“More than I can tell you, but I was hoping you might tell me.”
“What are you talking about?”
He just stared at her.
Caren grabbed some clothes and said, “Let me change. I’ll be right back.” She slipped back into the bathroom to change, but really she was buying some time. What should she tell him? What did she know? She took her time dressing and brushing out her hair with the brush full of crushed bristles. She was almost as reluctant to go out in the room and face Duarte as she had been when she didn’t know who was there. She almost would have preferred fighting her way out. She took a breath and stepped back into the large bedroom.
She plopped onto the bed closest to Duarte and returned his gaze for a few moments. She did have feelings for this man. Strong feelings. She knew what was right, and slowly started to feel some shame for her efforts to impress her bosses and move up the chain at the Department of Justice.
Duarte said, “I’m not letting this go.”
“I’ve seen you in action. I believe you.”
“Someone just threatened me with a machine gun.”
“What did they want?”
“Evidence from Oneida Lawson.”
“What evidence?”
“Doesn’t matter. They didn’t get it.”
“I’m just glad you weren’t hurt. How’d you get away?”
“I had some help.”
“From who?”
“The bomber. Looks like there’s some friction inside the group. Why don’t you fill me in.”
“Fill you in on what?”
“Tom Colgan just happened to show up at the same time.”
“What’s he doing here?”
He looked at her with those intense, dark eyes. “I’m out of patience, Caren. What the hell is going on?”
She just stared at him, still a little surprised Tom Colgan had come to Florida. What should she do? What should she say? Was it already too late?
Duarte still kept his eyes on her.
She felt sick to her stomach but knew what had to be done. Finally, realizing that she’d never wait him out in a silence contest, she started to speak. “I’ll tell you everything I suspect. But I never thought they’d use violence.”
“What do you call the bombings?”
“I just thought they wanted to use them as a tool. I didn’t think they caused them.”
Duarte eased back into the chair and said, “Just start from the beginning.”
Caren found herself relaxing, and then start to talk.
Alberto Salez was in the nice Cadillac Seville he had taken from the house where he’d cut off his finger. He had also found a little over two hundred dollars in cash, enough Percocets to keep him pain-free until he died, a good first-aid kit and a ready-made breakfast of eggs and toast. Not bad for a random place to stop. He had gone back into the garage and used a thin screwdriver to work the mechanisms on the handcuffs and slip them off his wrists. He also had his severed pinky in a baggie with ice. It was just in case. He figured it was probably lost for good.
He wasted no time, and started down Southern Boulevard, heading straight to Maria Tannza’s trailer to get that file with the photos and his notes. He needed something to negotiate his life. He had to be careful because Garretti might have the same plan. But he couldn’t waste time either, so he pressed the big car a little harder as he headed toward Royal Palm Beach and then out west of Belle Glade near Lake Okeechobee.
He hoped Maria was in a good mood. Otherwise, she’d be having a very bad afternoon.
For all Alex Duarte’s trouble reading people in the past, he was confident he was hearing the truth now as Caren Larson started to lay out what she knew.
“Bob Morales asked me to take this case a month or so ago. He said it would help my career and give me valuable experience. He offered suggestions and I listened.”
“This was after the first bombing in Seattle?”
“Exactly. He told me to focus on the motive because we’d have cops looking at the actual attack and deaths. He wanted me to prove that this was all a plot from the United Workers of America to dissuade other unions from organizing outside of their influence.” She stopped talking and looked at Duarte.
“What?” asked the ATF man.
“I did more than just believe the theory.”
“What do you mean?”
“I helped plant the idea in some heads.”
“Besides mine?”
“At the labor camp in Belle Glade. The older manager even believed it, or at least thought about it. I think there are political reasons for the theory, but there’s more.”
“What?”
She swallowed and added, “I left out things too.”
“Like what?”
“When I heard Salez worked for Powercore, I didn’t let it register with me.”
Duarte considered this news carefully. This might be the first solid information he had gotten on the case. “Why the United Workers of America? There are unions bigger and with higher profiles than the UWA. Why does the fact that Salez worked for Powercore even matter?”
“Bob Morales worked for Powercore too.”
“What are the political reasons for blaming the union?”
“I think it goes back to his days in private industry. Aside from the fact that the UWA lobbies hard for Democrats, there’s also a personal element. Bob had to put up with some kind of shit from them when he was the legal counsel for Powercore.”
“In Texas?” His mind started to race.
“Where else?”
“You think that’s related to Salez and Morales working together at Powercore?”
“I don’t know. It was a huge company.”
Then Duarte felt his mind click into place on a number of details. “Oneida Lawson worked there too.”
Now she stopped talking and looked at him.
Duarte continued, “Janni Tserick worked for an electric company in Texas. That’s what his boss said. You think that company could have been Powercore?”
Now she looked interested. “Maybe.”
“The tram driver, Munroe, was from Texas. Just through statistics, that seems unlikely. How many people move from Texas every year? Everyone on this case is from Texas, including the deputy attorney general who’s running the investigation.”
