Night Game (28 page)

The next morning
Marquez drove to the mini-storage with Kendall. The manager got up from his couch and clicked off the TV when he saw Kendall’s badge. He walked them down and unlocked the unit Ungar rented. Inside, they found a strange scene with candles and a rug and cushions, where it looked like he sat.

There were cardboard boxes they started going through, Marquez taking two, Kendall two, both slipping on gloves first. Kendall lifted a black leather wallet, showed him Jed Vandemere’s face on a California driver’s license, and after Marquez had studied it, dropped it into an evidence bag.

“Must have had Nyland bring him the wallet,” Kendall said.

“Nyland called him Bearman. I don’t think he was lying when he said he’d never met him. Same with the pair we did the buys from. They’d never seen him face-to-face. They’d pick the bear parts or bile products up somewhere remote, and then get an envelope from a bartender somewhere later.”

“What have we here?” Kendall said quietly, almost to himself.

He lifted an ornate wooden box, something made of teak and other hardwoods.
For jewelry,
Marquez thought, and watched him open it, heard him say, “Marquez,” knew from his tone it was important.

Resting on the velvet lining in the box was a California Fish and Game badge and even after all that had happened, seeing the badge affected Marquez. It turned him quiet and he worked through more of the boxes without saying anything. Crime techs arrived and Hawse. Marquez read through a journal of Ungar’s, his ramblings, what he called essays.

“He’s got tapes here,” Kendall said. “I’ll bet he recorded his conversations with you.” He added, “I don’t know if I told you last night, but we found a voice changer in his car.”

Marquez read Ungar’s tiny script, each letter made perfectly. Pages of writing, entries of things he’d done to people who’d crossed him. There were cases, some Marquez was familiar with, one, a poacher they’d busted last year, that Ungar noted, “Lost good supplier. Need to do something about them.” He read Petroni’s name, notes about Petroni’s patrol habits, where he liked to eat, buy coffee, drink, then the line “S successful.” A short sentence fragment after it, “Same old ursus,” and further into the notes and ramblings saw it again. This time it jumped out at him as a simple code for SOU.
Ursus
was Latin for bear, and Ungar used “Same old ursus” after Petroni’s name to indicate he thought Petroni was SOU. He read the name Mark Ellison, and it clicked that he’d read that in Petroni’s log, said so to Kendall now.

“There’s more than enough here,” Kendall answered. “It’s over. We can build the case.”

“I remember this name from Petroni’s log.”

“You’re thinking Petroni had some dealings with this Ellison?”

Marquez held up the journal he was reading so that Kendall could see it. “There’s a lot written on Petroni in here. He followed
Petroni for months, wrote notes on his habits, where he ate, what he ate, meeting Sophie, Petroni and Sophie going up to the hunting shack. He must have shadowed him. Reads like he was sure Petroni was with the SOU.”

“We think Petroni told Sophie he was.”

“That’s what she told you?”

“Yeah, and stuck by it. Maybe he missed being undercover.”

Marquez read on about Mark Ellison, things written about selling gall to Mark Ellison. He looked through the rest of the box and another that had only clothes, and then Kendall suggested they back away and let the crime techs do their work. When Marquez stepped out of the unit he turned to Kendall.

“I’m going down to talk to the manager again,” he said.

In the manager’s office Marquez asked to see the list of everyone who rented here. The manager was a heavyset bearded fellow, from his tattoo, former Navy man. He pulled on his beard for a moment, then turned the computer screen so Marquez could scan the names.

“Where is unit 76 on the map?” Marquez asked.

“It’s around back from the one you’re looking in.”

“Opposite side?”

“Yep.”

Marquez read the name Mark Ellison again, made sure he’d read it correctly the first time. Now he looked at the map.

“Do you ever see this Mark Ellison?”

“I can’t say I remember him.”

“We need to open up that unit.”

With Kendall and the manager, Marquez walked down the row of storage units, all with metal roll-up doors, cinder block faces, but simple sheetrocked partition walls inside separating the units. He didn’t have to tell Kendall what he was thinking. Kendall was already there.

“It would account for him taking the bribes,” Marquez said.

“And explain some of the things he said to me.”

