Bullseye (6 page)

NINE

“W
as that really Russell Maddox?”

The way Karina asked the question, with an almost breathless excitement that bordered on celebrity worship, set Mason’s teeth on edge.

“Why do you ask it like that?” He snapped the question and pulled his water glass toward him with such an abrupt gesture that liquid sloshed over the edge and onto the scratched wooden tabletop.

“Because he’s like a celebrity. People say he owns half of Albuquerque.” A lock of dark hair swept the table when she leaned forward and lowered her voice. “He’s one of the richest men in the whole state.”

“So he’s rich. So what?” He snatched the slice of lemon from the rim of his glass and squeezed with enough force that a torrent of juice splashed into the water. “I’ve never known you to be overly impressed with money.”

“I’m not.” She straightened and glanced around the restaurant. “But I never thought I’d see him in a regular restaurant. I figured he’d eat in swanky places. You know, the kind with big prices and tiny portions. Fifty dollars for three shrimp and a couple of asparagus spears.”

“For cryin’ out loud, he’s just a guy. Maybe the food here’s good, didja ever think of that?”

Her eyes narrowed, but instead of answering she raised her menu and hid behind the laminated page. He picked up his own menu and scanned the prices. Reasonable, cheap even. And a decent selection of typical Mexican dishes. Ten minutes ago he’d been starving, but the sight of Maddox had soured his stomach. What were the odds of running into him within minutes of Grierson? This day was turning into the nightmare of all reunions. He spared a nasty thought for Caleb. If his buddy had only kept his stupid mouth shut, Mason would be home in Atlanta right now.

For a year or two after he’d moved to Georgia, Mason’s thoughts had hovered around Maddox almost to the point of obsession. His presence at Margie’s funeral had caused a stir, the immaculate charcoal gray suit, dark maroon tie, perfectly coiffed hair and especially the carefully composed expression of sympathy. One of the television news shows made a point of showing a shot panning from Mason’s grief-torn figure to Maddox’s composed but carefully sorrowful one. “Russell Maddox, the grieving owner of Powerhouse Fitness, where newly employed aerobics instructor Marjorie Sinclair was brutally murdered, attended the victim’s funeral on Saturday. Sinclair’s husband, Albuquerque police officer Mason Sinclair, has been named as a person of interest in the investigation. No charges have yet been filed.” All he had to do was close his eyes and he could still see that news report.

When the unbelievable occurred and Mason had been put on administrative leave while he was investigated for his own wife’s murder, he’d gone into full investigation mode on his own. And everywhere he’d turned, one name kept cropping up. Russell Maddox. Parker, his old partner, had said it was just coincidence because the guy seemed to own half the city. But even though Mason’s gut instinct had told him the guy was up to no good, he’d never uncovered a shred of evidence to prove it, and that had left a bad taste in his mouth that hadn’t cleared in the past four years.

The waiter approached, a dark-skinned kid with straight black hair and Hispanic features. He set a bowl of tortilla chips and a dish of runny salsa on the table between them.

“What can I get you to drink?” Not a trace of accent sounded in his voice.

“I’m sticking with water,” Mason replied.

“Something diet, please.” Karina’s gaze rose from her menu. “Was that really Russell Maddox we saw leaving a minute ago?”

His bored expression barely changed. “Yeah. He comes here a lot.”

“Really?”

The kid nodded. “I guess he likes the enchiladas.”

She grinned. “I’ll bet he leaves a decent-size tip, huh?”

A shrug and an eye roll. “I never get to wait on him. He and the manager are friends or something. Jorge always takes care of Mr. Maddox personally.”

He wandered off to get their drinks, and Mason leveled a disgusted glare across the table.

She returned the look calmly. “Wipe the glare off your face. I’m not impressed with his money. For your information, I have a reason for asking.” She unwrapped the blue paper slip securing her napkin around her utensils.

She’s going to make me ask.
For some reason, that irritated him.

“So? Are you going to tell me?” he snapped.

Only when her napkin was smoothed in her lap did she answer. “Several times Alex mentioned seeing Russell Maddox in the store where he works. At the time I thought it was strange that a rich guy like him would shop in a dinky little grocery store like that, but I didn’t give it much thought. But now.” Her head moved as she looked around the room.