Caren kept her blue eyes glued to him.
He gazed into her beautiful face. No way she was lying to him. He could read her now. She was just as shocked as him.
Finally Caren said, “You think Bob Morales is directing the bombings?”
“He sure seems to have worked with everyone involved.” He dug into his pocket for the photo he had taken from Salez’s old apartment and carried with him ever since. He held up the image of Salez with his arm around a smiling Wahlid al-Samir, with his dark, curly hair. “You know this guy?”
She studied the torn photo. “No, no idea. Where’d you get it?”
“Salez’s apartment.” He looked at the photo again. “This kid was the victim of a homicide in Austin.”
“You gonna try to blame Bob for that too?”
“More like Salez. But now I think Roberto Morales was connected with him.”
“So?”
“So, I don’t know, but I have a feeling this is part of this case.”
Caren looked like she was considering all this information, then said, “It comes back to the question of the union. Why throw that whole theory in the mix?”
“Who knows? Maybe slow us down. Maybe he wanted to screw with the union.” Duarte looked up into her eyes and nodded.
“What is it?”
“My father had it right. It’s a distraction. The union issue pulls everyone’s eyes away from the real motive.”
“Which is?”
“The bomber has a list. My guess is, this is to eliminate witnesses. A cover-up.”
“Why didn’t Bob use the FBI, or just leave me on the case alone?”
“He needed outside corroboration in case so
mething went wrong. He needed to say an ATF agent found this or that, not ‘My staff backed up my stupid theory.’”
Caren remained silent while she seemed to contemplate this load of conjecture. “How’d I get picked for this?”
He took some time to consider the question then to phrase the answer so as not to insult her. “He must figure he can control you.”
“Why were you assigned?”
He shrugged. “That could have been chance.”
Then her eyes brightened. “I know why you were picked. It’s obvious now.”
“I’m listening.”
“You’re the Rocket. You get so focused, you lose sight of everything else. Everyone knows it. They wanted someone who’d run with the union theory. They didn’t realize you were a smart bomb in disguise, and could change course. They had to handpick who’d worked the case,”
“That’s why Morales wouldn’t let us use our National Response Team.”
“Where did he get the bomber?”
“The bomber said he’d seen my army jacket. My guess is he’s connected with the government, not a private business.”
“Anything to hide in your army file?”
He thought about it, and said, “Yeah, the bomber and I have something in common.”
39
THE CADILLAC DROVE EASILY, BUT SALEZ’S HAND THROBBED even with the three Percocets he had taken to deaden the pain. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the blood-soaked bandage wrapped around the nub of his little finger. Then that guy giving him shit about staying in his fucking garage. Salez had done the right thing cracking him in the head. He was a jerk-off.
Driving west on Southern Boulevard, he had a hard time focusing on the road, or on what he was going to do after he recovered his file from the lovely Maria Tannza’s trailer in that shitty labor camp. He didn’t know if it was the pain, loss of blood or the Percocets, but he started to drift first to one side, then to the other side, of the busy road. He blinked, but his vision started to blur. Finally he pulled to the side of the road at the entrance to Lion Country Safari. The big car had good air and comfortable seats. He eased back and just shut his eyes for a moment, and that was all it took. Inside of a minute, he was dreaming narcotic-enhanced dreams.
In the parking lot of Caren’s hotel, standing next to Duarte’s Taurus, they considered their options and who they could trust.
Caren said, “Chuck?”
“I think so. What about in DoJ?”
She shrugged.
Then Duarte snapped his fingers. “I almost forgot.” He quick-stepped to the rear of the car and used his keys to pop the trunk.
From her position near the hood, Caren heard a male voice, then was shocked to see Tom Colgan climb out of the cramped trunk.
Colgan brushed himself off, and said in a remarkably calm voice, “Y’all gonna explain that to me?”
Duarte didn’t look inclined to explain anything to the tired-looking FBI agent.
Caren said, “What’re you doing here, Tom?”
“Bob sent me to see where you were on the case.”
Duarte said, “And you just happened to be at the Sunrise Cafe at eight o’clock when I got there?”
“That is breakfast time.”
“And that’s why you ride in the trunk until we clear up a few things.”
Caren looked at the two men she had worked so closely with. They were polar opposites. Colgan loud, brash, charming and useless as a cop, and Alex quiet, intense and the best cop she knew. It was no wonder she had fallen for the ATF man. Now she needed to know what Colgan knew.
“Tom,” she started slowly, “what do you know about this case?”
“Only that you guys haven’t made any progress.”
“Why’d you send me those intelligence forms in Seattle?”
He cocked his head like a puppy.
“The reports on the union activity.”
“Bob told me to.”
She started to see the value in some of Duarte’s interrogation tactics. She looked at the ATF man. “What’s our next move?”
He didn’t hesitate. “We have to make sure Maria is safe. For some reason, she seems to be a focal point. If Salez is still here because of her, we need to find out why.”
Caren said, “I’m ready. Let’s go.”
Duarte looked at Tom Colgan and popped the trunk again.
