Queen of the Night

Twelve

Sells, Tohono O’odham Nation, Arizona

Sunday, June 7, 2009, 10:30 a.m.

86º Fahrenheit

Dan had been standing outside the hospital’s front entrance to make his phone call to Detective Fellows. On the way back inside, he stopped off long enough to speak to the charge nurse. “Any word on when Angie Enos’s relatives are going to show up?” he asked.

“Not so far,” she said.

Dan started to go back to the room, then changed his mind and went back outside, dialing his cell phone as he went.

He’d managed a couple of hours of sleep in that dreadful chair, but he wasn’t rested enough to stay awake through another ten-hour shift. It was already after ten in the morning. That didn’t leave him sufficient time to drive home, grab some z’s, and be back up and at ’em in time for his shift. Besides, what if Angie’s relatives never appeared? What would happen to her then?

Dan Pardee already knew the answer to that question. Some unfailingly earnest CPS caseworker would ride up on her broom and whisk Angie off to foster care. Dan Pardee understood all too well about what was wrong with that scenario.

Marco Benevedez, the sergeant on duty, answered his call.

“Hey,” Dan said, casting around for a plausible excuse, “I stopped by the feast house at Vamori last night. I think I picked up a trace of food poisoning.”

“No shit!” Marco said, laughing aloud at his own joke.

“Just the opposite,” Dan said. He hoped he sounded suitably unamused.

“Are you telling me you won’t be in?” Marco asked.

“Not today.” And not Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday, either, Dan thought, since those were his regular days off.

“We need a full report on your involvement with that Komelik shooting.”

“No problem,” Dan said. “All I did was come across the victims after they’d been shot, but I’ll be glad to type something up and send it.”

One of the side benefits of working for a far-flung unit was that reports could be e-mailed in rather than delivered in person.

“Drugs, do you think?”

Dan knew that Marco’s question was off the record. Stopping the flow of drugs and people across the border was one of the Shadow Wolves’ main areas of responsibility. Naturally Marco wanted to know if this shooting had anything to do with their mission. As far as Dan was concerned, the deaths of the people outside Komelik had nothing to do with smuggling. If what Brian Fellows had said was true, it was some nutcase from California going around killing people-starting with the people he should have loved above all others. That wasn’t a Border Patrol problem. It was a humanity problem.

“I doubt it,” Dan said. “Time will tell. Gotta go,” he added.

“Right,” Marco said, thinking Dan meant something else entirely. “So by all means, go!”

“Did you bring me another coloring book?” Angie asked when he came back into her room. “I’ve used up all the stickers for this one.”

And you already have me pegged for a sucker, he thought. “Not right now,” he said.

“When is lunch?” she asked. “I’m hungry.”

“Soon,” he said, and hoped like hell it was true.

Sonoita, Arizona

Sunday, June 7, 2009, 10:00 a.m.

73º Fahrenheit

When Brandon went inside to interview June Holmes, he left the convertible parked in the generous shade of a towering cottonwood. As Diana and Damsel settled in to wait, Diana wasn’t surprised when Garrison Ladd was the next one of her unending collection of bad boys to show up. Why wouldn’t he?

Even though she’d been expecting him, it was disturbing that he appeared right beside her in the driver’s seat, sitting there with both hands on the wheel. At least Max Cooper had stayed in the backseat where he belonged. The good news about that was that the remains of the exit wound in his head were mostly invisible to her.

“No matter what you think, sometimes suicide is the best solution for all concerned,” he said, taking up Max’s line of attack.

“You of all people should know about that,” Diana said derisively. “After all, that was your solution of choice. By my count you’ve been dead for more than thirty years.”

“But don’t bother selling the car,” he went on as though he hadn’t heard a word she said. “If you’re gonna do it, you’re gonna do it. It’s as simple as that. Brandon has a gun. You know where he keeps it. Even someone as dim as you are should be able to figure out how to use it.”

