Pipeline

by Brenda Adcock

  I snapped a telephoto lens onto my camera and used it to find the boy I had seen get out of Camarena's car. When I finally found him, he was running down the field with the ball in front of him, trying to avoid other players rushing around him. I hadn't shot sports in years. Most of the people I took pictures of had been fairly stationary, either because they were ducking for cover or were dead. The little guys on the soccer field were far from dead. I panned Camarena's kid as he moved down the field and was intercepted by a bigger boy.

  I shot pictures of several of the boys and had to smile when they scored. The looks on their faces were animated, and their excitement was genuine, unlike professional athletes who are expected to score points and have long since lost the joy of winning for the sake of winning. After a short break, the second half of the game got underway. I was rewinding a roll of film and holding a new roll in my mouth when someone tapped me lightly on the shoulder. I glanced back and saw Camarena standing behind me.

  "Getting any good shots?" he asked with a smile.

  "I won't know until I develop them."

  "Are you a parent?"

  "No. Just happened to notice the game and stopped. Pretty fast moving and I thought I could use the practice."

  "Felix Camarena," he said, extending a well-manicured hand to me. "My son is number four in the blue and yellow. I'd be interested in getting some pictures of him playing. Some of the other parents might also."

  "Well, I hadn't planned to sell them. Like I said, I'm just getting a little practice with action shots. They might not be any good, but I'd be glad to send them to you if they turn out."

  "Great!" he said with a broad smile. "You know, you could probably pick up quite a bit of money by taking pictures at games like this."

  "Think so?"

  "Sure! Everyone wants pictures of their kids."

  "I suppose that's true. I hadn't thought about it."

  "You have kids?"

  "A son. But he's grown now. Wish I had more pictures of him when he was younger."

  "See what I mean? Once they're grown, all mama and papa have left are pictures."

  "Or if something should happen to them before they get grown. I almost lost mine not long ago."

  Camarena shuddered and looked out at the field. "I don't know what I would do if anything happened to Marco."

  "I'll see if I can get some good shots of your kid," I said as I advanced the film. I reached into my camera bag and pulled out a notepad and a pencil. "Write your name and where you want the pictures sent. Probably be a few days though."

  "Listen, send me all the pictures you think are any good, and I'll get them to the other parents."

  "Okay."

  "I didn't catch your name," he said as he wrote.

  "Joanna Carlisle," I said matter-of-factly as I looked through the viewfinder of the Minolta and refocused the lens.

  Camarena's hand made an almost imperceptible pause as it wrote, but he didn't look at me. He was smiling as he handed the pad back to me. We were now formally introduced.

  I left before the game ended and returned to Pauli's house.

  "Where the hell have you been?" he demanded.

  "Watching a soccer game. What's for breakfast?"

  "Shit, Jo, you done missed breakfast. About time for lunch."

  Over a couple of sandwiches, I told him what I had done, and I could tell that he wasn't happy about it, "Look," I said, "Kyle and Sarita are out of town. There's nobody here now except me."

  "Thanks a lot. I'll remember that when they're blastin' the plaster off my house."

  "I can move to a motel if that makes you feel safer."

  "Then I'd just have to go over and identify your body. It don't matter anyway. We'll have the rest of this nailed down by tonight anyway. I hope."

  That was twice he had alluded to an end to the story and hadn't elaborated. But I had learned a long time ago not to push Pauli for information. When he thought you needed to know, he told you. He finished his sandwich and cleaned up the kitchen.

  "You look beat, Jo. Why don't you take a nap for an hour or so? We have to meet someone later, and I don't want you dead on your feet."

  I was full of coffee but too exhausted for it to be effective. He promised to wake me later. I wasn't sure what time it was when I heard the phone ring, but I felt better. I went to the bathroom and threw water on my face. I hoped Pauli was right, and it would all be over soon.

