Bullseye

by Virginia Smith

  His eyes went distant for a moment as he listened, and then a slow smile curved his lips. He didn’t lower the phone, but spoke to her. “Bingo.”

  Karina’s pulse kicked into overdrive for the second time in as many minutes.

  * * *

  “At first it looked like I’d run into a dead end.”

  Mason spared a moment to marvel at the technology of the small rectangle resting on the table between them. The quality of his voice through the phone’s speaker was nothing short of amazing. Not a trace of the tinny quality of most speakerphones. If Mason closed his eyes, he could almost picture Brent sitting right beside them in Karina’s tiny kitchen instead of talking through a cell phone.

  “Casa del Sol Restaurante is owned by a private company called Alimento Sabroso.”

  Karina supplied the translation without raising her eyes from the phone. “That means flavorful food.”

  “The outfit owns another restaurant there in Albuquerque called, predictably, Casa del Luna. You know—sun, moon. Anyway, the primary owner is listed as Jorge Sastrias.”

  Mason’s ears pricked. Their waiter had said that he never got to wait on Maddox, because Jorge always took care of him personally. He addressed the phone. “You said primary owner?”

  “That’s right. Mr. Sastrias has a partner, another corporation. This one’s called Good Food Enterprises. Good Food also owns an interest in a half-dozen or so other restaurants in Albuquerque and Santa Fe, but only the two with Mr. Sastrias.”

  “O-kay.” Mason processed this information. “So who owns Good Food Enterprises? Maddox?”

  A chuckle sounded through the phone. “Not so fast. There’s no single owner listed. Good Food Enterprises is a subsidiary of a corporation called Grayscale Incorporated.”

  Karina shook her head. “Wait a minute. I’m confused.”

  “Now you’re feeling my pain,” Brent said. “It’s like an endless chain of corporations. Trying to track them down is like following one of those pencil mazes. But the trail ended at Grayscale. And guess who’s the chairman of the board of Grayscale Incorporated.”

  Mason didn’t need to guess. He knew. With an effort, he managed to say the name without spitting. “Russell Maddox.”

  “Exactly. And guess who owns Powerhouse Fitness.”

  Mason didn’t bother to state the obvious. Instead, Karina did. “Grayscale?”

  “Right again. It’s one of the few businesses owned outright by Grayscale.”

  Mason drew the next line himself. “Let me guess. One of the other businesses is the Speedy Superette.”

  “Nope. That would be too easy, wouldn’t it?”

  He arched his eyebrows and looked across the table at Karina, who looked as surprised as he felt.

  “Good Foods, maybe?” she asked.

  “That would make sense, wouldn’t it? But no.”

  Brent’s voice warmed. He was obviously enjoying making them wade through the process he’d followed to trace this information. Mason bit back an impatient suggestion that his buddy cut to the chase and just tell them what he’d discovered.

  Karina was apparently okay playing Brent’s guessing game. “Is it Mr. Velesquez, Alex’s boss?”

  “That’s partly right. It’s the same sort of setup as the restaurant. Benito Velesquez is the primary owner, in partnership with a company called Albuquerque Connections, Inc. And that company is a subsidiary of Landwise Associates, which also owns a realty company and a real estate management company.”

  Mason tapped his fingers impatiently on the table. A guy needed to draw a map just to keep it all straight. “So how does that lead back to Grayscale?”

  “It doesn’t.”

  Karina jumped when he slapped his hand flat against the plastic tablecloth and a loud smack filled the room. He glared at the phone. “I thought you said you found a connection.”

  Brent’s laughter sounded in sharp contrast to Mason’s frustrated tone. “Calm down, dude. Landwise Associates has a board of directors, too.”

  He paused, but Mason refused to swallow the bait. He kept his teeth clamped together.

  Karina asked the question Brent was obviously fishing for. “Is Russell Maddox the chairman of that board as well?”

