turned and yelled, “Kendall, slow it down.”

A deputy called out, “I see him. He’s moving down the creek.”

Trying to get to his ride, Marquez thought. Still thinks he can get there and it’ll be okay. Marquez heard more yelling as he hurried down. He heard the shot, and Nyland was on his back, one leg folded under him, bleeding out from a neck wound when Marquez arrived. Blood pulsed onto the snow. A deputy moved to try to save him but there was no point. He died within a few minutes.

The deputy who’d shot him pointed at a dry branch about an inch thick and two feet long that Nyland had picked up as a weapon. He moved over to show Kendall what had happened, explaining, his voice rushed.

“I didn’t have a choice.”

From behind, Marquez heard Kendall’s voice. “It’s okay, just back away from the body, Pete. We all heard you order him to stop.”

Marquez slowly turned to look at Kendall, who was still talking to the deputy.

“You did what you had to,” Kendall said, and then to Marquez, “I hope you’ve got all the answers because I sure don’t. Why’d you let him run?”

The stick Nyland had charged the deputy with had flown out of his hand when he fell. Nyland’s broken finger was coated in blood, the violence done to him, the bruising around the nose, bright stain melting new snow near his neck, made him appear the victim rather than the perpetrator. Nearby a snowcovered tree shook loose last night’s drop, and Marquez moved away from Kendall and the other officers and in among the saplings. He saw the deadfall where Nyland had snapped off a stick. Running, dodging trees, was it just final desperation or did he have a place he was supposed to get to? Marquez made his way back to Kendall, kicked the snow from his shoes, drank more water, retrieved his pack, and looked at Nyland’s crumpled body again. He felt little compassion, more regret and anger.

“What do I need to know before you go?” Kendall asked, trying to hold to his detective role.

“He claimed there’s a bear farm in Nevada just over the border in Minden. He said Petroni was kept there, then he got moved to Johengen’s.”

“How did he know all this?”

“Sophie told him and he acted like Troy has been there also.

Claimed he was in jail when it all went down, named Durham and referred to another man as Durham’s partner, called him ‘Bearman’ and ‘the freak.’ He told me Bearman was in charge of everything, even Durham.”

“Do you believe anything you heard?”

“I think there’s a bear farm or farms somewhere, and Nevada just might fit. And, yeah, there might be a Bearman.”

“Where’s Petroni fit in?”

“He didn’t say, but I’m wondering how Petroni got to Nevada. Maybe they lured him there or maybe he found it on his own.”

That was the thought Marquez had been having, hiking out the last mile, that Petroni got there on his own, which meant he was trying to find it. He related Nyland’s story, a ranch with metal buildings and a lot of acreage near Minden, an illegal Chinese immigrant doing the daily work of caring for the bears.

“My team will search for this place in Nevada,” Marquez said. “We have an agreement with Nevada wildlife. We’ll make the call this morning. Nyland didn’t say it, but it sounded like the bear out at the end of the orchard got shot because it was sick and the other bears got moved to another farm in Nevada.”

“Everything while he was in jail, right? He didn’t have a part in any of it.”

Marquez didn’t answer that yet, continued explaining. “We’re sure from scat and food that there were other bears at Johengen’s recently. They moved them somewhere. It makes sense the bears would have a permanent caretaker, and a Chinese immigrant with experience bear farming would be the right person.”

“If Nyland was so innocent, why’d he take off running?”

“He was hiking out to meet a ride.”

“He told you that?”

“No.”

“We checked everything out there, including your people.”

“What about the lake?”

“There are whitecaps, no one is on the lake.”

“My team picked up on a boat in Emerald Bay. Nyland may have thought he was going to cross the road, drop down to the water, and take a boat ride out of here. That may have been what he had in mind.”

The deputy who shot Nyland approached, and Marquez took the moment to step away and call Shauf. She was parked at the Emerald Bay Overlook. He heard emotion choking her voice and for a moment was afraid something had happened to one of the SOU.

“I just talked to my sister,” she said. “She’s turned down the option of more extensive chemo. She wants to talk about what kind of aunt I’ll be to her children.”

Her voice broke off, and Marquez looked back at Kendall and the assemblage of officers with their brightly lettered coats, talking about whatever. Waiting on the coroner. Two officers on horseback were riding up to retrieve Nyland’s pack, and Marquez watched the horses climb into the trees. He heard Shauf sob and looked at Kendall and the deputy who’d shot Nyland. They were the only ones still focused on what had happened here.

“You’ll be the best aunt there ever was,” he said. He waited for her to catch herself, added, “I’m on my way out. Talking with Kendall about the boat right now.”