Body Heat (28 page)

Sensing the power she held, she grinned as she dug through another drawer. “That wasn't a firm declaration.”

“You've cost me a little confidence,” he said, thumbing through a stack of employee records and pay stubs. “So what are you going to say when they ask who told you about the flashlight?”

She had her head bent, which made it difficult to hear her. “I'll say it was you. And you'll stand behind me, right?”

“Will you still be in your underwear?”

“Forget I ever mentioned underwear. It was an exaggeration, okay?” She laughed despite the mad rush to cover as much territory as possible in the shortest amount of time. “And I need you to be able to think clearly.”

“I can think clearly,” he said, but it was a lie. He hadn't been able to think clearly since he first saw her marching toward him at the crime scene and felt like the fifteen-year-old boy he'd once been. The one who'd had to keep his chin from hitting the ground every time she walked by.

 

Leonard turned off his headlights before slowly driving down the narrow alleyway behind the feed store. He parked his truck to one side of Trudy Dilspeth's cubby of a house, which was situated above her two-bit hair salon. A single mother, Trudy did whatever she could to survive. She had four small children, by a variety of fathers, none of whom had hung around for long.

With a brood like that, she'd be in bed by now, and her darkened windows seemed to confirm it. Even if she wasn't asleep, she was someone he could trust. She'd entertained him for years, once a month at fifty bucks a visit. He'd stop by and have his hair trimmed. Then they'd disappear into the room she kept for her massage clients and she'd wax his back before spending an extra fifteen minutes performing any other service he wanted.

She flirted with him constantly, trying to get him to come in more often. Being married, he'd tried to keep it to a minimum, but he'd sent her quite a few other clients over the years. So she wasn't likely to get involved in a situation—like the one tonight—that didn't concern her. That'd only deprive her children of what she was able to provide. She made far less cutting hair than doing what she did in the massage room—that was for damn sure. Besides, she had reason to be jealous of Sophia. She'd had her eye on Stuart Dunlap ever since she came to town. Once, she'd even hinted that she was pregnant by him. But nothing ever came of that. Leonard didn't know if she'd miscarried or if Stuart had insisted she get an abortion. Probably the latter. No one as rich as Stuart wanted the town whore to be pregnant with his child.

The country-western station he'd been listening to as he drove went silent as soon as he killed the engine, but he
sat in the quiet for a few more minutes, taking a moment to appreciate the peaceful evening. He loved hot summer nights. They carried him back to better times, when his wife was happy being married to him and his kids were running around the place barefoot and screaming like banshees.

He'd expected so much more from life, so much more than he'd gotten.

But it wasn't too late. The fact that Sophia was being fired meant his luck was finally changing. And he was all set up for it to keep changing. He already had two council members who were eager to see him take the helm. With Gary and some of the ranchers behind him, too, he'd make a comeback.

Taking his rifle from behind the seat, where he'd hidden several guns, he jammed his cowboy hat on his head, pulling it low to conceal as much of his face as possible, and lit a cigarette. He didn't usually smoke. Only when he wanted to feel like a Clint Eastwood type. And only when he needed the calming effect of the nicotine.

After a couple of drags, he let the cigarette dangle between his lips and stalked toward the back of the feed store.

He decided to wait in the parking lot. He could hide among the tractors and backhoes and pick Sophia and Rod off as they came out the back door. They wouldn't be stupid enough to exit through the front, where anyone on Bordertown Boulevard could see them.

Yeah, that's it.
Two bodies in the parking lot would be better than two bodies in the store. The cleanup would be easier, which would make Gary happy, he could maintain a safe distance from Rod, who looked as if he could row a boat from California to China on manpower alone, and
there'd be far less chance of anyone being able to find trace evidence or DNA.

Of course, once he became chief of police, he could make what happened here appear to be anything he wanted, so trace evidence wouldn't matter a whole lot in the end. But he preferred to play it safe. Once the FBI solved the UDA killings, Leonard believed he'd have it made.

