They slowly dug the stakes out,no one saying much, and with a county deputy and Shauf on one side and Marquez and Kendall on the other, they lifted away the heavy plywood cover. Two sheets of three-quarter-inch plywood screwed together formed the cap, and as they lifted it away Marquez saw that fresh concrete had been poured around the rim to bed the plywood.
It had formed a kind of seal that was broken now, and the odor flowing up from the well was horrific. He caught a finger where a screw poked through the plywood, and his blood dripped on the weeds as they maneuvered the cap over and put it down.
The odor, the release of gasses was gagging, and they fell back, had to give the well a few minutes to vent, Kendall going to his car to get something to dull the smell. Marquez covered his mouth, didn’t breath, leaned over with a flashlight. Near the bottom, roughly thirty feet down, was dark fur. He moved the beam along the fur, then straightened, stepped back, and watched Kendall take a look while thinking about what he’d just seen.
Then they shined both lights in, Marquez talking.
“Here.” Marquez moved the flashlight beam to a place where the hide met unevenly. “Looks like a bear hide but it’s been sewed together.”
Kendall turned to Hawse. “We’ll need a backhoe.” To Marquez, “How deep would you guess?”
“Thirty feet.”
Kendall turned back to Hawse. “Tell the operator we need to get down at least twenty feet, maybe more. No, at twenty we can lower someone. Tell the operator we need a deep trench. He’ll know what to bring.”
“Might be easier to lower someone,” Hawse said, and Marquez stepped away from their debate. He saw Bell working his way through the officers on the driveway, Bell handing over a card rather than showing a badge. Marquez raised a hand so Bell knew where he was. Three TV vans were parked out on Howell, and Bell had waded through volleys of questions from the media but didn’t seem displeased about it. Marquez showed him the well, the carcass in the orchard, looked in the barn with him while they waited for a backhoe.
When the backhoe operator fired up his machine, diesel smoke plumed into the cool air, a curling black cloud rising against the white sky. The teeth of the hoe pulled at the concrete rim, lifted one edge, flipped and dragged it away from the well. It looked like a concrete donut lying there. The hoe repositioned and began to dig a trough, the bucket arm unfolding, teeth chattering as they scraped over stones. A pile of earth and loose rocks built alongside the backhoe, and a trench formed and deepened.
The operator worked steadily without looking long at any of those watching. Kendall stood with his hands on his hips, his eyes periodically surveying the overall scene, directing the work like a construction superintendent, while Marquez walked back out into the orchard and then looked in the house, the one bedroom painted, carpeted, much cleaner than the rest of the place. There was a dresser but no belongings in the drawers.
His gut tightened as they waited. He had trouble focusing on Bell’s questions but brought him up to speed on the search for Durham and Nyland, told him that he’d had another call from Ungar, one he hadn’t answered yet, and that it was Ungar who’d visited Keeler at Ice House.
When a Fish and Game truck arrived with a bear trap chained down in the bed there was more waiting to confirm that all plaster castings of tire impressions had been taken. They’d share castings with the county. When the crime techs finished, the DFG truck backed into the barn. Marquez figured they could coax the bear with food into the trap, but the warden had a plan of his own and more experience. He was also quick to say he doubted the bear could be saved, had lost too much of its undercoat.
“We’re going to try anyway,” Marquez said.
More diesel smoke plumed upward as the hoe engine pulled against a rock and reached a point where it couldn’t dig any lower without risking a cave-in. The operator climbed down, shaking his head, saying he needed more shoring, more steel plate. Phone calls got made, and they waited for shoring to arrive, Kendall fuming because he’d made it clear how deep they needed to go before the operator came out.
Then a call came from Roberts. She’d heard from the lawyer for the Johengen estate. He’d looked at the faxed photo and recognized Durham’s face.
“He’s positive,” she said. “Durham or Marion Stuart is three years into a five-year lease.”
“The photo faxed through clear enough for him to be certain?”
Marquez asked, knowing the faxed quality wasn’t that good.
“Remembers Durham’s bad cheek. He’s sure. Said his checks are always on time. What’s going on in the background behind you?”
“A backhoe digging out a well.”
“What’s that about?”
“Something down there, not sure what it is yet, but dead.”
She was quiet a moment, moved back to Durham.
“Sac police will assist on a stakeout of Durham’s house.”
“Thank them for us.”
“I did.”
