5 Bargain Hunting

by Rhonda Pollero

  “Who did you replace?” I asked Liam.

  “I don’t remember his name.”

  “Then let’s go to my office. Maybe something will pop up on LexisNexis.”

  “Let’s do it,” Booker agreed.

  I felt a little like the First Lady. I remained with Liam in the house while Booker pulled up his Explorer. We set the alarm, locked the door, and made a mad dash for the car. I leapt inside, landing half sitting, half lying on the seat with the cup holder rammed into my ribs. I bet that never happened to Michelle Obama.

  It was pitch black out, and thus far, we hadn’t seen another car on the road. I didn’t feel panicked at all. Being surrounded by strapping men with guns can have that effect on a girl.

  When we reached the office, I used my key and we went inside, locking the door behind us. Booker decided to stand guard in the lobby while Liam accompanied me to my office. Through force of habit, I made a pot of coffee. I needed a caffeine fix to get my brain to focus.

  I logged into the database and searched for a member of the sheriff’s office with a last name that started with an A. The results were impossible. There had to be nearly fifty names on the list. I printed it out. “You go over these to see if you can find the elusive SA while I look through case files.”

  The plaintiff-defendant database seemed like a good place to start. I put in José’s name and a long list of cases appeared. He had fifteen years on the force, so this wasn’t going to be a quickie task. Thank God for coffee.

  His most recent cases were all traffic-oriented—DUIs, speeding, resisting arrest, nothing major. “How long was José in the gang unit?”

  “Eight or nine years,” Liam answered. “I can’t find any officers with SA as a first or a last name. Does this include retired officers?” he asked.

  “No,” I said as I narrowed my search to the dates Liam had given me and found another long list of arrests and court appearances. The way the database was configured, I could get the names of the major players involved, like the judge and the court reporter, as well as a two- or three-paragraph recap of the court proceedings, followed by the disposition—jail time, probation, and community service. I was scanning the fifth report when I noticed something odd. “Every trial José testified in was overseen by Assistant State’s Attorney Garza.”

  “I know,” Liam said as he looked up from the list that was alphabetical by last name. “Judges specialize. Some handle only capital cases, others do drug cases, others do traffic, others do misdemeanors, and the low guys on the totem pole get stuck with night court. It helps when a judge knows the players and their attorneys.”

  “If Garza only does drug cases, why is he on your case?”

  “Probably because it involves the murder of a former gang unit cop.” Liam let the paper fall into his lap. “Unless . . .”

  “SA stands for state’s attorney,” I said, finishing the thought.

  “It fits,” Liam said. “But Garza has always struck me as a fair guy.”

  “Maybe that’s because he wanted you to think that,” I suggested. “We should call Tony.”

  “Hang on,” Liam said. “It’s a big leap from Stan to José to an attempt on our lives to Garza. We can’t just make an accusation. Garza is a smart guy. I’m sure he’s covered his ass.”

  “Then let’s see if he’s covered his assets.”

  I searched every possible database and Internet site out there but couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary. No large investments, no sudden windfalls. In fact, he’d lost a decent amount when tech stocks tanked. A house with a mortgage that was in keeping with his government salary. I couldn’t find a thing.

  “So what do we do now?” I asked. “Call Tony in the morning and ask his advice?”

  Liam shook his head. “The fewer people we involve in this the better. Especially Tony. He’s got a kid to think about.”

  His comment reminded me about the breakup of his marriage. As much as I wanted to hate Ashley for making a rash decision, I kind of understood her position. It would be awfully hard to raise a child whose father was in prison when your one skill was doing nails. I tip my manicurist well, but not enough to buy diapers and formula. What I didn’t get was why she would think for a minute that Liam had shot an unarmed kid. My heart ached for Liam. Then it ached for me. I had a sneaking suspicion that I wasn’t in lust anymore. I had entered the scary zone. Not love, but definitely headed in that direction. A very bad thing when all I’d done was spend one night with him. Granted, it was a wonderful night, but really, I was thinking like a stalker. I all but had us married in my brain. Definite stalker behavior.

