Pipeline (22 page)

"Yes,
this is Albert McCaffrey. Who is this?"

"My
name is Joanna Carlisle, sir, and I'm a reporter. I was wondering if I could
ask you a few questions about your daughter, Julianne."

There
was silence on the other end of the line for several uncomfortable moments.

"You
say you're a reporter?" he finally asked.

"Yes,
sir. I'm researching a story, and during my investigation, I came across the
story of your daughter's death."

"It's
been a long time, Ms. Carlisle."

"I
know, and I apologize for dragging up unpleasant memories. Is there anything
you can tell me about your daughter's death that might not have been in the
police reports?"

"I
doubt it. They never found out who killed her, but I believe they were very
thorough. Just ran into a brick wall."

"The
newspaper report said she had been at a fraternity party. Do you know whether
that's true or not?"

"I
assume it is. She was engaged to a member of the fraternity. Her fiancé told me
they had gone to the party but left early. He was coming down with a touch of
the flu or something, so he took her back to her apartment and went on home."

"Well,
that sounds pretty much like what the police told me. I was hoping there might
have been something they left out. I appreciate you talking to me about this,
Mr. McCaffrey."

"You
know, I've always hoped they would find whoever killed my daughter. If
something should come up, I hope you'll let me know."

"I
will, sir. And thank you again."

It
was nearly ten o'clock before Pauli and I finished eating and putting together
what we had. We knew that Lopez was one of Escobar's men and that Escobar and
Camarena were related. Now we knew that Lopez had delivered illegals directly
into Camarena's hands at ABP. What we didn't have was proof that Camarena knew
they were illegals. We assumed they had picked up forged papers in San Antonio
and that would let Camarena plead ignorance. I felt like a dog chasing its tail
and was ready to pack it in for the night. We put the McCaffrey case into
another folder and decided it was a separate story that might merit closer
examination at another time.

Pauli
and I were finishing one last cup of coffee when we heard a banging at the
front door.

"You
expectin' someone?" Pauli asked as he glanced at his wristwatch.

I
shook my head. "No one knows I'm here except Cate."

"I'm
not expecting anyone until tomorrow," he said as he rose from his chair.
He stopped on his way to the door to take a handgun from a hall desk. Looking
through the peephole in the door, he turned around and motioned to me.
"It's for you."

While
he returned the gun to the desk, I opened the front door and saw Kyle standing
on Pauli's front steps.

"You
looking for me?" I asked.

"Mom
told me where you were."

"What
can I do for you?"

"I
want you to get the fuck out of my life! I didn't need you then, and I don't
need you now. All you've done is cause more trouble!" he rambled
irrationally.

Looking
past him, I saw Sarita leaning against the car. Tearstains ran down her olive
face, leaving traces of salt in their path. Pushing past Kyle, I went to
Sarita's side and helped her into the house. Her body trembled as I put my arm
around her and guided her toward the couch. Pauli appeared from nowhere
carrying a First Aid kit and wet washcloth. There was a small cut under her
right eye, and the blood from it had mingled with her tears. Pauli spoke to her
in a soft voice as he wiped her face. I knew she was in better hands than mine
and turned to face Kyle, who had slumped down on the couch. Deciding the best
thing I could do was find out what had happened, I led him into the kitchen and
set a cup of coffee in front of him.

"What
happened?" I asked.

"Four
men. They grabbed Sarita outside our apartment building and used her to get
inside."

"A
robbery?"

"A
warning," he said, his eyes hard as he looked at me. "To drop the
story. I didn't understand half of what they were saying, but I got the
message. You're still investigating, aren't you?"

"Yes,
but..."

"Well,
tonight Sarita paid for your damn digging, okay?"

"I
haven't been near either one of you."

"The
message is 'lay off or next time it won't just be a warning.' I told them I
didn't know anything. That's when they told me to pass the message on to you.
Then they made sure I understood."

"What
did they do to Sarita?"

"Two
of them held me while the other two hit her," he said without looking at
me, his voice shaking. "Then they tore her clothes off, and there wasn't a
goddamn thing I could do to help her."

"Did
they..."

"No,
but they could have. One of them said, 'next time.'" He tried to control
himself, but his emotions were getting the best of him. He threw his coffee cup
across the kitchen, and it shattered against the wall.

"We
have to get you and Sarita out of San Antonio," I said.

I
left the kitchen and went into Pauli's office. In less than twenty minutes, I
had reservations for both of them on the last flight to Dallas that night and
had spoken to Sarita's mother, who agreed to pick them up when the plane
landed. In Kyle's condition, I couldn't be sure he hadn't been followed to
Pauli's house.

When
I returned to the living room, Pauli was covering Sarita with an afghan.

"We
don't have time for that, Pauli. We have to be at the airport in half an hour.
Can you make it by then?"

"With
time to spare. What's goin' on?"

I
took him aside and recounted what Kyle had told me. While I got Sarita up,
Pauli grabbed a jacket and took his pistol from the drawer again, checking to
see how many rounds he had. We led Kyle and Sarita through the backdoor into
the garage and got into Pauli's car. He told them to lie down so they couldn't
be seen from the outside before he pushed the button on the garage door opener
and backed out. He drove slowly for several blocks, constantly checking to see
if we were being followed. When he was satisfied we were alone, he floored the
accelerator and headed toward the San Antonio airport, making it with time to
spare. Pauli hung back as I escorted them into the terminal.

"I
should stay here," Kyle said.

