Marquez paused, taking in Heinemann’s now earnest face, the styled haircut he must pay real money for, razored lines at the neck, hair that wanted gel to complete the look, making him the best-looking diver along the coast as he dropped off the back of a rusted urchin bucket. They’d driven him to the Richmond Police Station, borrowed an interview box, got him a token Pepsi, and listed off the probable charges, including boat theft, all of which seemed to baffle Heinemann as though it had been someone else and not him, his frowning puzzled look saying this wasn’t the movie he’d been cast for. There’d been some mistake, which he was willing to help get cleared up. The old Vietnamese guy at Brickyard Landing, well, he didn’t even know him, in fact, had only offered to help him move the coolers because he happened to be on the dock and the Vietnamese guy had asked. Heinemann worked it so hard that Shauf couldn’t hide a smile and covered her lips with her hand.
“The owner of the boat you stole is very unhappy and looks like the wrong guy to rip off,” Marquez said. “He’s big, looks mean, I’d be careful.”
“I didn’t steal his boat.”
“You found it?”
“Look, warden, or whatever you are, man, they dropped me at Marina Bay. They told me what I was going to do tonight, okay. I do it or they mess up my girlfriend. That’s the way it’s been since Sausalito. I’ve been on a boat with a bunch of fucking Mexican divers, working off what they say I owe them.”
“Who are they?”
“I got tricked into all this by Bailey. I’m not going to bullshit you and pretend I wasn’t involved but I didn’t know what was going on.”
“Who are you working for?”
“I don’t know. Like I said, it was all Bailey’s thing.”
“Where’d the Emily Jane dock?”
“Eureka. Then they moved me to another boat and said I owed them, if you can believe that. But I never owed anything. It was bullshit and I didn’t tell that Vietnamese guy I was buying any abalone. He made that story up when you guys got there. Obviously, you were watching the dude already.”
“They threatened your girlfriend so you cooperated with them.”
“Yeah.”
“Where are these Mexican divers from?”
“Baja.”
“How many divers?”
“Four, and me.”
“What’s the name of the boat?”
“El Gordo Burrito.” Heinemann laughed, but it was more of a bark, and not really a big dog bark, more like a guy who was nervous and a little scared. Vain guy and not too bright was Marquez’s take. “I don’t know the name of the boat. If we weren’t diving, we were below deck like some sort of sweatshop, man.”
Marquez didn’t know what to do with that. It was farfetched, but could be true from the way he was talking. It was too off-the-wall to make up and would explain Heinemann disappearing.
“Was Bailey ever on that boat?”
“Fuck if I know.”
Back to attitude. Other than this story about a dive boat and threatening his girlfriend, he’d given them little since they’d handcuffed him in Point Richmond. He’d sung a David Bowie song as they’d driven him here, and then listened to the charges, including abetting in the assault of a peace officer, as though he was listening to a waiter recite a menu. And he hadn’t asked for a lawyer yet, which might mean he wanted to try to deal his way out.
“They’ll kill my girlfriend if I started telling you a bunch of shit I don’t know about anyway,” Heinemann said. He took a drink of Pepsi and the brown soda dribbled down his chin before he could wipe it with his elbow.
He’s not lying about being afraid of whoever he was diving for, Marquez thought, then asked, “Are you in college?”
“What?”
“Are you enrolled at UC Santa Cruz?”
“No, well, I mean, I plan to.”
“Your girlfriend thinks you’re going to school there. You lie to her, why wouldn’t you lie to us?”
“She knows, man. Meghan knows what’s up.”
“She lied to us?”
“I’m not saying she lied.”
“Someone lied.”
“What’s the big deal about a fucking college?”
“The big deal is you keep coming up in the middle of these lies. You want us to believe you, but you don’t come across very believable. Tonight, you’re caught with a stolen boat buying illegal abalone and what you did in Sausalito could bring felony charges. You’re in a bad way, Mark. This story about working on a slave diving ship—why did you owe them for Sausalito if you held up your end? You picked up the abalone and transferred most of it to the Emily Jane. You got Bailey to use his boat.”
“Bullshit, I got Jimmy to do anything.”
“We’re getting this from Bailey. He’s going to testify against you. He’s pissed off you burned him.”
