slip - Pena has made a very sweet little deal with his client, AccuShield. Apparently they're a lot more impressed by Techsan's security product than they let on. If Pena manages to turn Techsan around, get the betatesting back on track, get the investors lined up, AccuShield has promised to let him spin off the company as a separate IPO."
"Meaning what?"
"Money, Tres. Lots of it. AccuShield would keep seventy percent of the stock. Pena gets thirty percent. And Dwight thought the IPO - with the proper backing - could be huge."
"Huge like family size or economy pack?"
"Total valuation? Think billions, with a B."
My hands went numb on the steering wheel. "A company Pena paid four million for.
Garrett's company."
Maia nodded. "I'd say this is the careermaker deal for Mr. Pena."
I pulled into the parking lot at Waterloo Records, stopped the truck. The neon cows were dancing above the Amy's Ice Cream sign. Even in the daytime, in the middle of June, Christmas lights blinked in the palm trees.
I replayed every word I'd said to Garrett the night before, about how he should sell his company. Now, despite the ranch, despite my best rationalizing, I felt like those words should be tattooed on my back with a hot needle. Billions.
I wondered if Ruby had known the real value of what she was signing away. I wondered if she'd made some inside deal with Pena. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. It was easier to get mad at Ruby than at myself.
"Dwight won't go on record with this," I guessed.
"Even if he did," Maia said, "it's nothing we could take to the police. Dwight had nothing to say about Jimmy Doebler's murder. Or Adrienne Selak's drowning."
I told Maia about my morning phone call with Lopez, about the call Jimmy had made to homicide two months ago. I told her about the family research Jimmy had been starting.
Maia stared out the windshield. "The fact Lopez knew Jimmy, had talked to him recently, might be enough to taint his investigation. If I had to, I could use it. That and the fact he coerced you and Garrett into making initial statements without a lawyer."
"Coerced?"
"Sure. You remember. You said Jimmy was asking about his mother."
I started to tell her about Clara Doebler's suicide.
"I know," she interrupted. "You think the family history is important?"
Her tone told me it wasn't just a processofelimination question. She was testing, putting out a line. I wondered how she knew about Clara's death.
"His cousin W.B. runs the family company," I said. "He wouldn't tell me anything, but I got the feeling there might be something about Jimmy's death - something that makes the family nervous."
Maia watched the neon cows. "Garrett and Jimmy had a long history - a lot of bad blood between them. Lopez will use that for motive."
"I know."
"We have to be sure Lopez doesn't have a point."
I didn't like the silence between us - a heavy feeling, like the beginning of a landslide.
I didn't like the fact that neither of us felt confident enough to leap to Garrett's defence.
"Jimmy has an aunt in town," I said. "On the phone, she seemed a little more pliable than W.B. We could go see her, try running the family angle."
Maia studied the palm trees.
"We," she said, like she was testing the word, seeing how much weight it would hold.
I waited through a full rotation of the Sixth Street light, but Maia said nothing more. I figured I'd gotten as much of a yes as I could hope for.
I put the truck in drive and headed north again, toward Hyde Park.
Chapter 17
Faye DoeblerIngram's house was a small folk Victorian on an unmarked residential half block, tucked behind a vegetarian restaurant and a lesbian gift shop. I drove past, Uturned, and parked across the street at the base of one of the city's moonlight towers.
The front porch was outlined with lacy white trim. The screen door was peach, the porch swing green. Her sidegabled roof had recently been sheeted in galvanized steel. Her yard was a quarteracre garden - every square foot cultivated with herbs and wildflowers, pathways made from broken flagstones. A good deal of money had gone into making the house look quaint and rustic. It didn't look like the kind of place where the resident was accustomed to being rocked by tragedy.
Maia opened the passenger's side door, bringing in the scents of the neighbourhood - cut grass and garden herbs.
"Tu es pres?" she asked.
"Just like old times."
Even a hint