Shell Games (20 page)

Davies’s voice had an echo
chasing it and was hard to hear. “I was waiting down at Noyo and saw your warden come through. A couple of the guys watching for me picked up on her, instead. One might have followed her.”

“Watching for you?”

“Yeah, that’s right. They’ve been on me.” Marquez heard the thrum of the boat engine, waves hitting the bow. “I’m heading south. Can you meet me at Albion?”

“That’s as far as I go tonight.”

“I’ll be waiting there.”

Marquez started south on Highway 1 and called Petersen. “I talked to him and he says you might have been followed out of Noyo. Where are you now?”

“At the homeless shelter in Fort Bragg. I got ahold of Peggy and dropped the abalone off with her. Hey, John, hang on a minute.”

“You see somebody?”

“I don’t know, maybe, hang on, um, yeah, could be, but I don’t know. I’m going to make a turn here.” He heard a faint squeal of brakes, and knew she wasn’t going to say anything until she had gone several blocks. He could picture her face, her truck moving slowly past the old buildings, the street empty at this hour. It was more than a minute and then she said softly, “Could be.”

“Head down the highway and we’ll trap them. I’ll drop in behind them.”

“How far away are you?”

“Almost to Albion.”

“All right, I’m on my way.”

“Let’s keep the line open.”

They kept talking and she lost track of the car as she left Fort Bragg. Now, she said nothing was behind her for a couple of miles.

“I’m slowing down,” she said. “You must be close.”

“I’m here, I see Davies’s van. I’m going to park and find him.”

Marquez found Davies sitting on his haunches on the moonlit gravel between two trailered boats, smoking a cigarette. Albion Harbor was empty and quiet, the dock dark, and Marquez had a good view of the access road and a view of the highway. Petersen would click her brights once as she crossed the bridge.

“The devil always gets what he wants,” Davies said. “He knows our weaknesses.”

“Good for him. How do you know you’re being followed?”

“When they impounded my boat they buried something in it at the Coast Guard base. But I can’t find it.”

“Who did?”

“The Federal government.”

“Why not the county detectives? Why the Feds?”

“I’ve been in their shit and they know it.”

“You’ve been in the Feds’ shit?”

“Yes, sir, and they want to keep watching me. I think they’re after your man.”

Marquez stopped on that. Davies had to have come to that on his own because there wouldn’t be anybody telling him. There wasn’t anyone in law enforcement associated with this who’d say a thing to Davies about Kline.

“Federal agents came down and questioned me after Ruter let me go. They were waiting when I picked up my boat. They ques-tioned me about Stocker and Han. I guess they thought I had more dealings with that pair than I did.”

The orange glow of the cigarette dropped to the gravel and Marquez could only make out part of Davies’s face. He could see the shine of his eyes as Davies stood.

“They asked about Guyanno. They want to know what I’ve seen out on the water, whether I’d seen any illegal abalone sales.”

“What did you tell them?”

“I lied to them.” Davies was silent a long minute, then shifted his stance on the gravel, facing Marquez. “You’re a good man, Lieutenant. No doubt about whose side you’re on, but there’s a real firefight coming.”

Marquez had known men like Davies before. They could be harsh and discriminating in their judgment of others, but if they told themselves you shared a worldview or values similar to theirs, then you were not only safe from their violence but protected by it.

“What did you want to tell me tonight?”

“I’m going to lay some stuff on you; I’ve got a confession to make, but it involves some lying I’ve done to you, too. I’m ashamed of that but it’s been for your own good. Truth is I killed Ray Stocker, but not the way anyone thinks. I was selling to these same poachers trying to get close to them. I’d been dealing with a man named Carlo. I sold to him three times and I’ve got the money for you. Each time I’d meet him on the side of a road. We’d talk by cell phone and the deals would go down real fast after he’d park. I knew that’s how he was handling Stocker, too, so I did something to Stocker that was wrong and put him in jeopardy.
Have you done things you regret later even though you thought you were doing the right thing?”

“You’ve got a new confession every time we meet.”

“This is the real deal.”

After Ruter had surprised him with the information on Davies’s navy record, Marquez had done a complete around the world on Davies, gone through NCIC and California Law Enforcement Telecommunication System, though he’d never made inquiries with the navy. He hadn’t found any record of arrests other than a disturbing the peace five years ago and the Guyanno bar incident with Stocker. He must not have been arrested for the flag burning.

“You put him in jeopardy?”

“Yeah, I broke into Stocker’s truck and pulled a cooler out of the back, cleaned out most of the abalone, left it two deep and filled the rest with ice. See, they were doing deals where they’d hand over the coolers just like I was and get paid and usually they’d come back to drink at Hadrian’s. I’d been following them and couldn’t get too close, but I’d been doing it myself. I didn’t know they were taking so much ab though. That part I didn’t know, but you can understand why I couldn’t tell you. You’d have come down on me, but I’ve saved all the money, Lieutenant. I’ve got it hidden away to give you. Any-way, they’d been building up ab and I knew they were close to doing a deal, so I looked for an opportunity and took it when it came.”