“Fuck him, he’s not pinning any shit on me. I’ve done one thing here, man. I dove for money. I needed the bucks to repair my boat and I’ll tell a judge that.”
“That’s not the way Bailey tells it. You want to read the transcript?” There wasn’t any transcript, nothing to show him, but Heinemann’s hesitation said he may not have been in contact with Bailey. “We might have a copy with us.” Marquez looked at Shauf, said, “Mine’s gone to the DA, what about yours?” She shook her head. “Okay, I guess we don’t tonight, but I’ll get you a copy. I don’t have a problem with you reading it; I’ll drop it by your cell, if you want.”
“It was Bailey that got me into this. He offered me five bills for the Point Reyes dive and helping move it in Sausalito. But that was all and you already know what happened. You ask Meghan if she’s seen me since. I’ve been like a captive on a slave ship, man, and then they brought me out for this bullshit tonight.”
“Another problem I have,” Marquez said, “is that you and Jimmy go back a ways. What I’m hearing is you two were working together in San Diego a lot of years ago, so it makes it hard to believe he sucked you into this.”
“I was never in San Diego.”
Marquez reached out and shut off the recorder. “I’m going to let you take that back,” he said. “But you’ve only got about three seconds to decide.”
“I got out of all that. I put that behind me and Meghan will tell you I’ve been thinking about going back to school. I don’t deal drugs anymore. That was a bad phase of life.”
“You berth three down from Jimmy at Pillar Point and you want to tell us that’s coincidence.”
“I thought we were talking about ab diving. I’m getting fucking confused.”
“We’re talking about all of it.”
“I don’t deal drugs anymore. If you think I’m in with Jimmy on that, you’re wrong.”
“Convince me about you. I want to believe we’re not wasting our time talking to you but so far it seems like we are. It’s getting late and you keep repeating the same story but you don’t explain away the inconsistencies, so it’s looking like you’re blowing smoke at us.”
“I’m just telling the truth, man.”
“About a diving slave ship? Come on, Mark, give us a break.”
“I’m not shitting you.”
“We found your girlfriend’s pickup at Marina Bay here in Richmond, but you say you were dropped off by boat. Do you want to say Jimmy drove it up here? Maybe Meghan gave him the keys and we should arrest her? That what you’re saying?” He stared at Heinemann. “No answer? Okay, maybe we ought to bag it and get some sleep, let you get in there and meet your cellmates.” Marquez glanced down at a sheet. “Twenty years in prison. That’s what I get when I add up what you’re charged with. You’re way past abalone but you don’t seem to get that we can make it swing one way or the other.”
“Man, you keep changing subjects. I can’t fucking keep up.”
“Okay, tell us about the Emily Jane, and this is your last chance.”
“I just ran for the boat. Your warden had her fucking knee on my back when they pulled guns on you.”
“Tell us about the men on the Emily Jane.”
“I don’t know about them. They never let me in the cabin and they dumped me on a dock in Eureka and then I got on the other boat.”
Earlier, Heinemann said he’d run to the Emily Jane because that’s what Bailey had said to do if anything went wrong. Marquez looked over at Shauf. “I’m going to find a bathroom,” he said. “When I get back we’ll wrap this up.” He paused before going out the door, looked at Heinemann. “Tomorrow isn’t the same for us, I want you to understand that. Tomorrow, every day after that you can talk to your lawyer instead of us.”
“Whatever.”
“Whatever?”
“Hey, man, Fish and Game is a fucking joke. You think I’m risking something happening to Meghan or me?”
Marquez threw cold water on his face in the bathroom and ignored the sidelong look of a Richmond cop. He walked back in as Heinemann was telling Shauf how easy it was to poach and not get caught. He was in his head swimming underwater somewhere with a light stick when Marquez cut him off.
“Why’d Bailey run?” Marquez interrupted.
“You tell me.”
“Is Meghan Burris in on this too?”
Heinemann avoided the question. “Everything that happened to me I got forced to do.”
“How many times are you going to tell us that?”
“As long as you keep asking the same questions.”
“Who’s buying the abalone?”
“Ask Jimmy since you said he’s talking to you.”
