Kirk Russell: Night Game

Marquez read Ungar’s tiny script, each letter made perfectly. Pages of writing, entries of things he’d done to people who’d crossed him. There were cases, some Marquez was familiar with, one, a poacher they’d busted last year, that Ungar noted, “Lost good supplier. Need to do something about them.” He read Petroni’s name, notes about Petroni’s patrol habits, where he liked to eat, buy coffee, drink, then the line “S successful.” A short sentence fragment after it, “Same old ursus,” and further into the notes and ramblings saw it again. This time it jumped out at him as a simple code for SOU. Ursus was Latin for bear, and Ungar used “Same old ursus” after Petroni’s name to indicate he thought Petroni was SOU. He read the name Mark Ellison, and it clicked that he’d read that in Petroni’s log, said so to Kendall now.

“There’s more than enough here,” Kendall answered. “It’s over. We can build the case.”

“I remember this name from Petroni’s log.”

“You’re thinking Petroni had some dealings with this Ellison?”

Marquez held up the journal he was reading so that Kendall could see it. “There’s a lot written on Petroni in here. He followed Petroni for months, wrote notes on his habits, where he ate, what he ate, meeting Sophie, Petroni and Sophie going up to the hunting shack. He must have shadowed him. Reads like he was sure Petroni was with the SOU.”

“We think Petroni told Sophie he was.”

“That’s what she told you?”

“Yeah, and stuck by it. Maybe he missed being undercover.”

Marquez read on about Mark Ellison, things written about selling gall to Mark Ellison. He looked through the rest of the box and another that had only clothes, and then Kendall suggested they back away and let the crime techs do their work. When Marquez stepped out of the unit he turned to Kendall.

“I’m going down to talk to the manager again,” he said.

In the manager’s office Marquez asked to see the list of everyone who rented here. The manager was a heavyset bearded fellow, from his tattoo, former Navy man. He pulled on his beard for a moment, then turned the computer screen so Marquez could scan the names.

“Where is unit 76 on the map?” Marquez asked.

“It’s around back from the one you’re looking in.”

“Opposite side?”

“Yep.”

Marquez read the name Mark Ellison again, made sure he’d read it correctly the first time. Now he looked at the map.

“Do you ever see this Mark Ellison?”

“I can’t say I remember him.”

“We need to open up that unit.”

With Kendall and the manager, Marquez walked down the row of storage units, all with metal roll-up doors, cinder block faces, but simple sheetrocked partition walls inside separating the units. He didn’t have to tell Kendall what he was thinking. Kendall was already there.

“It would account for him taking the bribes,” Marquez said.

“And explain some of the things he said to me.”

The manager took hold of the chain and rolled the door of the unit up, the door rattling loudly. They turned the light on and as they saw the setup, Marquez knew Mark Ellison was Bill Petroni. He’d rented the unit exactly opposite Ungar’s, and the manager explained how that was possible. This whole row hadn’t rented out until early summer, some units were still empty. The complex was new and still gaining traction. He kept talking but neither Marquez nor Kendall was listening, Marquez studying a couple of fiber-optic lines that fed into the wall separating Ungar’s unit from this one. He looked at the recording equipment and then at what else was in the unit.

Off to one side was a stack of belongings, not a lot of them, but what Petroni owned, what he’d had to store after the divorce.

There was also a small metal storage box of a type Marquez had seen on construction sites. It was new, bought at a Home Depot, the tag still on it.

“That’s going to have the bribe money it and everything else that relates to the case,” Marquez said. “Petroni was onto Ungar and building a case on his own.”

“Why didn’t he tell you?”

“He wanted to make the case on his own.”

“Wanted to show you up?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. But it’s here, look at this. Whatever he bought will be in that box, as well. Some of the bribe money might be in there, and the rest of it he probably used to make buys.”

“What was going through his head, not telling anyone?”

“I don’t know, but like you found out, the other wardens called him a real loner.” Marquez thought about it and then wondered something else aloud. “Maybe he told Stella. Or maybe somebody got worried that he’d told Stella.”

“Ungar knew and waited to deal with him, but he didn’t know about this. He didn’t know Petroni had this set up. It wouldn’t still be recording if he did.”

They could hear the equipment working, recording the crime techs on the other side of the wall. Neither of them spoke, thinking it out, then Kendall asked, “Have you ever heard of anything like this before?”

The only thing Marquez could relate it to was the drug world, where a drug cartel would sometimes keep selling to undercover officers just to take their money, not being worried about what came later. Ungar must have felt he could control the variables. Marquez talked it out with Kendall and knew it would be hours before the construction storage box was taken in and opened.

“How are you going to do this?” Marquez asked. “So far, he’s saying he’s not involved, right. Even after the knife last night. He’s got a story for that too, doesn’t he?”

“He did last night.”

“Why don’t you ask him if he wants to sit down with me this afternoon?”

“Why would he?”

“To try to beat me one last time. To brag about what he had going. He’s that kind of guy and he’s way into bear.”

“He’s up for murder one.”

“Read his journal. Murder doesn’t mean that much to him, but he saw himself getting rich selling bile products.”

It was late that afternoon that Marquez’s hunch was borne out. He walked into an interview box and sat down across from Ungar, who was shackled, wrists chained down to the ring.

“You had an incredible operation going,” Marquez said. “Amazing what you set up out there in Nevada.”

“Are you here to flatter me into telling you something? I had nothing to do with killing anyone.”

“I’m a Gamer. Let’s just talk about bear.”

“The detectives think I’ll say something to you?”

“I don’t know what they think. I know they plan to charge you with murder, but that’s not what I’m here about. I’d like to know how long you’ve been bear farming?”

Ungar couldn’t stop himself. His eyes flickered over Marquez’s face, something triumphant in them. “Almost four years.”

“There must have been a vet involved.”

“I put in all the catheters myself.”

“You’re good.”

Ungar opened up a little, allowed he’d get the maximum sentence for trafficking in bear, but, “I’ll be out in under two years, at the most three.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Then I’ll come visit you.”

“And we’ll talk some more.” Ungar smiled, and Marquez said, “Let’s talk some more today about the operation because I’m curious, and I’m not flattering you, you really had it going on. The things you invented are impressive.”

They talked about the Nevada farm. Durham got a share of the profits, had owned animal operations himself, and knew the money to be made in bear bile and galls. Durham had been a good partner. The problem had been Nyland and the woman. Those were people that Durham had hired. The trough system Ungar had invented himself. He detailed how he’d figured out the systems and buying live bears, mostly cubs. His bile product sales were growing exponentially in Vancouver, San Francisco, particularly the San Jose area, and LA-LA was by far his best market. But he wouldn’t say what he’d cleared, wouldn’t talk about money.