Bullseye Read online

  “Yeah, that fireplace is why I bought the house.” He rubbed his hands together and winked. “Let me tell you, man, it’s popular with women on a cold winter night after a romantic dinner.” The grin halted half-formed on his lips, then faded into chagrin when he caught sight of Karina’s hard stare. “Uh, anyway. The house is great.”

  Same old Parker. He always was a ladies’ man. Apparently he continued to enjoy female attentions while avoiding matrimonial entanglements, just like always.

  “Anyway, grab a seat.”

  He dropped into one of the recliners, and Mason took the other. Karina, her demeanor silent and disapproving, perched on the edge of the thickly cushioned sofa, her knees together and her purse clutched in both hands in her lap. Her attitude was beginning to grate on his nerves.

  “We just came from talking to Alex at juvy.” Mason forced himself to relax against the soft leather.

  Parker’s expression settled into one of polite inquiry. “Yeah? How’s he doing?”

  Mason shrugged a shoulder. “As well as can be expected. Insists he didn’t do anything wrong.”

  His friend responded with a snort. “Every caged bird sings that song.”

  On the sofa Karina’s posture stiffened even further as she drew herself up. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Mason cast a warning glance in her direction, then spoke to Parker. “I know you can’t tell me anything official because you’re involved in the case, but anything you can give me off the record would be great. I’ve got nothing to go on.”

  He seemed to consider the request for a moment, then gave a slight nod. With a glance in the direction of the sofa, he angled his body slightly toward Mason. “Look, neither of these kids have been in any trouble before, but they both have a rep. There’s been talk of gang affiliations for a few months now.”

  “That’s a lie.” Karina was on her feet in an instant. “Alex and José don’t run with gangs. They aren’t that kind of teenager.”

  Parker’s impatience flared. “Yeah? What kind of teenager runs the streets of Albuquerque at two in the morning? And don’t tell me you buy that lame story of going out for a harmless walk.” His lips twisted. “I’m sure there are lots of harmless activities that go on in a dark alley at that hour.”

  If Mason thought he had a corner on the sarcasm market, he was wrong. Parker had him beat hands down, and his tone would slice through steel. It stopped Karina in her tracks.

  Besides, he was right. Alex’s story of taking a harmless walk in the middle of the night was clearly untrue. He’d seen it on the boy’s face.

  But Karina’s crumpled expression reached down deep inside him and twisted. She sank slowly back to her seat looking suddenly small.

  “Look,” Mason told Parker, “we don’t know what was going down, and Alex is clammed up tighter than a rusty lug nut. But whatever happened that night, I haven’t seen anything to convince me he killed that kid.”

  Parker held up a finger. “The dead kid’s blood on his hands and clothes.” He extended additional fingers as he listed the evidence. “A stolen handgun on the ground beside him, which turned out to be the murder weapon. His prints all over it. No corroborating witnesses to the presence of a mugger. Pretty convincing if you ask me.”

  Karina spoke, but this time in a more subdued tone. “José died in his arms. That’s how the blood got there.”

  The look Parker gave her bordered on pity.

  “Actually the blood supports his claim, if you ask me,” Mason said. “If he’d shot his friend, wouldn’t he have taken off immediately? He wouldn’t have stuck around long enough to get covered in blood.”

  Parker tilted his head, considering, and then conceded the point with a nod. “That makes sense.”

  “Besides, what’s the motive? That’s what I keep coming back to. These kids were friends.”

  “Yeah, but they’re also teenagers with known gang affiliations.” He shot a quick glance toward Karina and corrected himself. “Suspected gang affiliations. But gangsters or not, you know how hotheaded teenage boys are. They could have had an argument, lost their tempers, took things a little too far.”

  “No.” Karina said it quietly, but with certainty. “Alex would never let an argument go far enough to lose control like that. He’s my brother. I’ve been with him every day since he was born, and I know he would never hurt anyone no matter what.”

  Parker matched her volume and spoke with equal control. “I’m sure he’s a great kid under normal circumstances. But drugs make people do terrible things that they would never do if they were straight.”

  Her jaw dropped, as though she were stunned momentarily speechless. Mason had wondered if drugs could have been a factor, but he’d been hesitant to ask Alex with his sister in the room.

  “Did you find anything on him?” he asked.

  Parker shook his head. “But I checked with the lab this morning. High levels of THC and trace amounts of methamphetamine in both of them.”

  Meth. Mason gave a low whistle. That stuff made people crazy. But if there were only traces of meth, then at least Alex wasn’t messed up when the crime occurred. But the presence of any street drugs at all, especially meth, would look bad with the judge. And high levels of THC meant Alex had probably been smoking marijuana that night.

  “I can’t believe it.” Unshed tears sparkled in Karina’s shocked eyes. Her hands lay limply in her lap. “Alex is on drugs? It can’t be true.”

  Parker answered in a gentle tone. “I’m sorry. Blood tests don’t lie.”

  Something still didn’t sound right. Mason leaned forward, arms resting on his knees, thinking out loud. “So he wasn’t tweaking Friday night or there would have been more than a trace of meth in his blood.” He looked at his old partner. “Pot makes you mellow, not antagonistic. That sounds even less like José’s death was the result of an argument gone bad. So I still can’t see a motive.”