The manager took hold of the chain and rolled the door of the unit up, the door rattling loudly. They turned the light on and as they saw the setup, Marquez knew Mark Ellison was Bill Petroni. He’d rented the unit exactly opposite Ungar’s, and the manager explained how that was possible. This whole row hadn’t rented out until early summer, some units were still empty. The complex was new and still gaining traction. He kept talking but neither Marquez nor Kendall was listening, Marquez studying a couple of fiber-optic lines that fed into the wall separating Ungar’s unit from this one. He looked at the recording equipment and then at what else was in the unit.

Off to one side was a stack of belongings, not a lot of them, but what Petroni owned, what he’d had to store after the divorce.

There was also a small metal storage box of a type Marquez had seen on construction sites. It was new, bought at a Home Depot, the tag still on it.

“That’s going to have the bribe money it and everything else that relates to the case,” Marquez said. “Petroni was onto Ungar and building a case on his own.”

“Why didn’t he tell you?”

“He wanted to make the case on his own.”

“Wanted to show you up?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. But it’s here, look at this. Whatever he bought will be in that box, as well. Some of the bribe money might be in there, and the rest of it he probably used to make buys.”

“What was going through his head, not telling anyone?”

“I don’t know, but like you found out, the other wardens called him a real loner.” Marquez thought about it and then wondered something else aloud. “Maybe he told Stella. Or maybe somebody got worried that he’d told Stella.”

“Ungar knew and waited to deal with him, but he didn’t know about this. He didn’t know Petroni had this set up. It wouldn’t still be recording if he did.”

They could hear the equipment working, recording the crime techs on the other side of the wall. Neither of them spoke, thinking it out, then Kendall asked, “Have you ever heard of anything like this before?”

The only thing Marquez could relate it to was the drug world, where a drug cartel would sometimes keep selling to undercover officers just to take their money, not being worried about what came later. Ungar must have felt he could control the variables. Marquez talked it out with Kendall and knew it would be hours before the construction storage box was taken in and opened.

“How are you going to do this?” Marquez asked. “So far, he’s saying he’s not involved, right. Even after the knife last night. He’s got a story for that too, doesn’t he?”

“He did last night.”

“Why don’t you ask him if he wants to sit down with me this afternoon?”

“Why would he?”

“To try to beat me one last time. To brag about what he had going. He’s that kind of guy and he’s way into bear.”

“He’s up for murder one.”

“Read his journal. Murder doesn’t mean that much to him, but he saw himself getting rich selling bile products.”

It was late that afternoon that Marquez’s hunch was borne out. He walked into an interview box and sat down across from Ungar, who was shackled, wrists chained down to the ring.

“You had an incredible operation going,” Marquez said. “Amazing what you set up out there in Nevada.”

“Are you here to flatter me into telling you something? I had nothing to do with killing anyone.”

“I’m a Gamer. Let’s just talk about bear.”

“The detectives think I’ll say something to you?”

“I don’t know what they think. I know they plan to charge you with murder, but that’s not what I’m here about. I’d like to know how long you’ve been bear farming?”

Ungar couldn’t stop himself. His eyes flickered over Marquez’s face, something triumphant in them. “Almost four years.”

“There must have been a vet involved.”

“I put in all the catheters myself.”

“You’re good.”

Ungar opened up a little, allowed he’d get the maximum sentence for trafficking in bear, but, “I’ll be out in under two years, at the most three.”

“You’re probably right.”

“Then I’ll come visit you.”

“And we’ll talk some more.” Ungar smiled, and Marquez said, “Let’s talk some more today about the operation because I’m curious, and I’m not flattering you, you really had it going on. The things you invented are impressive.”

They talked about the Nevada farm. Durham got a share of the profits, had owned animal operations himself, and knew the money to be made in bear bile and galls. Durham had been a good partner. The problem had been Nyland and the woman. Those were people that Durham had hired. The trough system Ungar had invented himself. He detailed how he’d figured out the systems and buying live bears, mostly cubs. His bile product sales were growing exponentially in Vancouver, San Francisco, particularly the San Jose area, and LA—LA was by far his best market. But he wouldn’t say what he’d cleared, wouldn’t talk about money.

“Why did Durham get involved?”

