Bullseye (4 page)

But the last case they worked together was different. That time they’d been looking for evidence to prove that he didn’t kill his wife. And they’d nearly come up empty-handed.

His throat suddenly dry, he swallowed and asked, “Any ID on the weapon yet?”

“Haven’t heard anything. I can check, though, and let you know.”

“Thanks. Another thing. We seemed to have picked up a tail, a goon in a black Impala.”

“Really?” Parker straightened, his forehead creasing. “Do you think this has anything to do with the case against the kid?”

Mason exchanged a glance with Karina. “Yeah. I do.”

Parker blew out a breath in a long, steady stream. “You get a tag?”

“Not yet. But if he shows up again, I may need some help.”

He found himself the object of a long, sober stare.

“If this is true—” Parker held up a hand to forestall an argument “— and I don’t doubt you at all, then that puts a whole different slant on the case. If this guy shows up again, you’ll call me, right?”

Mason allowed himself a grim smile. His old partner had lost none of his edge. Mason understood the implications immediately. If the guy watching Karina had anything to do with Alex, then that would almost guarantee that Alex was mixed up with some sort of gang. He glanced at Karina, who was watching him with questions in her eyes.

“You bet I will,” he assured Parker.

“Hey, listen, do you need a place to stay?” Parker’s gaze slid toward Karina, then turned back to Mason. A sly grin twisted his lips. “I mean, unless you two are…” He waggled his eyebrows.

“No, we’re not,” Karina said loudly at the same time Mason said, “It’s not like that.”

Parker’s eyes rounded, while Mason avoided looking toward the sofa. An awkward silence descended on the room. So far he and Karina had avoided discussing their previous relationship, and Mason preferred to keep it that way. Though he had loved Karina once, a chasm stretched between that time and now, a ravine filled with guilt and painful words and unforgiven injuries. He couldn’t imagine opening himself up to love another woman again. Margie was still so much a part of his life, still very much alive in his memories. But if he did ever manage to have romantic feelings for another woman, it wouldn’t be Karina. Margie’s presence was one of those ghosts Caleb was referring to, and she would always hover between them.

“So anyway.” Parker’s voice cut through the silence. “If you need a place to stay while you’re in town, I’ve got a couple of spare rooms upstairs. There’s even a bed in one of them, and you’re welcome to it. But not until tomorrow. Today’s my day off, and I’m having a party tonight.” He leaned sideways across the arm of his chair toward Mason and winked. “A private party.”

On the couch Karina emitted a grunt of disgust and rolled her eyes expansively.

Mason ignored her. “Thanks. I might take you up on that.” Not only would it save a couple of bucks, if he and Parker could spend a few hours alone talking about the case without Karina around, they might come up with something helpful.

They spent a few minutes catching up on old friends Mason had forgotten existed. Talking to Parker was like opening the pages of an old photo album. Faces rose in his mind like ancient photographs. Old cases they worked together. Incidents recorded in distant memory replayed, most of them good. He’d almost forgotten that he did have a life in Albuquerque apart from Margie. Apart from Karina.

Long before he was finished with his stroll down memory lane, Karina’s patience evaporated. She stood abruptly and shouldered her purse.

“We need to go.” The statement was more than a demand.

“Uh, yeah. I guess we’ll leave you to get ready for your date.” Mason got to his feet and held out his hand toward Parker. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”

“Sounds good.” When Parker released his hand, they headed toward the door, Karina in the lead. “Do me one favor, would you?”

“Of course.” Mason turned at the front to face his friend. “Name it.”

Parker’s gaze dropped away. “If you happen to run into Detective Grierson, don’t say anything about me helping you.”

Grierson. The mention of the familiar name hit Mason like a slab of concrete from the sky. From the moment he’d agreed to come to Albuquerque yesterday, that was one person he had avoided thinking of, even though the name of his former sergeant dangled at the edges of his mind like a hand grenade without a pin, waiting to explode.

So Sergeant Grierson was now Detective Grierson. A different rank than the one he’d held as Mason’s boss, with weightier responsibilities. If Grierson had possessed the power of a detective four years ago, Mason would no doubt be in prison right now.

