‘You’re Jason, right?’
No answer and Marquez broke the guard’s shotgun open and emptied out the shells.
‘There are six more law enforcement officers in the area and there’s a plane overhead. It’s not going down like last time.’
Marquez knocked on the cabin door with the butt of his gun. He knocked again, harder, and heard rustling inside as he turned the badge so Jason could read it.
‘Where’s your partner? I don’t want him to get shot.’
‘He’s in the showers.’
‘And Rider’s inside.’
‘Yeah, he’s here. He’s not going to like this though.’
Jason was a young man, mid twenties, some facial hair, flannel shirt over another shirt underneath, jeans, and would fit easily in a brew pub anywhere along the north-west coast. His coat was folded and crumpled alongside the camp stool and wet with fog drip out of the trees. He probably had been here all night but wouldn’t last five seconds if someone came to kill Colson. The guard job was gratuitous make work or maybe Colson’s head wound rattled his confidence and made him worry in a way he never had to here.
Marquez hammered the door again.
‘Open up.’
Marquez couldn’t see the encampment but blue smoke drifted through cedars toward them. It looked like an inch of snow fell last night. It was cold this morning. The door swung open now and the girl was there wrapped in a blanket. Marquez put her age at fifteen or sixteen. He saw Colson sitting on the bed in jeans and boots, no shirt, and a gun in his hand.
‘Are you alone, Lieutenant?’
‘No.’
‘Where are they?’
‘They’re here and surrounding us and there’s a plane if we need, but I’m here to continue the conversation. We’re interested in negotiating but not here. We’re going to take a drive and I’ll need to arrest you and put restraints on. That’s a condition. That’s the only way you’re coming in and that’s from my chief.’
‘You don’t need restraints and I already knew you were coming.’
He sent the girl away and as she ran back down the path he pulled the clip out of his gun and left it lying on the bed as he stood. He gestured back at the gun.
‘There. I’ll get dressed and we’ll do the deal.’
‘I want you to say your name now.’
Colson stared at him.
‘You’re as fucked up as me, do you know that?’
‘Say it.’
But he didn’t. He stood with his arms at his side and then reached and touched the stitches along the back of his head and his gaze moved from Marquez to the door. He shook his head as if trying to keep a gnat or mosquito away from his ear and looked back at Marquez and said, ‘James Colson.’
‘Okay, Colson, get dressed. Let’s go.’
‘And what happens if we don’t make a deal?’
‘I bring you back here.’
Colson gave a thin smile. ‘Like fuck you would.’
‘Or I’ll release you to the wild.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means your business is coming apart. I’m already hearing rumors of other people wanting parts of it. Some people think you’re already dead. Word of your head wound got around.
I think you came to us because there are enough people out there now who want you dead.’
‘Let’s see your backup here, Marquez.’
‘You’re not going to see them yet, but I’ll get on the radio with them.’
He pulled his radio and got Burwell and the Blanco and Colson heard enough to believe they were there. Colson pulled on a sweater, a coat, and shoes.
‘There’s plenty of backup this time but no one is going to ride with us. We’re going to get a few hours of one-on-one conversation.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘To the sheriff’s office in Yreka first. It’s where this starts.’
When Colson didn’t say anything to that, Marquez continued.
‘There’s some news out of the LA end of your operation. Lia Mibaki shot Arturo Borg and then tried to outgun a SWAT team and escape. Everything in your warehouse was confiscated, but you probably already know that. What you might not know about are the arrests US Fish and Wildlife has made in Florida, New York, Texas, and Virginia. That’s part of what’s getting the word out. There are other plea bargains underway.’
‘I guess that means I should really make the deal that works for you. You just tell me what you need, Lieutenant. I’m just here to bend over for you, though I’ve never heard of a Lia and Arturo. They sound like folk singers. Is that what they are?’
‘You gave me their names.’
‘That will be your word against mine on that.’
‘The Feds are leaving six messages a day asking for any information I have on your whereabouts and I get the feeling there are careers to be made on this one. Look, you made an offer and I took you up on it. I’m back and if you want to go forward with it, you’ve got to cooperate.’
