Die-Off Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Further Titles from Kirk Russell

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Further Titles from Kirk Russell

  The John Marquez series

  SHELL GAMES

  NIGHT GAME

  DEADGAME

  REDBACK*

  DIE-OFF*

  The Ben Raveneau series

  A KILLING IN CHINA BASIN *

  COUNTERFEIT ROAD *

  ONE THROUGH THE HEART *

  * available from Severn House

  DIE-OFF

  A John Marquez novel

  Kirk Russell

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  First published in Great Britain and the USA 2013 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

  9–15 High Street, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM1 1DF.

  eBook edition first published in 2013 by Severn House Digital

  an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited.

  Copyright © 2013 by Kirk Russell

  The right of Kirk Russell to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  Russell, Kirk, 1954–

  Die-Off. – (A John Marquez mystery; 5)

  1. Marquez, John (Fictitious character)–Fiction.

  2. Government investigators–California–Fiction.

  3. Murder–Investigation–Fiction. 4. Detective and mystery stories.

  I. Title II. Series

  813.6-dc23

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8283-7 (cased)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-451-5 (epub)

  Except where actual historical events and characters are being

  described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this

  publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons

  is purely coincidental.

  This eBook produced by

  Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

  Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland

  Judy, your courage and gentleness in the face of everything are my inspiration.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This is the fifth Marquez novel and, as with the earlier novels, many thanks go to Nancy Foley. When I wrote the first book, Nancy was a member of the Special Operations Unit and would go on to lead it and later to become head of the California Department of Fish and Game. I wish my writing career had an arc like that. Nancy is now retired, as is Kathy Ponting, long-time patrol lieutenant of the SOU, and often a great source for this author. Thanks go to Kathy as well as Stafford K. Lehr, Chief of the Fisheries Branch, and to warden pilots, Ron Vanthuysen and Gavin Woelfel. Thanks also to Detective Rick Jackson of the LAPD. As of 2013, the California Department of Fish and Game became the California Department of Fish and Wildlife, but the challenges remain the same. All the best to those who take on that fight.

  ONE

  When the call came Marquez was in a conference room at California Fish and Game headquarters looking at photos of elephant tusks and glass jars of ground rhino horn emailed that morning by an LAPD homicide detective. The mix of live animals and animal parts stockpiled at the warehouse were a good fit for the trafficker he was searching for and he was close to booking a flight to LA.

  The tip call changed that. The caller refused to give her name but insisted it was urgent she talk with Lieutenant John Marquez. An office tech found him in the conference room and Marquez hesitated a moment then slid his laptop aside and reached for the phone. The woman’s voice was immediate, intense, and strong.

  ‘I have nothing to do with any of this. I’m just passing on a message.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘No, it’s really not okay, but it’s what’s happening. Hold on a minute.’

  Marquez heard a car door slam. He heard rain on a windshield and an engine start. When she spoke again she was on speakerphone and harder to hear.

  ‘Don’t worry about how well you can hear me. It doesn’t matter. We aren’t going to talk long anyway and all you have to do is listen. I’m going to tell you where the gun is that was used to kill those two girls a couple of years ago along the Klamath River.’

  Marquez was on the thirteenth floor of the Water Resources Building in Sacramento. He turned and looked out the window at sunlight through broken clouds and guessed she was well to the north along the Oregon border and probably somewhere near the Klamath, where it was raining today.

  ‘Go ahead, I’m listening. Where’s the gun?’

  ‘It’s buried along the White Salmon River three quarters of a mile down from Condit Dam on the road side. It’s at a bend where two large gray rocks lean out over the water. They’re side by side and he says you’ll know the spot when you see it.’

  ‘Who says?’

  ‘We’re not going there.’

  ‘Are we talking about Terry Ellis and Sarah Steiner?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you aware of what’s going on at Condit Dam tomorrow?’

  ‘He told me this morning.’

  It could easily be a hoax call. It probably was and still it affected Marquez. He shifted in his chair and heard a low murmur, definitely male. He guessed the cell phone was on the dash and the man was listening and in control.

  ‘If anyone in law enforcement is going to look for a gun buried along that river with such short notice it’ll take more than an anonymous call. Who is it that told you it’s there and why are you calling California Fish and Game? Why not call the
FBI or the local police in the area of the dam?’

  Marquez spoke to the man.

  ‘Whoever you are, talk to me.’