  Parker stared at him a moment, then shrugged. “I don’t know, buddy. That’s the D.A.’s job. I just do the legwork.”

  Which was exactly what Mason was there to do—legwork. Only he’d be searching for evidence to clear Alex of any wrongdoing, not to convict him. At least he had inside help from his old partner. It was almost like old times, working together to dig up evidence the district attorney could use to get a conviction on the criminals they’d arrested.

  But the last case they worked together was different. That time they’d been looking for evidence to prove that he didn’t kill his wife. And they’d nearly come up empty-handed.

  His throat suddenly dry, he swallowed and asked, “Any ID on the weapon yet?”

  “Haven’t heard anything. I can check, though, and let you know.”

  “Thanks. Another thing. We seemed to have picked up a tail, a goon in a black Impala.”

  “Really?” Parker straightened, his forehead creasing. “Do you think this has anything to do with the case against the kid?”

  Mason exchanged a glance with Karina. “Yeah. I do.”

  Parker blew out a breath in a long, steady stream. “You get a tag?”

  “Not yet. But if he shows up again, I may need some help.”

  He found himself the object of a long, sober stare.

  “If this is true—” Parker held up a hand to forestall an argument “— and I don’t doubt you at all, then that puts a whole different slant on the case. If this guy shows up again, you’ll call me, right?”

  Mason allowed himself a grim smile. His old partner had lost none of his edge. Mason understood the implications immediately. If the guy watching Karina had anything to do with Alex, then that would almost guarantee that Alex was mixed up with some sort of gang. He glanced at Karina, who was watching him with questions in her eyes.

  “You bet I will,” he assured Parker.


  “Hey, listen, do you need a place to stay?” Parker’s gaze slid toward Karina, then turned back to Mason. A sly grin twisted his lips. “I mean, unless you two are…” He waggled his eyebrows.

  “No, we’re not,” Karina said loudly at the same time Mason said, “It’s not like that.”

  Parker’s eyes rounded, while Mason avoided looking toward the sofa. An awkward silence descended on the room. So far he and Karina had avoided discussing their previous relationship, and Mason preferred to keep it that way. Though he had loved Karina once, a chasm stretched between that time and now, a ravine filled with guilt and painful words and unforgiven injuries. He couldn’t imagine opening himself up to love another woman again. Margie was still so much a part of his life, still very much alive in his memories. But if he did ever manage to have romantic feelings for another woman, it wouldn’t be Karina. Margie’s presence was one of those ghosts Caleb was referring to, and she would always hover between them.

  “So anyway.” Parker’s voice cut through the silence. “If you need a place to stay while you’re in town, I’ve got a couple of spare rooms upstairs. There’s even a bed in one of them, and you’re welcome to it. But not until tomorrow. Today’s my day off, and I’m having a party tonight.” He leaned sideways across the arm of his chair toward Mason and winked. “A private party.”

  On the couch Karina emitted a grunt of disgust and rolled her eyes expansively.

  Mason ignored her. “Thanks. I might take you up on that.” Not only would it save a couple of bucks, if he and Parker could spend a few hours alone talking about the case without Karina around, they might come up with something helpful.

  They spent a few minutes catching up on old friends Mason had forgotten existed. Talking to Parker was like opening the pages of an old photo album. Faces rose in his mind like ancient photographs. Old cases they worked together. Incidents recorded in distant memory replayed, most of them good. He’d almost forgotten that he did have a life in Albuquerque apart from Margie. Apart from Karina.

  Long before he was finished with his stroll down memory lane, Karina’s patience evaporated. She stood abruptly and shouldered her purse.

  “We need to go.” The statement was more than a demand.

  “Uh, yeah. I guess we’ll leave you to get ready for your date.” Mason got to his feet and held out his hand toward Parker. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good.” When Parker released his hand, they headed toward the door, Karina in the lead. “Do me one favor, would you?”

  “Of course.” Mason turned at the front to face his friend. “Name it.”

  Parker’s gaze dropped away. “If you happen to run into Detective Grierson, don’t say anything about me helping you.”

  Grierson. The mention of the familiar name hit Mason like a slab of concrete from the sky. From the moment he’d agreed to come to Albuquerque yesterday, that was one person he had avoided thinking of, even though the name of his former sergeant dangled at the edges of his mind like a hand grenade without a pin, waiting to explode.

  So Sergeant Grierson was now Detective Grierson. A different rank than the one he’d held as Mason’s boss, with weightier responsibilities. If Grierson had possessed the power of a detective four years ago, Mason would no doubt be in prison right now.

  “No fears about that,” Mason assured him. “I’m going to do everything I can not to run into Grierson.”

  “Probably a good idea.”

  On the way to the driveway Mason studied the street in both directions. No sign of the Impala, or any other suspicious-looking vehicles. The fact didn’t make him feel much better, though. The absence of a watching goon didn’t mean there wasn’t one there. It might mean they’d decided to change their observation tactics to stealth mode. And that they were good at it.

