Pipeline (17 page)

"I'm
sure whatever you have there is important, but would you mind if I grabbed a
cup of coffee before you tell me about it?"

"Bring
me one, too."

She
seemed to be absorbed in her mysterious envelope by the time I returned with
our coffee.

"I
could have told you about this Saturday, but I wanted to check a few things
first."

"What?"

"About
ABP," she said, handing me a small stack of papers. "I went to the
office Saturday night as soon as I got back to Austin. I don't know how much
they will help you, and I could lose my license if anyone knew I gave them to
you. It does breach attorney-client privilege."

I
looked through the papers for a few minutes while she drank her coffee.

"How
long has ABP been a client of your firm?" I finally asked.

"They
were Susan's client when I came on board. I haven't done any work for them
personally, but I know she bills them for quite a few hours every month."

"She
does their taxes?"

"Yes.
There's a name on the last page that might interest you."

Flipping
to the last page, I scanned it until I saw what she was talking about. Felix
Camarena was listed as a legal consultant for ABP.

"I
think I met him once when he was with Susan," she said.

"But
you don't handle any of their work."

"No.
I took these files from her office. Actually, they're just copies, but it still
causes an ethics problem."

"You
know anything about Camarena?"

"Uh-uh,"
she managed between sips. "If he's licensed in Texas, I can get some
information about him through the Texas Bar Association though. I can check
when I get back to work tomorrow afternoon."

"No,
I'll check. You've already bent the rules far enough."

"If
you call, ask for Carole Hutchinson. We went to law school together. Give her
my name, and I'm sure she'll look up whatever you need."

I
leaned back and read over the material more closely. I don't know shit about
taxes except that they're too high, so I wasn't even sure what I was reading.
The next to last page was a listing of corporate expenditures. "What are
miscellaneous expenditures?" I asked.

"Could
be almost anything, but it's generally things that are too small on their own
to merit an itemization."

"Sort
of like a big carpet to sweep junk under?"

"Sort
of," she said with a smile.

I
slipped the papers back into the envelope and glanced at my watch. "I'll
look over these again in the morning. I have a friend who does my taxes. Maybe
I can get him to look at these for me. I'll remove the company's name and your
firm's name before I give them to him."

"He
probably won't find anything unusual. Susan's very good at what she does."

"Is
it possible she's covering something up for ABP?"

"I
can't believe that, Jo. Susan Bradley is one of the most respected tax
attorneys in the state. If something illegal is going on, I'm sure she isn't
aware of it."

"Well,
don't mention any of this to her."

"Don't
worry, I won't."

"Grab
your bag, and I'll drive you into town before Kyle worries about you."

She
stood up and took my coffee cup. "I'm too old to need a chaperone or a
curfew," she said with a smile.

I
followed her into the kitchen and waited while she rinsed out the cups.
"I'm sorry if today didn't turn out the way you hoped it would," I
said.

"All
I could do was give it a try," she said as she dried her hands.

"He's
built up a lot of anger. Give him more time. Once I'm out of the picture again,
he'll settle down."

"I
used to be angry, too, but it wasn't accomplishing anything, so I just tried to
remember the good times. Unfortunately, Kyle doesn't remember you well enough
to have many memories, good or bad."

"He'll
be okay."

"Can
I ask you something, Jo?"

"Why
not?" I shrugged. "Seems to be an evening for venting
frustrations."

"Do
you know why I left you?"

"I
presumed it was because I was an absentee parent and partner," I answered.

"When
I wrote and told you I was leaving you, I never heard a word back from you. Did
you think so little of us that it wasn't worth coming home for?" she
asked.

"Of
course not."

"Then
why didn't you fight it?"

I
didn't want to answer her questions, but she was backing me into a corner,
forcing me to talk about things I was uncomfortable discussing, even with her.
"You deserved better than you were getting from me. We both knew that. I
didn't want you to be unhappy any longer."

"And
you thought I'd be happier alone?"

"I
thought you'd find someone else," I said. "Someone who could give you
everything I couldn't. I had to make a decision, whether right or wrong, that I
thought was best for all of us."

Damn,
how did she always manage to make me squirm when we talked?

"You
ready?" I asked, changing the subject.

"Yes,"
she smiled.

She
walked past me toward the living room, brushing her hair back with one hand as
she stopped to close her bag. I wondered if she knew she could still drive me
crazy with even the smallest mannerisms. Against my better judgment, I walked
up behind her, hesitating a moment before I finally put my hands on her
shoulders. As she tilted her head back slightly toward me, I could smell the
fragrance of her hair and closed my eyes to inhale it, sliding my hands down
her arms until they encircled her. I stood there holding her, wanting to
finally comfort her for everything we'd both lost even though I was a decade
and a half too late. I could have held her all night. I wanted to. Crossing her
arms on top of mine, she leaned against me, and I lowered my head to kiss her
neck.

As
she turned in my arms to face me, I let my hands slide along her waist and up
her back. She looked at me and I met her lips with mine. There was something
different in her kiss. It had all the passion of the twenty-five-year-old woman
I had fallen in love with, but the passion was now blended with the maturity of
an adult woman as her arms went around my neck and pulled me closer. When our
lips parted, I held her tightly against me.

"I
tried to stop loving you," I whispered. "I couldn't, but I never
meant to hurt you."

