“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.”