Colgan said, “No, no way.”
One look from Duarte sent the FBI man scurrying for the open trunk.
Salez awoke with a start. How long had he been out? He wasn’t sure but could tell by the sun it hadn’t been too long. He wiped his face with his left hand, then flinched at the pain. Now he remembered all that had happened. He had hoped it was just a dream. He patted his pocket and felt the end of his pinky in the baggie. The whole idea made him a little queasy. Then he figured out why he had fallen asleep in the first place. He patted his waist to feel the comforting handle of his fillet knife.
Now he could think a little more clearly. He could consider what he’d do with the file on the Powercore job once he had it back in his possession. Blackmail wouldn’t work except to bargain for his life, and if Garretti was the negotiator he was screwed. For a guy who killed people with bombs, he was way too judgmental. During their long questioning sessions, Salez had admitted to killing the woman at the gas station because he needed her car. Garretti seemed to find this repulsive. Salez had kept his mouth shut about the farmworker from whom he had stolen the clothes, Elenia the barmaid, the farm manager and the Hess station attendant in Georgia. And he didn’t know he was going to kill another guy after he escaped. He felt confident Garretti would not have approved of that one either. Prick.
He’d killed a number of people recently, but did it really matter? He was in Florida, where they executed killers whether you killed one person or fifty. You still had to pay the price. He planned on leaving the Sunshine State before it became an issue. But if he didn’t resolve this mess, he wouldn’t be able to live anywhere without looking over his shoulder.
He slowed down as he cut through Belle Glade on his way to the camp. The local cops were not lenient on speeders, and one check of this car would lead to a world of hurt for Salez. He passed the Belle Glade Sports Club and a series of fast-food joints as he followed the road to its union with U.S. Highway 27. He knew his pals from the sports club would be pissed that things hadn’t worked out at the pawnshop. He knew that with Duarte loose when Garretti kidnapped him, his buddies didn’t stand much of a chance. He had tried to call Raul on his cell phone, but once his friend figured out who was calling he hung up. Salez was on his own now.
Salez took a right onto U.S. Highway 27 and found the camp a few miles later. It was relatively quiet, so he didn’t hesitate to drive through the front gate and directly to Maria’s trailer. The big Caddy never would’ve fit in the small slot in front of her trailer, so he just left the land yacht on the street. It didn’t really matter if he was seen now. He would be in and out quick.
He scooted out of the car, felt for his knife out of habit and then realized he had an erection to go with it. As he approached the door, he wasn’t sure if the idea of a naked Maria excited him as much as the idea of a dead Maria. He could always do both, but with the big car, and all the other issues, he thought the time factor might limit his choices.
He hesitated at the front door, smoothing out his hair and running his hand over his rough face.
He didn’t bother knocking, knowing that a surprise would be his best asset in this quick reunion.
He pulled the door open and froze.
Sitting in the recliner in front of the door was Mike Garretti with an automatic pistol pointing right at his face.
The sly man simply asked, “Where’s the file?”
In the small, unpaved parking lot of the empty office trailer, Alex Duarte opened his trunk again so the tall, and now very angry, Tom Colgan could stretch his legs.
“How long you plan on keeping me in there?” asked th
e FBI man.
Duarte shrugged. “Until I know what’s going on and if you can be trusted.”
“Or until I suffocate.”
“Whichever.”
Caren walked back to join them at the trunk. “Should we just walk in and tell her she has to get out?”
Before Duarte could answer, his cell phone rang. He turned and barked, “Duarte.”
“Hey, Alex, it’s Alice Brainard from the lab.”
He smiled, but suddenly felt uncomfortable taking the call in front of Caren. He mumbled, “Hey, how are you?”
“I got a hit on your print.”
“Really? What’d you find?”
“It’s from the army. A guy named Mike Garretti.”
Duarte nodded to himself, not really surprised. “Hey, that’s great, I appreciate it.”
“Want me to do the follow-up to find out exactly who and where he is?”
“Could you? You’re great.”
“Did I earn that drink?”
He looked up into Caren’s face and froze. Then he said, “Yeah, sure.” He looked around and said, “It’s sort’ve a bad time right now. Can I call you back?”
“Sure, anytime.”
Duarte closed his phone and looked down the road toward Maria’s trailer. “There’s a strange car there. A Cadillac.”
Caren said, “Should we call for help?”
“Call who? Besides, my phone is tapped.” He looked hard at Colgan.
“Hey, I don’t tap phones. You’re probably imagining it anyway.”
“We’ll see.” He waved to an older man shuffling by, and said, “Excuse me, sir.”
The man said, “No English,” and smiled. Duarte stuttered through a few words of Spanish without success, then let the man go. As he turned, he found Caren looking at him.
“All right, I admit it. I should speak Spanish, but I don’t.” He looked down the road and said, “Let’s just knock on the door.”
As he said it, he noticed a woman walking from between the two closest trailers. She looked at the trio and smiled, turning toward them.
It was Maria Tannza.
40
Field of Fire Page 28