Mason followed her glance. On the inside this place was everything the outside had promised. Clean, but tiny and about as plain as you could get. Eight scarred wooden tables with hard plastic chairs. Fake tile floor scraped by the chair legs. Few attempts at decorations adorned the walls, mostly brightly colored ponchos and a display of cheap straw hats. Certainly nothing to attract the attention of a rich guy like Maddox. And apparently he ate here on a fairly regular basis.

A kind of sick excitement tickled the base of Mason’s skull. “Those must be some killer enchiladas.”

The look Karina gave him was full of understanding. “I can hardly wait to try them.”

Maybe they’d stumbled onto something. If he could pin something on Maddox—anything, even a misdemeanor—that would make this trip worthwhile in Mason’s books. His appetite stirred back to life.

The waiter returned and set Karina’s soda on the table in front of her. “So do you know what you want?”

“Enchiladas, definitely,” Mason said, and Karina nodded agreement. As the kid turned to leave, Mason stopped him with a word. “Hey, let me ask you a question. Did you work much with José Garcia?”

Finally, a reaction on the bored face. The smooth forehead creased, and his eyes darkened with grief. “Yeah. He was a buddy of mine.”

“Terrible what happened to him.” Mason shook his head in sympathy. “Getting shot by his friend and all.”

Karina stiffened in her chair, and her mouth opened like she was getting ready to launch a verbal torpedo. He kept his gaze fixed on the server’s face and kicked her under the table.

The teen’s reaction almost mirrored Karina’s. He seemed to grow a couple of inches taller as his spine stiffened. “They got no proof of that.”

Mason picked up a straw and peeled the paper off. “The television folks seem pretty convinced.”

The kid’s expression became almost hostile. “I don’t care what the TV says, mister, I don’t believe it. I know Alex, too, a little, and there’s no way he’d shoot José.”

A smile spread across Karina’s face, and her grateful eyes practically embraced the kid. Mason ignored her.

“Oh?” He shoved the straw into his glass and wadded the paper into a tight wad. “Were you there that night? Did you see what happened?”

His gaze fell away, and his weight shifted from one foot to the other. “No,” he admitted.

“So if you didn’t see what happened, then how do you know José’s friend didn’t shoot him, just like the police say he did?”

“I just know, that’s all.”

Mason pushed. “But how do you know?”

The kid didn’t answer. His jaw became hard, stubborn, and he returned Mason’s calm gaze with increasing hostility. For a moment Mason thought he might give them something, a piece of important information that would point them in the right direction. Then the teen’s expression became stonelike.

“Your enchiladas won’t take long,” he ground out through set teeth. “I’ll bring them out as soon as they’re ready.”

He left abruptly, and disappeared behind a swinging door in the far wall. Mason spared a hope that he hadn’t angered the kid enough that he’d do something disgusting, like spit on his enchiladas.

Karina watched him go, then turned a satisfied grin toward Mason. “See? Nobody who knows Alex would ever think he could do something like that.”

Mason stared after the kid. Unfortunately, he got the impression the boy was simply defending a friend, not speaking from specific knowledge. If there was something behind his denial besides loyalty, he was hiding it better than Mason thought he could.

“Too bad,” he remarked to Karina.

“What do you mean?”

He picked up his water glass and sipped from the straw. “I don’t care how many of his buddies insist Alex wouldn’t hurt José, it’s going to take more than a few character witnesses to clear him of murder charges. We need someone who saw them that night.”

She sagged against the chair back, shoulders slumped. Mason felt a stab of guilt. He hated to pop her bubble, but she needed to be realistic. With the evidence the police had against Alex, even though it was circumstantial, Mason would have to come up with something pretty substantial to convince the judge to release him.

“Sorry.” He reached across the table and covered her hand. “But don’t lose hope. We’ve hardly begun. We’ll come up with something soon.”

She rewarded him with a grateful smile, and didn’t move her hand. Mason sat there, his arm extended across the table, his fingers growing warm where they touched her skin, reluctant to pull back and break the moment. It was almost as if years had fallen away, and she was looking to him to solve her problems, to be the strong one and provide the support she needed. He liked the feeling.