This was nothing new. Garrison Ladd had always maintained that Diana was pretty much too stupid to live.

“Don’t even mention Brandon Walker’s name,” Diana snapped at him. “You’re not in his league. Besides, I’d never use a gun for something like that. I wouldn’t leave that kind of mess behind for someone else to clean up.”

“You mean like Brandon or Davy or maybe even Lani?”

“Get out of the car,” she ordered. “You’re not here. You’re dead. I don’t have to listen to you. I won’t listen to you.”

When he made no move to leave, Diana did. She got out, collected Damsel’s leash, and walked up to the front door of the ranch house, where she rang the bell.

“I’m Brandon Walker’s wife,” she said to the silver-haired lady who answered the door. “Sorry to barge in like this, but it’s too hot to sit in the car. Do you mind if we wait inside?”

“Of course not,” June Holmes said, smiling hospitably. “Do come in. Let me get you something cool to drink and something for your puppy, too. What’s the dog’s name?”

“Damsel,” Diana answered. “For Damsel in Distress.”

Sells, Tohono O’odham Nation, Arizona

Sunday, June 7, 2009, 11:00 a.m.

87º Fahrenheit

When Lani jolted awake at eleven, Fat Crack’s crystals were still in her hand and her mind was made up. The answer to Delia’s question was yes-yes, she would take Angie. How could she not? Before she could turn that decision into action, however, there was something else she needed to do.

Once showered and dressed, Lani returned to the medicine basket she had woven for herself so long ago. As her fingers and awl had worked with the bear grass and yucca, she had sensed that she was communing with the spirits of those who had come before her, the people who had schooled her in the traditions and teachings of the Tohono O’odham-Understanding Woman, Looks at Nothing, Betraying Woman, and Nana Dahd, and, of course, Fat Crack himself. As the basket took shape strand by strand, it had seemed to Lani that bits of each of those wise old people were being woven into the pattern.

Once it was finished, it was only fitting that the basket should be stocked with all the treasured relics that had come to her from those folks as well.

Rita Antone’s grandmother, Oks Amachuda, Understanding Woman, had been dead for decades before Lani was born, but two of the precious items came from her-a shard of red pottery with the form of a turtle etched into it and a hunk of geode covered with purple-shaded crystals. Understanding Woman had sent them with Rita, in a medicine basket very much like this one, when, as a young girl, Rita had been shipped off to boarding school at Phoenix Indian. That original basket still belonged to Lani’s brother, Davy.

Nana Dahd ’s owij, the awl she had used to make countless baskets, was there, as was the Purple Heart that was Rita Antone’s sole remembrance of her only son, who had died during the Korean War. The other important men in Rita Antone’s life were represented as well. Lani ran her fingers through the worn beads of Father John’s lasolo, his rosary. Smiling, she examined Looks at Nothing’s old Zippo cigarette lighter. The brass was smooth and fading to black in spots. It hadn’t lit anything in years, but the lighter’s connection to the past and to the old blind medicine man who had used it was almost palpable.

Now, returning the crystals to the basket, she pocketed the tobacco pouch. Each year she made a special trip out into the desert to replenish her supply of wiw, the Indian tobacco used in the traditional ceremony called the peace smoke. Today, in her meeting with Delia Ortiz, that pouch of tobacco was all Lani needed.

It was almost noon and scorching hot when Lani drove up to the Ortiz family compound behind the gas station. In the dusty open space inside the cluster of several mobile homes, two children-Gabe and Baby Rita-played a desultory game of kickball. The kids were evidently impervious to the heat while the adults of the several families hunkered down inside their air-conditioned houses and napped off the effects of being up all night at the Vamori dance.

“Hey, Lani,” Gabe said. “Want to play kickball?”

“Not right now,” she told him. “I need to talk to your mom.”

“She’s asleep. Want me to wake her up?”

“Please,” Lani said. “Tell her it’s about Angie and that I’ll meet her at her office.”

Lani was grateful when Gabe headed inside to awaken his mother without asking any of his usual questions.

