Marquez did not give the name of his friend in Oakland. Nor did he get asked again.
“My friend seems to think that’s a match. He downloaded Karsov off your Most Wanted List on the Field Office website.”
“It is a match,” Ehrmann said.
“I’d like to ask a couple of questions.”
“Go ahead.”
“Did the FBI ever have any contact with Abe Raburn?”
“No.”
“Did you take over from the county because you suspect the Raburn killings were an organized crime hit?”
“It has those earmarks, but that’s as far as it goes right now.”
“Okay, then let me ask it this way, could this in any way be connected to Karsov smuggling arms?”
“It could.”
“Then I have a question about Nick Ludovna.”
“Go ahead.”
“When he immigrated to this country was the FBI in some way his sponsor?”
Marquez caught the reaction of the man across the table. But Ehrmann answered matter-of-factly.
“He was a Special Interrogator for the KGB, and we were very interested in talking to him and in getting him to talk to us. Specifically, in his KGB role he had interrogated some of the criminals we were pursuing and a few we’re still pursuing.”
“Karsov.”
“Yes, a younger Karsov was incarcerated for a year.” The photos had all made their way to Ehrmann’s end of the table. “We’d like to hold these,” Ehrmann said, “and John, I’d like to talk to you alone before you leave.”
When he did, it was to reiterate how vital it was Marquez didn’t talk to anyone about any of this. “Not even your wife.”
Marquez drove home with it all turning in his head. He found Bob the cat outside on the back deck. The idea was to leave him in the house for a week to get used to his new surroundings, but he’d pushed his way out through a kitchen window and was sitting in a chair watching the birds in the brush below. Marquez sat down in the chair next to him and got up again when he heard a car in the driveway. To his surprise it was Chief Baird.
“You change vehicles so much I didn’t know if you were home. I was going to leave a note. I’m down here for a conference.”
“Do you want to come in and talk, Chief?”
Marquez offered him a beer and asked if he wanted to stay for dinner, but Baird said his wife was with him, at the hotel right now. They were making a little getaway out of the two-day conference, or at least out of the nights, going out to dinner, and the city was decorated for the holidays so it was particularly nice to be here.
“What’s the chance of you and Katherine getting away for a few days?”
“Probably not much chance of that right now.” He added, “Katherine just got back from a trip.”
“She likes to travel though, doesn’t she?”
“Loves to.”
“It might do you some good. I heard about the Raburn murders this morning. I tried to call you. Did you get my calls?”
“I’ve been with the FBI, Chief. I just got home. I was going to call you this afternoon. Why don’t I make some coffee?”
Marquez made coffee, standing in the small kitchen. The chief took his with a lot of milk. Marquez poured himself coffee and told Baird about finding the bodies, then Selke and now the FBI taking over. He talked about Crey.
“He offered me a partnership, and I took him up on it.”
Marquez sensed that what the chief really wanted was to say now was, “We aren’t going to do anymore in the delta right now about sturgeon poaching.” But he was too tough for that. He wanted Marquez to volunteer it instead, and when he didn’t, Baird slid into the future.
“When this is over I’ve got a new role for you in the department. I want you to train wardens in undercover work. It’s a position we can afford and the best way to make use of your experience. And you’re due for a promotion.”
“If I make captain then I’ll be behind a desk and never run the SOU again.”
“The SOU will go down until there’s new money budgeted for it.”
Nothing was said for a minute. Marquez watched a squirrel run along the deck railing outside.
“I’m going to give you some time to think it over, but I want you to stay.”
“Thank you.”
“You don’t like my idea.”
“It’s a fine idea, but I don’t see myself behind a desk writing training programs. I belong in the field, or maybe it’s time for me to call it.”
Baird ran out of time and had to get to the city and meet his wife. On the way out the door he paused, turned, took in the big frame of Marquez blocking the light, sun-gold hair with gray in it, the broad face.
“I have not forgotten why we are here, Lieutenant. I will never forget.”
They stood looking at each other a moment. Then Baird nodded and left.
47
They’d told him one other thing when he was at the FBI, that Anna had hired an expensive lawyer. Jack Batson. Marquez knew of Batson and had read about his plush below-ground office on Montgomery Street the press had dubbed “The Bat Cave.” That was where he wanted to meet Marquez when he called the next morning. They agreed on the delta instead, and Marquez got there early enough to walk the trail out to the water and find the place up on the levee where the photos of Anna and Karsov had been taken.
A BMW dropped down from the levee road, and he recognized Batson at the wheel. Batson’s car was a BMW M5, an older model, dark blue. Batson got out, looking like he was dressed for a safari, and maybe that’s what coming out here meant to him. The delta reached back into a different time and didn’t have the fast roads the high rollers needed to get from place to place. BMW seemed to be the car of choice this week, though this older model was probably not his regular car. Not with the money he was making. But give the guy a break. He’s just another lawyer.
“Lieutenant, thank you for meeting me, and I know you’ve been through a lot and my client feels deeply responsible.”
“She should.”
They shook hands, Batson with a firm grip, warm brown eyes, eyebrows like Bin Laden.
“This is where she faked the abduction,” Marquez said.
“Faked may not be the right word.”
“It may not be, but I don’t know what she was thinking. I’m just speaking from my point of view. Her car was right about where yours is when I pulled in.”
“She didn’t want anything to do with it. Are you familiar with the Patty Hearst syndrome?”
“Is that what you’re going with?”
“We’re going with the truth.”
Marquez nodded. “Well, the truth sometimes works. It’s at least worth a try.”
“She was forced to deliver a stolen vehicle to Las Vegas. That’s where she went from here. I doubt the FBI has told you that. She left her car and drove that car to Vegas, as she has done other things to protect her son.”
“Well, I don’t have anything I need delivered, so what can I do for you today?”
“Karsov forced her into all of this, and instead of following through with the deal the FBI cut with her in return for her help bringing him down, they’re now trying to bring murder charges against her. They’re claiming she was part of a conspiracy to commit murder. They’re not interested in justice, only revenge for their officers killed. Anna has asked me to approach you and see if you’re willing to help.”
“What could I possibly do for her?”
“On the stand you could counter the manner in which the FBI will paint her character. She’s not a killer, and they’re going to frame her. At the moment she just wants to talk to you. She did help your team before all this happened.”
“Not really.”
“You encouraged her, you told her she did.”
Marquez couldn’t believe it was possible but had to ask. “You do know she burned us, right?”
“No, she did what she had to. She didn’t burn your team, and she shares the same intense feelings about the land.” Marquez thought, forget it, what a waste of time meeting Batson. He took the conversation back to the car.