men was involved in your father's death and got past an FBI investigation. "
"Right."
She shook her head. "Or maybe the FBI knew what they were doing, Tres. Maybe this line of suspects goes nowhere."
I drank my coffee.
On the table in front of me, the Express-News headlines for the Thunderbird murder glared in lurid color. Detective Schaeffer was answering questions. Terry Garza was looking battered, trying not to look terrified. Garza told the paper that yes, the dead man Eddie Moraga had worked for Sheff Construction, but that Moraga had been laid-off several months ago.
Right.
Eddie's face had been fuzzed out of the newspaper photos just enough to titillate the gentle reader. You could vaguely see the dark holes of his eyes. "The trademark execution style of a well-known South Texas crime syndicate, " one caption declared. Guy White's name was mentioned. The nature of the death would lead to speculations about mob involvement. This would be a PR nightmare for Sheff Construction. There was no mention of me, which might explain why Carlon McAffrey wasn't sitting in my lap yet.
I spent a few minutes bringing Maia up-to-date on what I'd learned from Mr. Garza's computer. When I finished she stared at her bare feet for a minute, flexing her toes against the stack of police reports.
"Mr. Sheff is involved with some bad people," she said. "These fixed city contracts - I've seen two cases like it before in the Bay Area, Tres. Both times the mob was behind it. They give the construction firm an assurance that the city project will go to them with the price tag they want, and with no labor problems. The mob provides the bribery and the arm-twisting; in return, they cut themselves in for several million. The project always goes way over budget and behind schedule. Huge profits all around."
I stared at her. "And you know about this because - "
She shrugged. "One of those cases, I was defending the contractor. We won."
"Terrence & Goldman, always fighting the good fight."
"Tres," Maia said, "if Beau Karnau messed up a profitable arrangement between Sheff and the mob by trying blackmail, and if Sheff's people got blamed for letting it happen - or botching the payoff . . ."
She looked down at the picture of Eddie Moraga's corpse.
I nodded, trying to believe it. I remembered Dan Sheff behind his father's big desk, looking nine years old, his hair sticking up like canary wings. I tried to imagine him playing some kind of hardball game with Guy White's organization - making millions illegally off fixed bids on city projects, then ordering his employees to kill, abduct, wreak havoc on any who might find out, all while he was drinking Chivas from a Foghorn Leghorn glass.
Then the living-room wall rang. Maia frowned. I pulled down the ironing board and took the receiver.
"Mr. Navarre," the man said.
It took me a minute to recognize Terry Garza's voice. It sounded like someone had mixed it with a few quarts of water, like Garza had been driving around all night in the same Thunderbird as me and was getting a little shaken up by the company.
"I think it's time we talked," Garza said.
I looked at Maia.
Her eyebrows came together. She silently mouthed: What?
"I'm listening," I said into the phone.
"No. In person," Garza said. "This has to be in person."
"Because you want me to bring the statuette."
I waited for him to confirm it. Obviously Garza didn't feel it was necessary.
"I'm a good employee, Mr. Navarre. I told you that. But I didn't sign on for this. I have a family - "
"Who shot Eddie Moraga?"
Behind Garza I heard the drone of highway traffic, the background buzz of a pay phone connection.
"Let's just say two parties are interested in what you have, Mr. Navarre. When the other party breaks into your apartment in the middle of the night, you won't wake up the next morning. Do you understand that?"
I looked at Maia.
"I'll be at Earl Abel's tomorrow morning at seven,"
Garza said. "I tell you what you need to know about your girlfriend, you give me what I need to smooth things over. We might be able to get things . . . back to normal."
"If your employers don't release Lillian Cambridge, there's not going to be any normal."
Garza exhaled sharply. Or maybe it was a nervous laugh. "We need to have a talk, Mr. Navarre. We really do."
He hung up.
I stared at Maia. She looked at me, her eyes intensely black.
"Tell me," she said.
I looked down