Colson pressed close to him as they left the cabin said, ‘I knew you would be back.’
Now they were back down to the untended airstrip and past the stained Beechcraft lodged in ferns near a windsock long since in tatters. Marquez led Colson to his pickup under the trees and loaded him in. He knew the guards and several others were hanging back watching for the wardens and any other backup, and the moment was tense and hung on Colson telling his guys to do nothing.
‘Does a kid hauling elephant tusks in a taco truck mean anything to you?’
‘No, and I don’t feel much like bullshit banter this morning. I get it that adrenalin has got you running a little high and you’ve got something you think is big in your back pocket to charge me with. But you can’t imagine the money I’ve made and how easy it was. I can give you five hundred names—hunters, poaching teams, spotter pilots, corrupt cops, longshoremen, trucking and shipping firms I’ve used, and buyers, every day there are more buyers. Are you wired right now?’
‘No and we’re interested in trading. I haven’t lied to you yet. I can’t promise you immunity. I can’t promise anything, but your tip on Lia and Arturo was legit and we’re interested in talking. We’ve got two and a half million dollars in animals and animal parts that I can tie to you. We’ve got the kid who drove a food truck who has given us a list of names and agreed to testify against you. We’ve got Lisa Sorzak who is talking with a DA about charging you with rape. We want the California end of your operation, the buyers and the middle men.’
‘Do you really think you have Lisa?’
‘She says she’ll testify and that you’ve threatened and abused her for a decade.’
‘You don’t know her.’
Colson coughed.
‘What if I told you I passed along money that came through Sheriff Harknell and that it has nothing to do with animals? What would that be worth to you?’
‘I’m a Fish and Game officer.’
‘You want to know about this.’
‘Then tell me.’
They started into the steeper curves and the tires kicked up mud that chattered against the wheel wells and Colson’s voice got stronger as he talked above it. Marquez knew later he should have picked up on that.
‘I can help you with the sheriff, Lieutenant. I know he’s got it in for you.’
‘You’ve been in the woods too long. Harknell isn’t sheriff anymore and why would I care about anything to do with Harknell?’
Colson’s voice hardened.
‘Shut up and listen; you aren’t in control here yet, and if you lie to me we aren’t going to have that conversation you want so badly. We’ll never have it and my lawyers will get me off. Harknell knew I was dealing animals, trading skins is what he called it when he finally ran me down. This was about two and a half years ago in early March. He caught me when I was in his county and out with my people and he took me down hard. His boot was on my face and my face was in slush on a sidewalk when he told me he knew I was once a Texas lawman.
‘He said that meant we could talk and if we could talk we could do business. The business was passing money on to the right people. The sheriff had someone who gave money to his campaign and he didn’t say who it was or why he was doing this for them, but the donor was strong against taking any dams down. The donor wanted money to go on to people who didn’t like having strangers up here interfering, and Harknell said I knew the right people to put an end to outside interference. He gave me fifty thousand in cash to stop what he said was growing into a movement to tear down the dams. There was double that money if I made it happen, but it needed to shock the outsider types coming into his county and causing problems.’
‘Are you going to confess to two murders?’
Colson laughed. ‘I thought you were.’ He went on. ‘No. I didn’t kill those girls. I lay on the sidewalk with his boot on my face and I’m thinking
fuck you, Harknell
. I knew he had his boat moored at a marina on Lake Shasta and thought one of my guys could get him out on his boat someday.
‘He took his boot off me and told me we’d meet on his boat and indeed we did. We drank and talked and when we got back to shore I left with the first part of the money. I walked the dock with it.’
‘Was it a warm day?’
‘What kind of question is that? Who gives a fuck what the day was like? Yes, it was sunny and hot.’
Colson grimaced as they hit a pothole and it threw him forward against the dash and then back.
‘Goddamn you, Marquez, take these off me.’
Marquez knew the dock where the sheriff’s boat was. He pictured splintered dry wood, boards nailed in decades ago and rusted and creaky. In the drought years it loomed over the reservoir mud, shore dirt and rock. In the last few years the water was higher, but every year was different and he thought, underneath all of this it’s about water, all of this. It was always about water.
