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Monday, May 30
Presidio, Texas
“We’re not exactly sure,” Kim replied, pulling the photos of Elana and Javier up on her phone. “We’re looking for information on three people. These two,” she swiped to the next photo, “and this guy. Have you ever seen them before?”
“I see a lot of people every day and I’ve been here for a while now. But I’ll try.” Weber took the phone and studied the two photos.
He tapped Reacher’s picture with his index finger. “Maybe this guy. Was he here in the cantina recently? He sorta looks familiar. But I don’t think I talked to him. Don’t remember the conversation, if I did.”
Kim nodded. “What about the young couple?”
Weber shook his head slowly. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but they look like hundreds of attractive Latinos I’ve seen around here. From just this headshot, they don’t jump out at me. Anything special about them that would help me recall?”
“She’s pregnant,” Kim said.
Weber shook his head. “A lot of the ones I see are pregnant. What are their names? If I checked them through, I’d have read their passports. I’ve got a better memory for names than faces. Especially if they’re traveling together.”
“Elana Fernandez and Javier Garcia,” Kim replied.
“Pretty common names,” Weber said without looking up from the photo. “You understand that I don’t work the point of entry station that much? Just fill in when they’re shorthanded. Usually at night, mid-week. I don’t have a regular post or anything.”
“Are there specific officers assigned to the checkpoint stations? Or do they rotate?” Kim asked.
“There’s a duty roster. The permanent staffing rotates. Guardsmen fill in where needed,” Weber explained. “Why are you asking me about all of this? You could just pull the intel off the computer systems, couldn’t you?”
“Fair question. If we pull the records, we’ll put a big flag on the issue. Whoever’s involved is likely to go underground for a while. We want to avoid all that.” Kim paused a moment, wondering how much she could trust Martin Weber, and then made her decision. “Have you heard about the FBI’s Double Death Task Force?”
“We’ve been briefed.” Weber sat back in his chair. “And of course, I’ve heard the gossip. There’s not a lot of entertainment around here. Gossip is about all we have to fill the downtime. That, and poker.”
Flint said, “Tell us the gossip.”
Weber tilted his head. “That’s what the other guy was asking when he was in here.”
“What other guy? You mean Reacher?” Kim asked, showing him the photo again.
“Is that his name? Yeah. He was sitting here with Mac Macomber. Shooting the breeze, you know? He asked if anybody had heard about the situation,” Weber said. “Mac said no. But we were over there, at our usual table, playing poker. Mac told him we might know.”
“How did that go?” Kim asked. “Any specific details you can remember would help.”
Weber closed his eyes to think back.
When he opened them, he said, “He wanted to know whether the Mexican gangs around here were torching homes.”
“Gangs?” Flint asked.
Weber nodded. “He said a friend of his had died in an arson fire and he thought one of the gangs was responsible.”
“Did he say which gang?” Kim asked.
Weber shrugged and filled his water glass and gulped it down again.
“I don’t think he knew. Or if he did, he didn’t say. There are quite a few gangs, anyway. Some are pretty hard-core. We think they’re responsible for thousands of fentanyl deaths. We told him what we knew, but I had the impression he was looking for something or someone specific,” Weber said. “He didn’t say who or what. He just asked about the arson.”
“Nobody had any intel to offer?” Flint asked.
Weber shook his head. Freda walked past with a big flat tray filled with food. His nose lifted to follow the aroma trail behind her.
“The biggest cartel around here is run by the Baez brothers since their old man died. The youngest, Cesar Baez, owns about half of Ojinaga. But he’s out of the family business, they say. Legit contractor now, he claims. Lots of business here in the states. Sends workers over frequently. Do you mind?” Weber said, jerking a thumb in the direction of his food and then getting up to follow his meal. “See you back in Michigan in a few weeks, Kim. Call me if I can be of further service. Sorry I couldn’t help more.”
“Thanks.” Kim took a hard look at his companions. Five men dressed in jeans and t-shirts, wearing work boots.
Three of the five were merely tan from recent hours in the sun.
Two others sported the leathery skin she’d seen on the locals. The kind that was produced by years in the hot, arid weather.
“Now what?” Flint had been eating during the conversation. He’d made short work of more than half the food.
Kim shrugged and hurried to finish her share. “If Elana and Javier came through the port of entry, how did they do it?”
“Fake passports? Fake visas?” Flint said, crunching the last of the ice left in his glass.
“Not likely.” She cocked her head, thinking things through. “Two people with no money and no connections would have a hard time getting counterfeits good enough to pass through the sophisticated equipment we have now for detecting them.”
“We only have Elana’s word for it that they went through the entry point. Maybe there’s a place where the Rio Grande is shallow enough to walk across. With Javier helping her, she could have managed it,” Flint said, finishing the last of the chips crumbled in the bottom of the basket.
“And then what? Walk for miles, avoiding detection of the border guards on quad bikes or horses? Hide her pregnant self behind the mesquite, running from one bush to another for miles in this heat?” Kim shook her head. “There’s a simpler answer. You know Occam’s Razor.”
“Entities should not be multiplied beyond necessity,” Flint recited. “Or the simplest answer is usually correct.”
“So the simple answer is to believe Elana when she said they came through the checkpoint. If they did, they had excellent counterfeit documents and we should be able to find the records almost instantly. Or…”
Flint nodded like a good student paying attention. “Or there’s a corrupt border patrol officer facilitating illegal entry by letting them cross without proper documents. Why would he do that?”
“Money, usually,” Kim shrugged. “Probably wouldn’t take as much as we think, either. People around here don’t have vast fortunes. A few thousand dollars would go a long way toward improving a local family’s quality of life.”
“You think Javier Garcia’s thwarted murder at the Redstone funeral is related to the Maria Greer arson and by extension, to the Double Death Task Force cases,” Flint said, nodding slowly, trying the idea on, looking for holes in her theory.
“More importantly for my purposes is that Reacher seems to believe there’s a connection.”
“We could follow him to Ojinaga,” Flint offered a bit half-heartedly.
She shook her head. “I’m not sure he ever went there. Or if he did, whether he’s still there. Trailing around after him won’t work. I’ve been doing that for seven months now. I need a better plan of attack.”
Kim looked toward Weber, who had rejoined his colleagues with gusto. He’d be finished eating soon. She didn’t want to cut him from that herd, alerting the gossip mongers to her suspicions.
One of Weber’s companions put some money in the jukebox and chose a half dozen ear-splitting tunes to accompany their meal. The music made it impossible to think, let alone talk.
“Can you pay the bill? I need to make a couple of phone calls. I’ll meet you outside,” she said, finishing off her food. “Watch Weber and his crew. If any of them try to leave by the back door, call me.”
“I’m not chasing anybody down on foot in that heat,” Flint nodded toward Weber’s table. “Not likely one of these guys is passing illegals through the checkpoint anyway, is it? USBP is probably the best paying job in Presidio. Any halfway decent agent would know the penalties. Weber’s group doesn’t look like men who would take those risks. They’re too relaxed, for one thing.”
“The pressure must be overwhelming, too. Whoever hired him to look the other way will kill him if he stops passing illegals through. On the other hand, if Uncle Sam catches him, he’s going to prison for the rest of his life. Or worse,” She pushed back from the table preparing to stand. “With any luck, he’s ready to make a deal. But first, we need to identify him.”