Point of Betrayal (23 page)

“Ah, I see. So you would see her as she was arriving and you were leaving. Did you guys pass each other at the parking lot, or how did you get to know her?”

Mason thought about the question for a moment before answering. “Well, I guess that’s how we originally met, probably in the parking area, but I’d see her a lot on the patio. She’d usually arrive ten or fifteen minutes early because she wanted to be prompt, so she’d grab a soda and we’d chat after I clocked out.”

Jack offered a slow grin. “Was there ever anything else?”

“No, no,” Mason said, flustered. “We were just friends.”

“But did you want to be more than friends?”

The easy smile disappeared into thin lips. After a long pause he answered. “At one point, for a while. Then Margarita made it clear she just wanted friendship so that was okay with me.”

He pretended to read some notes. “Was it? Was it really okay?”

“Yes,” he said firmly.

Jack stared into his unflinching blue eyes. “What if I told you that someone had seen the two of you arguing one afternoon?”

“Then I’d tell you that person was lying. Margarita and I
never
had an argument. Not once. Never,” he said emphatically.

He leaned back in his chair and exhaled. “Okay, let’s talk about the last day she was alive. Did you see her at the end of your shift?”

As if coming out of a trance, Mason snapped up. “Uh, no. I didn’t. As I passed the patio, I looked for her to say hi, but she wasn’t there.”

“She was late, which was unusual.”

He nodded. “Yes, it was very unusual.”

“Do you know why she was late?”

“I do now but I didn’t know then. Her car wouldn’t start and so she borrowed a friend’s car, a little Honda.”

He picked up the file again and read through his statement. “And that was the car you had towed the next morning, right?”

“Yes. The lot has a strict nine-hour policy. It keeps the residents and visitors from parking there overnight and ensures there is enough employee parking. It’s kinda cheap, actually,” he admitted. “Management doesn’t want to fork out the money for another parking lot, even though we need one.”

“So you saw this car had been parked there for over nine hours and had it towed, not knowing it was Margarita’s transportation that day.”

He opened his mouth to say something and then closed it. “Yeah, that’s it, really. The night security guard had chalked the tire so I had it towed.”

“Which is the policy,” he confirmed.

“Yes.”

“And unfortunately by towing the car, valuable evidence was lost because the trucker—and you—trampled all over the ground surrounding the vehicle as you prepared it to be hauled away.”

He slumped in his chair. “That’s right. I’ve always felt horrible about that.”

“I imagine,” he sympathized. “Let me ask you. Where do you park your car?”

“I don’t. I ride my bicycle. I live close and it saves a lot of money on gas.”

Jack adjusted his glasses and picked up Mason’s statement. “Oh, I see that now. Sorry. What kind of bike do you ride?”

“Cannondale, a CAAD Ten.”

“Sounds like a really nice bike.”

“It is. It’s one of the best bikes Cannondale makes.”

He scratched his head thoughtfully. “So where do you park a bike like that so it doesn’t get stolen?”

“Well, I used to keep it in the employee break room, but some people started messing with it, so I started parking it over by the restaurant. The busboys are really cool and keep an eye on it for me. It’s not in the way or anything and the manager said it was okay. I lock it up, of course.”

“How many other employees ride to work?”

He shrugged. “A few, I guess. Not many.” He snorted and said, “This is Phoenix. Everybody drives.”

Jack laughed with him. “So true. What color is your bike?”

“Black and silver.”

“But your seat is rather different, isn’t it? It’s very narrow and made of brown leather.”

“It’s actually called a saddle and it’s much better for longer rides.”

He took off his glasses and tapped them on the table while he thought of his next question. “Pretty distinctive, though, right?”

“Absolutely,” he agreed. “It’s from Brooks. That saddle set me back a hundred and twenty bucks.”

“You don’t know anyone else with a seat like that, I mean a
saddle
?” he asked.

“Of course not,” he said with superiority. “Only serious riders would spend that much money.”

“Was Margarita impressed with your bike?”

The question surprised him. “Um, we never talked about it. She told me she was glad I was helping out the environment.”

He chuckled as if Mason had told a joke. “Do you think it was a turnoff, though? Maybe one of the reasons she wouldn’t date you? I mean, who wants to date a guy with a bike? Where would she sit?”

