Kirk Russell - Shell Games

A long silence followed and someone cleared their throat, then Ruter asked Davies to describe everything he’d seen from the point he’d heard yelling, a man calling for help up the creek canyon. Davies thought that had been Peter Han.

Marquez tried to reconcile the story Davies had told him with what he was hearing now, Davies telling about hiking up the creek at midnight and arriving at 3:00 A.M., following the voices up the canyon and seeing them marched across the clearing, chained to the tree, and questioned by the tall man who’d knelt near them and asked his questions in a voice too low to hear. Ruter clicked the recorder off again.

“You hear what’s missing,” Ruter said.

“No gunshots.”

“He wasn’t there.”

“He’s doing a pretty good job of winging it,” Marquez said.

“I know. Think about it. Here goes again.”

“We saw you force Huega onto your boat,” Ruter said on the tape. “Did you pull a gun on him?”

“He got on willingly. What happened was I told Danny I had photos to show him, pictures I took myself up at Guyanno before the lieutenant got there.”

“Is that Lieutenant Marquez you’re referring to?”

“Yes, sir, the lieutenant is the only pure play here.”

“We looked at your camera and didn’t see any pictures of Ray Stocker. Where are these photos you showed Huega?”

“They’re gone, but here’s the deal. I switched memory cards before you got there and taped the other one to my leg. I didn’t want to take a chance on you and your partner’s honesty and I already knew I’d have to talk to Danny Huega because I knew you two would come after me.”

Ruter cut to Marquez. “He had night vision equipment stored in a day pack. There was a Canon digital camera in there and when we looked at what he had stored there were photos of the abalone table and the campsite. He may have switched the memory card just like he said.” He paused a beat. “Is this the guy you thought you knew?”

“He’s much more aggressive than I’ve heard him.” Marquez thought about the description of the killer Davies had given. It wasn’t much. A tall man, on the thin side, long head, hair that reflected the moonlight. “Maybe he’s feeling the heat.”

“He’s going to feel it like a Tomahawk missile up his ass. Okay, here we go again.”

The tape made a high-pitched whine and as it started again Marquez tried to put himself in the interview box, tried to picture Davies as he was pulled off his boat under the glare of the Coast Guard searchlight, being brought in and interviewed after pulling a wire off Huega and torturing information out of him.

“What were the photos of?” Ruter asked.

“Close-ups of Stocker’s wounds.”

“Why did you want to show him those?”

Now Davies hesitated for the first time. You could hear a chair scrape.

“I figured they’d come for him, too.”

“Did you figure that or did you know Huega was afraid you’d kill him, too?”

“I haven’t killed anybody.”

“Why did he need to see the photos?”

“I wanted him to see what they’d done.”

“Why?”

“I told you already. I knew they’d come for him. All three of those guys were working together and I wanted to get the truth out of Huega before he got wasted.”

“What truth?”

“Information for the lieutenant.”

“Lieutenant Marquez?”

“Yes.”

“Did you get it?” Davies didn’t answer and Ruter repeated the question and waited. “I asked if you got the information.”

Ruter stopped the tape again. “He never answered that and there’s no record of any call made from either Davies’s cell phone or from Huega’s, so we don’t think he alerted anybody. But he may have used another phone to call whoever they were selling this abalone to. I think it’s a good bet he got phone numbers out of Huega. But we didn’t get any further with him on this line of questioning, so I’m going to skip ahead to where I’m asking him about injuries to Huega. He had a crushed left cheekbone and a skull fracture most likely the result of blows from a blunt instrument. Here goes.”

“Did you hit him in the face?” Ruter asked Davies.

“No, sir.”

“Where did you hit him?”

“Around the ribs because I was off balance. He dropped the gun and slipped down on the deck.”

“Is that when you decided you had no choice but to kill him?”

“I was done with killing a while ago.”

“When did you last kill anyone?”

“In the navy.”

“When you were a SEAL.”

“Yes, sir, but not in the line of duty.”

There was a long pause and Marquez knew Ruter and his part-ner must have been debating whether to pursue that statement. But they did the right thing, he thought, continuing on.

“Tell us what happened after you disarmed Danny Huega.”

“I hogtied him with a chain, then asked him questions.”

“And did he answer them?”

“He was scared by then.”

“He had a crushed cheekbone and a fractured skull. Do you want to tell us he swam in and then hiked ten miles?”

“He made it to Gitchell Creek is what I heard.”

“You hit him with the iron bar. You stood over him on the deck and beat him and then floated him in and carried him up the beach, right? You relied on your SEAL training to move him with-out drowning him. In effect, you delivered him. You did what they couldn’t do. It took your skills to pull it off.”

“He swam in.”

“You’re fighting a war to save this abalone, but things went too fast with Huega. It got out of hand and you knew you’d hit him too many times, so you decided you had to get him on the beach whether or not these other people ever came for him. You anchored as close as you could, put dive gear on, used floats to keep his head up, and then dragged him across the beach and up to that four-wheel drive track at Gitchell Creek. When you got back to the boat you called the number he’d given you, told the voice on the other end exactly where he was.”

“You ought to be a uniform deputy or mowing someone’s lawn, sir. You’re not cut out for this work. I’ll talk to the lieutenant, but not you two.”

Ruter broke in again. “We’d appreciate it if you’d sit down with him, Marquez.”

“I’ll give it a go.”

“You hear how he goes in and out, that yes, sir, no, sir, shit.”

“Maybe, a little.”

“Something there, I think.” Ruter was quiet, thinking about whatever that something was. “Listen to a little more tape and then I’ll tell you our problem. I’m skipping ahead one more time. Here goes.” Marquez listened to the electronic noise as Ruter fast-forwarded, had the wrong spot, backed the tape, apologizing, finally finding what he wanted.

“There’s a moral abyss that if we cross we never return from,” Davies said.

“Did you cross that abyss with Huega?”

“I won’t answer any more questions without the lieutenant present.”

The tape clicked off and Ruter cleared his throat. “He’s right, he didn’t kill Danny Huega. They’re putting the time of death ten to twelve hours after we picked up Davies. We’ll have to kick him loose in the next couple of days. I can drag it out for three days max, but he’s got a story of Huega attacking him on the boat and having to defend himself, you know, blah, blah, blah. And he’s right, Huega got on board voluntarily. Bottom line is Davies didn’t kill him alone.”

“Huega had a fractured skull and broken cheekbone?”

“Pulverized. Multiple blows. Injuries that preceded death by approximately six hours.”

“I can come up tonight.”

“I don’t think I can set it up for tonight. How about tomorrow?”