‘It was hot and you weren’t wearing a coat and you didn’t know you’d be leaving there carrying fifty thousand. Maybe you thought you might but you didn’t know and there was a good chance it was in hundred dollar bills or even twenties.’
‘It was a mix.’
‘Harknell is a fisherman, isn’t he?’
‘There are rods on his boat.’
Marquez nodded and another piece of it made sense now. Colson was the type never to forget anyone who had ever humiliated him. He went back for his ex-wife. He had her ex-lover killed. Harknell put a boot on his face.
‘Did you walk off the dock with the money in the tackle box that got buried with the murder weapon?’
‘Well, I’m impressed, Lieutenant. Maybe you are what they say.’
‘Who else knew about Harknell’s offer?’
He didn’t answer that but they had hours more and Marquez took the long route. He knew Colson expected that. Instead of taking Highway 299 to Redding he drove to Hoopa and started up the Klamath River Highway. The road was one lane either direction and ran next to the river. Before they reached the interstate he planned to cross the Klamath and take Colson to the dirt road on the far bank and down to where Terry Ellis and Sarah Steiner were killed.
It was as good a chance as he would ever have with Colson and he drove slowly and there was no traffic and the river in the gorge below was dark green into white water at the bends and the slopes rich with pine and fir. Driving as slow as he was he didn’t think much about the black pickup that appeared from behind him. He assumed it had passed the wardens who were following and would also pass him. But it didn’t and when it hung back with a gray sedan behind it he started tracking them.
He saw Colson watching the side mirror on the passenger door and tried reaching the wardens by cell, but the call dropped and his pickup didn’t have a radio. He tried again a mile later and then slowed for road work ahead and tried again as the black pickup and the sedan closed in behind. A backhoe blocked the road ahead as Marquez checked out the road crew. He heard Colson clear his throat.
‘Bridge isn’t far from here,’ Colson said. ‘But I didn’t kill them.’
‘Did the sheriff pay a second fifty thousand?’
‘It was never the sheriff’s money.’
‘Was it paid?’
Colson never answered and ahead Marquez saw a flagman start toward them. So did two others in the orange fluorescent jackets of a road crew and he couldn’t think of any reason for that or for the two men in the black pickup behind them to get out of their truck. But they did and the gray sedan came up alongside the pickup and then turned and parked to block the rest of the road. Ahead he didn’t see any way around the backhoe. The hoe arm
was extended and the driver raised a rifle and aimed in their direction.
‘You can jump out, Lieutenant, and run down toward the river, but I don’t think you’ll get far.’
‘How about if I put a gun to your head and they move the backhoe?’
‘I don’t plan to kill you. This is all more complicated than you know. You should have taken me up on my offer last time.’
Marquez pulled his gun. No mistaking how outnumbered he was and Colson was quiet now letting him come to the conclusion that he couldn’t shoot his way out.
‘What do you want to do, Lieutenant?’
The second man from behind was alongside them now yelling at Marquez to unlock the doors. He aimed a gun through the driver-door window at Marquez’s head.
‘Unlock these restraints and then get out slowly and they won’t kill you. We’re going to take your truck and leave you here.’
Marquez ignored the yelling from outside.
‘I won’t kill you. I’ll leave you here and then I’ll be in touch. What I’ll have to tell you will surprise you. Lay your gun on the dash.’
Marquez did that and got out slowly and one of the men helped Colson out while another patted down Marquez and at gunpoint led him over to the road shoulder.
Rider started walking toward a Chevy Suburban up ahead of the backhoe blocking the road and his stride said he was in control again. But he wasn’t. The man behind him closed the gap before Colson reached the backhoe and lifted his gun and fired. Marquez heard three shots and saw Colson slide to the ground.
The shooter put four more shots into him and turned and Marquez thought, this is where it ends. But they didn’t shoot him. They stripped him of his phone and took the pickup and his gun. He was standing near Colson’s body when the two area wardens arrived and not long after they heard yelling from a white van parked fifty yards up the road from the backhoe. When they got there they found the real road crew locked inside and chained together, one with a bloody face and no front teeth left and another with a gunshot wound that blew out his knee.