“I told him I’d make him rich.”

“Did you?” Ungar looked away. “Was Petroni on the take?”

“Five hundred a month.”

“To stay out of an area?”

“And provide information.”

“And then you got it back from him with sales.”

That was the first thing to fluster him and he couldn’t hide it.

“What are you talking about?”

“Selling to Mark Ellison.”

“I don’t know any Mark Ellison.”

Marquez wanted to say it all now, but Kendall would confront Ungar with hard evidence, the wooden box with Petroni’s badge in it when they tried to get him to confess and bargain. Killing a law enforcement officer made Ungar eligible for the death penalty, but if he helped resolve the Vandemere and Stella Petroni murders, and gave a full confession on Petroni, it was likely the county DA would let him bargain for a life sentence. Ungar was a bright guy and thinking fast. The first edge of doubt was in his eyes. As Marquez got ready to go he had to leave Ungar with something.

“In the end, Petroni beat you,” Marquez said. “He outsmarted you.”

“He wasn’t any brighter than you.”

“He didn’t have to be.”

Marquez cut off what Ungar said next as he closed the door.

Ungar didn’t go down
as easily as Kendall had anticipated.

At the arraignment for Petroni’s murder he pled not guilty. It was another two weeks before he fired his lawyer and made the deal with the prosecutor, and even then never confessed to Stella Petroni’s murder, which Kendall now believed was an effort to frame Petroni, taking advantage of the discord in Petroni’s life.

Ungar did admit to paying Nyland ten thousand dollars to kill Vandemere because the county wouldn’t make the deal without that confession, and evidence of the payment showed in his records.

The only explanation he’d give was that Vandemere had pried into business that wasn’t his. A week later, Marquez stopped by the Placerville mini-storage alone. He punched in the numbers, drove through the gate and down to the unit Petroni had rented. It was empty now. There was really nothing to see, but for some reason he wanted to stand in
the space and try to visualize what had motivated Petroni to keep his investigation to himself, how bitter he must have been, and yet, in here, checking the recording equipment, knowing he was building a significant case. It was remarkable he hadn’t revealed it to try to save himself from being suspended.

Marquez looked at the holes Petroni had drilled in the shared wall, thought about him working in here. The storage unit was similar to some the SOU had rented in the past, and very similar to a unit his and Petroni’s teams had shared a decade ago. He knew, despite all the talk otherwise, Petroni had never stopped thinking of himself as an undercover wildlife officer. He must have been waiting for the moment he’d call for backup and make the bust. He must have pictured the vindication, the feeling of taking down Durham, Ungar, Nyland, Sophie, Bobby and maybe Troy, all at once.

He had a conversation now with Petroni, one in his head, a conversation with the ghost of the guy he’d known. He let Petroni know how impressed he was that he’d pulled this off and said that he wished Petroni had taken a chance on opening up to him, that they could have worked together again.

Later that week Kendall, who’d been keeping him updated, said Ungar had unraveled another piece for them. He’d been behind another murder, the unsolved prior case that had drawn Kendall into the Crystal Basin murder of Vandemere. The watch and ring found in the hunting shack were taken from the earlier victim. Ungar had placed them on the shelf in the hunting shack.

“Why?” Marquez asked.

“Not completely clear whether it was part of some elaborate notion of framing Petroni or whether he was planting evidence that later would implicate Nyland. Several times he’s talked about watching Petroni have sex with Sophie up at that shack, and I get the feeling it may have been part of setting up the framing of Petroni before killing Stella.”

“But he’s made his deal.”

“Yeah, he’d have to want to tell us more. Listen, the real reason I called was we’ve got files off his computer there in the storage unit that you’re going to want. A lot of names and contacts. I FedExed you a package with them. You ought to get it in the next day or so. And we’ve finally gotten through his passwords.”

“Yeah, my chief told me.”

“There are more files that will help you.”

There was proof now that it was Ungar who’d hacked the DFG personnel files. He’d downloaded info on everyone working for Fish and Game. They’d also learned that he was something of a financial wizard, leveraging the $412,000 he’d made selling bile products into double that in value in real estate and stocks.

