Shell Games Read Online Free PDF

money is hidden. Maybe he gets an answer or maybe he makes an example out of Han, since Han is fading anyway. He rips up through Han’s gut with the knife and Stocker can hear it all, he’s just a couple feet away. Probably had to stand over him and use two hands to bring it up through his gut like that.” Streatfield raised a hand as though Marquez was going to interrupt him. “Han died as much as four hours ahead of Stocker and Stocker may have died within eight hours of when you got there. Stocker’s knife wounds occurred while he was in a sitting position, but you can bet it wasn’t until he gave up the loca-tion of the money. When Davies came for him it looks like he struggled and tried to twist to one side. The body was probably repositioned afterwards.” He paused a beat. “No more lawsuit and he gets some money out of the deal.” Streatfield stroked his mus-tache, adding, “An irony.”
    “You know anything about rigor mortis or body temp?” Ruter asked Marquez.
    “Yes.”
    “Pretty good chance only his head had locked when you got there. You weren’t that far behind the killer, and Davies was eitherholding the knife or right on their heels. Real close, too close in my book. That put more perspective on it for you?” Ruter pushed his chair back and stood up with Marquez’s notebook. “Okay, if I make copies?”
    “Go ahead.”
    Streatfield unfolded a California map, then asked him to identify harbors where he’d met with Davies in the past. Marquez marked Noyo, Crescent City, Half Moon Bay, Pillar Point. They talked about urchin diving, Davies’s habits, and Ruter came back in. He’d copied most of the notebook and wanted to go through the pages, reading as he did. Ninety-foot black pickup boat. Anecdotal threats of violence. Possible Hispanic suspect and a description. Possible caucasian suspect and description. Rumors of abalone transfers from one boat to another done out on the open ocean. When he finished he stacked up the papers, handed back Marquez’s note-book, and slid his chair back, arms folded over his chest.
    “I tried to learn something about you this morning, Lieutenant. I talked to your deputy-chief, Ed Keeler, and he was unwilling to give us any records on you, but he did say you’d been DEA before Fish and Game, so I called a friend at DEA. Did you ever know a Bob Cook at DEA?”
    “No.”
    “Well, he’s high up and works out of D.C. He did some research and told me you left the DEA in 1989 after your team went down in Mexico. Everybody except you in one night and then you quit and went looking for the killers. You were obsessed with finding a man named Eugene Kline and at some point he came after you, or maybe he was already looking for you. Is that correct?”
    “In a loose way.”
    “You didn’t find him but you had a close call that put you in the hospital. It scared you and you came home.”
    “Is scared his word or yours?”
    “Probably mine, and if it’s the wrong word, no offense.”
    The only reason Marquez could think of for Ruter to have made the call was that they considered him a possible suspect.
    “What I’m getting at is you went after this Kline on your own and it cost you your job at DEA. They warned you off him several times. Cook read your file to me. He also said and I quote, ‘you had a habitual disregard for procedure.’ His words.”
    “My first thought when I saw those two chained to the tree was Kline.”
    Ruter smiled at his partner. “So now he’s here? From Mexico to Mendocino, huh. Is he following you?”
    “We got close to him up in Humboldt once. You could check that with your new friend and he’ll probably tell you Kline is more diversified now.”
    “Oh, I see, you still keep tabs. Do you do that through Fish and Game?”
    “I haven’t talked to anybody about him in a couple of years.”
    “Until today.”
    “Until yesterday, Ruter.”
    It would have been better to have said nothing about Kline. He waited them out now,