"Pretty chancy bringing illegals through in broad daylight," I said as I watched.
"Best time. So many fuckin' Mexicans around, who's gonna notice five or ten more? Once they're out of the truck, they just blend in. They'd be too easy to spot if they brought them in before the Terminal opened. Might as well carry a sign sayin' 'arrest me.'"
The truck backed into a vacant space and stopped. Two men climbed out of the cab and went to the rear of the truck. It looked like another lettuce day to me. The driver and his passenger were talking and laughing as they pushed the backdoor of the truck open.
"Well, there's a face I recognize," I said as I snapped three or four pictures.
"Who is it?"
"One of them is that guy who was with Escobar at Consuela's."
"Ernesto Lopez. Saw his sheet yesterday while you were in Austin. He's an Escobar-in-trainin'. Petty criminal until recently."
"In the gang?"
"Absolutely. But not into the street stuff anymore. That's for the new punks. Ernesto's workin' on his management skills now. Anything in the truck?"
"Don't see anything."
"Watch under the truck."
I took my eye away from the camera and looked at him.
"For what? An oil leak?"
"Just watch," he said with a smile.
Ernesto and his companion began unloading cases of lettuce and Ruby Red grapefruit. I hadn't eaten since the night before and looking at the produce was making me hungry. As I continued watching, I couldn't believe my eyes.
"What the hell..."
"Trapdoor in the floor of the truck, right? A friend over at INS told me about them. See if you can get pictures of whatever pops up."
Eight shots later I didn't see any more leaks under the truck. Eight men had slid out from under the truck and rolled out onto the floor of the Terminal within a minute and walked away.
"Remember those faces," Pauli instructed as he started the car and pulled quickly away from the curb.
We went around the block, looking into bay doors as we went. I spotted three of the men leaving the Terminal and walking down the alleyway behind it. They weren't carrying anything with them, and Pauli told me their bags were probably still in the truck. The men entered the backdoor of a building a block from the Terminal as Pauli wrote down the address and returned to our original parking place.
Two hours later, Lopez and his companion were joined by another trio of men. Lopez and his buddy climbed back into the truck and pulled away from the stall, leaving the other three with the produce boxes.
"Showtime," Pauli said as he shifted the car into gear.
He kept us a block and a half behind Lopez's truck. Lopez pulled over at the front entrance of the building we had seen the illegals enter and honked once. A few seconds later, all eight men came out of the building and climbed back into the truck, as I continued capturing them on film. We followed the truck through the San Antonio streets until we hit an on-ramp for the interstate.
"Might as well settle back and relax," Pauli said as he readjusted himself behind the wheel. "Just hope we don't wind up in Bumfuck, Iowa."
An hour later, we were approaching Mountain View. We pulled over and waited as the truck stopped at the main gate of ABP. I rested the camera on the dashboard again and continued my chronicle of events. The gates closed behind the van as it entered the main parking area. Stopping near the front door of the company, Lopez jumped out of the truck cab and bounded up the front steps. Ten minutes later, he came out of the building accompanied by Camarena, and I got a nice shot of them together.
"I'd like to get Camarena's attention," I said. "Let him know that I know what his game is."
"What good would that do?"
"We need to flush him out, get him to make a move."
"The only move you might get is a bunch of guys reachin' in their pockets for pistolas."
"Well, we're not getting anywhere with this undercover shit."
Pauli started the car again and made a U-turn to drive away from the plant. "Don't worry, Jo. You'll have everything you need in a day or so. I guarantee it."
He didn't offer any more details, but I knew there was something Pauli hadn't told me. He drove back to San Antonio with a shit-eatin' grin on his face. He didn't stop again until he pulled into a fast food place not far from his house and picked up a bucket of chicken. We still had some telephone work to do.
Pauli made a couple of calls, putting out a search for information about Pan American Investments and then turned the phone over to me. I wasn't looking forward to making my call.
"Hello," a man's voice answered.
"Mr. McCaffrey?" I asked, almost hoping it wasn't.
"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 was
hcloth. 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 olde
r 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."
"Go straight down this street for three blocks and take a left. That street will lead to the northbound interstate. Just watch for the Broadway exit. It's about six miles or so."
Glancing over my shoulder, I looked in the direction he had suggested. Camarena's white Lincoln was already making a right turn three blocks ahead. I waved as the patrol car pulled around me to continue on his search for cars that didn't belong in the area. I pulled away from the curb to find the Lincoln. I hadn't seen who was in the vehicle and hoped it wasn't Mrs. Camarena on her way to an early morning mass.
Although traffic began picking up once I left Hacienda Heights, I didn't have any trouble spotting the Lincoln again. Less than three miles from the house, the car swung into a city park and joined a dozen or so other cars in a grassy parking area. I slowed and saw Felix Camarena getting out of his car, followed by a young boy of about nine. From the way the boy was dressed, it appeared there was going to be an early soccer match. I parked and pulled my camera bag from the backseat of my car.
When I reached the soccer field, I saw two or three dozen people standing along the sidelines and sitting on folding chairs. The game was just beginning, and they were already whooping it up, shouting encouragement at two dozen miniature Peles. I spotted Camarena standing along the sideline, clapping and periodically leaning over to say something to another parent. I don't know shit about soccer and frankly never saw the point of the game. It required speed and agility, but I couldn't think of a single profession that required nimble footwork and forbid you to use your hands. Well, maybe a tap dancer, but then I didn't know anyone making a fortune at that either.
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