The Chase (22 page)

S
hortly before noon, Ryan approached Tigo’s desk. “We’ve got an update on Bates’s and Masterson’s foreign holdings. Check your in-box. You should have the same report and phone records.”

Tigo printed out both attachments, and the two men left the area for privacy in an interview room.

Behind closed doors, Tigo studied the findings. “We already know Bates has a petroleum company in South Korea that manufactures oilfield pipe. He also has a subsidiary located in Chad that specializes in pipe able to withstand extreme heat and pressure — a product that only a few companies ever need.”

“Right. Says here the special pipe requires a mineral alloy found only in Chad. That mineral is mined by a company that Masterson owns. This piece is the last step before the pipe’s shipped to the U.S. for use in the Gulf’s deep-water drilling.” Ryan turned the report over. “Bates wasn’t exactly up-front about his relationship with Masterson. Wonder what else he lied about?”

“Probably just enough to keep himself out of hot water. Oilfield pipe might not be the only thing they’re importing into the U.S.” The width of the pipe had to be a problem in shipping the guns. He glanced up at Ryan. “Would they dissemble weapons before shipping?”

“They’d have to. When the pipe is brought into the Port of Houston, the Arroyos could unload the guns and get them into Mexico. Sounds simple enough. All we need to do is prove our speculation.”

“Or find out when the next shipment of pipe arrives from Chad.” Tigo drummed his fingers on the report. “Bates said he heard about a shipment of something from Chicago, which could be a way to throw off the investigation. The FIG can research that further.”

“Masterson and Bates have a lucrative business going on without smuggling guns. Not much overhead since the guns and ammo are brought right to their front door.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem to find out when the next shipment of pipe’s due.”

Ryan leaned back in his chair. “Already did. August 17. Same as Bates reported.”

“Why? Is he trying to eliminate Masterson in the equation? That doesn’t make sense. Unless—” Tigo paused to think through what he suspected. “Bates could want more of a cut. I wonder if he has another source in Chad for the mineral used in the pipe. Do you know what other companies extract it?”

“Worth looking into. Bates could stand to make a whole lot more money without Masterson. And what about who’s tipping us off about Arroyos’ transports into Mexico? Do you think Bates is getting greedy? Possibly looking to the Skulls to find mules?”

“Maybe so,” Tigo said. “He could be trying to get rid of Masterson and at the same time muddying the waters with the Arroyos.” He stood and walked to the window, where sunlight heated the city. “If he’s supplying all the weapons and paying less to get them across the border, he stands to make millions.”

“Yeah, and I think Bates is playing us as his ace,” Ryan said. “He came to us as a concerned citizen. Gave us the dates of the transfer. The pipe is shipped from Chad after the alloy coating, which means Masterson would be nailed for gun smuggling, and Bates could plead innocent. With Masterson’s record, a good attorney could get any charges against Bates dismissed.” He shrugged. “He has proof about coming to us with his suspicions.”

Ryan examined the report again. “My guess is that’s exactly what Bates wants. But if Masterson suspects a double cross, Bates is a dead man.”

“We may be way out there with this, but I’ve got a gut feeling we’re onto something.”

Tigo searched through the phone records. “Bates and Masterson are quite communicative. I’d like to have these other numbers checked out.” He saw a number resembling one he’d examined earlier. “Hold on a minute while I get Wyatt Phillips’s phone records.” Once he returned, he compared them to Bates’s. “Phillips only has one call to Bates. None to Masterson. That theory just died.”

Ryan glanced at his watch. “Linc wants us in his office in ten minutes. We’ve got footage of Bates and Masterson together.”

Upstairs the two men joined Linc. He pointed to his computer screen. “We’re fitting a few pieces together, linking Bates’s Cardinal Ventures’ subsidiary with Masterson’s Mining Company,” Linc said.

“Do you have surveillance reports?” Tigo said.

“We not only have phone records but both men on film. So much for Bates claiming he didn’t talk to Masterson.”

Tigo and Ryan peered into the screen.

“This was taken last Friday,” Linc said. “They left their offices about fifteen minutes apart and drove to The Woodlands where they met up at The Fountains at Waterway Square. Note how they’re on opposite sides of the fountain until Bates receives a call.”

“They must have wondered about being tailed,” Ryan said. “Who did you use?”

Linc laughed. “An Asian gal who mingled with the teens.”

Tigo noted Masterson raising a fist. “Any idea what this is about?”

“Not sure. Our gal wore a wire, but by the time she made it to Bates, the call was over.” Linc pointed to the right side of the screen. “That’s one of Masterson’s bodyguards. A second man stood about fifty feet away, and a third followed Bates to his car.”

“Did he get roughed up?” Tigo said.

“No. Obviously Bates and Masterson aren’t happy about something,” Linc said. “I read the reports. Looks to me like Bates is setting Masterson up — if he lives through it. They talked about twelve minutes, but it didn’t get hot until the end. Bates drove back to the Galleria office, but Masterson had lunch at the Waterway Marriott with his wife.”

