Marquez parked in a corner of the lot and watched kids messing around on skateboards, jumping a cardboard box on the sidewalk, one kid going end over end into the street. A car swerved around him, and the driver hit the horn as the boy’s friends laughed. Marquez returned a call to Katherine as he waited for Petroni. She’d managed to get to the cop who’d ticketed Maria for speeding. The cop hadn’t seen anything suspicious, but he did remember Maria.
“He said he could have written her for a higher speed. She came flying out of town like she was taxiing down a runway.”
“Is Maria sticking by her story?”
“She’s rounded it out a little more.”
“What do you think?”
“That she’s telling the truth. Why don’t I give you the officer’s phone number?”
He copied that down and ten minutes later, when Petroni still hadn’t showed, went into the store, bought a newspaper, a prepackaged turkey sandwich, and a Calistoga juice that he took back to his truck. He peeled the wrapper off the plastic case and pulled the sandwich out. The lettuce was dark and crushed, the bread soggy, the turkey without any flavor, but he was hungry enough to eat half of it before giving up.
Petroni pulled up in the Honda. From its dusty sides and windows it looked as if he’d been off-road with the car. He had a few days’ growth of dark beard and acted like a guy looking over his shoulder this afternoon. The smell of stale sweat came off him after he got in Marquez’s truck and shut the door.
“Do you mind if we drive somewhere?”
Marquez drove the road out toward Mosquito Creek. He figured Mosquito would be empty and slow winding into the hills.
“Bell wants my badge.”
“I almost lost mine five years ago when Charlotte Floyd came after me.”
“Kendall’s got some recidivist shithead to say I’m on the take. I talked to the union rep and she told me they’re investigating me for taking bribes. I’ve never taken a bribe in my life.”
“What are these bribes supposed to be for?”
“Charging extra fees to some hunters and agreeing to stay out of an area while a hunt is going on. Helping poachers, Marquez.
Doesn’t matter how many years I’ve got in or what I’ve done.”
Marquez nodded, though somehow this felt staged. He waited to hear something that would confirm that feeling and listened to Petroni rant about Bell’s using Fish and Game as a stepping-stone into state government, Bell’s wife’s having family money, Bell’s living in a big house and having no idea what it’s like being a warden. At lunch Bell walked down to the Capitol Club and exercised.
At night he went to political fund-raisers, cocktail parties, or home where they had a chef that came in four days a week.
148 “He cares more about getting a reservation at a restaurant than he does about you or me,” Petroni said.
Marquez didn’t have an answer for any of it though they drove for miles. When he finally turned his truck around, he was still unsure why Petroni had called him. Petroni had friends, family in the valley, people he could talk to. But now, Petroni spoke to him directly.
“You don’t owe me anything, the opposite, actually. But I need your help with Kendall.”
“Kendall?”
“He’ll listen to you.”
“I wish he would.”
“About a year ago I found Kendall parked down a dirt road in the Crystal Basin with a thirteen-year-old runaway he was supposed to be transporting. She was in the front seat with him, bent over his lap. Kendall saw me coming, and she denied it when they questioned her, but I know what was going on. I told the sheriff the next day that he ought to fire him.”
“What happened with it?”
“They dropped it.”
“Was that when you and Kendall first had problems?”
“No, it started over something else a couple of years before.”
“You want my opinion?” He wasn’t sure Petroni did but was going to give it to him anyway. “Go in and defend yourself. You made a mistake in judgment with the Vandemere deal, so get it over with and ride out the suspension. It’s not the end of the world. These other accusations you’re going have to get aggressive about, go after the affidavits.”
“It’s too late.”
“Only if you want it to be.”
“I’ve got a friend with a cabin up at Wright’s Lake. I’m moving up there until I get things figured out, and I’ve got a cousin with a good roofing business and he’s shorthanded.”
“You’d fall off a roof in half an hour if your knees didn’t give out first. You’re a game warden.”
“He needs someone to help bid work and drive around and make sure the jobs get done right.”
“Bill, you’re a game warden. No one up here knows the area like you do. No one in the department knows bear the way you do.”
“Jesus Christ, Kendall and his partner followed me last Sunday afternoon, then tried to tell me I’d killed the Vandemere kid. I’m getting out of my car around dusk, and they appear out of nowhere, tell me they’ve talked to Sophie and they learned some new things. They took me in and tried to get me to confess. They said Sophie had talked about how I told her I’d killed Vandemere. They drove me back down to the sheriff’s office, and we were in there for hours. He’s not going to stop until he gets me behind bars.”
“Did she say that?”
“No, it was all to try to get me to confess. That’s how far this thing has gone.”
“Kendall told you he made it up.”
“Inferred it from something she’d said, or bullshit like that. I know you’re talking to him. Tell him if he backs off I’ll quit the department. Bell’s going to find a way to get me fired anyway, and I’ve got to make some money that Stella can’t get her hands on.
The state will just garnish my salary. Stella’s got the credit cards and the bank accounts frozen. I have a $1.88 in my checking account. $1.88, Marquez, and I’m forty-seven. I’m not that far from living out at a campsite.”
“Where are you at with Stella?”
“She only talks through her attorney.”
As they drove back into Placerville, Marquez stopped at an ATM. He pulled three hundred dollars and handed it to Petroni when he got back in the truck, trying to make the gesture small, no more than handing over a newspaper. Petroni held the money but didn’t pocket it. Tiny beads of sweat showed on his forehead, and his left hand alternately balled into a fist and released. His face was as pale as it had been during the Sunday interview.
“I’ve got seventeen years in.”
“Then don’t quit.”
Petroni opened the door and got out. As the door swung shut, Marquez saw the money he’d pulled from the ATM lying on the seat. He lowered his window.
“Take it, Bill.”
“I don’t know when I’d get it back to you. Besides, I’ve got money, it’s just not mine. That’s something I’m going to show you. Today’s just not the right day, after all.”
“What’s that mean?”
Marquez held out the money again, but Petroni wouldn’t take it. He got in his Honda and backed out, almost hitting a car before pulling away.