"There's
nothing you can do here. Sarita needs you with her." I took him by the arm
and pulled him toward me. "Nothing is more important now than Sarita's safety,
Kyle. Maybe I should have realized this could happen, but I thought they would
come after me directly. I'm sorry. I know I said I wouldn't steal your story,
but it's out of our hands now. I have to take it to the end. I hope you can
understand that."

He
looked at me and nodded.

"I'll
let you know when you can come back and write it up."

"I'm
not sure I care about it anymore."

I
waited until they had passed safely through airport security before I rejoined
Pauli.

"I
know that look," he said. "You got a plan."

"Yeah."

He
stopped and shifted his cigar in his mouth. The truth was that I didn't have a
plan, but if vengeance belonged to the Lord, I wanted to be His messenger. I
hadn't met Felix Camarena personally. Maybe it was time to do that.

Chapter
Twenty-Two

I
COULDN'T SLEEP that night, but this time I didn't notice Pauli's intermittent
snoring. I poured over the files we were accumulating, trying to decide what to
do next. I had seen or been seen by almost everyone involved in the story.
Camarena had possibly seen me at Mountain View before Lena was killed, but I
couldn't be sure. Pauli had noted Camarena's San Antonio address in the file.
Unfolding a city map of San Antonio, I found the street. It was in a section of
the city that I recognized as an older but affluent part of town. Over the
years, the homes in the area had matured, and the value of the property had
remained expensive and stable.

I
left Pauli's house before the sun came up and less than forty minutes later was
driving into the neighborhood known as Hacienda Heights. Unlike Austin, where
there is a twenty-four-hour-a-day traffic jam, early morning San Antonio
traffic took a rest. I couldn't help but reflect that it had been a peaceful
city before the nearly one million inhabitants turned it into just another big
city. I found Buena Vista without difficulty and drove slowly down the tree-
and hedge-lined street until I saw the number 424 illuminated on a brick pillar
that supported an ornate, wrought iron security gate. It was nearly dawn on a
Saturday morning as I pulled to the curb a block down the street from the
Camarena house. Pouring a cup of coffee from the Thermos I borrowed from Pauli,
I waited. I didn't know what I expected but wanted to know more about
Camarena's routine.

My
life had been disrupted more than I thought was possible in the short time
since Cate came to me looking for help. I was more exhausted than I realized,
and the warm coffee was making me drowsy. Rolling down the window to let fresh
air into the car, I wondered whether I would be doing what I was doing now if I
had made a different choice fifteen years earlier. I could have had a safe,
peaceful life secure in the arms of a woman who loved me, or I could have had a
life wandering from place to place seeking danger and excitement. I had chosen
the latter. Now I desperately wanted that safe, peaceful, secure life, yet here
I was wandering around a city I barely knew with danger seeking me, and it
wasn't the least bit exciting. Part of me was angry that Cate had dragged me
into this mess, but I knew I would have done the same thing if our roles had
been reversed. She had never asked anything of me before, and I could have
turned her down. But I didn't. Now I had to force Cate out of my mind and
remember Lena and the look on Sarita's face. I had always done my best work
when I was pissed off. I had already surpassed that point and moved on to a
higher level of anger.

My
train of thought was interrupted by a thumping sound at the rear of my Blazer
that nearly caused me to spill my coffee. Glancing quickly in the rearview
mirror I groaned when I saw blue and red police lights flashing behind me.
Great! Just fucking wonderful. A moment later an officer's face appeared in the
driver's side window, his hand resting on the grip of his service revolver.

"Can
I help you, officer?" I asked.

"License
and registration, ma'am."

I
reached across the front seat and flipped open the glove compartment, rummaging
around a few minutes before I located my vehicle registration. Without thinking
I reached toward my back pocket to retrieve my license.

"Freeze!"
he said loudly and plainly as I found myself looking into the barrel of his
forty-five. "Let me see both hands."

"No
problem, officer. My license is in my wallet in my back pocket."

"Put
your left hand out the window and open the door with your right. Then step out
of the car," he ordered, moving slightly away from the door.

I
kept my hands raised as I stepped slowly from the Blazer. "I'm sorry,
officer. I wasn't thinking."

"Take
your wallet from your pocket using only your thumb and forefinger."

Nodding,
I handed him my wallet, keeping my eyes on his revolver.

"Move
to the back of your vehicle and place your hands above the tailgate."

Watching
Camarena's house through the windows of my SUV, I waited while the patrolman
called my license and plates in to his dispatcher. A few minutes later he said,
"You can lower your hands, Ms. Carlisle. Why are you parked in this
neighborhood this early?"

I
rubbed my hands together as blood began flowing into my arms again. "I'm a
photographer and have an assignment to photograph some of the older homes in
this area for a magazine layout. I thought catching a few shots as the sun rose
over their rooflines would create some interesting pictures."

"Next
time make sure you notify the homeowners' association in advance. Some of the
residents around here get pretty jumpy when they spot a vehicle that doesn't
belong here."

"I
should have thought of that, I guess. Must be a very safe place to live."

Touching
the bill of his cap with his fingertips the officer smiled and returned to his
patrol car. I was reaching for the handle of my vehicle when I heard a grating,
metallic sound. The sun was beginning to filter through the trees as I looked
around to find the source of the sound. The gate in front of Camarena's house
was swinging open.

Goddamn
it! Turning back to the patrol car I called out, "Excuse me,
officer!"

Stopping
with one foot already in his car, the police officer said, "Ma'am?"

"Can
you tell me the fastest way from here to Broadway? I have another assignment
after I finish here and don't want to be late."