They had the choice of going home to Mount Tamalpais or to the small house in Bernal Heights in San Francisco that Katherine still owned and where she’d stayed last night with her best friend, Janet, who leased it from her. Bernal Heights was where Maria had lived her first eight years, and he wondered if there wouldn’t be a certain comfort going there. Then he learned from Bell that state police were already en route to Mount Tam and would guard his house.
They got in near midnight, and Marquez talked to the state cops parked out on the street. He listened to what they had for a description and debated bringing Maria out to talk to them, then decided against it, doubted the wounded man would come here. He offered food and coffee, which the officers declined.
Katherine scrambled eggs, fried chicken-apple sausage, and they ate while Maria numbly told the story of what happened. Her hands trembled, and she said she was going to take a shower and call one of her friends who she knew would still be awake. She wanted to go to school tomorrow, insisted she’d drive herself.
Listening closely to her, Marquez knew she’d be okay. Then just before going to bed she came back out and asked if he thought there was any chance the man would come here tonight. He shook his head, said no as he had several times during the long drive home, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders and held her. After Maria was in her room he talked more frankly with Katherine about the possibilities.
“How badly is he hurt?” she asked.
“He lost some blood outside on the gravel, and they think the way it was flung suggests his arm was hit.”
“So it might not be a bad wound.”
“Hard to say.”
“But they did get samples?”
“Yeah, they’ll be able to type it and compare DNA.”
“Then if they catch him they can hold him.”
“DNA results will take weeks to come back, and the case doesn’t have the components that would bump it up the list. Lillian is okay, Maria is unhurt, so most likely they’d hold him as long they could, then set a very high bail while waiting for DNA results. I talked to Maria on the way home, and it’s anybody’s guess whether she’d have a shot at picking him out of a lineup. He came in the house with a mask on, and you can bet if caught he’ll say he only meant to talk to Maria, not hurt her.”
“But he’s wounded.”
“Yeah, he’s wounded. Two slugs got pulled from the woodwork; the third hit him.”
“How did he get away on those desert roads they can fly a plane along?”
“Probably by switching vehicles. My best guess is he followed you when you drove down, but that means he was here and may have had other plans the day you drove Maria away. He may have been casing this house.”
Later, Marquez walked out the gravel drive and talked to the state cop. He felt agitated and worried, and though he believed tonight was safe, he felt uncomfortable. He walked the perimeter of the house, returned to the back deck, and locked the slider, something he rarely did. He showered with Katherine, felt her water-slicked skin against him, steam clouding around them, her dark hair wet, and then Katherine pressing against him, lips finding his with fear-driven urgency. Her hand slid down his abdomen, and he traced the curve of her spine and hip with his fingers, touched the smooth skin of her inner thigh as she reached to arouse him. He didn’t know where the desire came from tonight, but when he lifted her, pressed her back against the tile and entered her, he thought of nothing else. She felt very light in his arms, and afterward she held him tighter still and wept.
Toward 4:00 in the morning he lay awake with a hand on the warm skin of her back and a tightness like a clenched fist in his chest. He listened to Katherine’s quiet breathing, remembered the emotion in her face as Maria walked in the door tonight. He dozed, woke again, before dawn made coffee, and took a mug up to the state cop, who said the only thing he’d seen were deer and maybe a bear, though he asked Marquez not to tell anyone that last part. They’d never stop laughing at him.
“You’re not crazy,” Marquez answered. “The first black bear sighting in a hundred years in West Marin was this last spring. That bear is an adolescent and still around here somewhere. He got into garbage and then beehives in Green Gulch near Muir Beach, then showed up at the northern end of the Golden Gate Bridge near Kirby Cove. He may be on the mountain here somewhere.”
On the back deck he sat with his notes in front of him and talked to Shauf, Alvarez, Cairo, Roberts as a plan formed. When Katherine came out they sat in the cold dawn and he talked it over with her. He believed that if it was Durham who’d made the assault, the way he figured it, Durham had good reason to try to find Nyland next. He told Kath what he’d learned this morning.
“There’s a report that Nyland was spotted in the Crystal Basin last night and that makes sense to me. I think he’ll take to the woods. But he probably has a way to contact his partner, Durham, and some prearranged escape plan. I’m going back up there to try to find Nyland because I think he’s the key to Durham.”