Mason’s face darkened and his body went rigid. “Margarita wasn’t that judgmental. If we’d gone out, I would’ve borrowed my friend’s car.”

“Did you tell her that? Did you reassure her that you had wheels? Women have a thing for cars. How a guy gets around says a lot about his financial situation, his standing in life—”

“That’s not why we didn’t date.” His pleasant tone had evaporated into an almost robotic voice.

“Then why?”

He swallowed hard. “She just didn’t like me in
that
way.”

“Did she have a boyfriend?”

“No.”

“What about Julio, the patio bartender?” He frowned and Jack added, “Wasn’t he the reason she kept arriving to work early? She wanted him to notice her. How did you feel about that?”

“Julio’s fine.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is he? It didn’t bother you that she’d rather be seen with an uneducated second-shift bartender than a college man who was going places?” Mason’s face contorted into a sick expression at the thought. Jack leaned across the table and added, “She picked him to fuck and not you.”

“I didn’t care!” he cried. “Whatever she did with that illegal wetback was her business!” He pushed away from the table but didn’t get up.

Jack glanced at the video camera in the corner and pulled a form from a folder. “Bennett, I need you to look at one more thing and then we’ll be done.”

He wiped his eyes and regained his composure. “Of course. I only have a few more minutes. I have a lot to do today.”

“This is a page from the resort’s call log. Have you ever seen one of these?” He shook his head. “Anytime a guest calls the customer service line, the information is documented by the representative who takes the call. On the night of Margarita’s murder, a rep named Sarah took a call from a very distraught guest who had accidentally backed into a parked bicycle. Being a good citizen, the guest felt inclined to report it and offered to pay for the damages if the owner could be found. She described the bicycle very specifically, mentioning it was a Cannondale with a funny looking brown seat. That call came in at one twenty-five a.m.” He tapped the page while Mason scanned it. “Unfortunately, the bike’s owner never came forward.” When Mason looked up at him, his eyes blazing, Jack asked, “Why were you at the resort at one in the morning?”

“I wasn’t,” he said indignantly. “I have no idea who this person is or why she’s describing my bike.”

“Where were you?”

“Home. In bed. I had to be at the resort by seven the next morning. You can check our records if you want.”

“And I assume you rode your bicycle to the resort the next day?”

“I did,” he said softly.

“Is that why a bus pass was charged to your credit card that morning before your shift started?” He pulled the credit card statement from the folder and shoved it at him.

A long pause ensued as Mason’s gaze flitted between the statement and the call log. His head shot up and he glared at Jack. “There’s no crime in buying a bus pass. Lots of cyclists alternate between types of transportation. I have no idea why this woman is reporting she hit a bike that looks like mine. My bike is perfectly fine.”

There was a quick knock on the door, and Andre entered long enough to hand him a slip of blank paper and return to the video room. He pretended to read it, well aware that Mason’s eyes were glued to him. He folded the paper in half and set it on the file. Mason glanced at the note before their eyes met again.

“Mason, what if I were to tell you that we just obtained a warrant for your bike and your apartment? We intend to have vehicle experts analyze every inch of that bike to determine if it’s recently been in an accident or repainted. Those guys are so good. They don’t miss a thing. They’ll even be able to figure out which bike shop did the work or if you did it yourself.”

Now it was Mason’s turn to glance at the video camera. His expression became opaque and far away. “If you’re charging me with something, I want a lawyer,” he finally said, unwilling to look at Jack again. “Otherwise, I’d like to leave.”

“Okay,” he replied, “but I’d like to tell you a little story first. I think you had it bad for Margarita because she was a lot like you. She was pretty, in college and very smart. Just like you. You both came from good families, and I’m guessing you thought she’d want you for sure.” He paused, but Mason ignored him and continued to stare at the camera. “But she didn’t want you. She wanted the exotic bartender who was probably a little dangerous.” He chuckled and added, “I’ve met the guy. He’s definitely the Latin lover type.”

Mason remained stoic.