“No fears about that,” Mason assured him. “I’m going to do everything I can not to run into Grierson.”

“Probably a good idea.”

On the way to the driveway Mason studied the street in both directions. No sign of the Impala, or any other suspicious-looking vehicles. The fact didn’t make him feel much better, though. The absence of a watching goon didn’t mean there wasn’t one there. It might mean they’d decided to change their observation tactics to stealth mode. And that they were good at it.

SIX

K
arina seated herself and slammed the car door closed. “Alex is not on drugs,” she told Mason with a glare that dared him to disagree. “I would have seen some sign.”

Mason snapped his seat belt without looking at her. “Some kids who use drugs get to be pretty good at covering their tracks. Alex has always been a smart kid. Parents, or guardians in your case, are often the last to know.”

Fury roiled up inside her, so huge that she almost couldn’t breathe. How dare he come here after four years and assume he knew
anything
about Alex? Or about her, for that matter?

She tightened her grip on the steering wheel and forced air into her lungs. A familiar buzz filled her head, a sign of elevated blood pressure. If she didn’t calm down soon, she’d end up having a stroke like the one that killed her father.

Mason wasn’t the bad guy here. She needed to keep reminding herself of that, and stop letting her anger over the past affect her ability to deal with him now. He’d come at her request, and he wanted to help Alex.

Lord, I’m not handling this situation well. Please help me to stay calm. And if there is something about Alex I need to know, please help me to see the truth.

There. She felt the blood pressure buzz begin to recede as she drew in deep, slow breaths. Prayer was the best thing she could do, for herself and for Alex. Sometimes she forgot that.

“I understand that,” she admitted. Mason looked up at her, his expression skeptical. “Really. But you don’t know Alex like I do. I’m not just his guardian, I’m his sister. He tells me everything, especially since Papa died.”

“Blood tests don’t lie.” His words, spoken in a soft, compassionate voice, cut deeper than a razor blade.

“Maybe there was a mistake at the lab,” she shot back. “They could have gotten Alex’s blood mixed up with someone else’s.”

His compassion turned to pity, and showed on his face. Tears threatened, and she blinked furiously to control them as she turned the key to start the car. She was grasping at straws, and they both knew it. She put the car in Reverse and zoomed out of the driveway.

“Where are we going?” Mason asked as she sped away from Parker Harding’s house.

“To talk to José’s mother. I have to know if she suspected José of being on drugs.”

What Karina really meant was she had to know if she really was as clueless about Alex’s activities as it was starting to look. But she saw no reason to admit that to Mason.

* * *

The Garcias lived in a small, cracker-box-shaped house in a neighborhood a few blocks from Karina’s apartment. She’d been there a couple of times to pick up José and chauffeur the boys to the movie theater, or to a church youth group event.

The homes that lined the block weren’t nearly as nice as those in Parker Harding’s neighborhood. No grass grew in the yards, though a few sported enough dust-colored weeds to resemble a lawn. Rusty cars lined the curb. Karina followed a school bus down the street and watched as the bus disgorged dozens of mostly Hispanic children who walked away in small clusters. She parked the car at the curb in front of the Garcias’ house and cut the engine. Silence settled in the interior of the car as they both inspected the door and the closed blinds at the windows. For some reason the house looked forlorn and sad. School children stared through the windshield as they walked past on the sidewalk.

“José has several brothers and sisters,” Karina said, watching the kids walk by the house. “I guess they aren’t going to school this week.”

“When’s the funeral?” Mason’s voice was quiet, subdued, as he stared at the front door.

“Tomorrow.” The knots in Karina’s stomach tightened and churned. Her memories of Mama’s funeral when Alex was a baby were vague, fogged over by the pain of loss. Papa’s funeral was fresher, having occurred just last year. That was horribly sad, of course, but how much sadder would a funeral for a fourteen-year-old boy be?

Her nerves danced with anxious thoughts. How would Mr. and Mrs. Garcia receive them? If they believed the police report and the terrible accusations reported in the newspaper and on television the past few days, they might not be happy about a visit from the sister of the boy accused of murdering their son.

I have to convince them that Alex didn’t do it.

Her determination settled, she took the keys from the ignition. “Are you ready?”