He'd definitely need that to happen fast, however. He'd made too many promises he couldn't keep when he'd said all that stuff about being able to solve the case. He'd been bluffing, taunting Sophia and all those who'd opposed him with the pretense that he could've done a better job. But he wasn't too worried. Time was on his side. According to what he'd read in this morning's paper, the FBI was now on board, and they knew their shit. They'd find the bastard. And if they didn't do it quickly enough, he could always pretend they were getting in his way.

He smiled as he envisioned what the next year would hold. Sophia would be punished for everything she'd done to him, and that would restore his pride. His wife and kids would return to him. He'd move closer to town and buy them a big, fancy-ass house. Hell, maybe he'd start socializing with the Dunlaps and Fedorkos. They'd always acted as if they were out of his realm but they'd be kissing his ass once he gained new respect in the community. At that point, even Mayor Schilling wouldn't be too much of a stretch.

Soon. Once Sophia was dead and he was in charge of law enforcement in Bordertown, there wouldn't be anyone standing in his way. Business would be booming—for him and all who supported him.

S
ophia found what she was looking for in a file cabinet she'd managed to unlock simply because she knew her stepfather's habits. A stickler for organization, he had to clearly identify every key he owned, and that didn't change just because this was his business instead of his house. She went through his drawers until she came across the plastic container that held all the keys to the farm equipment and drew out the only one that wasn't marked.

Rod glanced up; he'd obviously noticed that she'd stopped moving. “What? You find something?” he asked. “Because there's nothing over here.”

Numb, she sank into her stepfather's chair.

“Sophia?”

“He's involved with the safe house, all right,” she said dully.

Rod left the drawer he'd been searching and strode over to have a look. It was logical that Gary's smuggling business would be kept separate from his regular business, which explained the lock on the file cabinet she'd chosen. But there was still a part of her that'd been hoping she wouldn't have to deal with this, that her antagonistic stance toward her stepfather could remain in the past.

“
How
involved?”

“It's not the Mexican Mafia that owns it.” She handed him the limited partnership agreement that provided the link they'd been searching for.

“Oh, hell,” he said with disgust. “Gary O'Conner is the general partner.”

Sophia stared at the document he was perusing. “That means it's largely his operation, right?”

“Probably.”

“Why would he risk including so many people?”

“Capital. It's expensive to run a business. Maybe he wanted to go big, didn't have the start-up money and this is how he raised it.”

“Question is…do his partners know they've invested in a company that's breaking the law?”

Rod flipped through the agreement until he found a list of the limited partners. “Looks like Neil Munoz is involved, too.”

She got up. “You're kidding me! He's on the city council.”

“And Charlie Sumpter.”

“Then the partners
don't
know. Charlie hates illegal aliens. He wouldn't do anything to bring them into the country.”

Rod spoke slowly, skimming pages at the same time. “Maybe he's tired of fighting the problem. Maybe he decided to turn the situation to his advantage.”

Sophia couldn't imagine it. Charlie, more than anyone, lamented that other rancher's death and blamed the immigrants for it. She'd planned to drive over to Charlie's tonight. She didn't care how late it was. Even if he wasn't home, she needed to take a look around. She'd left a message for his daughter but hadn't heard back. Where could
he be? “Who else is on the list?” she asked, peering over Rod's shoulder.

“Joel Lawson, Newt Woods and—”

When he stopped, she read the name herself. “Carmelita Dunlap.”

“Don't tell me that's Patrick's wife.”

“It is. She owns—”

“The nail salon. I know.”

“Joel and Newt are business-owners, too. Joel owns the burger joint at the north end of town. Newt owns the tire store.”

Rod rubbed his chin as if trying to make sense of the information. “Are their businesses as thriving as your stepfather's?”

“I'm not sure, but they seem to be surviving despite the tough economy.”

“Maybe this is why. Maybe it's the downturn that drove them to break the law.”

It was a possibility. Sophia couldn't escape that. “No wonder Gary's been making so much money,” she said.

He waved around them. “My guess is this is a front and always has been. He probably makes five times as much through his illegal activities as he does renting farm equipment and selling feed. At six to eight hundred a head, he'd have to be.”