“What do you think?” Tigo said.

“Business partners who aren’t getting along. We have additional footage of Bates meeting with two Arroyos on the southeast part of town. Possibly the same two he claimed to see in the parking garage.”

“Setting up Masterson,” Ryan said.

“We’re staying on them,” Linc said. “No point in bringing Bates in again. That would only raise flags. Let’s stay on him and Masterson. See where it goes. How’s the contact for getting you two in position to sell guns?”

“Actually, good,” Tigo said. “Cheeky is examining our credentials. Should know soon. Possibly get a buy going about the time of the next gun shipment.”

“The Arroyos are heated up. Two more Skulls were found last night. Bullets to the head. Execution style.” Linc crossed his arms over his chest. “Watch your backs. I saw Kariss today. Is she ready to make plane reservations and take a vacation out of the state?”

“She’s not budging. I followed her around Saturday and kept her busy Sunday afternoon. But I’m not a babysitter.”

Linc clenched his fist. “Neither do we want her dead.”

T
hursday morning, Kariss settled into her work area at the FBI office and responded to emails, which were decreasing by the day. She jumped in on writer loops — and most days with good input. Yesterday she’d found a site of suspense bloggers who were looking for a seventh writer to complete a week. She applied and waited.

Ever since Kariss had refused Mike McDougal’s advances, she’d read his blog. He edged toward slander against prominent persons in Houston, the state, and the country. Just when she thought he’d forgotten her, trouble brewed. Mom had called her while she was en route to the FBI office this morning and said she’d forgotten to tell her that Mike had phoned the house.

“He said you weren’t answering your phone.”

“Right. He’s a pest. Nasty manners.”

“I’m glad I didn’t tell him where you lived because he asked for that too. I told him I could relay a message.”

“What was his response?”

“He wants you to read today’s blog. Honey, I’ve read what that man writes, and it’s disgusting. I’m surprised someone hasn’t flattened him.”

Kariss laughed, but the backwash of what Mike could do twisted her insides. “When did you start reading his blog? I didn’t think you did much with the computer.”

“Since I heard mention of it on TV news. It’s usually posted midmorning.”

At ten-thirty, Kariss logged onto McDougal Reports.

Sometimes the rich and famous leave their friends behind.

It seems money brings on an air of sophistication that discards relationships like old shoes, unless those persons can add rungs to the career ladder. I’ve run into someone who is one of those user types more than once over the summer, and every time she embraced snobbery like flies take to cow patties. When I attempted to have a conversation with her, she blew me off. And her new muscle-bound boyfriend told me to stay away.

The person in question is Kariss Walker, who is a
New York Times
bestselling writer. Prior to that, she performed an outstanding job as news anchor for Channel 5. Those positions have tainted her personality. She’s no longer available for old friends. My invitation to coffee was met with stark annoyance. She just batted her long lashes. (And they are for real. Trust me, I know many details about Kariss Walker.) Anyway, my point is she had no time to catch up with an old friend.

Maybe her readership is about to take a dive.

Kariss clicked on her address book and phoned her lawyer, leaving a message with his answering service. This time Mike had gone too far.

An hour later, she still fumed. Tigo stood in the doorway of her cubicle. Maybe he had a better idea about how to deal with Mike.

“I have a problem.”

He lifted a brow. “And you want me to help solve it? Word choice? You’re already ahead on this game.”

“No.” She couldn’t hide her grin, despite the problem with the blog. “Remember the obnoxious reporter, Mike McDougal? He just published a scathing blog about me. It’s slanderous, and I’ve got a call in to my attorney.”

She turned her laptop his way. After reading it, he whistled. “Once something is written on the Internet, it’s there forever.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You aren’t thinking of refuting it in the comments, are you?”

“I’m not that stupid,” Kariss said. “His blogs are usually about political or controversial persons. I imagine my lawsuit isn’t his first.”

“Don’t you think his reputation discounts everything he writes?”

“I think he’s read for entertainment, not anything factual. But he has a large following.”

“Have you read the comments?”

“No.”

He turned the screen her way. “Listen to this one: ‘Bet those who’ve enjoyed Kariss Walker’s books will have a different viewpoint.’ “

Lately, Tigo had been more of a human being. “Okay. I’ll read the others.”

“Aloud, please.”

She smiled, but her heart wasn’t in it. “ ‘We’re tired of people-bashing, Mike. This is the last time I read your blog.’ “

“See. The readers get tired of that stuff.”

“I feel better all ready.” She read the next one. “ ‘Bring on more! We all know the rich and famous are shallow.’ “

“Get yourself a suit of armor.”

“While I’m at it, I’ll learn how to joust.” Kariss shook her head. “This reminds me why I refuse to read reviews. If they’re good, I’m afraid my head will swell. If they’re bad, I cry for six months.”