Lani drove to the Tohono O’odham Nation’s office complex and parked next to the spot reserved for the tribal chairman. Before Lani formally agreed to Delia’s suggestion about Angie, she needed to be sure that she and the tribal chairman were on the same page.

Sitting for several moments in her parked car, Lani reflected on her long-term rivalry with Delia Ortiz. Fat Crack had chosen both of them. Delia had been designated to be his political successor, and he had expected Lani to carry forward the traditional teachings that had been given to him by Looks at Nothing.

Both women had done all they could to live up to Fat Crack’s expectations, with one major exception. He had thought they would become friends rather than enemies. Now, though, working together with the common purpose of salvaging Angie Enos, Lani glimpsed far enough into the future to see that perhaps Fat Crack had been right all along and that she and Delia would become friends.

Exiting the Passat’s broiling interior, Lani walked over to the shaded picnic table where regular smokers of ordinary cigarettes could light up. Opening the pouch, Lani pulled out the paper and Indian tobacco and began rolling a smoke.

Sells, Tohono O’odham Nation, Arizona

Sunday, June 7, 2009, 11:30 a.m.

88º Fahrenheit

When Fat Crack first brought Delia Chavez Cachora back home to Sells to serve as tribal attorney, she had been away from the reservation for far more years than she had lived there. Her East Coast schooling and the years of living in D.C. made her seem far more Anglo than Indian. What made things happen in D.C. was thought to be pushy and abrupt on the reservation.

When Delia first returned to Sells, she would have walked up to Lani at the picnic table and immediately demanded to know what she wanted. But time had passed. Delia’s Aunt Julia, along with Fat Crack and Leo Ortiz, had counseled her on ways of fitting in. She had learned, for example, that it was better to stop and wait to be acknowledged before speaking. The old Delia would have pressed for information as to why Lani had sent Gabe to awaken her. The new Delia stood silently waiting for an invitation to be seated and allowing Lani to speak at a pace of her choosing. An expertly rolled cigarette lay on the table along with a worn leather pouch Delia remembered had once belonged to Fat Crack.

Finally Lani motioned Delia to a spot at the table. “Do you know about Little Lion and Little Bear?” she asked.

“I guess,” Delia said with a shrug. “I believe Gabe told me that story once. Aren’t those the two boys who were raised by their grandmother, the ones who had beautifully colored birds?”

“Parrots,” Lani said, nodding.

“People were jealous of the boys because they wanted the colored feathers. They killed the grandmother, but the boys managed to escape. Before they, too, were killed, they threw the birds off the mountains to the east, thus creating Sunrise and Sunset. Right?”

Lani smiled. “Yes,” she said. “Do you know what happened then?”

Delia was dying to ask for Lani’s decision about taking Angie, and the old Delia would have done so at once, but now she knew better. Posing that question directly would be rude. Instead she went back to what she remembered of the story.

“I thought the legend ended once the boys were dead.”

“No,” Lani said. “There’s more. The spirit of the grandmother called for the dead boys to come home. She told them where to bury her body. Four days after they did that, a plant grew up there-wild tobacco, wiw. Little Bear and Little Lion harvested it the way Wise Old Grandmother told them.

“The people who had killed the two boys were worried when the boys came back. They called a council. They didn’t invite Little Bear and Little Lion to join them, but the two dead boys came anyway, bringing the tobacco with them. When the people sat in the circle, the two boys sat there, too. Coyote was there and told them they should light the tobacco and pass it to the person next to them, saying ‘ Nawoj, ’ which means ‘friend’ or ‘friendly gift.’ And that’s the origin of the Tohono O’odham’s peace smoke.”

“As opposed to the peace pipe in all those cowboy movies.”

Nodding, Lani held up Looks at Nothing’s venerable old leather pouch in one hand and the hand-rolled cigarette in the other. “That’s what I have here.”