“You set him up and now you’re getting pangs of conscience?”

“I thought I was helping you, but I didn’t have any idea they’d get wasted. That changed the whole outlook.”

Marquez took the conversation back to setting up Stocker and Han. He listened closely now. The short sale had gone down four days before they were killed. Davies had jimmied the door on Stocker’s truck while it was parked at a bar. Inside were four coolers packed with abalone. He’d bogused two of them.

“I’m gaining their trust,” Davies said.

“The buyers.”

“The big man. He knows I want to do more work.”

“He’s got a purpose for you.”

“I haven’t forgotten what side I’m on, Lieutenant. I’ve just messed up, that’s all.”

“You don’t know what kind of mistake you’re making. Maybe we ought to lock you up in a cell for a week. Take your confession and figure out charges.”

Davies acted like he hadn’t heard. “When I went up to check on Stocker and Han that morning at Guyanno Creek I knew some-thing had happened because they hadn’t been around for a couple of days. I wish I’d come clean with you that day.”

“You should have.”

“You know, that Han bought me drinks one night. He wasn’t the asshole Stocker was. He didn’t talk up his story too much.”

“You’re not going to bring them back.”

“It’s the devil getting his way.”

“Lose the devil talk. If you’re telling me you’ve compromised yourself for these people, then tell me everything you’ve done to try to get close to them. But either way, and I’ve said this to you before, you don’t belong anywhere around this. Go visit relatives in the Midwest, sail your boat around the world, but get out of here.”

“I was expecting more from you tonight, Lieutenant. You’ve disappointed me, man.”

Marquez didn’t know exactly what Davies meant. “You’re telling me you’re trying to avoid people you think are Federal agents and asking my help?” Marquez pulled his badge. “Why do you think I carry this?”

“I can get you to them, Lieutenant. The Feds know it and they don’t want it to happen.”

“If they didn’t, they’d pick you up.” Marquez saw Petersen’s truck go past on the highway. He watched Davies light another
cigarette and wondered if anything he said could be trusted.

“I guess I don’t carry any weight around here. I’ll see you, it’s time to go.”

Marquez watched him get on his boat and heard the engines fire. He talked to Petersen, told her he’d follow her back to Bragg, running a mile behind her in case she got picked up again.

“What does Davies want from us?” she asked.

“He wants redemption, but not the kind we can give. He needs to sit in a booth and talk to a priest.”

The next morning
the sky was colorless, the gunmetal ocean broken with whitecaps. Marquez left Petersen in Fort Bragg and started south, checking Noyo and Albion for Davies’s boat, continuing south along the coast past Salt Point all the way to Jen-ner and the mouth of the Russian River before turning inland. He carried less hope this morning and leaving the coast drove slowly up the river canyon, thinking over what they had, wondering if there was more they could do to find Heinemann. He figured he’d set up another meeting with Douglas today to talk about Davies. An hour later, after he’d reached 101, he took a call from Keeler.

“Tran Li is on his way here to headquarters. He says he’s driven all night to come see you. He was in Reno when I last talked to him, and I called you afterwards but couldn’t get you on your cell phone. I could hear casino machines in the background, so I think he was telling the truth. What do you think this is about? Where are you?”

“In Marin but I’ll head your way.”

Two hours later, Marquez parked and spotted Li’s truck parked down the street from the Resources Building that also housed DFG headquarters. Li was sitting erect in the driver’s seat with his eyes closed. Marquez rapped lightly on the glass and didn’t get any reaction, knocked a second time and saw the clouded awareness in Li’s eyes turn to sadness and his hand fumble for the door handle. He got out wearing a puffy down vest that made him look smaller. He’d shaved his head, his face was gaunt. Grief and guilt were overwhelming him. As they rode up the elevator Marquez guessed Li had been fasting.

“My son talked to me in a dream and says I help you.”

Marquez nodded.

“I have a man’s name who bought abalone from me in Oakland. He has a business there for a long time. You can go talk to him.”

“Can you prove he sold to you?”

“No.”

He led Li to a conference room, then let Chief Keeler know. Keeler came in as Marquez sat down across from Li with a notepad and the little Motorola recorder he’d used for years. He stood the recorder upright in the middle of the table between them and Li shook his head. He folded his arms.

“No sound recorder.”

“It’s for me, so I can listen again later. Not for evidence.”

“Not for this time, okay?”

Marquez reached and clicked it off. He lay it down on its side and knew he shouldn’t have put it in the middle of the table. He’d made Li nervous. Li told him about a man named Billy Mauro who had a fish distribution business in Oakland on Second Street. Li repeated Mauro’s name several times and Marquez stopped the conversation and got a phone book. He looked up fish wholesalers and found Billy Mauro’s Fresh Seafood and had Li confirm.

“You took abalone to him.”

“When my wife take kids to school she go by there and my sons carry the abalone in.”

