A county deputy walked with them. Behind Marquez, the deputy’s equipment jangled with each step. The trail twisted as the slope steepened and brush went from waist to chest high. He didn’t question Talbot as they climbed over fallen trees and pushed through the brush. He waited until they were well up the slope and following footprints, but all he could think about was Holsing abandoning his van, the sturgeon, everything, and fleeing. Higher up, the ground became muddy from seepage. Marquez smelled marijuana. He saw the edge of a grow field and stopped at a deep set of boot prints.
‘Lift yours,’ he said to Talbot. When Talbot lifted his boot and showed the sole, Marquez said, ‘OK, so this is your print here, but who is this walking next to yours?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not like a tracker.’
‘Was Holsing wearing boots?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘When did you talk to him last?’
‘He took off after we were up here.’
‘Where was he going?’
‘He didn’t say.’
‘Didn’t tell you anything?’
‘He doesn’t talk to me, dude.’
‘Our warden said you were slow opening the door this morning. That’s because you needed to call Holsing first, right?’
Talbot wouldn’t answer, but Marquez knew that’s what had happened. Talbot called Holsing and warned him, and Holsing told Talbot just play it cool, don’t admit anything and tell them you don’t know me. Then he decided to make a run for it. That’s why he left his van on the side of an onramp.
‘Where do the Mexicans camp?’
‘Higher up somewhere. They drink the creek water and crap in the weeds. They aren’t allowed to come down. I just leave their food by a tree and let them beat the animals to it. When they brought me in to work on the house, I didn’t know about any of this. My old man was a contractor. I’m a carpenter.’
He kept talking about himself and Marquez heard dogs baying. The K-9 team had arrived and gone straight to Brad’s truck. They ran the dogs from there and the dogs were on the slope above and to their left. He couldn’t see them but knew from the baying the dogs were coming this way. Marquez looked at the deputy’s solemn face. The deputy knew something bad happened up here.
Marquez led now. He took in the grow field, the stacked bags of fertilizer, irrigation lines, the dam, and the damage to the land the growers always walked away from.
‘What kind of weapons do the guys tending the field have?’
‘I didn’t have anything to do with that. Jeff gave them those.’
‘What do they have?’
‘AK-47s.’
‘Did you hear any gunfire today?’
This time Talbot’s answer came very fast.
‘Nope.’
‘Did you climb any higher than this today?’
Talbot shook his head. He pointed at where he’d left the food. It looked as if he’d just turned the pack upside down and dumped the supplies out. He licked his lips and Marquez left him with the deputy and called Brad’s name as he climbed higher.
Above the small dam he picked up a trail and found a fresh mark that could be Brad’s. He recognized the Vibram pattern and followed the boot prints. They continued up through brush and out on to a grassy open slope, and then he saw blood on the grass. He heard the dogs and their handler. The dogs were closing. The dogs smelled the blood, he guessed.
‘Hold up, there,’ he called out to the handler, his voice suddenly hoarse.
The handler answered and then Shauf.
‘Is that you, Lieutenant?’
‘Yeah, Carol, it’s me, come on over alone. The dogs shouldn’t come any closer.’
When she pushed through the brush, Marquez was kneeling. A droning sound like a cloud of locusts buzzed in his head as he picked up Brad’s badge and saw a bloodstained trail of crushed grass. Without speaking they followed it to where a shovel had been discarded. He saw a mound of newly turned earth with rocks heaped on top, and went forward alone. On his knees he lifted away rocks. He brushed away soil. He dug with his fingers until he reached a dark blue collar and then skin. As he cleared dirt from Brad’s face a terrible grief flooded him. He stared, brushed more dirt, and then had to turn away. He looked at Shauf but couldn’t find words. He knelt again and his knee sank in the soft newly turned soil. Shot him, dragged him up here, and tried to hide his body. Shauf’s voice was leaden, dead. Her hand touched his shoulder.
‘Lieutenant, we shouldn’t touch anything. We shouldn’t be this close.’
Marquez understood that and stood and backed away. He lifted his radio, hesitated, lowered the radio to his side, as if he could change the truth. When he raised the radio again, he keyed the mike, drew a deep breath, and called it in.