  “So how do we connect the dots?” I asked.

  “Carefully and discreetly,” Liam answered.

  I woke up to the sound of Perry Mason whining. Liam was just getting out from under my comforter when I glanced at the clock. It was already after seven.

  “Crap,” I said as I quickly stood up, shielding my nakedness with the clothes on the floor next to the bed. “I’m gonna be late for work.”

  “Tony told you to take some time off,” Liam said.

  “That was before they caught the shooter,” I replied, exasperated, as I made a dash for the shower. I stood under the spray freezing for a few seconds until the hot water kicked in. I moved at warp speed, dreaming of coffee as I rinsed the shampoo from my hair.

  Wrapped in a towel, I went to my closet and did the hard thing—finding the right outfit for the day. After some searching I settled on a Kate Spade A-line skirt in bright pink and a simple Burberry white blouse. I’d gotten both items on eBay, and after a trip to the dry cleaner’s, no one would ever know they were preworn. At least no one but me and PayPal. I slipped on a pair of Nine West taupe platform pumps. They were comfortable, probably because I’d gotten them on a 50 percent off red-dot sale.

  It was nearly eight fifteen when I emerged with mostly dry hair and full makeup. Booker was sitting in the living room and Liam was in the kitchen. And bless him, he’d made coffee. I gulped down the first cup, then passed him the mug for a refill.

  “I’ll follow you to work,” Liam said as he gave me the once-over. The perusal was almost as exciting as his touch.

  “And then do what?” I asked.

  “I’m a client. We can have a meeting.”

  “You’re a pro bono client. Vain Dane will get an aneurysm.”

  “We’ll figure it out.”

  Booker was left in charge of the dog and waiting for the information from New York regarding José. Assuming Garza was the mastermind of the cash-skimming scheme, I was a tad wary of being out in public. I was comforted by seeing Liam right on my tail the whole way to the parking lot.

  There was a rental Hummer in the lot, so just as a precaution, I parked as far away from it as possible. Vain Dane was probably halfway to a heart attack already; no need to make it worse.

  I had a rational fear of the parking lot, so I walked quickly inside the building. Margaret looked up, then made a note. It was 9:05.

  “Messages?” I asked.

  She passed me three pink slips. “May I help you, Mr. McGarrity?”

  “I’m with her,” he said.

  “So you might want to put on some Kevlar,” I joked as we walked to the elevator.

  “She’s chipper in the morning,” Liam observed.

  “That was actually a good morning,” I told him. “Oh, crap,” I groaned as I read the notes.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Three messages from three disinherited people. Not exactly how I wanted to start my morning.”

  “I guess they aren’t calling to say thanks.”

  “No, it’s more like being bitch-slapped over the phone. It’s my fault their father chose to exclude them.”

  “Was it?”

  I turned to glare at him as the elevator door opened. “I never even met the dead guy.”

  I noticed that the room went completely silent as the interns and administrative assistants all turned and loo
ked my way. Obviously they didn’t relish the idea of working alongside a moving target.

  Ignoring their stares, I went to my office with Liam in tow. Becky was sitting at my desk.

  “You just won me fifty bucks,” she said with a smile as she got out of my chair. “Thanks.”

  “Fifty bucks for what?” I asked.

  “Hi, Liam. Oh, we had a little office pool going on whether you’d show up for work or not.”

  “Thank you for assuming correctly that I would perform my duties as expected.”

  Becky’s smile broadened and she absently played with the amber pendant hanging around her neck. “Actually, I won because I said you’d be here, but you’d be late.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “How’s the hand?”

  I glanced down at the curling edges of the bandage. “A nonevent. I’ve had worse paper cuts.”

  She had on a flowing coral skirt and patterned blouse along with her chunky bracelets and chandelier earrings. “Glad it wasn’t worse.”

  “You and me both. Want some coffee?”

  “I’ve got to get back upstairs. Just wanted to check in with you.”