She pushed her hair back behind her right ear, a nervous habit. “Say that again,” she said, and he repeated, “Kath, I’ve got to go back up. I think Durham will try to get to Nyland. My team will be better at finding Nyland than the county if he’s hiding in the wilderness.”
“Hiding with a rifle and no future.”
“As far as I know he hasn’t been charged with anything yet.”
“But you know he will be. Haven’t you done enough already?”
He was still talking with Katherine when another call came in. A Mercedes registered to Marion Stuart had been found by the highway patrol near Mono Lake. That was between Lillian’s house and the Placerville area. It strengthened the idea that Durham had been the assailant. When he hung up, he continued with Katherine.
“When we went through Nyland’s trailer we found articles he’d clipped on the antiabortionist who evaded the FBI for so long down south, the guy that took to the woods. A lot of people with the police after them would be in a car a thousand miles away by now. But what we’ve got is a report phoned in early this morning that someone who looks like him is in the Crystal Basin. For me, that fits, and I’ve got to go back up there and try to help find him because I really do believe he’s the key to locating Durham.”
“I’d like to say I understand, but all I see is you taking risks.”
Marquez didn’t drive straight to the mountains. At 10:00 that morning he walked into Armand’s Outdoor Sport Guns in South San Francisco. The small balding man behind the counter said he was the owner, and Marquez showed him photos of Durham and Nyland. Through his computer records the owner confirmed what they already knew, Durham had purchased two rifles here, both .30-30 Winchesters.
Marquez watched the owner rub a ring finger that looked swollen with arthritis. Then he let go of his finger and reached to touch Durham’s photo.
“I do remember him. He’s a very particular man.”
“Was he with anybody?”
“Not this other young man you’re showing me, but there was somebody with him.”
“Can you remember anything about him?”
“No, he never came to the counter.”
Marquez questioned him further, thanked him, and told him it was likely he’d hear from a Detective Kendall about the rifles Durham had purchased. He got as far as the door of the small shop and turned back, looked at the owner, owl-like behind the counter, the shop small enough where someone not at the glass counter would still be close enough to see.
“This man who was here with him, you saw him well enough to know he wasn’t the other man in the photo, so you must remember something about him.”
“I get all kinds of people in here.”
“Young, old?”
“He could have been in his thirties.”
“Was he standing where I am?”
Marquez knew the owner was trying to remember. The main lights were all behind the counter, and someone standing here wouldn’t be as distinct.
“He wore a cap turned around the way they do now. I don’t know if this is true but he may have had some Asian blood, or been from one of the islands, but I really don’t know. I won’t be able to identify him if that’s what you’re hoping. There’s no chance,” and Marquez heard more than lack of memory in the owner’s emphatic voice. He knew the man had decided not to remember either way. He didn’t want any part of ID’ing someone who was wanted. Now Marquez walked back to the counter.
“Look up another name for me, okay.”
“What name?”
“Kim Ungar.”
Marquez leaned over the counter so he could see the screen. Ungar’s name came up as a gun purchaser. The same guns that showed in their file on him were listed here. Two handguns. Two Glocks. No rifles.
“Thanks,” Marquez said. “I may have other questions. Do you have a card?”
He took the card and drove to Ungar’s apartment complex, used his cell phone to call Ungar from the steps of the apartment.
Ungar didn’t answer his phone but did answer the buzzer when Marquez hit it.
“I’d like to come in and talk with you.”
“Now is not a good time.”
“Just a few questions.”
“I have a guest, and the TV said there was a body of a warden found in a well and evidence of bear farming. I heard it again this morning. They’re looking for the man who leased the property, so it sounds like you’ve found him.”
“Is he the man?”
“You’re the one that should know.”
“I’m asking you.”
“We haven’t made our deal yet. You haven’t made any offers and I can’t talk right now. I want to meet you somewhere, but not here.”
“The DA wants your cousin’s name. They need to know he’s not wanted for other crimes before they’ll make the deal.”
“I can’t give you his name without a deal first.”
“Can you give me the name of the man in Sacramento as a show of faith?”
“Let me think about that. I’ll call you.”