She exited the site. Her attorney could deal with Mike McDougal.

Friday Kariss stayed at her condo to help Vicki move in. With her stitched-up shoulder, all she could do was point. Nurse Vicki refused to let her lift a single box.

“But you’re the one who’s pregnant,” Kariss said.

“Daddy moved my household things to one of their storage buildings. All I have are personal belongings — my clothes, books, baby things.”

“I’m right here.” Their dad came through the door with a box. “I thought when I retired that my backbreaking days were over.”

Vicki swung around from the steps leading to the second level. “Daddy, you love doing things for your girls.”

“Tell my aching body that tomorrow. I suppose this box goes upstairs?”

Vicki giggled, and it felt so good to hear the familiar ring. “All of it goes up here.”

Kariss gave his whiskered cheek a kiss. “Thanks for helping.”

“Both of you are worthless. Hope you’re steering clear of bicycles.”

How awful that she’d had to lie to Vicki and her dad. “It’s healing nicely.”

“Single women need a man looking after them. Both of you should move home.”

Vicki returned from the second floor. Her ultra-thin body had a bit of a pooch. “Oh, you’d love it if we all came back and brought the grandkids.”

He laughed. “Until it came time to buy groceries.” He studied her. “Sweet girl, you’re getting a tummy on you.”

Vicki patted it. “Yep, and it’s going to get a lot bigger.”

“What are we going to call her?” he said.

“Haven’t a clue. May have to see her first.”

“She’ll be beautiful like her mama.” His stomach growled loudly.

“We’ll do a grand lunch today.” Kariss took a small box from her dad. “All the chicken-fried steak and fixin’s that you can eat.”

“Love those artery-hardening foods,” Dad said. “Do they have blackberry cobbler?”

“Desserts are their specialties — chocolate pecan pie, lemon meringue pie, red velvet cake, apple dumplings. You name it.” Kariss followed him up the stairs. “What’s Mom doing?”

“Volunteering at the church library. She loves those books. I think some kind of book club for kids is going on, so she’s putting together certificates and treats for them.”

“I thought she was going to slow down, like you. Do more gardening.”

“Ah, slowing down means giving up. We’ll both work hard till the day we die. Rest in heaven. Mama can plant flowers for Jesus, and I’ll work on building another ark.”

Kariss ducked into the room designated to be the nursery before Dad got wound up on a sermon. She’d forgotten to pray for Jo-Jack, and he died. But she had been praying for Xavier in hopes he found his child. She rubbed her lower back. Odd thing about faith … After the day-care fire, she’d tossed it like a rotten tomato. Claimed she didn’t have any until she got into a desperate situation. Lately she’d been in far too many of those.

She had her 9mm, and she could hold that in her hands. Protect herself from those who wanted her out of the way. Kariss shivered. Why think about such things now? Tigo and Ryan were working on bringing the bad guys in. The Arroyos might be fearless, but they were no match for the FBI. She didn’t really have to worry. Another day or so and it would all be over.

Late afternoon, Kariss and Vicki were finally alone and seated in the living room. Vicki’s eyelids drooped.

“Why don’t you and my niece take a nap?”

Vicki closed her eyes. “Not yet. I have all weekend to rest up. At least my clothes are in the closet and drawers. What’s left can wait until tomorrow.”

“I’ll help.”

“I don’t want to dip into your writing time.”

Kariss laughed. “Fat chance of that.”

“Why?”

The truth needed to be said. “I don’t have an agent or an editor.”

Vicki startled. “What happened?”

“Meredith and I parted ways because of my switch to suspense. No one’s interested in taking me on.”

“What does that mean for your career?”

Kariss shrugged. “I either win or lose. If I don’t have a publishing house interested in this book by the time it’s finished, then I’ll self-publish. Maybe go back to writing women’s fiction.”

“What do you really want to do?”

“My heart isn’t in those books anymore.” Her determination rose with her words. “I want to write fiction with lots of action and high stakes. Give my hero and heroine a time limit to solve a crime then squeeze it.” She caught herself. “Guess I got carried away.”

“We all know you’re a gifted writer. This whole family is behind you.”

She sighed. “Thanks. Wish I could convince an agent or editor.”

“Give it time. Are you considering going back into TV work?”

“Nope, sis. The competition is more than I can handle.”

“Isn’t this the weekend for the Gulf Coast Writers Conference?”

“It is. Remember, I didn’t plan to go because of the research.”

“But you could have met with agents and editors.”

“Maybe next year. This is what I’m supposed to do now.”

“Then I’ll simply pray for you.”

Kariss shook her head. “Mom and Dad must have gotten to you.”

“God did. I’ve made too many mistakes, and He’s given me a chance to start over. I want to raise my little girl like we were raised.”

“And have her resent you?”

“Do you resent Mom and Dad’s faith or respect it?”

Kariss didn’t have an answer.