  I gave her a hug. “Thanks, but I’m all good.”

  Liam parked himself in one of the chairs opposite my desk. I went out to the kitchenette and rinsed my coffeepot, then filled it with water. As I passed through the bullpen area, I was still garnering stares. Hopefully that would end soon. I didn’t want to be treated like a star when, at best, I was an understudy.

  I took the Lawson file out of my credenza and clipped the three messages inside. I flipped to the bottom one and dialed the number. In less than ten seconds, I was sorry I had. I was being reamed by Virginia Lawson Reynolds, who was insisting her father had dementia and the will couldn’t possibly be valid. She blamed the whole thing on her greedy brother and easily manipulated mother and she promised to fight it with everything in her power.

  For part of the one-sided conversation, I’d held the phone away from my ear while she was screaming at me. Liam seemed a little stunned and said as much when I ended the call.

  “Are they all like that?”

  “With seven million up for grabs, yeah. Pretty much.”

  I got lucky with the second and third calls, reaching machines both times. I knew they’d call back, I just hoped they’d take their time doing it.

  Tony appeared at my door. “Glad you’re here,” he said. “I’ve got good news.”

  “That will be a nice change.”

  “Garza wants Liam and me in his office in an hour. I think he’s going to drop all charges.”

  You can be fearless or you can be smart.

  twenty-one

  “We have to tell Tony,” I whispered as soon as I knew he was out of earshot.

  “You think Garza’s going to invite the two of us to his office and then open fire? It’s the courthouse, Finley. Let’s see where this goes. Maybe Garza isn’t the SA from the list.”

  “But if Tony knew, he could help.”

  “We could also be putting him in danger. The best thing we can do for him is to keep him out of the loop. You don’t want anyone going after him, do you?”

  “Of course not,” I answered. I rested my cheek against his chest and focused on the even rhythm of his heartbeat. “So what happens when we see Garza?”

  “You’re not going,” he said. “You don’t have to be there. Tell Tony you’ve got a migraine or something. Anything.”

  “You’re going in alone?”

  “No, I’m going with Tony. You’re going home to Booker.”

  I grabbed fistfuls of his shirt. “Are you sure this is safe?”

  He cradled my face in his hands. “I’m positive.

  “Wait here until Tony and I leave. Then drive home. No stops.”

  My nerves were on edge. Even though Tony was with Liam, I still had a nagging suspicion that something was all wrong about the whole situation. Maybe Booker could do something.

  I arrived home and heard the reassuring sound of Perry Mason barking. Maybe a dog wasn’t the end of the world. I stuck my key in the lock and as soon as I opened the door, I saw Booker on the sofa with his gun pointed at me.

  The dog stood at my feet looking up as if it was perfectly normal to be greeted by a large man with a large gun pointed at your head. I gave him a pet. “I’m taking a partial sick day,” I explained. Then I told him about Liam.

  “Smart move,” Booker said.

  “He could be walking right into a trap,” I argued.

  “Garza wouldn’t dare do anything in public, and there are guards all over the building, so it may be the safest place for him.”

  I felt slightly mollified. “Has the alarm company shown up yet?”

  He shook his head. “But I know how José Garcia became José Lopez.”

  “How?” I asked as I sat at the opposite end of the sofa.

  “Ran his social. It wasn’t issued until José was seventeen. My guy at the NYPD said Lopez, then Garcia, was busted and looking at some serious drug time so he rolled on the Latin Bandits. The feds set him up in Miami with a new ID and a clean slate.”

  “So he joined the sheriff’s office?” I asked, incredulous.

  Booker smiled. “Seems his brush with the law took him to Jesus. From everything I could find, José turned into an altar boy once he got to Miami.”

  “Then how did he end up being the point man ripping off drug dealers?”

  “Turns out I wasn’t the first person to check on José. His file with the feds shows an inquiry by the Palm Beach Sheriff’s Office eight years ago.”

  “Not Garza?”

