Swift Horses Racing Read online

  He hadn’t slept. From the time he’d gone to bed until 5 a.m. when she’d gotten up. Alone on his side of the bed with his obsessive thoughts. Branching out in a hundred different possibilities. Had she met someone? What would happen now? Would she leave? He had seen it in her eyes. A wall. The partition had slid down, indicating that she was no longer accessible to him.

  He lay in the bed pretending to be asleep until she walked out, her bag over her shoulder, and shut the door quietly behind her.

  There were things he needed to think about today. He’d do what he could to assess the situation and take the action required. He had no proof of anything, just an instinct. But he’d solved cases on instinct.

  He pulled himself out of the bed, feeling a heaviness in his body and a deadness in his brain. Sleep wasn’t going to happen at this point. He got up and went out to the kitchen. In the fridge Reyna had left a packed thermal lunch bag for Jacky and a brown paper lunch bag for him—with the standard fat-free yogurt, carrots and cardboard-like crackers. When he opened it to look, it struck him that he’d never once thought of this daily lunch as an act of kindness. He’d only seen it as a slam against him, a statement from her that he needed to lose weight.

  He poured himself a glass of orange juice and drank it, as he looked at the photos pinned to the fridge door with misshapen clay magnets Jacky had made in school. A photo of Reyna and the other hygienists from work. Jacky as a toddler in overalls, one strap hanging down, his hair sticking up off his head. Then one of he and Reyna, on the ice with a hockey stick in her hand at a Sharks game.

  Ruiz carefully washed out his glass and put in in the dish rack. Then he went to wake Jacky up and start the slow process of getting him dressed, fed and ready to take to school.

  It wasn’t till Ruiz got to the MVPD station, via a drive-thru Starbucks to get a large vanilla latte, that he noticed he had a message on his phone from an unfamiliar number. He clicked to listen to the voice mail and heard Duke Sorenson’s earnest voice, sounding cracked and agitated. He’d found out something about Karl Schuler. It was important and he had to tell someone.

  “I need to talk to you, Detective. I know I should call Detective Flores, but I feel more comfortable talking to you. Can you please call me? I’m about to head over to meet with the donut gang.”

  Ruiz checked the time receipt for the message. Duke had left it forty minutes ago. He hit call back. Ruiz had taken a liking to the old guy, but he also needed to tell him that if this was something important to the case, Flores was the one to call.

  The phone rang several times. Ruiz pressed end.

  Ruiz sat back and scrolled through a report on a burglary he was about to file. Once he sent off the report, he went back to his phone and called Duke again.

  No answer.

  Somewhere Ruiz had Arnie Tan’s card, from his meeting with the donut gang the day after Karl’s death. The guy had mentioned he had season tickets to the Giants, and he sometimes gave away what he couldn’t use.

  He opened his wallet and flipped through the stack of cards. He’d give Arnie a call and see if he could let Duke know he’d called.

  Arnie answered after a couple of rings. Ruiz explained that Duke had called and said he was on his way to meet with the gang.

  “I haven’t heard from Duke. Marty said he saw Rose at Karl’s house this morning. She said Duke was sick and wouldn’t be coming.”

  Ruiz frowned. Duke, with his old school manners, would have called to tell him about this change of plans. He also knew that Duke wasn’t a guy to ignore phone calls. If he was home sick, he’d be answering his phone.

  “I’ll talk to Flores. He can send a patrol or go check on Duke himself.”

  “Wait a sec.” Arnie paused. “Duke’s daughter Kathleen is always checking up on her father. Drives him crazy. She’s got an app on her phone that tracks him. Whyn’t I give her a call. I’ll get right back to you.”

  While he waited for Arnie to get back to him, Ruiz called Flores.

  “Hey, Ruiz. What’s up?” Flores sounded suspicious.

  “Duke Sorenson called me, told me he found out something upsetting about Karl Schuler. He told me he was heading over to the donut shop to meet with the gang. Then Rose Mulvaney told Marty Weber that Duke called it off. But nobody’s heard from Duke.”

  “Duke should have called me.” Flores sounded ticked off. “I’ve been on the case all morning.”