  When I went into the living room, he was hunched over a pad writing down whatever was being said over the phone. He grunted and nodded and wrote. He looked up as I sat down on the couch and rested my feet on the coffee table.

  He covered the mouthpiece with a meaty hand and said, "Get your stuff. We're leaving in a few minutes."

  By the time I returned, he was shoving his revolver into a holster.

  "Where to?" I asked.

  "Meetin' a friend."

  "You know, Pauli, this secrecy crap is getting old. Do you have a secret hand signal I should know about, too?"

  "Yeah," he said, sticking his middle finger toward me. "Now let's get out of here."

  He didn't seem to be worried about being followed as he left the house and headed for our secret rendezvous. While he tried to control the car with one hand, he felt around in the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a piece of paper.

  Tossing it at me, he said, "Got the info on Pan American Investments."

  "That the phone call?"

  "Yeah. I think you'll find it interesting."

  Pauli's scribbles were hard to read, but it didn't take me long to see what he meant. "What do you figure it means?" I asked.

  "Blackmail comes to mind," he answered.

  "For the McCaffrey girl?"

  "Probably. The way I see it, Bradley must have had a hand in the girl's death, either accidentally or on purpose. Don't matter. Anyway, Camarena helped cover it up, and Bradley's been paying for his silence ever since."

  "But Pan American went out of business a long time ago."

  "True. Might have been set up just to cover the college thing. But now Susan is well off enough to pay Camarena herself. That's probably how Camarena got into ABP in the first place. Bradley is their tax attorney, and we know from your ex that they were her clients when she started working with her. Suppose Camarena used Bradley to get in with ABP so he could pull off his illegal scam? He could use his connection with Escobar to bring them in and make out like the freakin' Frito Bandito."

  "Do you think Susan knows about the illegals?"

  "Probably, at least covering it up on the books. Maybe she's not making cash payments to Camarena anymore, and the covering up part is the payment."

  "I can't believe anyone would pay blackmail for, what, twenty-five years."

  "How long would you pay to keep from going to prison for life, or worse?"

  "But there's barely even circumstantial evidence that Susan Bradley might have been involved in the girl's death."

  "Girl dies. Then a month later Pan American Investments, a wholly owned subsidiary of Bradley and Associates, creates a privately endowed scholarship for one Felix Camarena. Face it, you said Camarena wasn't exactly an honor student. You don't have to be a fuckin' genius to think that it was a payoff for something more serious than plagiarism."

  "I wish there was something more concrete."

  "After twenty years, you ain't gonna find a smokin' gun. You'll just have to take what you get and run with it."

  "Yeah, but it's a different story. Right now, I want to nail Camarena for the illegals, Lena's death, and the attack on Sarita."

  "I can get you the illegals. Can't guarantee the rest unless somebody rolls over on Camarena. He wouldn't have done it himself." He pulled into a police substation and parked.

  "This is where the secret meeting is going to take place? The police department."

  "I never said it was a secret meeting," he huffed as he hoisted himself out of the Chrysler.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

&n
bsp; I FOLLOWED PAULI into the front entrance of the San Antonio Police Department building. He greeted the desk officer and swapped a few one-liners with other officers as we went down a hallway and stopped outside an interrogation room. He knocked on the door, which was opened immediately by a Hispanic man in his mid-thirties, dressed in dirty jeans and a plaid shirt. His hair was shiny black and long enough to touch the collar of his shirt. He grinned when he saw Pauli, and his teeth were toothpaste commercial white under a thick black mustache that hid his upper lip. He hugged Pauli, and after a few seconds of mutual backslapping, we all made it into the room and closed the door behind us.

  "I want to thank you for that all-expense-paid trip to Mexico, Pauli. Not exactly how I planned to spend my vacation, but it's been interesting."

  "Thought you'd like it," Pauli said. Turning to me, he said, "Jo, meet Artie Reyna."

  As we shook hands, Reyna looked at Pauli. "This the one I went undercover for?"

  "Yeah. She's a pain in the ass like you, but still a friend."