“Boy, is the reporter who wrote that story on his ‘amazing success' going to be surprised,” she grumbled.

Rod pointed to the date on the deed. “He's owned the safe house for a little over three years.”

“That doesn't mean he wasn't involved earlier.”

“No, but it confirms that the house isn't a recent purchase, that he's been in business for a while.”

“I've never heard him talk about buying a rental. I'll bet my mother hasn't, either.”

“He doesn't want anyone to know. Hence the obscure name of the limited partnership—Cochise Partners. I'm guessing that holds no special significance for anyone.”

“Look at this.” She flipped through another document. “They're supposed to be importing coffee from Mexico.”

“So maybe some or even all of these people
don't
know the truth.”

“You're saying he could be a con man along with everything else.”

“That's what I'm saying.”

Sophia imagined Anne prancing around her elegant house totally oblivious—and dropped her head in her hands. “My mother is going to be publicly humiliated.”

Paper crackled as Rod dug deeper into the file. “Don't you mean brokenhearted? If this stuff means what we think it does, her husband will be carted off to jail.”

“It was embarrassing enough for her when my father lost his business and her first marriage ended in divorce. But having her second husband thrown in prison? Yikes. Anyway, I suspect her image means more to her than he does. At least, it's always meant more to her than I have.”

Rod put a hand on her shoulder as if he understood and sympathized with how her mother made her feel. Considering what he'd been through, he probably did. But he didn't comment on it; he was too cognizant of the ticking clock. “I'll make a copy of this,” he said. “You put the office back together so we can get out of here. We've pushed our luck too far already.”

Her stepfather was so fastidious, so particular, he'd
know someone had been in his office if the slightest article was out of place. She had to leave it precisely as they'd found it. But as she straightened up, she couldn't help wondering how she'd break the news of their discovery to Anne.

What would she say?

Nothing yet, she realized. She couldn't. Simply owning the safe house and possessing an agreement that suggested he was in the coffee business didn't make Gary guilty of anything. She had to keep this quiet until they could stake out Dugan Drive and note what went on there. They had to get testimony from some of the illegals who paid for lodging, speak to any neighbors who'd talk and figure out the identity of the men who ran it and had beaten Rod, so they could
prove
Gary was breaking the law. Then Anne would have to believe her.

Or maybe not. Few criminal cases were solid enough to eradicate all question of guilt and, as long as a shred of hope remained, her mother would cling to it and insist Sophia had been out to get Gary from the start. Their relationship was about to get a lot rockier than it'd been in years….

“This sucks,” she said as she arranged the papers on Gary's desk. “And how crazy is it that we stumbled across this safe-house business right in the middle of the UDA murders? If not for what happened to José and Benita, I would never have spoken to the man who told me about the safe house, and you would never have gone there and seen Gary's number on the fridge.”

Rod was too busy to answer. He'd finished at the copier and was trying to see out by peering through the blinds at the only window.

“I mean, I wanted to leave with a bang, but putting my
stepfather away for twenty years wasn't exactly what I had in mind,” she said.

Rod tuned in again. “The fact that we came across this while we were investigating several murders makes me more than a little nervous.”

“What do you mean?”

“It might be too coincidental. But we'll talk about that later. Hurry up.”

“Anything out there?” she asked as she righted a trophy Gary had received for coaching Little League. He had a dozen trophies. What a pillar of the community.

“Nothing on the side. I need to check the front but the lights have to be off for that. You ready?”

“Just a sec.” Sophia slid the file with the partnership document and the deed for the house back into the drawer. She was about to close and lock it when she spotted a small brown binder behind the separator. What was that?

It looked like an account ledger….

“I think I may have found something else.” She had to wiggle the binder back and forth to get it out, but once she'd flipped through the pages, she was glad she'd gone to the extra trouble. “Rod?”

“What?” He was still standing at the side window, gazing out at the neighboring building, the side parking lot and a section of Bordertown Boulevard.

“Get over here.”

When he didn't move, she glanced up again and this time she noticed that he seemed to be on high alert. “What's wrong? Is everything okay?”