Finally she slid her hand out from beneath his and placed it in her lap. Her gaze didn’t quite meet his.

“Do you have any ideas?”

The truth was, he didn’t. But he had more than an idea. He had a suspicion. And he knew where to go to figure out if that suspicion would pan out.

* * *

“Yeah, the name’s Maddox.” Mason spoke into his cell phone while they crossed the parking lot toward the rental car. “M-A-D-D-O-X. Russell.”

“You know, you could do a simple internet search yourself.”

Brent, his friend and the third member of the Falsely Accused Support Team, sounded like he was standing right beside Mason, thanks to the ridiculously expensive and super fancy phone he’d insisted they all carry. Brent was the geek of the group, and owned every gadget on the market.

“I could,” Mason agreed, “if I had access to a computer, but we’re getting in the car at the moment.”

“Use your smartphone,” Brent said.

Mason held the phone away and examined the screen for a moment, then shook his head. “I can’t even figure out how to stop dialing the thing with my ear while I’m trying to talk on it.”

Brent heaved a loud sigh, obviously for Mason’s benefit. “Okay, fine. What am I looking for?”

They arrived at the car, but Mason waved Karina away from the door. “If I knew, I wouldn’t need you to look for me. Just find out whatever you can about the guy. And see if there’s a connection to a little dive called Casa del Sol Restaurante
,
or to—” He spoke to Karina. “What’s the name of the place Alex works?”

“The Speedy Superette on Chacoma.”

He spoke back into the phone. “Did you hear that?”

“Yeah, I got it.” A pause. “Okay, give me a bit. Lauren and I are over at my sister’s, so I’ll call you back later.”

“Thanks, buddy.” Mason disconnected the call and spoke to Karina while he pocketed the phone. “Do me a favor and stand over there.”

“Why?” she asked as she moved to the place he’d pointed, twelve feet across the parking lot.

“Just in case.”

Concern creased her brow and she stood clutching the strap of her handbag, watching him closely. Mason approached the rental car with a cautious step. He stooped down and looked below, but could see nothing unusual about the undercarriage, nor was there anything hidden behind the wheels. They’d been in the restaurant for over half an hour, far longer than they’d been in the Garcias’ house. If whoever cut the gas line on Karina’s car
had
intended to blow them up, they might decide to go bigger with a second attempt.

With a breath captured in his chest, he pushed the remote to unlock the door. An audible
click
sounded, and the headlights flared to life. With his arm extended at full length and his head turned away—the right side toward the car, since a second blast would at least give him a matching set of singed ears—he opened the door. Encouraged, he stooped down and pulled the hood release lever.

Stomach muscles taut, he moved to the front of the car and lifted the hood. At least they’d parked beside a light pole that shed a little light, though much of the engine’s interior lay in shadows. Was there an explosive device hiding down in there? He pulled the phone out of his pocket. If they’d
really
wanted to make this thing handy, they would have built a flashlight into it. As it was, he slid a finger around the screen until it lit up, and then used the light to inspect the engine. He found the gas line and checked it by feel. No cuts.

“I think it’s all right,” he called to Karina.

She approached, her expression grateful, and paused before she slid into the passenger seat. “Thank you, Mason.”

He looked at her across the hood. “For what?”

A tiny smile curved her lips. “For keeping me safe.”

A quippy reply danced on the tip of his tongue, something about self-preservation and not wanting to get the other side of his face blown off, but it died at the sight of that sweet smile. Keeping her safe felt natural, and satisfying in a way that was faintly disturbing. So he made no answer at all.

They seated themselves in the car, and clicked their seatbelts. When the engine started smoothly, they both exhaled relieved sighs they’d been holding, then exchanged a grin at their shared paranoia. The dashboard display announced the time as almost nine o’clock. He’d really like to find out if the investigating officers had discovered any witnesses when they’d questioned the neighbors around the Garcia residence. But Grierson had probably warned them off talking to him, and Parker’s date was no doubt in full swing at the moment. Talking to him would have to wait until the morning.

He needed to find a hotel for the night, though he wasn’t too keen on sitting alone all evening the first night back in Albuquerque. Those ghosts Caleb mentioned were bound to haunt this night. The longer he could put that off, the better.