  “No. It’s better than that.” Brent paused, then delivered the tidbit. “The chairwoman of the board is named Olivia Sullivan Maddox. Otherwise known as Mrs. Russell Maddox.”

  Moving together, Karina and Mason both sat back in their chairs and let the news sink in. Maddox partially owned the restaurant where José had worked, and his wife owned the grocery store where Alex worked.

  “There’s more.” Brent was enjoying this way too much, judging by the delight in his tone. “I found a couple of news articles referring to Mrs. Maddox as an invalid, so I did a little digging into her background. Apparently she had an accident almost ten years ago that left her paralyzed and bedridden. She still holds her position on the Landwise Associates board of directors, but she defers all decision making to… Want to take a guess?”

  This time Mason spoke, but it was no guess. “Her devoted husband.”

  “You got it.” A loud, satisfied sigh sounded through the speaker. “There’s your connection.”

  Mason’s finger tapped a yellow spot on the tablecloth while he digested the information Brent had unearthed. The pieces were all present, but there were so many layers it was hard to make sense of the whole.

  After a moment Brent’s voice broke the silence. “Listen, it’s after midnight here and I have an eight o’clock meeting in the morning. Do you need anything else from me?”

  Mason jerked out of his musing. “No. You’ve been a big help. Thanks, dude. I owe you.”

  Laughter sounded through the speaker. “You sure do. I had to cut short an evening with my gorgeous wife to play computer jock for you. But don’t worry. I’ll find a way for you to return the favor someday.”

  “I’m sure you will.” Mason grinned as he disconnected the call. He was so fortunate to have a guy like Brent as a F.A.S.T. partner, and especially as a friend.

  Karina placed folded hands on the table and leaned forward toward him. “I don’t understand the purpose of all those companies. Why doesn’t Maddox just have one corporation that owns everything?”

  “Distance,” Mason answered. “He isn’t hiding the fact that he’s involved in them, but to know it, someone would have to dig for it.”

  She shook her head, confusion creasing her forehead. “But why?”

  He pursed his lips, his brain busily trying to come up with reasons. Maddox was involved in something illegal, of that he was certain. But he’d been certain four years ago, too. Then it had been a hunch. Now he had a little more to go on, but not much.

  There were only two reasons to put so many layers between an owner and a business operation. First, to lengthen the connection. If his name was not easily associated with a business, then he wouldn’t be immediately held responsible by public opinion if something went wrong. An accusation of food poisoning, maybe, or a dispute with a renter. If a highly visible person like Maddox was identified as the owner, the press would be all over even an insignificant situation and turn it into a circus. The information was there, a matter of public record, but someone would have to do research to find it.

  The only other reason Mason could think of was to share blame if something went wrong. If he had a couple of partners in every corporation, there were a lot of people Maddox could point his finger at, people who had far more day-to-day dealings with managing the businesses.

  Karina waited patiently, her expression expectant.

  “I can think of only two reasons,” he finally said. “And both of them point to some sort of illegal activity.” He rubbed a hand across his mouth, shaking his head. “The problem is, I have no idea what.
”

  ELEVEN

  At nine-fifteen on Wednesday morning, a knock sounded on Karina’s door. Nerves taut after a long and anxious night during which she’d jumped at every noise in the area surrounding her apartment, she lifted a slat on the mini-blind and peeked outside. The sight of Mason’s rental car should have relieved her. Instead her temper flared. He was forty-five minutes late.

  She swung the door open with one hand, the other planted on her hip, and greeted him with a glare. His pleasant expression wilted the moment he caught sight of her face.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “You said you’d be here at eight-thirty.” The words ground out through gritted teeth.

  He lifted a shoulder, obviously unconcerned. “Sorry. I overslept.” The insolent smirk he’d worn much of yesterday returned. “You can deduct an hour from the generous fee you’re paying me.”

  Of course he would take the opportunity to remind her that he was doing her a favor. Her temper flared beyond the point of control.

