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.
27
Sophia 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.”