When he hung up he told Bell the lawyer had ID’d Durham, then watched a young deputy get lowered into the newly shored trench. He fumbled with a rope and after a couple of unsuccessful tries were made, vomited, and readjusted the rope and the harness they were trying to slide under it. Then the carcass began to slowly rise. The chain extending from the hoe arm to wrap around it pulled taut, and the hide with whatever was sewed inside bumped against the sides of the well as it rose. Kendall directed the hoe operator to a wide sheet of clear plastic and the operator placed it nearly in the center. The chain hooked to the ropes got unclipped, and the hoe arm swung clear.
Marquez moved in closer, trying to make sense of the stitching.
He brushed away the arm of a deputy trying to hold him back. It appeared a bear hide had been sewed with fishing line. He knelt with Kendall, their knees on the plastic sheeting as they studied the rough stitching. Kendall cut through with a knife and opened a small section. He repositioned Hawse, who was videotaping, and backed Marquez up and took another look himself, then motioned Marquez forward while holding off Bell.
“There’s a body inside the bear hide,” Kendall said. “I’m going to open more of it and I want you to take a look at the face with me.” He added, “If there is one.”
The hide made a sucking ripping sound as it pulled apart, and Marquez could see hands and it was funny but he knew from the hands alone. He saw a gaping wound under the ribs and then Petroni’s face as Kendall reached and lifted more of the hide. As he saw Bill’s face anguish gripped him, a hard wave of sadness.
“I’m sorry,” Kendall said very quietly, and then talking to himself, “and I really did think he killed his wife, may have, I still don’t know. If not, someone tried to make it look like he did. Those were his boot prints in her blood in the house. We found brochures and asked the Mexican authorities to watch for the Honda. I was sure we’d find him in Mexico.”
Marquez thought of a time when the SOU was new and he and Petroni each headed a team. He remembered in the first days after they’d met each other, driving along Highway 1 in a former drug dealer’s car they’d bought off a police lot on their way to sell abalone to a black market dealer they planned to sting. They’d stopped for a beer afterward and met another guy in the bar who wanted in on the abalone action. The guy had insisted on buying their beer and they’d laughed about that later and it had seemed then that the new undercover units were going to make a real difference.
All these years later and he found himself wondering if he was making a difference.
“We’ll check to see if they threw anything else in the well,” Kendall said. “We’ll be out here a while, and I’ll need to be able to get a hold of you. We will find who did this, Marquez. I promise you that.”
Kendall’s words meant little to him. Kendall had been looking hard for Petroni, and his theories were all upside down as near as Marquez could tell. How had Petroni gotten here? That was a question to get answered. He had another and turned to Kendall with it.
“Have you ever seen anything like this?”
Kendall seemed to consider the question. When he spoke it was quietly as though the conversation was strictly between them, though Hawse hung at his elbow.
“I’ve seen bodies discarded like trash. Rape-murders where the body is dumped on a road shoulder. This is what it reminds me of. Take the warden, wrap him in a bear skin, and throw him down a hole.”
Marquez nodded agreement. “It’s about bear and Petroni’s role.
If he was taking bribes and that was all going along as planned, why would this happen?”
“He asked for more money, got in an argument,” Kendall offered.
“But kill him and a new warden gets assigned. This is a statement.”
Marquez down at Petroni again. “It’s the man who threatened us and took the shots at me. This guy is buying from us so he can take our money so he can burn us, prove he’s better than us, and he hates us so much he’ll risk trying to make good on his threats.”
Marquez looked away from Petroni’s body, glancing at the barn as he tried to make sense of it. Durham’s leasing under a different name. If Petroni was taking bribes, was it for a different reason? He remembered Petroni’s comment that he had money but didn’t. His thoughts came in a jumble, not connected yet. Could bitterness over having a Michigan game park shut down cause something like this? Was it Nyland as Kendall speculated, evening the score with Petroni? Like gutting one of them, as Sophie had talked about in the motel room.
Marquez stepped back, was quiet as he watched how they handled the body, electing to transport it still sewed into the hide, a final degradation. He waited until the county had finished searching the bottom of the well and then with Shauf drove Bell back to his car. In his rearview mirror as they drove away he saw Bell talking to one of the TV people.
Later, he sat with Shauf in Placerville and tried to fight off the shock, piece together their next moves. Everything they did at Johengen’s would need to be coordinated through Kendall. He wanted to go back there as soon as possible, but they’d have to stay clear until the county finished. Tomorrow would be the earliest they’d be allowed back into the barn, so tomorrow they’d go back and catalog everything. They’d continue to focus on finding Nyland and Durham. He figured they’d start with Bobby Broussard today.
That was his plan when he left Shauf. Then Maria called and everything changed.