  SIX

  Karina seated herself and slammed the car door closed. “Alex is not on drugs,” she told Mason with a glare that dared him to disagree. “I would have seen some sign.”

  Mason snapped his seat belt without looking at her. “Some kids who use drugs get to be pretty good at covering their tracks. Alex has always been a smart kid. Parents, or guardians in your case, are often the last to know.”

  Fury roiled up inside her, so huge that she almost couldn’t breathe. How dare he come here after four years and assume he knew anything about Alex? Or about her, for that matter?

  She tightened her grip on the steering wheel and forced air into her lungs. A familiar buzz filled her head, a sign of elevated blood pressure. If she didn’t calm down soon, she’d end up having a stroke like the one that killed her father.

  Mason wasn’t the bad guy here. She needed to keep reminding herself of that, and stop letting her anger over the past affect her ability to deal with him now. He’d come at her request, and he wanted to help Alex.

  Lord, I’m not handling this situation well. Please help me to stay calm. And if there is something about Alex I need to know, please help me to see the truth.

  There. She felt the blood pressure buzz begin to recede as she drew in deep, slow breaths. Prayer was the best thing she could do, for herself and for Alex. Sometimes she forgot that.

  “I understand that,” she admitted. Mason looked up at her, his expression skeptical. “Really. But you don’t know Alex like I do. I’m not just his guardian, I’m his sister. He tells me everything, especially since Papa died.”

  “Blood tests don’t lie.” His words, spoken in a soft, compassionate voice, cut deeper than a razor blade.

  “Maybe there was a mistake at the lab,” she shot back. “They could have gotten Alex’s blood mixed up with someone else’s.”

  His compassion turned to pity, and showed on his face. Tears threatened, and she blinked furiously to control them as she turned the key to start the car. She was grasping at straws, and they both knew it. She put the car in Reverse and zoomed out of the driveway.

  “Where are we going?” Mason asked as she sped away from Parker Harding’s house.

  “To talk to José’s mother. I have to know if she suspected José of being on drugs.”

  What Karina really meant was she had to know if she really was as clueless about Alex’s activities as it was starting to look. But she saw no reason to admit that to Mason.

  * * *

  The Garcias lived in a small, cracker-box-shaped house in a neighborhood a few blocks from Karina’s apartment. She’d been there a couple of times to pick up José and chauffeur the boys to the movie theater, or to a church youth group event.

  The homes that lined the block weren’t nearly as nice as those in Parker Harding’s neighborhood. No grass grew in the yards, though a few sported enough dust-colored weeds to resemble a lawn. Rusty cars lined the curb. Karina followed a school bus down the street and watched as the bus disgorged dozens of mostly Hispanic children who walked away in small clusters. She parked the car at the curb in front of the Garcias’ house and cut the engine. Silence settled in the interior of the car as they both inspected the door and the closed blinds at the windows. For some reason the house looked forlorn and sad. School children stared through the windshield as they walked past on the sidewalk.

  “José has several brothers and sisters,” Karina said, watching the kids walk by the house. “I guess they aren’t going to school this week.”

  “When’s the funeral?” Mason’s voice was quiet, subdued, as he stared at the front door.

  “Tomorrow.” The knots in Karina’s stomach tightened and churned. Her memories of Mama’s funeral when Alex was a baby were vague, fogged over by the pain of loss. Papa’s funeral was fresher, having occurred just last year. That was horribly sad, of course, but how much sadder would a funeral for a fourteen-year-old boy be?

  Her nerves danced with anxious thoughts. How would Mr. and Mrs. Garcia receive them? If they
believed the police report and the terrible accusations reported in the newspaper and on television the past few days, they might not be happy about a visit from the sister of the boy accused of murdering their son.

  I have to convince them that Alex didn’t do it.

  Her determination settled, she took the keys from the ignition. “Are you ready?”

  “Might as well get it over with.” Mason’s tight-lipped expression told her he felt just as anxious as she did. For some reason that made her feel a tiny bit better.

  They exited the car. Karina fidgeted with a lock of unruly hair as she crossed the yard. What would she say to Mrs. Garcia? There were no words, English or Spanish, to express the depth of her sympathy.

  The front door opened before they’d approached the small concrete square that served as a porch. A Hispanic woman flew out, and in the next minute Karina found herself caught up in a smothering embrace, Mrs. Garcia’s sobs filling her ears.

  “No lo creó,” she muttered over and over. “Alex no haría esta cosa.” I don’t believe it. Alex would not do this thing.

  Relief welled up from deep within Karina as Mrs. Garcia’s words fell on her ears. She doesn’t believe the lies! She held the woman and sobbed with relief and in shared grief.

  “Gracias.” She repeated multiple times as their grief found mutual release. “Gracias.”

  She gradually became aware that a man stood in the doorway watching them. Short and lean, his narrow face was drawn and haggard. José’s father. His expression held the same deep grief as his wife’s, his eyes red with unshed tears. Standing beside her, Mason shuffled his feet in the dirt and weeds, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans, his gaze wandering up and down the street.