Kirk Russell: Shell Games

“Two men had been murdered and you needed to see a shell pile before calling us?”

“Give it a rest, Ruter.” Marquez opened his notebook, found the name of a fisherman who’d been attacked by two men in a pool hall bathroom last week in Eureka. They’d blinded him in one eye with a fork because he’d told them he planned to report them to Fish and Game. He flipped the notebook around and slid it at Ruter. “Read that. He was in the hospital when I tried to talk to him and his phone number is there. Maybe you’ll have better luck. He’s a little sensitive toward Fish and Game, right now. But I think he brushed up against the same people we’re looking for and maybe Stocker and Han did, too.” He leaned forward, chest touch-ing the table, eyes on Ruter. “Wouldn’t it be very hard for Davies to pull that off alone? Or are you going to tell me I helped him?”

Streatfield interrupted, coming in as the middle guy again, the amiable peacemaker, explaining the scenario they must have been kicking around.

“Davies rousts them at gunpoint sometime after they went to sleep, and maybe he’s disguised and they don’t know who he is, but he reassures them nothing will happen as long as they cooperate. Let’s say they think they’re going to get robbed and then every-thing will be okay. Maybe that story is believable, maybe it’s not, but he has a flashlight shining in their faces and a gun and he has Han bind Stocker’s wrists before he lets him stand up. Neither Han nor Stocker know they’re taking a walk yet, but now he starts them up the trail. He keeps the flashlight on their backs and he’s got the gun. Han had some serious facial bruising so let’s say he’s had to be convinced before he’ll start walking, but they both go up the trail. Davies walks them out across the field to the tree and they don’t have a clue because he’s stashed everything up there ahead of time, the chain, the knife, everything he’s going to use in addition to the gun in his hand. When they get to the tree he has Stocker sit down with his back against it and Stocker does it because he’s scared and Davies keeps telling them everything will work out okay if they cooperate. Okay, so then Han ties Stocker’s ankles, but Han is real scared and he knows they’ve got to do something soon, so he decides he’s going to run for it and when he does Davies shoots him twice, once in the lower back and once in the left leg. He drops him about twenty feet from the tree.”

“Han was shot?”

“Yeah, he was shot. His left knee was shattered and he bled heavily. He was still alive but didn’t have much blood left when he got the final knife wound. We’ve got bloodstains off the grass being analyzed. We think we know where he was shot. Anyway, he goes down and Davies pounces on him and runs the wire around his ankle, twists it tight, then drags him back over to the tree. You with me?”

Marquez nodded, though he didn’t buy it.

“Okay, now Davies retrieves the chain he’s hidden nearby and runs it around their necks. Now, it’s question-and-answer time, except maybe Han is moaning because he hurts, so Davies starts with him, starts asking where the money is hidden. Maybe he gets an answer or maybe he makes an example out of Han, since Han is fading anyway. He rips up through Han’s gut with the knife and Stocker can hear it all, he’s just a couple feet away. Probably had to stand over him and use two hands to bring it up through his gut like that.” Streatfield raised a hand as though Marquez was going to interrupt him. “Han died as much as four hours ahead of Stocker and Stocker may have died within eight hours of when you got there. Stocker’s knife wounds occurred while he was in a sitting position, but you can bet it wasn’t until he gave up the loca-tion of the money. When Davies came for him it looks like he struggled and tried to twist to one side. The body was probably repositioned afterwards.” He paused a beat. “No more lawsuit and he gets some money out of the deal.” Streatfield stroked his mus-tache, adding, “An irony.”

“You know anything about rigor mortis or body temp?” Ruter asked Marquez.

“Yes.”

“Pretty good chance only his head had locked when you got there. You weren’t that far behind the killer, and Davies was either holding the knife or right on their heels. Real close, too close in my book. That put more perspective on it for you?” Ruter pushed his chair back and stood up with Marquez’s notebook. “Okay, if I make copies?”

“Go ahead.”

Streatfield unfolded a California map, then asked him to identify harbors where he’d met with Davies in the past. Marquez marked Noyo, Crescent City, Half Moon Bay, Pillar Point. They talked about urchin diving, Davies’s habits, and Ruter came back in. He’d copied most of the notebook and wanted to go through the pages, reading as he did. Ninety-foot black pickup boat. Anecdotal threats of violence. Possible Hispanic suspect and a description. Possible caucasian suspect and description. Rumors of abalone transfers from one boat to another done out on the open ocean. When he finished he stacked up the papers, handed back Marquez’s note-book, and slid his chair back, arms folded over his chest.

“I tried to learn something about you this morning, Lieutenant. I talked to your deputy-chief, Ed Keeler, and he was unwilling to give us any records on you, but he did say you’d been DEA before Fish and Game, so I called a friend at DEA. Did you ever know a Bob Cook at DEA?”

“No.”

“Well, he’s high up and works out of D.C. He did some research and told me you left the DEA in 1989 after your team went down in Mexico. Everybody except you in one night and then you quit and went looking for the killers. You were obsessed with finding a man named Eugene Kline and at some point he came after you, or maybe he was already looking for you. Is that correct?”

“In a loose way.”

“You didn’t find him but you had a close call that put you in the hospital. It scared you and you came home.”

“Is scared his word or yours?”

“Probably mine, and if it’s the wrong word, no offense.”

The only reason Marquez could think of for Ruter to have made the call was that they considered him a possible suspect.

“What I’m getting at is you went after this Kline on your own and it cost you your job at DEA. They warned you off him several times. Cook read your file to me. He also said and I quote, ‘you had a habitual disregard for procedure.’ His words.”

“My first thought when I saw those two chained to the tree was Kline.”

Ruter smiled at his partner. “So now he’s here? From Mexico to Mendocino, huh. Is he following you?”

“We got close to him up in Humboldt once. You could check that with your new friend and he’ll probably tell you Kline is more diversified now.”

“Oh, I see, you still keep tabs. Do you do that through Fish and Game?”

“I haven’t talked to anybody about him in a couple of years.”

“Until today.”

“Until yesterday, Ruter.”

It would have been better to have said nothing about Kline. He waited them out now, regretting having said a word. He pictured Kline’s long pale head, the deep-set eyes, and returned Ruter’s stare. Abruptly, Ruter pressed his palms onto the table and stood.

“All right, Lieutenant, we’re done here today.”

Marquez left the detectives sitting there and when he got out-side Petersen was arranging stuff in the back of her truck. She’d been in touch with the team, but nothing had changed with Li. He hadn’t moved today. They picked up lunch and Marquez told her he’d head south now to hook up with the Li surveillance. Petersen would watch Noyo and check further up the coast for Huega’s boat.

After he’d left Petersen and was driving back to the Bay Area, coming through slow traffic in Santa Rosa, Marquez took a call from Italy.