“I'm not sure.” He changed his angle of vision. “What does your stepfather drive?”

“A pearl-colored Escalade. Why?”

“A vehicle matching that description has driven past here twice and seems to slow down when it goes by.”

Sophia's heart began to pound with a renewed sense of urgency. “That's not good,” she said. “It's late. And he's no night owl. Anyway, everything except the bar is closed up at this time of night. What do you think he's doing?”

“I get the feeling he knows something's going on in here.”

“Then why doesn't he come and check?”

“That's what I can't figure out. It's almost as if he's waiting for someone….”

Swallowing hard, she closed the ledger book. “Maybe he's expecting a sheriff's deputy to show up.”

Rod remained flattened against the wall, watching. “No. He has too much to hide. He wouldn't call the sheriff.”

“So who would he call?”

The look he shot her scared the hell out of her.

“You're not saying you think he's called the safe house and some thug is coming to take care of us, are you? Gary might be a smuggler and a con man but he's not a murderer.”

“You sure about that?” Rod responded. “We're already aware of two murders that are connected to that safe house. How do we know he's not behind them?”

“Because a smuggler would have no reason to kill illegal immigrants. If those people don't make it safely across the border, he doesn't get paid.”

“Well, he has plenty of motivation to kill
us.
He knows what's here, what's at stake if we find it.”

A chill rolled down Sophia's spine. She'd never liked her stepfather, never respected him, but…could he really be a
killer?
She couldn't see it. “No…” she murmured.

But Rod was right about the level of Gary's motivation.
Everything he had, everything he purported to be, was at stake.

She chewed her lip as she waited to see what would happen next. “Any sign of the Escalade?”

“Not since it came by the last time.”

“How do you suggest we get out of here?”

“Very carefully.” He got his flashlight and motioned for her to do the same. Then he pulled his handgun from his waistband.

She stopped him before he could turn off the lights. “I have to make a copy of this before we go.”

“What is it?”

“A ledger of some kind. Maybe answers, evidence.”

The fact that he didn't press her for details told her how anxious he was. “Doesn't matter. It's not worth your life.”

“It'll just take a minute.”

She thought he might argue with her, but he didn't. While the copier whirred, he slipped out on his own. She thought she heard him heading to the back room. What he was doing there she had no idea. The area was mainly for storage, so he had no way of seeing outside.

When she finished, she returned the ledger to the file drawer, turned off the lights and joined him with her own flashlight. He'd cracked open the back door and was waiting, listening.

“I got it,” she whispered. “We're good to go.”

He held up a hand to stop her.

“Don't tell me my stepfather's Escalade is in the lot.”

“No.” Closing his eyes, he breathed in. “Don't you smell it?”

“Smell what?”

“Cigarette smoke.”

The minute he said it, she caught the scent, too. It was just a wisp but it was enough to bring back the memory of Rod finding that cigarette butt at the scene of Benita's and José's murder. Her knees went weak.

Closing the door very softly, Rod took her by the arm and propelled her to the front.

“What are we doing?” she asked.

“We're going out the main entrance.”

“But that opens onto the street! And my stepfather has already driven by
twice.
What if he sees us?”

“I'd rather face him than what might be waiting in the alley.”

Because of that scent of cigarette smoke, Sophia agreed. What they'd learned, and what they might be perceived as knowing, put them in a very dangerous position, especially if all the partners were as involved as her stepfather seemed to be. According to the payoffs listed in that ledger, even Mayor Schilling was on the take. Apparently, the corruption in Bordertown extended much further than Leonard Taylor extorting sex from a Mexican national.

When they reached the front window, Rod shielded her with his body, keeping her out of gunshot range. But she was a police officer, not some frightened civilian. Determined to pull her own weight, she slipped around him and moved to the other window.

“Looks clear,” she said. “I say we go for it.”

“I shouldn't have let you come with me,” he muttered.

“Stop it. We can get out. And—” she checked the street again, saw no one “—this is our chance.”

He nodded and turned the bolt. “Ready? Remember. Stay behind me.”