“Might as well get it over with.” Mason’s tight-lipped expression told her he felt just as anxious as she did. For some reason that made her feel a tiny bit better.

They exited the car. Karina fidgeted with a lock of unruly hair as she crossed the yard. What would she say to Mrs. Garcia? There were no words, English or Spanish, to express the depth of her sympathy.

The front door opened before they’d approached the small concrete square that served as a porch. A Hispanic woman flew out, and in the next minute Karina found herself caught up in a smothering embrace, Mrs. Garcia’s sobs filling her ears.

“No lo creó,”
she muttered over and over.
“Alex no haría esta cosa.”
I don’t believe it. Alex would not do this thing.

Relief welled up from deep within Karina as Mrs. Garcia’s words fell on her ears.
She doesn’t believe the lies!
She held the woman and sobbed with relief and in shared grief.

“Gracias.”
She repeated multiple times as their grief found mutual release.
“Gracias.”

She gradually became aware that a man stood in the doorway watching them. Short and lean, his narrow face was drawn and haggard. José’s father. His expression held the same deep grief as his wife’s, his eyes red with unshed tears. Standing beside her, Mason shuffled his feet in the dirt and weeds, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, his gaze wandering up and down the street.

Mrs. Garcia pulled back, though she did not release Karina’s arm. “Come inside. Have a cold drink. We talk, you and I.”

Karina turned an unspoken command toward Mason to follow her as she was pulled forward and through the front door. Mr. Garcia stepped back to let them enter, then closed the door behind them, his movements slow and heavy.

She looked at the man as she performed the introductions. “Mr. and Mrs. Garcia, this is my friend, Mason Sinclair. He flew here from Atlanta this morning to try to help me figure out what really happened the night José was—” a hard swallow “—killed.”

Mr. Garcia maintained his silence while he shook Mason’s hand. Then José’s mother released Karina to pull Mason into a tight embrace. She collapsed over his shoulder, crying over and over,
“¡Mi hijo!”
My son!

Mason tossed a startled glance toward Karina, and then patted the woman’s back awkwardly as she cried.

After a moment she pulled away. “
Lo siento.
I am sorry to cry on you,
señor.
”

“Uh, no problem.” He glanced at José’s father and ducked his head. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

A trio of faces appeared at the doorway as Mrs. Garcia invited them to be seated on the couch. José’s brothers and sister. Karina smiled in their direction. The little girl, probably around four, giggled and disappeared down the hallway at a run. The two boys followed more slowly, their expressions solemn.

“Alex is a good boy, a good friend to José,” Mrs. Garcia told Karina as soon as they were seated. “I tell the
policía
, but they arrest him anyway.”

“Thank you for doing that.” Karina glanced at Mason, who sat there with his lips a tight, silent line. It looked like the talking would be up to her this time. “Mrs. Garcia, do you know what happened that night? When did the boys leave the house?”

The woman shook her head. “I did not hear them leave. They were watching the television. We go to bed around ten o’clock.” She glanced at her husband for confirmation, and he nodded. “The police wake us up at three to tell us our José is dead. Shot with a gun.” Fresh tears filled her eyes.

So they hadn’t heard the boys leave the house. She hesitated before asking the next question. What if they hadn’t been told the results of the lab report yet? She didn’t want to be the one to tell them that their son had drugs in his system.

“Have you noticed any changes in José lately? Anything at all?”

Both parents nodded without hesitation.

“He has money now. He gives us money for the food, and the…” She waved her hand toward the lamp, searching for a word. “The electric. And he buy clothes and toys for the little ones.”

Mason had apparently decided to break his silence. “Did you ask him how he came by the money?”

“He get a job, work after school and every Saturday.” Mr. Garcia spoke for the first time, his voice a high tenor, his accent even more prominent than his wife’s. “A good boy, my José. A hard worker.”

Mason leaned forward and rested his arms on his thighs. “Where did he work?”

“Casa del Sol Restaurante. He clean the tables, wash the dishes, sweep the floor, whatever they want him to do. He never complain.”

“Do you mind telling me how much money he gave you?”

Karina narrowed her eyes. Where was he going with that question?

“Three hundred dollars every month.” The man straightened in his chair, his chest swelling with pride. “Is makes more than me.”