  “I should have remembered what I used to do. If I wanted you to be on time, I’d tell you to be there an hour earlier.”

  “And I should have remembered what a foul temper you have early in the morning.”

  The comment stirred her irritation even further, but while she was trying to come up with an appropriately scathing reply, her phone rang. She swung the door open wider and left him to close it while she headed for the kitchen and her phone. During the short distance, her conscience raised its head. Mason was right. Mornings were not her favorite time of the day. Never had been. Especially after she’d spent the entire night expecting a huge, scary man to kick her door down and murder her in her own home.

  But that wasn’t Mason’s fault. Why did he seem to bring out the worst in her? He really was doing her a huge favor by flying to Albuquerque at his own expense. The least she could do was act grateful.

  Lord, I need Your help here. He’s Your child, and I know You love him. Help me not to want to slap his face every time he gives me that annoying smirk.

  She reached for the phone, but before she pressed the button to answer the call, she cast a quick glance at him.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. It was a long night.” Without giving him a chance to reply, she pressed the button. “Hello?”

  An unfamiliar voice on the other end. Male. “Is this Karina Guerrero?” Though there was no hint of an accent in his English, her name rolled off the man’s tongue with all the appropriate emphasis, as only someone fluent in Spanish would do.

  “Yes, it is.”

  The high, thin voice continued. “Ms. Guerrero, my name is Hector Navarro. I’m an attorney, and I’ve been assigned to your brother’s case.”

  Hope washed away any residual irritation. She whirled and caught Mason’s eye as she answered. “Yes, Mr. Navarro. I’m so glad Judge Carter finally assigned my brother an attorney.”

  Mason’s eyebrows arched, and she awarded him an excited smile.

  “The juvenile court dockets are overflowing, so it sometimes takes a while.” She heard papers shuffle in the background. “I understand you are Alexander’s legal guardian?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’ve been reading over his file, and I’d like to go down and talk to him this morning. Because he’s a minor, I’ll need you to either be present or give me permission to speak with him alone.”

  She glanced at the clock on the microwave. The morning traffic should be winding down by now. “I can be there by ten.”

  “Perfect. I’ll meet you there.”

  The call ended. She cupped the phone in her hand and spoke to Mason. “We’re supposed to meet him at juvy in forty minutes.”

  He made a show of looking at his watch. “Gee, looks like I’m right on time, huh?”

  That comment would have irritated her ninety seconds before, but now she was able to smile. The situation suddenly didn’t look so dire. Finally Alex would have legal representation, someone to help them prove his innocence.

  “Let me grab my purse.”

  * * *

  Mason parked the car in a space directly in front of the building. He glanced at the place where the black Impala sedan had sat yesterday. Hopefully the goon wouldn’t risk a second attempt in broad daylight, especially in front of a row of windows with police officers on the other side.

  His call to Parker on the way to Karina’s house this morning hadn’t been very enlightening. Parker hadn’t been to work yet, so he didn’t know anything about the car fire.

  “What have you stepped in, buddy?” his old partner had asked.

  “I don’t know, but it sure stinks. It looks like your 411 about gang activity is accurate, no matter what Karina thinks.”

  “The family is always the last to know,” Parker had replied. “I’ll check the report, ask a few questions and give you a call back. In the meantime, stay low, okay?”

  “You know it.”

  Mason had hung up feeling better about their chances of discovering something helpful. Parker was a terrific ally, with access to information Mason could never get on his own. Not anymore, anyway.

  He hadn’t mentioned Maddox to his former partner, though. He’d started to, but something had stopped him. A hesitation down deep. Four years ago, Mason had been positive that Maddox was somehow responsible for Margie’s death. Parker had remained unconvinced, and had even gently suggested that Mason was letting his personal situation interfere with his judgment. Well, yeah. Who wouldn’t? Try though he might, he could never convince Parker of Maddox’s involvement. If he brought the guy’s name up now, Parker would probably think he was simply nursing a grudge.