  “I haven’t been able to find anything that leads back to Garza. Either he isn’t the right SA or he’s one very clever dude.”

  “Anything that links José to Santos?” I asked.

  He took a notepad out of his back pocket. “I can’t find anything that puts them together before the drug busts here in Palm Beach County.”

  “Would Jimmy Santos have recognized him as a Latin Bandit?”

  Booker shook his square-topped head. “They aren’t like those White Pride assholes. Each gang in each city has its own hierarchy. They don’t have annual conventions. Besides, Lopez/Garcia hasn’t been active for more than twenty years. And, if the Latin Bandits here found out, they’d have killed the guy on sight years ago.”

  “I’m going to change,” I said. “We can call for Chinese.”

  I put on a pair of skinny jeans and a flowy top I’d found on sale at Bealls Outlet. After slipping on some ballerina flats, I rejoined Booker. “There has to be something,” I told him. “What if we went to see Ina Lopez? She might know something.”

  “Liam wants you here.”

  “Liam doesn’t always get what he wants,” I countered. “Fine. You stay here, I’ll go alone.”

  He laughed. “No wonder Liam likes you.”

  I wanted to ask him to define “like” but I couldn’t think of a way that didn’t drip with desperation. “Let’s go. No Chinese, we can hit a drive-through on the way. My treat.”

  We ate as Booker drove to Ina’s house via the directions I’d gotten off MapQuest.

  Liam called. “Where are you?” he demanded without preamble.

  “Booker and I are taking a field trip.” I explained the purpose of our outing. “How did it go with Garza?”

  “He’s dropping the charges. I have to hang around here for some paperwork and go before the judge to make it official.”

  “I’ll give you a call after we talk to Ina.”

  “Can’t you just go home?” he asked, exasperated.

  “I have Booker with me. He’s invincible.”

  “Yeah? Well tell him he’s a dead man when I see him.”

  I intentionally didn’t bother covering the mouthpiece. “Liam says thank you very much for taking me to see Ina.”

  “You’re killing me, Finley,” Liam said.

  I smiled. “Just roll with it.”

>   I hung up and then pointed to an upcoming turn. “Make this right. Hers should be the second house on the left.”

  As we turned the corner, I noted the professionally manicured lawns and the sizes of the homes. Still, Ina Lopez’s house stood out because it had been customized with ramps leading from the driveway to the front door. There was a blue van parked in front with a metal grate attachment for a wheelchair.

  Booker parked behind the van. “I’ll go in with you,” he said. Well, it was more like a directive than a statement.

  As we exited the vehicle, I heard the hum of lawn mowers and could smell freshly cut grass carried on the gentle breeze. We walked up the ramp, Booker just behind me and to the right. I pressed the doorbell.

  A woman I guessed was somewhere in her late fifties, wearing scrubs, answered the door.

  “Mrs. Lopez?” I asked.

  “No,” she said with a shake of her head. Her hair was gray and pulled into a tight bun at the crown of her head. “I’ll get her,” she added, then stepped away from the partially opened door.

  A pretty woman with exotically dark features and a cautious smile came to the door. “I’m Ina Lopez.”

  “I’m Finley Tanner,” I said, offering her one of my cards. “And this is my assistant, Mr. Booker.” Hope she bought that one. My assistant was dressed in camo slacks and a tight black T-shirt. He looked more like an army recruitment poster than any assistant.

  “I’m sorry,” Ina said with a slight Spanish accent. “Do I know you?”

  She was dressed in shorts and a top and her long black hair fell nearly to her waist. “No. We’re here about José.”

  Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What about José?”

  “May we come in?” I asked.

  She hesitated a minute, then swung the door wide.

  We stepped into what should have been a living room but had been transformed into a hospital room. Along the far wall was a hospital bed. There was a frail-looking woman lying there connected to a breathing machine that made a whooshing sound at regular intervals. There were other machines as well, but I didn’t know what they were for. The caregiver was seated next to the bed reading a book while the elderly woman slept. At least I hoped she was sleeping.