After the disks arrived Marquez and the team started working down the network Ungar had built. It was like peeling an onion and they would take it slowly, figure out how to build the cases with the help of U.S. Fish and Wildlife, as several of the connections were out of state. Locally, they had a list of people who sold his bile products, and Marquez set up another sit-down with Ungar. He tried to get more information from him by bringing up a competitor Ungar had referenced in computer files and writings.

Two guards and Kendall were in the room with Ungar, one guard chewing gum until Kendall stopped him. Ungar had lost better than ten pounds, leaving his face gaunt, the lines more pronounced.

He’d paled, and he rubbed his thumb and index finger together continually.

“I don’t want the guards in here,” Ungar said. “Not you, either,” he said to Kendall, and that wasn’t any problem. Ungar was chained to the ring, wasn’t going anywhere. The guards and Kendall left.

“You want me to bring this guy in Vancouver down.”

“I’m asking for your help,” Marquez said.

“You won’t stop bile products from coming here. Can’t stop people from using medicine they’ve used a thousand years or more. It’s like smoking weed. The laws aren’t going to even slow it down. Your side is losing everywhere.”

“Not everywhere.”

“You tell your daughter hello for me.”

Marquez felt his breath catch in his throat. Despite corroborative DNA results and a case that was moving toward trial, Ungar had never admitted being in Bishop. He stared back at Ungar, asked him if he was admitting to being in Bishop. Ungar didn’t make another sound, and later he told Kendall he wouldn’t speak with any Fish and Game officers ever again.

In early December on a bright clear morning Marquez got a sad call from Shauf, her voice breaking before she could get it out, telling him her sister had died just after dawn. The following Tuesday with the rest of the SOU he attended a service for Debbie in Folsom, where the pastor spoke about the fragile preciousness of life, how we so often are unaware of our days passing, and how aware and close to God Debbie had become in her final days.

Whether that was true or not, Marquez had no idea and sat silently in the pew. He saw the children standing near their father and Shauf grief-stricken and turned inward. He said good-bye to her in the parking lot and tried to make sure she understood he’d do whatever he could for her and the family. He knew her well enough to know he’d have to come find her, and he would.

On the drive home from Folsom he stopped to see Keeler and helped him transplant several orchids in the greenhouse. Later, as they drank a beer, Keeler asked, “How are you doing?”

“In what way?”

“With what’s happened.”

“If Petroni and I had talked at all, he’d still be here.”

“He kept it from everyone, that’s a choice he made, John.”

They had another beer together before he headed home.

The following Saturday he started laying out the new addition with Maria. They were down along the corner of the house when Kendall called. Marquez walked back up to the deck, scraping mud off his shoes and sitting down at the picnic table, listening as Kendall sketched more details of Stella Petroni’s murder, how he was going to make a case against Ungar after all. He believed he could prove Ungar had hired Nyland.

“Am I going to see you before Ungar’s trial?” Kendall asked.

“I’ll give you a call.”

“I still owe you a lunch.”

“I’m sure I’ll be back that way.”

Maria yelled up at him, and he told Kendall he’d call next time he was in town, though he knew he probably wouldn’t. He laid the phone on the redwood table, came down off the deck and around to where they’d built batter boards and strung line to lay out the new foundation.

“What do we do now?” she asked, and he looked at her young face and the warm enthusiastic light in her eyes.

“We tape out and mark the piers. The drill rig comes Monday.” She held an end of the tape on the mark he’d pointed to, and Marquez smiled back at her, pulled the tape, dropping a stake where the center of each pier would go, a total of six. As he pounded them in Maria sprinkled flour around the stakes. Someone had told him it was an easy way to keep track of the stakes after the drilling started and dirt got tossed around.

“Did you hear,” she asked, spilling flour on the hammer and his hand, “that same black bear was down near the Golden Gate Bridge again last night. Can you believe that a bear is almost to San Francisco? Wouldn’t it be funny if he walked across the bridge?”

“He probably won’t do that.”

“I really like it. I mean, as long as he doesn’t get into our house or something.”

Marquez pounded in another stake and glanced up at her, very happy that they were starting this build together.

“I mean it’s really cool,” she said. “I like to think of him walking around here. Do you know what I mean, Dad?”

He glanced over at her. “Yeah, I think I do.”