  “Yeah, I told him that.” Ruiz raised his eyebrows. He heard a beep that he had another call. “Hold on.”

  “Detective Ruiz? Arnie again. Kathleen got back to me.”

  “Did she find Duke?”

  “She checked the location app. Could this be accurate? It’s pretty strange.”

  Ruiz listened, then thanked Arnie.

  He got back on the line with Flores.

  “I’ve got some time. You want to take a drive? Duke Sorenson’s on top of Mr. Umunhum.”

  Ruiz checked in with the captain and told him he needed to take a break to help a friend. He filed the report he needed to get out today. Then he left a message, so Grasso could follow up on one of his cases.

  Duke Sorenson belonged on top of Mt. Umunhum just like Karl Schuler belonged on the expressway at 1:30 a.m. on New Year’s. The mountain loomed over the west side of the valley, a high point on the Santa Cruz Mountain range. The strange location along with Duke’s new information about Karl Schuler were connected. Duke didn’t go for a drive up the mountain by himself.

  A half hour later, Flores met him at the MVPD front desk, and they headed to his car in the back lot. Flores looked pale and tense. Angsty. Like an emo kid.

  “You ok?” Ruiz called across the top of the car at Flores.

  “Yeah. Been a crazy couple of days.” Flores shook his head and got into the passenger seat. “I just got some news from CSI. The tire treads on Rose Mulvaney’s Honda Accord match those we found in Morgan Hill near the burned SUV.”

  “I didn’t expect that.” Ruiz knew Christoph Schuler had a part in this. He wasn’t sure about Rose Mulvaney. He pulled out of the lot and headed for Highway 85 South, against the commute at this time of the day.

  Flores got on his radio and told the dispatcher to tell the Santa Clara County Sheriff’s Department to send a car up Mt. Umunhum--and to approach the scene with caution.

  Ruiz shot a look at Flores as soon as he completed the call.

  “You want to fill me in?”

  “Christoph Schuler is a suspect in the murder of his father.” Flores leaned back in the seat and rubbed his eyes. “He flew in before Christmas and then on New Year’s Eve. We also got a copy of his army records. He trained as a sniper during his tour of duty.”

  Ruiz remembered Rose’s wall of framed photos. The photo of a blond, blue-eyed soldier with a military rifle in his hands. A young Christoph Schuler. A man trained to kill quickly and accurately. A man who was feeling like a cornered animal right now.

  “If he’s up there with Duke, we’ll need some help.”

  Flores nodded, his face looking grim.

  49

  Ruiz impatiently passed cars ambling with midday ease down Highway 85, as he headed for the Camden Avenue exit.

  “I want to hear what Duke has to say about Karl Schuler.” Ruiz passed a slow-moving car in the fast lane. “The guy was upset.”

  “No clue as to what it was?” Flores checked his fancy Apple watch.

  “I would have told you if I did.” Ruiz heard a snap in his own voice.

  Ruiz pulled onto the exit ramp and headed down Camden. Years ago, this had been the far southwestern boundary of the valley, older established neighborhoods with good schools. The green, forested hills seemed exotic compared to the bare, often parched brown hills of the east side of the valley.

  Flores then took out his phone and began fiddling with it. From a sideways glance it looked like Flores was texting. Then he quickly switched to GPS.

  “Thirty minutes up to the top.” Flores finally looked up
from his phone. “Hope Duke’s still around by the time we get there.”

  “I hiked there a few months ago with Jacky. We lost reception as we got near the top.” Ruiz gave him an amused look as he turned onto Hicks Road and they began the climb up the mountain. Why would someone need a phone and an Apple watch?

  Flores was edgy and distracted. Ruiz wanted to tease him out of it. He missed the camaraderie he’d had with Flores in the beginning. Now, no banter. Little eye contact. Flores had pulled back in the past week.

  As they headed up the mountain, Ruiz thought about last night. Reyna’s face when she came in the door more than an hour late from her meeting. He pushed it out of his mind. He needed to focus right now.