Marquez remembered Alvarez speculating the wife was mov-ing the ab. He’d get a kick out of being right.

“She carried it in the trunk?”

“Yes, then she drive inside Billy Mauro’s business.”

“And your sons helped unload?”

“Yes. I count before and he pays me at my store.”

But that didn’t explain how during the nights they’d had the house under surveillance, nights when Mrs. Li’s old diesel Mercedes had sat on the short driveway or on the street, abalone had been loaded into the trunk.

“How did you move the abalone to the Mercedes?” Li ignored the question and Marquez repeated it, and when he still didn’t get an answer he wondered about the Mauro story. “I need to know how you got the abalone into the car.”

“Why this so important?”

“Because we were there outside your house watching and we never saw it moved.”

Li smiled suddenly, a competitive light flaring momentarily in his eyes, like a welding spark that burns bright and quickly goes out. “My sons carried the abalone in the school backpacks.”

And now Marquez could see it. His first thought was that they couldn’t carry enough abalone in their backpacks and then remem-bered the kids often went back inside the house again taking their packs with them. He’d only been there twice in the early morning himself, he’d have to ask Shauf and Cairo and Alvarez, but the time he had been there the older boy, Joe, had gone back into the house and his brother had been moving around in the backseat doing something which at the time he’d read as a kid fidgeting, but he was probably dumping abalone into garbage bags, unloading the backpack. Because Maria was always running around with a back-pack that was too full and heavy, as were her friends, he’d come to
take it as a norm and could see how they’d been fooled.

“They’d empty their packs and go back into the house for more?”

“Yes.”

Marquez moved his notebook and laid a box on the table. It was one of the cartons from the Mexican supplier that they’d taken from Bailey’s garage. He turned the red lettering so Li could read and watched Li move his hand for the first time, his fingers touch-ing the lettering. “Yes, this name.”

“At Mr. Mauro’s?”

“Yes.”

“Who else is selling to him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you know where he sells the abalone?”

“He ship it everywhere. When my son dies Billy Mauro comes to my house and gives money for Joe Li for college education. He is very sorry and he beg me to say nothing to police and the other men warn me not to speak. They know Billy Mauro so he do busi-ness with them.”

Then he’s doing business now, Marquez thought. He’d have to move the team around.

“Why don’t you stay in Sacramento tonight,” Marquez said. “We’ll put you in a motel room.”

“No, I go back to Colorado.”

“We may need to talk to you more tomorrow. You need sleep. You can rest in the motel. No one except me will know you’re there.”

Li would start the long drive back to Colorado if he didn’t talk him into staying. Li had that kind of determination. God knows, they’d followed him enough to know what he was capable of, but this was grief and an insomnia and need to be moving that Li probably wasn’t even aware of, and Marquez put the effort in now to get Li to follow him to the Best Western where he usually stayed himself. He checked him in, paid for the room, and walked Li down to the door and got a cell phone number from him, gave Li his and
said he’d have more questions tomorrow. He’d told Li he wouldn’t have to testify. But if they took this Billy Mauro down that could change, though he didn’t want to say anything about that yet. He’d have to find a way to keep Li out of it.

He drove back to headquarters and the chief was working on papers at his desk when Marquez walked in. Keeler didn’t look at him but asked him to sit down, which was usually a bad sign. He kept his focus on the papers while Marquez talked about what he’d gotten from Li.

“That might be the break we’ve needed,” Keeler said.

“I’ll check it out.”

“Not before we have a conversation about you. Only two things are keeping you out there as patrol lieutenant: your past record of success and the personal fondness of the director for you. But neither Chief Baird nor I will protect you any further, and, frankly, I don’t know how much longer Director Buehler will either. This confronta-tion with the FBI was completely unnecessary and the way you handled it was, in my view, adolescent. Did you block their car?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Had you already guessed they were Federal agents?”

“A guess isn’t worth anything.”

“What’s the answer?”

“I’d assumed they were.”

“So you thought you’d confront them. They asked you to move your vehicle and you refused.”

“I asked to see their badges and by then I was on the phone to Douglas.”

“You’d better be careful here, John. You’ll have only yourself to blame, so if you have any questions when that time comes you can get all your answers at home. You’ll hurt the SOU, as well, if you go head-to-head with the FBI. They’ve asked for our coopera-tion and they say they’ve passed on all the information they can without compromising their sources, which as you know better
than anyone here, is another way of saying they can’t risk revealing anything at this point. Now, they want you out of the picture.”

“Douglas asked for that?”

“No, it was way over his head, and I can tell you you’re gam-bling everything you’ve worked for because you don’t like the Bureau’s style. They won’t talk to us, so you’re going to show them up by exposing them.”

“Chief, they—”

“Don’t argue with me and I don’t want to hear any explana-tions. There’s nothing I can tell you that you don’t already know. If you want to take your career down and ruin the unit you built, then I don’t have time for you.” Keeler’s face reddened. “I’ve never taken you for a damn fool. Shut the door on your way out.”