“He’s not home right now.”
Marquez wasn’t sure how to respond to that.
“Then maybe you and I could talk,” he said.
“That would be fine. I’ve been waiting for somebody.”
“I’ll see you in fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll make some tea. You’ll have to knock on the door, the bell doesn’t work anymore. There are a lot of things Chris is going to fix, but he just never seems to find the time. Thank you for coming.”
She hung up, and Marquez held the phone. He asked Raburn again.
“How long has Stevens been missing?”
“Three years.”
“And when is the last time you saw Mrs. Stevens?”
“Not since he disappeared and we filed the report.”
“If you came with me, would it help?”
“No, she hates me. She thinks I got him killed.”
29
Amy Stevens invited him in, then seemed uncomfortable having him in her house. He got the feeling she lived quietly, unseen and unnoticed on this stretch of road. The house was too neat. The kitchen window stared out at rows of leafless vines. The kitchen table and surrounding counters were clean and empty. There were no magazines or newspapers, no fruit in a bowl or anything at all. After she suggested it, Marquez sat down at the kitchen table.
“I made tea. It’s almost ready. I don’t know when Chris will get home.”
The mechanical way she moved, movements that started jerkily, then smoothed, the privacy invaded suggested grief and unanswered sadness. It said something about how alone she was.
“I work part-time as a librarian.”
“You do?”
“Yes, but I haven’t worked in a while. I was working full-time three years ago, but there have been cutbacks at the county.”
“Cutbacks everywhere, I guess.”
“At your department too?”
“Some cuts, yes.”
She dropped the lid of the teapot and picked it up. Then she stood quietly at the stove.
“I don’t know why it’s taking him so long to get home.”
Marquez nodded. He laid his badge on the table.
“I’m with Fish and Game, and we’re looking at a sturgeon poaching problem. One of the people I’ve been talking to is Abe Raburn. Abe showed me the posters you and he put up.”
“He didn’t help me.” She turned toward him, and there was another long pause. “If Chris had never gone fishing with him I don’t think this would have happened.”
“Can you tell me about that?”
“I already gave a statement. Haven’t you seen it?”
“No, I’m sorry, I haven’t.”
“They met in a bar, of course. Where else would you find Abe Raburn? Chris came home late one night, and I knew something bad had happened. We always eat dinner exactly at 8:00, and he wasn’t here. I sat down to dinner without him, and when he called he was on a slough road with Abe. Then he brought Abe here. They didn’t get here until after midnight and sat outside drinking beer, if you can imagine.”
“What time of year was this?”
“In the spring. They had both been drinking, and that wasn’t like Chris at all. Abe is a very bad influence on him. I’m sure that’s why he’s not home now. Chris is very organized and very careful. But Abe is just the opposite. They were probably sturgeon fishing and had engine problems with Abe’s boat.”
She placed tea cups and poured from the teapot, and he realized she’d boiled water but hadn’t added tea. The hot water steamed in the cup. She sat down across from him, her eyes intently on him.
“You will find him, won’t you?”
“I don’t know if I’ll find him. I’m trying to find out what happened to him.”
“I was afraid the police had forgotten about him. I told them he went fishing with Abe, and I wish Chris would stop that friendship. He’s gotten home very late a couple of times. The night he didn’t come home at all I thought it was another one of those situations.”
“Was he fishing with Raburn that day?”
“They were going night fishing for sturgeon. I think that’s what Chris was planning to do. Of course, Chris may have left me. I can’t have children, and we wanted children. I would have adopted, but he wanted children of his own. Maybe he couldn’t live here knowing we’d never have any. You see, we both came from large families.” She wrung her hands. “I love him so much, I just don’t understand why he isn’t home yet.”
She began to get more and more agitated, and he got the feeling that every night as 8:00 approached she imagined her husband walking in the door. It was difficult and probably wrong to ask her questions, but he continued.
“Do you have a reason to think he was going fishing?”
“Yes, he took his gear. Abe told the police they weren’t going fishing together, but I’m sure you know that already. He told the police he didn’t see Chris that day and that they weren’t mixed up in anything illegal, but I’ve been very worried.”
“Were you worried he was mixed up in something illegal?”
“Oh, no, not Chris.”
She took a sip from the tea cup, and Marquez nodded, listened to her description of Chris, the honesty, the gentleness.
“I’m very lucky. The police thought he left me, but he would never do that. They drove around and looked for his car but that was about it. I made posters and put them up and somebody tore a lot of them down, but Chris doesn’t have any enemies. He’s a very sweet man.”
“Did he tell you he was going fishing with Abe?”
“He said he thought they were going to meet after Chris got off work down at the boat landing at the state park.”
“Brannan Island?”
“Yes, and the police checked. Chris didn’t go through the booth. You know, you have to pay a fee. No one knows where he went. He just disappeared with his truck.”
“But he had his fishing gear with him?”
“Yes, he has it.”
She folded her hands in front of her, and his heart went out to her. He knew what the police had likely alluded to, what they would have suggested without directly saying it. She needed psychiatric help in a big way, but he also guessed she knew Chris was never coming home again. Her instincts told her it had something to do with Raburn, which made him wonder why Raburn brought the poster out when he did.
“I don’t know that I’ll find out anything, but if our investigation overlaps anything to do with Chris’s disappearance, I’ll call you.” He paused. “Do you have family in the area?”
“No.”
“Any close friends?”
“Not since I went part-time.”
“I think you need someone to talk to. I’m going to call somebody.”
“I don’t accept visitors unless it’s about Chris.”
She stood, and he put an arm around her shoulders, held her for a moment, thanked her for talking to him, and left. He didn’t want to make any calls that triggered her ending up a ward of the state. She was obviously getting by somehow, feeding herself, must have some income. But she needed help.
He talked to the team, then started for home, didn’t want to sleep in the safehouse tonight. On the run back to the Bay Area his phone rang, and when he saw the number he knew Katherine and Maria were home.
“We just got in and stopped at the store and picked up some food for dinner,” Kath said. “Where are you?”
“An hour away and welcome home, but aren’t you three days early?”
“Four.”
When he got home it was tense between Katherine and Maria, though both were in the kitchen cooking. Kath’s cool fingers laced through his, and he kissed her, saw fatigue on her face, disappointment in her eyes.
“How was it?” he asked Maria.
“It was great.”
“How was New York?”
“Didn’t I already tell you?”
A pasta was on the table, and the room smelled like bacon. Maria tossed lettuce with oil, vinegar, and an expensive French salt she’d been trying to get her mother hooked on. The dinner was stiff. He asked the only questions, and neither wanted to talk, begging off by saying they were jet-lagged, but obviously the decision to come home was unhappy. No great school had become the sweetheart hope, no mother/daughter bonding.