  Reyna laughed, pulled out a chair, and sat down at the table.

  "Artie here was the last partner I had before I retired," Pauli said.

  "You should see the moron they got me partnered with now," Reyna said as he lit a cigarette. "Thinks he's fuckin' Rambo."

  "You had the police working on the story?" I asked.

  "Sort of in an unofficial capacity," Pauli said. "Artie was in that truck we followed a couple of days ago."

  "He's working at ABP?"

  "Yeah, and if I stay there much longer I'll never appreciate the way a woman smells again. Thinkin' about givin' up steak for Lent." Reyna chuckled.

  "Tell Jo what you know," Pauli said.

  "I went down to Mexico and contacted a few people in a village there about gettin' into the States. They put me onto this guy, Lopez, and said he'd been in the village lookin' for workers. So I waited and sure enough, he showed up, spreadin' the word about good jobs in El Norte. I paid him three to get me across the border and to San Antonio. There were seven others, and the price was the same for each of them."

  "What about once you reached here?" I asked.

  "After I finished pickin' lettuce outta my teeth, we went to that building behind the Produce Terminal where we shelled out another five to a guy named Escobar for papers. Social Security, driver's license, the usual stuff. Looked good enough to fool even me. Then this Lopez picked us up again, and we went to ABP. He's a real freak, Pauli. I overheard him talkin' to another guy in the truck about wishin' there had been a couple of women in our group. So they could stop and get a little, you know? Pretty neat little deal. I mean, ain't like no illegal is goin' to the cops to report a rape or anything."

  "Did you meet Camarena?" I asked.

  "Yeah, at the plant, but just for a few minutes. He checked our teeth and papers, asked a couple of dumbass questions and trotted us off to work. Jesus, even cops don't work hours like that. And good pay, now there's a joke. Hell, I couldn't make the payments on my Camaro with what they were payin'."

  "What else did you find out?" Pauli asked.

  "I talked to as many people as I could in two days, Pauli. Close as I can figure out from what the other workers told me, Lopez is a real busy boy. Makes a trip to the border a couple of times a week, and his ain't the only truck. Over a few beers they told me some of the trucks are bigger and go farther north."

  "From your truck alone, they took in around sixty-five hundred. Do they always bring in eight?" I asked.

  "Stick in more'n that and there wouldn't be room to breathe. I was pretty squashed as it was."

  I doodled around with a few figures on a piece of paper.

  "That's over half a million a year just from one truck," I said.

  "Okay, Artie, go home and take a hot shower," Pauli said. "You stink."

  "Shit! You mean my vacation is over?" Reyna said.

  "Looks like. You think any of the workers at ABP would testify if someone pressed charges against Lopez or Camarena?"

  "I doubt it, but there might be some in Mexico who would. Lots of guys runnin' around down there without all their fingers because of the work they did. Once they got hurt, the company didn't keep them on, and some of them are a little pissed about it."

  "I'll call you later if we need their names," Pauli said, getting up. "Enjoy the rest of your vacation." When Pauli and I were alone, he asked, "Got enough now?"

  "Pretty close. There still isn't any proof that Camarena knew your friend there might have been an illegal. He looked at fake papers, which he could have believed were the real thing."

  "Yeah, I guess it is kinda normal to hire workers outta the back of a lettuce truck. Come on, Jo! You got it all on film. Camarena was waitin' for them."

  "I know it, and you know it, but will a jury see it?"

  "Well, I think they might be a tad suspicious."

  "You tell me, Pauli. If you took what we've got right now to the DA, would he go to the grand jury?"

  "Probably not."

  "Maybe it's just Lopez and Escobar who're involved."

  "Look at Lena's notes, Jo. Camarena's name is all over them. If Artie stayed longer at ABP, I'm sure he would've found something on Camarena, too."

  "No, he's done enough. Why didn't you tell me you sent someone in there?"