“He’s talking to them, also. He’s convincing them it was you that fucked up. Maybe when you were on that boat with the Mexicans you were wondering, what’s going on, why am I not hearing from my friend, Jimmy? Should be hearing from Jimmy, right? Isn’t he the guy to get you off that boat? You’re not hearing from him because he put it all on you. Who’d they get Meghan’s name from if it wasn’t Jimmy?” Heinemann rubbed the back of his neck like a mosquito had bit him and Marquez knew they had an opening. Heinemann really was worried about his girlfriend. He studied Heinemann’s face, thinking about how he could bring the image home. “The divers who got killed up north were selling to the same people you and Jimmy have gotten involved with and you’re right to be scared of them. I was up there at Guyanno Creek; I saw those two. Do you know how they died?”
When Heinemann didn’t answer, Marquez asked the question again.
“Stabbed,” Heinemann said.
“Stand up. I want to show you what happened to them.”
“I don’t need the bullshit.”
“It’ll stay with you better if I show you.”
“You hit me, I’ll sue your ass.”
“Nothing like that is going to happen.”
Heinemann was visibly uncomfortable and squared his thick shoulders, showed a stance that said I can take care of myself and Marquez pressed two fingers low against Heinemann’s abdomen, just under his belt, enough to make him nervous, enough to make him feel sexual vulnerability and Heinemann’s eyes went to Shauf.
“Fuck man, what are you doing?”
“With the divers up north, these guys that got chained to a tree and killed, the knife cut was just above the pubic bone. He’ll push the knife in and not too deep, at first. I’ve heard that arouses him, but I don’t know if that’s true, or not. Only you and he will know that, because he’ll be pressed up against you. Good chance he’ll be talking to you, maybe asking you questions, telling you it can be okay still, that everything can work out if you’ve got the right answers. But then, after you’ve told him what he wants to know, he’ll push the blade in further. Not enough to kill you yet. We used to hear terrible stories about him making promises not to kill as long as you don’t scream. If you can take the pain and not cry out, he’s going to stop. Just don’t say anything. Just listen to him. Your blood will run down into your crotch and your scrotum will shrink back as your gut burns. You’ll watch his eyes change as he breathes into your face and you’ll know he’s not going to let you go.”
Marquez brought his fingers up Heinemann’s abdomen. He pushed Heinemann back against the wall with his fingers up under his breast bone. “The blade will rip up through your gut. Those divers up at Guyanno are no different than you. They messed up and he made an example out of them and when he’s done here, if we don’t get him first, he’ll wipe all his tracks and move on. That’s how he’s managed to survive and stay ahead of the FBI. And they’re not trying to bring him in, either. They’re way past that. They want to corner him and bring enough firepower to make sure it’s over.” Marquez dropped his arms to his side and stepped back. “Your best chance is to help us. I’m not kidding you, I know this man.”
“Then what do you need me for, if you know him?” Heinemann smiled like it was nothing. “Hey, I haven’t seen any freaks and I’m not really involved in all this shit.”
“He’s tall, fairly thin, but not in a way that would make you think he’s weak.”
“Never seen him.”
“The day the man came down to Bailey’s boat there was another man up in a car Bailey said you went up and talked to.”
“He went up.”
“He said the man wanted to get a look at you and that makes sense to me.” Marquez let a minute pass with only the hiss of the recorder, then dropped it on him. “Bailey works for us as a paid informant. We gave him two grand for this ride.”
“Bullshit.”
“He was,” Shauf said, and slid over a report with Bailey mentioned as a paid informant. It was dated over a month ago, Bailey’s name highlighted, Keeler’s signature, DFG stationery. They waited as he read, studied, and stared. Then, he changed, and Marquez saw it happen, saw his face pale, saw the difference.
“We’re going to leave you alone for five minutes and you think it over,” Marquez said. “Do you want more proof Bailey works for us?”
Heinemann shook his head, and they only made it as far as the door. “Yeah, I want to make a deal,” he said. “And, yeah, I met him and you’re right about the guy. He’s fucking weird.”
“I’m going to show you a photo,” Marquez said. “I’ve got a file.” He heard his own voice as strangely calm. “But I’ve got to get it out of my truck.”
He walked out to get it and his footsteps echoed in the corridor. The cool air of the night brushed his face and he crossed through the pooled light on the asphalt and heard the voices of the dead as he reached for the file, the promises he’d made.