  There were several seconds of silence and then she spoke again.

  ‘You’ll need a shovel and a metal detector.’

  ‘Should I also pack a lunch? Look, you’ve called a California Fish and Game officer with a tip on a homicide cold case two states to the north. You need to call the people working on the case. The murders were in California and Rich Voight at the Siskiyou County Sheriff’s Office is the investigator in charge. Call him. He’ll know who to get in touch with in the state of Washington to get a search going.’

  Even as he said that he knew he’d be making the calls and reached for something to write with. Terry Ellis and Sarah Steiner were twenty-four, young, idealistic, and part of a movement to remove dams along western rivers. Sarah Steiner would have started Columbia Law School that fall. Terry Ellis worked for a social media start-up in San Francisco, but through family both knew the north coast. Ellis’ brother Jack still guided rafting trips in the Six River area. Steiner’s father was a lawyer in Redding.

  They traveled along the Klamath in a pickup with a home-made camper shell that belonged to Ellis’ brother. Instead of a single door at the rear of the camper shell, it had two doors that opened out, a modification Jack Ellis made so he could slip a pair of kayaks in and out easily. At night Ellis and Steiner slept in sleeping bags on a piece of four-inch foam with the back doors of the camper open. The river country was generally safe and family and friends said they were careful where they parked.

  The sleeping bags, with Ellis and Steiner inside them, plus the foam underneath, everything got dragged out the back. They hit the ground in their sleeping bags and fought—or that’s what Voight, the Siskiyou County investigator concluded.

  Steiner was shot and stabbed and never made it out of her sleeping bag but did make a 911 call from her cell phone and talked eleven seconds with a dispatcher before the phone disconnected.

  Ellis took off running. Her body was found in the Klamath River half submerged about a third of a mile away. She ran most of that distance with a bullet wound in her right upper hip and another high in her left shoulder.

  ‘How does the man with you know where the gun is?’

  ‘He’s not with me.’

  ‘I can set up a meeting with the Siskiyou County investigator if he wants to come in and talk. That’s what should happen. Why don’t we do that? I’ll meet you in Yreka at the sheriff’s office? If you’re good with that I’ll leave Sacramento in the next ten minutes.’

  ‘He wants you to back off your investigation.’

  ‘What investigation?’

  ‘He wants you to stay out of Vancouver and LA and says you’ll know what he’s talking about. He said to tell you that you had a close call a month ago in the Washougal Basin and that you were lucky.’

  ‘If I’m going to do anything about this call he needs to start talking.’

  ‘We’re about to lose connection, Lieutenant.’

  ‘Then pull over to the side of the road. I need more before trying to convince anyone to search for this gun, and here’s my message to the guy in the car with you. I’m coming for you. I’m getting closer and I will find you.’

  Marquez heard the jarring thud of a car wheel hitting a pothole. The tire sound changed and he guessed they had turned onto dirt road and this was where cell connection would end. But he was wrong. There was one last thing said, a man’s voice calm and so quiet Marquez had to replay the tape of the call several times before he was certain of what he had heard.

  ‘This is Rider and the tip is real. I’m giving it to you as a last warning, Marquez. I’m not going to let you keep looking for me. What happened to those two women could happen to you. You’ll drive down a dirt road one day and just disappear. Back off now or that’s how it will end.’

  Marquez didn’t get to respond. The caller broke the connection. But that didn’t matter; he would have said the same thing again.

  ‘I will find you.’

  TWO

  At dawn Marquez was seventy miles north-east of Portland at Condit Dam standing in gray light and cold with a Washington Fish and Wildlife warden named Donna Kinsell. A Klickitat County deputy was also there, though Marquez doubted the deputy would get out of his car again. He had already reminded them they were allowed four hours, not a second longer, to search the riverbank. He followed at a distance now as they left in Kinsell’s truck, backtracking on the dam road to a steep trail that led down from the road to the river.

  Marquez didn’t get anywhere with the FBI. His guess was they Googled the river, saw plenty of rock and bends and, after weighing the likelihood that the call was a hoax, decided to offer expedited ballistics testing should anything turn up. In the bed of Kinsell’s truck were a metal detector and a folding shovel. After they parked, he slid the shovel into his pack and cinched it tight enough to keep the shovel handle straight. He picked up the metal detector and Kinsell clipped a radio onto her belt and explained the rules again, pretty much a repeat of what the deputy said at the dam but with an edge of her own.

