Kirk Russell - Night Game

“Okay, I have it,” the realtor said. “But now I’m late for my appointment.”

When the garage door rose they were looking at Sophie’s Ford pickup. No one said anything until Kendall muttered, “I’ll be damned.” Marquez walked in first and saw the truck was locked. Then a woman came out of a nearby condo and told Alvarez that the pickup had arrived a couple of hours ago with a dark-haired young woman driving, and that she’d left in another truck, a green one with a camper shell. She didn’t know the make, but it was definitely a “snow car,” a four-wheel drive.

“When did you see her last?” Marquez asked Kendall.

“Late yesterday afternoon. We had her with us to try to talk to Nyland.”

Marquez looked inside the truck and then felt the hood. It was still warm. Judging from the cold in the garage it hadn’t been a couple of hours, more like an hour, he thought. Then he put it together.

“She’s Durham’s ride. He’s taking the boat somewhere, she’s going to pick him up. He was supposed to get Nyland at Emerald Bay, and she would have picked up both of them.”

“All right, I’m going to tell you all some things you need to know. Yesterday, Sophie gave me everything else we need to charge Nyland. We had someone from the DA’s office there to assure her we’d work out a deal with her. What she explained is that she’s been scared to come forward, but Nyland bragged to her he’d killed Petroni and sewn him into a bear skin. He told her all about it and that’s when she called him stupid and he beat her.

Nyland said he’d stabbed Petroni once for every time the warden had fucked with him. Sophie was shaking and crying and talking about the things he’d done to her, and now her truck is here.” Kendall turned to Marquez, a look of open surprise on his face. “I don’t get it. On top of that, we had surveillance on her. She must have slipped away.”

“Did Nyland kill Petroni?”

“Are you going to tell me you believe Nyland’s story?”

“I’m asking you how reliable Sophie is. You wanted a confession from her that she knew how Vandemere got killed and you got it. You cut your deal with her and got your star witness, but now she’s screwing everything up by fingering Nyland for Stella and Petroni as well. She’s got answers for everything.”

“How do you know about Stella Petroni?”

“I’m making a guess.”

“Well, you’re right. We recovered bloody clothes and boots that belonged to Petroni. They were there with the rifle in the old sales office. Nyland hadn’t decided what to do with them yet.”

“Nyland or somebody else.”

Kendall nodded and Marquez saw he understood. “Sophie told us she took them from the place she and Petroni were housesitting.

She gave the clothes to Nyland. It was all part of a plan to frame Petroni.”

“A plan like that is over Nyland’s head, but I don’t have to tell you that.”

“She says Nyland wore those clothes to kill Stella. He told her about it later. He thought she’d enjoy hearing how he stomped her face because Stella had come into the Creekview earlier this summer and insulted Sophie, called her a whore.”

“I’d bet he got paid to kill her, and I’ll bet he got money to kill Vandemere.”

“Then why is she here today?”

“With her I think it’s hard to know, but if Durham is behind this, he might have good reasons to get rid of Nyland. Rescue him, then lose him out on the lake, put a bullet in him and push him overboard. She might be here for that.”

“That’s just more speculation.”

“I know.”

Kendall moved toward his car and the radio there. She had to be across the lake. The truck she was driving couldn’t be that hard to find. But there was also something off here that the realtor had revealed. Ben Karin was likely another alias for Durham, yet the realtor was sure his build was different and his hair darker. He’d waved to her from the boat the day she’d come down to meet him.

He’d worn sunglasses and talked to her from his cell phone, but he hadn’t motored into shore despite assuring her he wanted to say hello. She’d said that it had hurt her feelings, which made her all the more likely to remember him.

Shauf touched his arm, “Ready?” Marquez glanced over at Kendall, saw his car was already rolling, and looked back at Shauf. “The realtor,” he said. “She didn’t describe Durham.”

“But it’s Durham in the boat. Melinda is certain.”

“Who did it sound like the realtor was describing?”

“It was a pretty sketchy description. She never saw his face without sunglasses and it sounded like she was looking at his body. Besides, he was on a boat a hundred yards from her. How much could she have seen?”

“Who came to mind?”

“I don’t know, didn’t really match with anybody.”

“But who did you think of?”

“You’ll laugh.”

“Try me.”

“Ungar.”

“It’s him-we’ve got to get a call off to Nevada Wildlife.”

“Then let’s do it from the van.”

“I’ve lost visual,” Roberts said. “He moved in closer to the shoreline and I’m up here on this road.” Her tone was plaintive. “Where’s the plane? Where’s the patrol boat?”

The patrol boat was on its way from the north shore. A spotter plane had just lifted off from Truckee Airport and would fly over the lake within the next few minutes. Police were on the alert all the way around the lake. Everyone who could be notified had been. Marquez focused binoculars on the mountains behind the north shore. He saw a black shape cross low and fast above them and relayed it onto Roberts.

“I see the spotter plane.”

He watched it bank toward the lake, the outline of its wings sharper. He kept the binoculars up and heard Shauf working the radio, then the chatter of the pilot filled the van. Now Roberts directed the pilot and they heard his terse, “Lone male at the wheel of a boat running toward Glenbrook. Is that your man?”

Roberts’s voice crackled on again. “Boat should be a Colbalt with blue trim.”

“I’m taking it down lower,” the pilot responded.

The patrol boat checked in. They had the boat in view and expected to intercept it at Glenbrook. Alvarez communicated with the Nevada Highway Patrol, who dropped toward Glenbrook. Marquez watched the plane come low across the water. He lowered the binos and turned to Alvarez.

“Is Nevada clear that her truck should be there and that this is an armed situation?”

“Very clear.”

In the van they raced toward Glenbrook and the pilot confirmed blue trim, wasn’t sure about the make of the boat, wasn’t a boater, but definitely it was a lone male who’d reacted hard as the plane came in low. But who wouldn’t, Marquez thought, with a plane diving on you.

“Can they catch him before he docks?” Marquez asked.

Before that was answered a Nevada highway officer reported a woman in a Chevy Blazer backing down the boat ramp. Alvarez glanced at Marquez, answered the previous question, saying, “They say it’s going to be close.”

There was too much radio chatter and back-and-forth to ask for a description of the woman. The patrol boat closed in and used a bullhorn. The patrol reported that the man had stopped short of the dock as ordered and they were boarding.

“All right,” Alvarez said, and Marquez used his cell to try to reach Roberts.

It turned out the only thing the startled man would admit to was being late pulling his boat from the water. His blonde-haired wife was out of the Blazer now, and Marquez heard enough from the radio to know it was a fiasco.

“Wrong man,” Roberts said, as he got through to her. “He must have put in somewhere farther north. I’m just getting to Glenbrook. Do you want me to stay and deal with this or look for him north of here?”