"What else have you got?" he asked tersely.
Valdez consulted his notebook.
"Matador Properties owns some thirty commercial buildings in the city.
Mostly high-end or historic buildings on the plaza, Canyon Road, and in the Guadalupe District. The company leases space to galleries, restaurants, retail shops, and various professionals. It owns two major apartment complexes on St. Prands Drive."
"What's Watson's ballpark net worth?"
"I'm still digging to get those numbers. But it appears Matador has had sufficient cash assets to lend big bucks to Rancho Caballo. If Matador controls any subsidiary companies, Watson's total net worth could jump considerably."
"Is Watson carrying a heavy debt on his businesses?"
"If he is, I haven't found it yet."
"Is that unusual?"
"I'd say so. I've talked to all the commercial lenders in the area who offer jumbo mortgages. None of them are doing business with Matador.
But he may be using out-of-state financing."
"What do you think?" Kerney asked.
"Money laundering would be a good guess."
"How can you get a handle on it?"
"If Matador is a holding company, it might have one master casualty-and-loss policy with an insurance underwriter for all its properties, including subsidiaries."
Joe reached for the file, tapped the papers into a neat pile, and stood up.
"Once I know exactly what the corporate structure is, I'll start looking at how the money gets moved around."
"Keep me informed."
"I'll start calling insurance agents right away."
"Do we have a list of local security companies?"
Kerney asked.
"I've got one in my office."
"Get it for me, would you?"
"Sure thing. Chief." Joe hesitated.
"I'd like to start a collection for Gilbert's family. They're going to have a lot of expenses."
Kerney dug for his wallet, extracted all the currency, and put the bills in Joe's hand. retired city police officer Toby Apodaca watched the unmarked police cruiser stop in front of his Cemllos Road office. He unlocked the door and held it open as Kerney got out of the car and approached.
"There aren't too many people who can get me out of a warm bed in the middle of the night," Toby said after Kerney stepped inside the Guardsafe Security office.
"How are you, Kerney?"
"Pine, Toby," Kerney answered.
"And yourself?" Tm doing okay," Toby said, brushing an errant eyebrow hair back into place. His bushy eyebrows flared wildly in every direction. He scratched the thick stubble on his chin and ushered Kerney around a counter, past a bullpen for security guards that was shielded by portable partitions, and into a back office.
"I heard you were back in harness," Toby said.
"Do you like it?"
"I can't seem to avoid it," Kerney answered as he studied Apodaca. Toby had spent his last ten years as a cop on the Santa Pc Plaza, chasing purse snatchers and giving directions to disoriented tourists. He'd retired a few years before Kerney's shoot-out with a drug dealer.
"And carrying a deputy chief's shield," Toby noted.
"That's pretty impressive."
"We'll see how long it lasts."
Toby had aged well, Kerney decided. In his late fifties, he carried about 150 pounds on a five-six frame.
He had a full head of hair, and light brown eyes accentuated by wire-run glasses.
Toby chuckled.
"I hear you. The thing I hated most about the job was the chickenshit politics. I don't miss being a cop at all. Now I've got my own company, with regular hours, weekends off, and a personal life again.
Well, most of the time, anyway."
"Sounds sweet."
"It is. So what's up with Matador Properties?"
"The owner may be a target of an investigation," Kerney said.
"That doesn't tell me jackshit," Toby said with a smile.
"Deputy chiefs don't pull peace-loving private citizens out of bed after midnight to talk about the possibility that a rich guy like Bucky Watson may have done something illegal."
"We think Bucky may be connected to a Mexican drug lord."
"Connected how?"
"I'm not sure. But if he is, it means he's working with a man who just had one of my officers assassinated."
"You lost an officerF "Several hours ago. Gunned down at a south capitol residence. I can't tell you more than that right now."
"What a damn shame." Toby shook his head.
"Tell me about your contract with Matador."
"It brings in a good third of my gross annual billings.
I've had the contract for five years."
"Does the contract cover all his properties?"
"Just about. He lives in Rancho Caballo, and the subdivision provides security, so we don't cover his home."
"How many separate buildings do you patrol?"
"Forty-six, but it's more than just patrol work. At the apartment complexes I provide twenty-four-hour security.
And I staff the larger retail outlets with round-the- clock personnel."
"How many properties does Watson own?"
"A bunch of them," Toby said. Tve got two contracts with Watson, one for his Matador Properties and one for his Magia Corporation."
"What do you cover for Magia?"
"Shopping malls, mini-malls, strip malls, discount malls, warehouses, self-storage units-that sort of stuff."
"Is there anything you don't cover'?"
"Well, not really" "Meaning?"
"Bucky owns an art crating business in an old Victorian house. He said it didn't need any security."
"He told you about it?"
"No, I asked him. We patrol a nightclub and restaurant across the street for another company. My night man who works that sector saw Bucky at the house a couple of times and told me about it. I asked Watson if he wanted to add the building to the contract, and he said no. But I have my man keep an eye on the place, anyway."
"Have you gotten any reports of unusual activity at the shop?"
"Nope."
"How long has your man worked for you?"
"Over four years. He's an ex-correctional officer from the state pen."
"Reliable?"
"Absolutely."
"Is he on duty now?"
"He sure is."
"What's his name?"
"MaxOlguin."
"Can you have him meet me outside the nightclub?"
"Can do." Toby wrote down the address and gave it to Rerney.
"I'll have him there in ten minutes." max olguin opened the passenger door to Kerney's unit and got in. The bench seat sagged under his bulk.
An overweight man somewhere in his late thirties, with a chubby face and a crew cut, Olguin shook Kerney's outstretched hand.
"I'm Kevin Kerney."
"I know," Max said.
"I used to see you at the pen when you were still with the city police."
"It wasn't my favorite place to visit."
"Or work at," Max added.
"They ought to send the staff home, seal the perimeter, give each convict a loaded assault rifle, and let them have at it. Those sons of bitches would be killing each other within minutes.
That would solve prison overcrowding, big time."
"Until the courts filled them up again," Kerney noted.
Max grunted in agreement.
"But still, it would give us a break from the scumbags for a while.
Toby said you needed to talk to me."
"I understand you keep an eye on the art crating business."
"Yeah. It's not official or anything. I check it when I patrol the nightclub. Just a visual from my car."^ "Have you noticed anything suspicious or unusual?"
"Not really. A couple of times I got a little concerned."
"About what?"
"Trucks in the alley late at night."
"Was there any activity around the trucks?"
"Yeah. Guys loading and unloading crates. Watson's car was always there, so I figured everything was cool."