“Wild tobacco?” Delia asked warily. Her first husband had returned from his round of powwow travels with a penchant for smoking peyote, and the results of that had been nothing short of disastrous. “That’s all it is-tobacco?”

Lani nodded. “Botanists will tell you it’s really called Nicotiana trigonophylla, and that’s all it is, Indian tobacco. It was harvested and dried the same way Little Lion and Little Bear’s grandmother told them to; the same way Fat Crack taught me; the same way Looks at Nothing taught him.”

“But what’s it doing here?” Delia asked.

“I’m proposing that you and I should have a council and smoke the peace smoke,” Lani said.

Delia was mystified. “But why?”

Lani smiled to think how much Delia sounded like her son just then.

“On the day my brother Davy was baptized,” Lani answered, “Looks at Nothing, Fat Crack, an old Catholic priest named Father John, and my father all smoked it together. Until that happened, Davy was a boy with two mothers and no fathers. From that moment on, he was a boy with two mothers and four fathers. The four men hadn’t been friends before that, especially Looks at Nothing and Father John, but from then on they were. I’d like for us to do the same thing-smoke the peace smoke and become friends.”

“Because of Angie?” Delia asked.

“Not just because of Angie,” Lani said. “Fat Crack told my father once that someday he hoped the two of us would be friends. I’m beginning to think maybe he was right.”

With that she lit the cigarette, using a match rather than the lighter. She took a long drag, and then passed the cigarette to Delia. “Nawoj,” she said.

For a time the two women sat in silence with the desert heat shimmering around them and with the sweet-smelling smoke enveloping them as well.

“When I first came back here I was jealous of you,” Delia admitted at last. “I didn’t understand why Fat Crack spent so much time with you. I thought he should be teaching what he knew to Leo or Richard, to one of his own sons, instead of to someone else, especially to someone who was being raised by Anglos. Now, though, I understand why. Leo and Richard weren’t interested in all those things-not the way you are. Not the way Gabe is.”

Delia passed the cigarette back to Lani.

“And then, even though he was a Christian Scientist, Fat Crack insisted that we should invest tribal money in turning you into a doctor. I lobbied against that as well. I thought your Anglo parents should foot the bill for your education. Now, though, I understand that, too, because I see what you’re doing. Yes, you’re a medical doctor, but you understand the traditional ways and take those things into consideration.”

There was another period of silence, punctuated by puffs of smoke. “Did you know my mother is gay?” Delia asked.

Lani shook her head. “No.”

“My parents broke up when I was little,” Delia said. “For a long time I assumed it was because my father was a drunk. It turns out that was one reason for the split, but it wasn’t the only one. My mother was attracted to women. Ruth Waldron, the woman who eventually became my mother’s partner-who still is my mother’s partner-came from money, old East Coast money. Ruth saw to it that I had every educational advantage her money could buy.”

“So you were a girl with two mothers, too,” Lani murmured. “Just like I was with Diana Ladd and Nana Dahd.”

Delia smiled and nodded. “With Fat Crack’s encouragement, the tribe saw to it that you got your education. An Anglo paid for most of mine. I’m hoping that between the two of us we can do the same kind of thing for Angelina Enos-give her the same kind of advantages that were given to us. So have you made a decision?” Delia asked. “Are you willing to take her?”

“Yes,” Lani said. “I am, and I’m willing to take her today. I think it’s criminal that the Escalantes would turn her away just as they turned me away.”

“Good,” Delia said. “I’m glad to hear you say that.”

“But how will all this work?” Lani asked. “I can’t just walk into the hospital and insist that they hand her over.”

“Yes, you can,” Delia said. “Right after I spoke to you I called Judge Lawrence. He’s drawing up a court order declaring you to be Angie’s temporary guardian. All you have to do is go by his place and sign it.”

Lani was taken aback to think that Delia had known in advance what her decision would be. “What about later?” she asked. “What if some other relative of Angie’s comes forward and offers to take her?”

“They won’t,” Delia declared. “They didn’t come for you, and they won’t come for Angie.”