“You finally couldn’t take the rejection anymore. You showed up when she got off work. You knew the guard on duty, Dean, would be way busy entertaining Lisa at the guard shack in the west parking lot. You waited until Ian left Margarita and you followed her. Maybe you pleaded with her, or maybe whatever happened first was an accident. Maybe she made you so angry you just snapped. I’m guessing you threw her into the ravine and followed her down. That’s where you raped and strangled her. Then you carefully covered your tracks to make sure no clues were left behind.”

He thought he saw Mason’s lips quiver, but he couldn’t be sure.

“What you didn’t count on,” he continued, “was that Ian Patton actually saw a security guard as he and Margarita left, but it was too dark to tell who it was. Everyone assumed it was Dean Horn, but it was you. And I can’t imagine how upset you were when you found your beloved bike nearly crushed. That must’ve been quite a long walk home, only to turn around again and be back at the resort by seven a.m. to have the Honda towed.” He wagged a finger at him. “That was quite ingenious. Have the car towed immediately, which would give the police a reason to find your fingerprints all over it.”

Mason’s gaze slowly shifted from the camera to Jack. “I said I want a
lawyer
.”

* * *

Chief Phillips’ anger reminded Jack of the bright red and white coals of a campfire, the heat palpable but lacking the showy licks of fire that weren’t half as dangerous. Ruskin was blathering about the shoddy work of Detectives Salt and Lawrence, not bothering to shoulder any of the responsibility for the botched investigation. They’d worked Escolido for two months and Jack had found the killer in less than two days. As Ruskin ticked off all the excuses he could think of for his lack of supervision, Jack resisted the urge to cut him off. Ruskin clearly wasn’t recognizing the effect of his speech on the chief.

As he took a breath to start another paragraph, Phillips said, “Enough. Save it for the inquiry.”

“What?” he asked.

“I’m opening an inquiry into the handling of this investigation. The family and the public will demand nothing less.
I’m
demanding nothing less. When my chief of detectives can’t realize there might have been
two
security guards present…” She cut herself off and exhaled. “You can go. Juanita Baca is expecting you.”

“Who the hell is she?” Ruskin demanded, dropping all decorum with his superior.

“She’s down in HR. She handles retirements.”

Jack’s gaze dropped to the floor as Ruskin stormed out, muttering “fucking bitch” under his breath. When Jack heard the door slam, he looked up and found the chief staring at him. He shuffled his feet, suddenly uncomfortable, a feeling he wasn’t used to. He was always smooth around women and he loved to flirt, but rarely had it ever been anything more. His heart still belonged to Ari’s mother, but Dylan Phillips was a beautiful woman and he likedher behind Sol Gardener’s big desk. She looked great. It
fit.

She didn’t dismiss him. She twirled a pencil between her fingers like a little wooden baton, deep in thought. “What do you want?” she finally asked.

“Me? Most people would say world peace, but I’m content with a great sunset over the ocean and a cold beer.”

She cracked a little smile and dropped the pencil. “What kind of beer?”

His eyes widened. Was she flirting with him? “Pardon?”

“I need to know what to buy when we celebrate your
double
promotion.”

He stammered, “What?”

“You’re making lieutenant,
and
I’m appointing you the Chief of Detectives.”

“I’m telling you this is a mistake.”

Over the phone Molly heard the insistence in Sienna’s voice. “You’re probably right, but I can’t let this go.”

“I’m not saying that. I’m just against burglary.”

She winced at Sienna’s choice of words. She gazed up at Trombetta Dwellings and the dark window of Biz’s condo. It wouldn’t be breaking and entering in the purest sense. She’d acquired a key.

“Go home now and come back to my place tomorrow,” Sienna whispered.

“Is your husband there?”

“Yes, he just got home from London and the answering service is calling him already. But
he
needs me tonight.
You
can have me tomorrow, as long as you’re not in
jail
.”

Sienna disconnected, having made her point. Molly pulled out Biz’s key and security code, shame washing over her. She’d called her brother and offered to check on Ari’s house, saving Brian a trip across town. He had been grateful, told her where Ari kept her spare key and never questioned her motives. She’d used the opportunity to search her office, and she was both dismayed and grateful when she discovered Biz’s key and code. It probably meant they were sleeping together, but it also gave her a chance to find evidence linking Biz to Vince Carnotti or Wanda’s death.