  ‘When we get the radio call we leave. If we don’t get the call we leave at eleven thirty.’

  Marquez left that alone and they started down. The land was wet from recent rain, the trees pungent despite the cold, the trail rocky, narrow and slippery. He carried the metal detector in his left hand and gripped tree branches with his right as he descended. As they reached the river Kinsell waited for him to lead.

  ‘You’re the man with the tip.’

  They started upriver, Kinsell monitoring her GPS and pushing for more information on why the tip call came to him. He told her about Rider’s animal trafficking and the investigation a year and a half ago that led to a failed Special Operations bust and how when the SOU pulled back he took over the open file.

  ‘How big is this smuggling operation?’

  ‘Big. Rider runs the Wal-Mart of wildlife trafficking. You can get just about anything.’

  On her Garmin she had the river and the dam and when they reached the point where they were exactly three quarters of a mile from the dam she called it out.

  ‘We’re where your tipster said the rocks are, so what do you want to do?’

  There was no bend, no rocks jutting, and it was cold. Her cheeks had two red spots. He checked his phone and saw they had burned an hour and twenty minutes of the four hours they were allowed.

  ‘Let’s keep going toward the dam.’

  ‘So we’re going to forget about the three quarters of a mile your tipster told you?’

  ‘Maybe they were a little off.’

  ‘Or maybe your anonymous caller made it all up so this Rider could talk to you.’

  ‘Maybe, but we’re not going to leave yet.’

  As they got inside of a third of a mile from the dam, Kinsell was ready to call it off and climb the bank to the road.

  ‘The directions you got don’t match up with anything here. We’re wasting our time and we’ve only got another half-hour anyway. We need ten minutes just to climb out of here.’

  The radio call came not long after. He watched Kinsell pull the radio from her belt.

  ‘Roger that, we’re pulling out now.’

  She hooked the radio back on and her voice took on more authority.

  ‘We’re done. It’s time to back away from the river. Follow me.’

  Marquez pointed upriver to the next bend where a bench of gray rock leaned into the current.

  ‘I’m going to check that spot up there first. Those rocks look like what she described and I think we’ve got a safe fifteen minutes. That call to pull out was early.’

  ‘Don’t even go there.’

  She squared off and faced him, her body language like something she would use making an arrest. A bright blonde ponytail fell between her shoulder blades and Marquez saw the confrontation coming, but he was still going to check out the roc
ks ahead.

  ‘We gave our word, and that might not matter to you because you’ll fly home, but this is where I live and work, so we leave together. If you screw with what we agreed to, you’re messing with me and you don’t want to do that.’

  Marquez waited to see if there was more and then let her know he was going to the next bend. He tightened the pack straps. He looked at her face flushed from clambering over rocks and wading through brush looking for something that probably wasn’t here and listened as her voice became loud and firm.

  ‘Let’s go, Lieutenant. You don’t make the calls here and the way I hear it you’re not running the undercover team in California anymore either. We leave now.’

  Marquez turned from her. The comment bothered him and he didn’t want her to read that on his face. It also would not take long to sweep the small sandbar ahead with the metal detector.

  ‘You’re out of state here, Lieutenant. You’re not pulling my reputation down with yours.’

  ‘Then take your reputation with you up to your truck and radio and tell them I wouldn’t leave. I’ll be up on the road before noon. You don’t need to wait for me. I’ll walk back to the dam.’

  ‘I’m ordering you.’

  ‘I hear you and I’m still going to check one last spot.’

  She threw the radio to him with an underhand motion then turned away with a look of disgust, her face scarlet with anger. Marquez picked up the radio and moved upriver. At the next bend a muddy sandbar lay behind gray rocks leaning into the river. He switched on the metal detector and swept the sandbar but there was no ping and he stepped back and thought about where he would dig if it were him. He looked at the dam up ahead, gray-white in sunlight, 125 feet tall, and then looked again at the boil of water behind the gray rocks and stepped back onto the soft sandy mud.

  He sank a few inches with each step and this time worked his way up closer to the bank so the arc of the metal detector swung up over the rocky soil of the riverbank. He got a ping just as the radio came again, static, and then, ‘Are you both clear of the area?’

  ‘This is Marquez and I’m still on the river. Warden Kinsell should be almost to the road. I’m on one last spot and then I’m out.’