She
kissed my neck and rested her forehead against my shoulder as we stood with our
arms around each other, afraid to make another mistake.

"Come
on," I said, kissing the top of her head. "I better get you into town
before it gets any later."

She
nodded, and we both knew it was the right decision.

Chapter
Eighteen

WHEN
I WOKE up the next morning, my eyelids fluttered as I waited for my eyes to
focus on the clock next to the bed. The last time I had looked it was
four-thirty. I felt like I had been sleeping for hours, but it was only seven.
I wanted desperately to roll over and sleep again, but once I wake up, I'm up
for the day. The worst thing about waking up early and being alone is that
you're left with nothing except your own thoughts.

I
had to smile as I recalled the events that had transpired the evening before.
Cate and I had arrived at the Holiday Inn about ten-thirty and been greeted by
Kyle in the lobby. There was a look of relief and contempt on his face, but we
managed to avoid another confrontation. I was proud of him for being protective
of his mother, and yet, at the same time, annoyed. He had insisted on escorting
her to her room, and, as I backed out of the parking lot, I saw him on the
balcony outside her room, waiting to make sure I left.

I
had to wait nearly two hours before picking up the phone and calling directory
assistance for the number to the Texas Bar Association in Dallas. If they
opened for business at nine, perhaps I could catch someone before they got too
busy. Several rings later a woman's voice announced that I had reached the Bar
Association.

"Carole
Hutchinson, please," I said.

The
line went quiet, and for a few minutes I wondered if I had been disconnected. I
was thinking about hanging up and trying again when I heard a breathless voice
on the other end.

"This
is Carole Hutchinson," she said.

"Good
morning. My name is Joanna Carlisle, and I was told to contact you for some
information," I said.

"By
whom?"

"Cathryn
Hammond."

There
was an immediate change in her voice. "Lord, I haven't talked to her in
months. How is she?"

"Fine
as far as I can tell."

"What
kind of information are you looking for, Ms. Carlisle?"

"I'm
a reporter, and I need some background information about an attorney whose name
appears in a story I'm working on."

"Why
don't you just ask the attorney? Most have a bio on hand just in case he or she
decides to run for political office." She chuckled.

"I
would, but he's out of the state right now, and I'm sort of facing a
deadline."

"Who's
the attorney?"

"Felix
Camarena."

"And
what exactly do you need to know about Mr. Camarena?"

"Basics.
Age, birthdate, where he attended law school, awards. That sort of thing."

"Hang
on, and I'll see what I can pull up on the computer."

I
heard keys clicking in the background. Otherwise, there was only the sound of
her breathing.

"Okay,
here it is. Got a pencil?"

"Yeah."

"Felix
Cesar Camarena. Born fifteen August nineteen fifty —a boomer —in San Antonio.
Did an undergrad in business at Pan American and then on the UT Law. A couple
of awards from Hispanic organizations after he graduated, but nothing
recently."

"When
did he graduate from law school?"

"'Eighty-one.
Apparently he does both criminal and civil law, but he's not board-certified in
a specialty."

"Any
complaints listed?"

"Nothing
serious. Just a couple of contempts of court."

"Okay,
I appreciate the information."

"Give
Catie my best when you talk to her again."

"I
will, and thanks again."

Catie?
I had never heard anyone call her that before. I slipped the paper with the
information on it into my folder.

Pulling
my wallet from my pocket, I found a piece of paper with Pauli's phone number on
it and dialed again. When he answered, we got right down to business without
the social amenities. He agreed to see what he could find about Felix Camarena,
and I filled him in on what had happened to Lena.

"Why
don't you bring everything to San Antonio, Jo? Stay with me a few days, and
we'll do some deep diggin'. I got a line on Freddie Escobar. Maybe it's time to
jack his ass up a little to see if anything but shit falls out."

"I
can get a room, Pauli. Don't want to put you out."

"If
you get in my way, I ain't afraid to throw your skinny ass out. When will you
get here?"

I
agreed to meet him at his house around one. Hanging up the phone, I packed a
bag and grabbed my camera. This time I didn't give a damn if anyone saw me
taking pictures. I wanted whoever was screwing with my family to know I was
after them, and the more obvious I was, the better. Come after me, you
bastards, I thought. This time attack someone more prepared to defend herself.

It
was a little before one-thirty when I pulled into Pauli's driveway, and the
front door opened before I got there. He was chewing the life out of the
remains of yet another cigar stub as I approached. He took my bag when I
reached him and threw it onto a couch as we went toward his office.

He
picked up a file folder and flipped it open. "Might have something,"
he said as he looked over the papers in the folder.

"About
Camarena?"

"Yeah,
but it's a weak connection. Freddie Escobar is the grand poohbah of the
Conquistadors, and they're into all kinds of dirty shit. I talked to a couple
of paper pushers over at INS, and they think Escobar might be involved in
smuggling illegals but haven't got enough to bust his ass yet. Course, it ain't
like they're working on it full time. Plus they got all them pesky rules they
gotta follow." Pauli chuckled.

"So
what does that have to do with Camarena?"

"Maybe
nothin'. But Mrs. Escobar's name before she met and married Mr. Escobar was
Senorita Camarena. I have someone checking a few records, but it's possible
that Felix and Freddie are cousins. The other thing is that when any of the
Conquistadors get into trouble their attorney of preference seems to be your
friend Felix Camarena, Esquire."