  The road twisted and grew narrow as they climbed higher. The windshield wipers were losing the battle against the sheets of rain, as they climbed higher into the hills. There was a cool, earthy smell in the air. They’d left flocks of seagulls in their wake as they passed the turnoff for the dump. A few persistent ones flew idle circles now, as if scouring the landscape for a discard or handout. Or a body.

  They were nearing the top, when Flores’s radio crackled.

  The dispatcher.

  “Sheriff reports three people at the lookout. A hostage situation. One has a gun and is threatening to shoot. Sheriff deputy is trying to negotiate. Check in at the top and proceed with caution.”

  Duke fought off his sleepiness and tried to remain standing, swaying on weak legs as the wind and rain whipped at him. He waved his arms up and down, like those floppy nylon wind-socks, just to keep his circulation going.

  He knew he was in the early stages of hypothermia.

  Christoph looked like he wasn’t sure what the hell Duke was doing. He eyed him suspiciously and kept his hand clenched on the gun, still aimed at Duke.

  As he tried to keep moving, Duke became aware of something that he had not been sure of in two years.

  He wanted to live.

  Since Joanne died, there were times when he’d felt tired. Tired and obsolete. As if he didn’t belong in the valley he’d worked in for so many years.

  But now he thought of his apartment and the friends he had left, of his children and grandchildren, and of Kathleen, who wanted to run his life.

  He wanted to walk away from this and go watch Nick and Nora Charles. Tend to his still-alive plants. Try to play a video game with his grandkids. Listen to his kids complain about their jobs.

  He didn’t want Christoph Schuler to kill him. He had more time than this.

  And he wanted to live it.

  About a minute ago, a Sheriff’s car had pulled into the circle and parked by the Cube. Duke practically wet himself with relief. They would come and disarm Christoph, talk through this and maybe even realize that Christoph and Rose had killed their father. Since he’d been keeping his focus on Duke, Christoph hadn’t seen the sheriff yet.

  The sheriff walked about half the way towards them on the overlook. A young and slightly stocky man. From the sudden look of alertness on his face, Duke saw he’d spotted Christoph’s gun, at a distance. He had his own pulled out.

  “Deputy Jeffrey Chan, Santa Clara County Sheriff. Drop the gun, sir. Lay it down on the pavement right here. Then we can talk.”

  Christoph did not move. Rose started crying.

  Looking straight at Deputy Chan, Christoph poked the barrel again into Duke’s side.

  “I’m killing him, if you don’t let us get to our car and leave.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on with you, sir? Maybe I can help. Talk to me.”

  Duke had gone beyond the chattering stage and felt foggy and disoriented. He was afraid he’d lose the ability to stand up soon, and any move would cause Christoph to pull the trigger.

  Through the rain, Duke thought he saw a car slowly round the corner into the lot. He desperately hoped it was real. At this angle, he had a better view than Christoph, who was still focused on Deputy Chan. Detective Ruiz was driving, and it looked like Flores was with him.

  Duke wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing for the standoff. More people with guns seemed like more of a chance someone would get shot. Duke turned his eyes back toward Chan, to keep from alerting Christoph to the police presence.

  Duke saw Ruiz and Flores park to the side, on an angle where Christoph would have to turn around and take his focus off Chan to see them. They quietly stepped out and crouched down. Both pulled out guns and crept back behind the car.

  “Tell me about this person here.” Chan asked. “What’s his name?”

  “Why the hell should I tell you? Let us go, and no one gets hurt.”

  Christoph spoke contemptuously, as if he knew Chan was trying to distract him with small talk.

  In the corner of his eye, Duke saw Ruiz and Flores move along the edge of the parking lot, heading their way. He hoped against hope that they wouldn’t startle Christoph.

  Once Ruiz and Flores were about fifteen feet away, he saw Flores nod at Chan, who stepped back.

  “Christoph, this is Detective Mario Flores, San Jose Homicide. I know about Karl.”

  Christoph’s head snapped to the right, to Flores, and the gun barrel dropped, no longer pointed at Duke.

  There was a look of horror on his face. Christoph Schuler was seeing his options disappear. Any chance of walking away from this with the ability to return to Florida and continue his campaign. Any chance of staying out of prison.