  Heck, maybe he was. But it was a grudge based on gut instinct, and he intended to dig up some hard facts before he said a word against the person who was arguably the most powerful man in New Mexico.

  And who knew? If he could tie Maddox to José’s death, he might uncover something about Margie’s death as well.

  A man stood just on the other side of the metal detector, watching dispassionately as they passed through the frame. Mason took his mettle at a glance. Young, probably barely out of law school. Short, slender, and dressed in a dark gray suit one size too big for him. The jacket cuffs brushed his knuckles, and the hem of his trousers lay wrinkled atop his polished black shoes like an elephant’s ankles.

  A rookie. What else?

  Mason schooled his expression as he emptied his pockets into a white plastic bowl, then followed Karina through the frame that looked like a doorway to nowhere.

  “Ms. Guerrero?” the young guy asked, a polite and faintly dispassionate expression on his face.

  “Yes.” Karina’s answer was pathetically eager. “Mr. Navarro?”

  “Call me Hector.” He offered a slender hand, which she shook. Then his polite gaze fixed on Mason. “And you are?”

  “Mason Sinclair. A friend of the family.” Mason attempted to shake the man’s hand, but instead found his fingers encased in a delicate grip, his hand shaken once and then released.

  Mason disliked him instantly.

  A polite smile tightened the man’s thin lips. “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to wait outside while I speak with Ms. Guerrero and Alexander.”

  Karina rushed in. “It’s okay. Mason is a close family friend, and I’ve asked him to sit in on our conversation.”

  The news appeared to hit Navarro like a lead pipe upside the head, but he managed to contain himself. His gaze flicked toward Mason’s face, but never quite connected. “All right. If you say so.”

  With that he turned and headed toward the doorway, beyond which lay the visiting rooms.

  What a jerk. He doesn’t want me around because he’s afraid of being caught out as an amateur.

  Mason m
anaged a confident smile for Karina, and gestured for her to follow the attorney.

  They were led to a different room than the day before, identical to the other even down to the plastic chairs. The guard let them in and left them alone for a few minutes. Then another guard brought Alex in. Mason and Hector averted their eyes while Karina, crying quietly, embraced her brother.

  Then they broke apart and Alex gave Mason a guarded, jerky nod of greeting.

  Karina looped a hand through her brother’s arm and tugged him toward the lawyer. “Alex, this is Mr. Navarro, your attorney.”

  The kid towered over the little man, and Mason bit back a smug grin at the way Navarro had to tilt his head back to look the fourteen-year-old in the face. He couldn’t help notice that Hector gave Alex’s hand the same smarmy little four-

  fingered shake.

  The attorney took immediate charge and pointed toward a chair pushed beneath the table. “Have a seat, please. I have several other clients to meet with, so I’d like to get on with this.”

  Get on with this. Mason clamped his teeth together on a sarcastic reply about brusque public defenders who don’t bill their clients by the hour. He selected a seat across the table from Karina and Alex, and scooted the chair away from the table to create a distance between himself and the others. In this conversation he’d be an observer, not a participant. After all, he wasn’t here in any official capacity.

  Hector set his briefcase on the floor and fished a slender folder out, which he opened on the table in front of him. Then he extracted a spiral-bound notebook, the kind kids bought at a department store for twenty cents apiece during the back-to-school sale, opened it to a clean page and poised a pen above it, ready to write.

  “Alex, I’ve read the police report, but I’d like you to tell me what happened last Friday night.”

  Haltingly Alex recounted the same tale he’d given Mason the day before. Exactly the same, even using the same phrases and words.

  Almost as if he’d rehearsed it. Interesting.

  Mason steepled his fingers and held them in front of his mouth, his chin resting on his thumbs, and studied the kid as he talked. Though the delivery was a little smoother today—he’d had a couple of chances to grow comfortable with the tale, after all—it was still obvious to him that Alex was lying right up to the part where he insisted he didn’t kill his friend.