Three hundred dollars? Karina was impressed. Alex had also gotten a job at the beginning of the summer, bagging groceries and stocking shelves at a small grocery store in the neighborhood. He had also given her money to help with the bills, about thirty dollars a week. Karina had felt guilty taking that, because it was more than half of his take-home pay.

“Hmm.” Mason nodded. “Any other changes? Was he moodier than normal the last few months? Depressed, maybe?”

Both shook their heads.

Mason pushed. “Or overly energetic?”

Karina gave him a cautious look. The Garcias needed to hear about the blood test from the police, not from them.

Again they shook their heads.

“And no fights with Alex,” Mrs. Garcia added. She looked at Karina. “The
policía
ask, and we tell them. Alex is like a brother to José.”

Before Karina could thank her, the doorbell chimed. Mrs. Garcia leaped up from her chair and rushed to answer. Another woman stood on the front stoop, a big covered bowl in her hands and a mournful expression on her face.

“Apesadumbrado para su pérdida.”
I’m sorry for your loss.

At the woman’s expression of sympathy, José’s mother once again dissolved into tears. The grief offering was passed off to Mr. Garcia while the two women embraced, their tears mingled. The spicy aroma of cooked onions and peppers filled the small room.

Karina caught Mason’s eye. It was time to leave. She’d
accomplished what she wanted from the visit, to express her deep sympathy and to make sure the Garcias didn’t blame Alex for their son’s death. Mason nodded, and they stood.

“Thank you for talking with us,” Karina told Mr. Garcia. She gave the woman a final hug, and said, “You will be in my prayers.”

“Gracias,”
she muttered before returning to her new visitor. “And Alex will be in mine.”

Karina left the house, Mason close on her heels. Neither of them spoke until they were in the car and heading down the road.

“Remind me never to do that again. My shirt is soaked from all those tears.” His voice snapped with irritation.

She glanced sideways at him, angered by his tone. A sharp retort died on her lips when she caught sight of his strained expression. No doubt he’d found the visit upsetting. The Garcias’ grief probably stirred up memories of his own loss.

He hasn’t gotten over his wife’s death.

The thought brought none of the anger she occasionally still felt when she thought of Mason’s wife. Instead compassion stirred within her. He must have loved her very much to still feel her loss so keenly after four years. How hard these past years must have been for him.

She schooled her voice. “Well, at least we know the Garcias don’t think Alex shot their son.”

She pressed on the gas pedal, and the car responded sluggishly.
Oh no. I hope it’s not getting ready to die again. I can’t afford a big car repair bill.

“Not only that,” Mason replied, “but we found out something even more important. José had a lot of money recently.”

She glanced at him and pumped the gas pedal to keep the engine from dying. “Of course he did. He got a job at the beginning of the summer, just like Alex.”

“Oh, come on. You don’t think he made three hundred dollars a month working after school and on Saturdays, do you? Plus they said he was buying clothes and stuff for the younger kids on top of that. Minimum wage for students in New Mexico is $6.38 an hour. Even if his boss was paying him regular minimum wage, which is $7.50, you have to figure in taxes and social security and all that stuff. He would have had to be putting in a lot of hours.”

It was true. Karina saw that immediately. Alex didn’t bring home nearly that much, and she didn’t think José had worked any more hours than Alex.

“So if he didn’t get the money from his job, where did he get it?” She hated to ask the question, because she already knew Mason’s answer before he said it.

“He could have been selling drugs.” He glanced sideways at her. “Which might mean Alex was involved too.”

Even though she’d anticipated his answer, she shook her head. “No. I don’t believe it.”

The car’s forward speed slowed, and she pumped the gas pedal.
No! I can’t afford to have car trouble.

Mason sniffed. “Do you smell gasoline?”

The moment he said the words she realized she’d smelled gas since she’d started the engine.

“I think I’m having car trouble,” she told him. “The engine keeps trying to die.”

“Pull over.” He pointed to an empty place along the curb. “Pop the hood and let me take a look.”

She did as he requested. He put on his sunglasses, got out of the car, and disappeared from view when he raised the hood.

“Give some gas,” his voice shouted.