  Christophe took the gun away from Duke’s side. Then as they all watched, he calmly put the gun to the side of his head and stepped to the edge of the lookout, by the drop.

  It happened so quickly, it took Flores, Ruiz and Deputy Chan by surprise. They rushed forward, then stopped abruptly. The shot rang out, echoing like a crack of thunder.

  Rose screamed and dropped to the ground. Christoph Schuler’s body tumbled into the ravine below.

  50

  County Search and Rescue arrived to recover Christoph Schuler’s body.

  Ruiz stood to the side for a while, watching Flores in the outlook shelter, tapping away on his tablet and making calls—the start of the long process of wrapping up the case. Over the next few weeks, Flores would be very busy, writing the novel equivalent of reports. But unlike Ruiz, Flores enjoyed that kind of work.

  Today the mountain had accepted the sacrifice of Christoph’s death, and the cycle of deceit and death that started seventy-five years ago inside another mountain had ended.

  At 12:30, Ruiz tapped Flores on the shoulder. Flores’s face had the look of a man who’d just come out on the other side of a war, one he wasn’t sure he’d won or lost.

  “No worries, man. I’ll catch a ride back to the station. I’ll be here a while.”

  Ruiz got in his car and got ready to head down the mountain. Once he started the car, he looked at his messages. He noticed a voice mail from an unfamiliar number. He wasn’t able to access it till he got farther down the mountain and his Bluetooth reconnected.

  He accessed the message through the car’s screen and tapped to play it.

  “This is James Ruiz from MVPD, right? My name is Mandy Dirkson. We’ve seen each other at Someplace a few times. I have some information I think you should know. Call me back. I’m out of the office, and I can talk.”

  Ruiz felt that feeling in his gut, the kind he got when things slid into place and he was heading to the end of a hunt. Suspicions and glimmers of truth now fell in line, dovetailing neatly together. It left a sinking feeling in his stomach, but his head now felt a rush of relief.

  He hit the callback button, passed the sheriff personnel with a wave, and continued down the mountain.

  Their meeting at Someplace the next night would be short and neither of them would linger. Ruiz took a seat at the table, near the bar, making sure he faced the door. The place was busy, with the game just about to start. In the corner, Joe Descortes sat with a dispatcher and a couple of guys who looked young enough to be in the academy.

  Tara h
ad just delivered Ruiz his beer. The smell of the buttered popcorn turned his stomach tonight, so he refused the bowl when she brought it by.

  Flores came in looking disoriented. He spotted Ruiz at the table and headed his way, with a kind of a resolute forward lurch, as if his mind knew he needed to be here, but his body was making the trip unwillingly.

  When Flores took a seat on the stool, Ruiz saw that his eyes were red. He could have been crying tears of remorse. He could have been smoking weed. Which one, Ruiz didn’t give a shit.

  He leveled a look at Flores, took his time and made sure the young man was focused on him.

  “I know.”

  Flores face turned white, but he didn’t look away.

  “It happened so fast—and I’m sorry, man I just blew it—“

  “Shut the fuck up. Listen to me and do what I say.”

  Flores’ face looked drained. His shirt hung loosely on his shoulders. His eyes started to water.

  “Okay.”

  “You will not call Reyna. You will not message her. You will not check her Facebook page. You will have no contact with her. If I find out you have—and I have my ways—you’re dead meat.” Ruiz had wanted to say the word my wife, but it would not come out. He could not make himself say it.

  “Jimmy. I’m so—“

  “Shut the fuck up. I don’t want to hear it.”

  “I messed up, Jimmy.”

  At least there was that. Some claim of personal responsibility. Ruiz wanted to know it existed, but a friendship with Flores was not on his list of things to save right now.

  “That’s it, Flores. Now get the fuck out.”

  Flores headed out the way he’d come. Just like that.

  Ruiz finished his beer. When the cheers and whoops for the Warriors’ score rose around him, he couldn’t take it anymore. He left his tip at the bar and headed for his car.

  Duke opened the book to read the last entry again. He wished he could have copied it. Memorized it.

  Karl Schuler’s Journal