  "Because if someone had snagged you and beat the shit out of you like they did your housekeeper, I didn't want Artie compromised. You couldn't tell what you didn't know."

  "Won't they miss Reyna now?"

  "There's a thousand more out there ready to take his place. Besides, it ain't like they'd expect him to give two weeks notice."

  "Where'd he get the eight hundred?"

  "I gave it to him. But don't worry, I won't charge you any interest."

  IT WAS ALREADY dark by the time we picked up dinner and pulled into Pauli's driveway. As his headlights swept over the front of the house, I thought I saw someone in the shadows next to his front door. I turned to look at Pauli and before I could say anything, he said, "I saw him."

  The garage door opened, and we pulled in. Pauli threw the car into park, pulling his gun as he exited the car. The garage door was halfway down when he ducked under it. I jumped out of the car and went through the kitchen toward the front door. As I opened the door, I saw Pauli holding a man against the side of the house, his gun under the man's chin.

  "Flip on the light, Jo!" Pauli yelled.

  As soon as the light came on, Pauli loosened his grip on the man and reholstered his pistol.

  "That's a good way to get yourself killed, kid," he said as he turned to come up the steps of the house.

  I looked over the edge of the porch and saw Kyle leaning against the brick wall.

  "What the hell are you doing here? You're supposed to be with Sarita."

  He pushed away from the wall and came to the foot of the steps. "Can I come in?" he asked, rubbing his chin where Pauli had had his gun pressed.

  I didn't answer him but went back into the house, leaving the front door partially open. Goddamn kids never do what the hell you tell them. I joined Pauli in the kitchen as he spread food on the table. Kyle stood in the doorway and watched us for a few minutes.

  "Sit down, kid," I finally said. "I'll split my burger with you."

  He sat down and took the food I handed him.

  "How'd you get back?" I asked.

  "Flew in and took a cab from the airport."

  "I hope you had the brains to leave Sarita with her folks."

  "She's going to stay there until this is over. We both thought I should come back."

  "You're both wrong," I said, shaking my head.

  "It's my story. If I don't put it to bed, Sarita and I will never feel safe again. I don't want her spending all her time looking over her shoulder."

  "Might be doin' that anyway," Pauli interjected. "You put Escobar and Lopez away, the rest of their friends might still come lookin' for you."

  "We're leaving San Antonio as soon
as the story breaks. We've been planning it for a while, but this kind of cinched it for us."

  "Giving up journalism?" I asked.

  He shook his head as he chewed. "Been offered a job with the Denver Post."

  "Nice state," I said with a smile. "Took your mother up there once. She didn't enjoy it nearly as much as I did."

  "Was that when the groundhog got her?" Kyle asked as he chewed his burger.

  "She told you about that?" I asked, more than a little surprised.

  "I overheard her telling the story to someone else."

  "What's the groundhog story?" Pauli said through a mouthful of food.

  "Oh, I dragged Cate on a camping expedition to Colorado. You know, a little fishing, a little relaxation, a little tent. She only went along because I wanted to go. It was colder than a well digger's ass at night, and the last night we were there it was colder than usual. Anyway, one thing led to another in the sleeping bag when, right in the middle of all that passion, we were rudely interrupted at an inopportune moment by a damn groundhog looking for fresh air. Poked Cate right in the back. She screamed, and needless to say, we kinda lost the moment. Never got her to go camping again."

  Pauli started laughing and I smiled at the memory. When I looked at Kyle, he was smiling, too.

  "You want me to catch you up on what we've got so far?" I asked Kyle. "We've come to an impasse. Maybe you can come up with a fresh idea."

  We sat down on Pauli's couch, and I took him through everything we had gathered, one piece of paper at a time, even the possible connection between Susan, Camarena, and McCaffrey. He didn't say much as I explained what we thought was going on, only nodding occasionally. When we were finished, he rested his elbows on his knees and looked at me.

  "I didn't see much evidence that would involve Camarena with the illegals," he said.