Delia Ortiz took one last drag on the smoldering remnant of the cigarette. “Nawoj,” she said again as she passed it back.

Much to her surprise, Delia Ortiz realized that somehow the wiw had done its magic work. Through the haze of sweet-smelling smoke it seemed entirely possible that she and Lanita Dolores Walker could be friends after all, exactly as her father-in-law, Fat Crack, had intended.

Tucson, Arizona

Sunday, June 7, 2009, 12:00 p.m.

89º Fahrenheit

By the time the Aces showed up in person, Brian had typed up what he had, including the contact information for Detective Mumford in Thousand Oaks and a cell phone number for Dan Pardee. He would have been glad to hand off the paper and get the hell out, but things didn’t work out that way.

“This is all you’ve got?” Jake Abernathy asked derogatorily after scanning through the pages.

Detective Abernathy knew he was Sheriff Forsythe’s “chosen one.” He came complete with the requisite ego and attitude. He understood Brian had to be pissed about being taken off the case, and he couldn’t help rubbing Brian’s nose in it. At least he couldn’t help trying to, but Brian refused to take the bait.

“Yup,” he said. “That’s all we have so far. You’ll probably want to follow up with Detective Mumford over in Thousand Oaks. She’s working on tracking phone records.”

Making the suggestion was a deliberate ploy. Brian was reasonably sure that based on that, he could expect that the Aces wouldn’t give Alex Mumford the time of day.

“I think Rick and I can track down phone records on our own,” Jake told him. “Now what about this witness-the little girl who supposedly saw the killer. If we go out to the res to interview her, will we need to bring along a translator?”

Brian didn’t call the Tohono O’odham Nation “the res” ever.

“No,” he said. “Her name is Angelina Enos and she speaks English.” A lot better than you speak Tohono O’odham, he thought.

“Where is she?”

“The last I heard she was in the hospital at Sells. But you have Dan Pardee’s number. He can probably tell you where she ended up going.”

Abernathy frowned. “According to this, he’s the Border Patrol guy who found her along with the bodies. Why would this jerk know where she is? Is he a relative of some kind?”

No relation, Brian thought, and no jerk, either.

“I had my hands full, and he was willing to look after the kid,” Brian said aloud.

“Okay, okay. We’ll track him down and see what he has to say,” Jake said. Then he turned to his partner. “We should probably check with Border Patrol and take a look at his statement, too.”

He turned back to Brian. “You’re pretty sure that Jonathan Southard is the guy?”

Brian nodded.

“Any leads on where he went?”

“Since he came here to take out his mother, there’s some concern that his next stop might be Ohio. That’s where his father lives. I spoke to Hank Southard a little while ago. He says there’s some mistake. His son wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Right,” Abernathy said. “That’s what relatives always say.”

Brian had made a stack of copies of Jonathan Southard’s driver’s license photo. Jake Abernathy noticed them for the first time. “What are those?” he asked.

“Copies of Southard’s photo,” Brian said. “I was going to have a deputy take them out to the airport. That way, if he tries to get on a plane, people there will know to keep an eye out for him.”

“Good thinking,” Abernathy said. “Why don’t you do that?”

Why not indeed! Brian thought. He could have refused. He could have told Jake that he should send a deputy instead, but Brian didn’t believe in confrontation for confrontation’s sake. As far as Brian was concerned, a phone call to Homeland Security was probably also in order, just in case Southard was trying to head out of the country, but that was no longer his call to make.

“Sure thing,” he said, tapping the stack of photos. “Glad to be of service. I’ll drop these off on my way home.”

Sonoita, Arizona

Sunday, June 7, 2009, 12:00 p.m.

79º Fahrenheit

It was close to noon when Diana and Brandon left June Holmes’s house. With the summertime sun blazing down on them, Brandon overrode his wife’s veto. He closed the convertible top and turned the AC to high for the ride back to Tucson.

“Did you get what you needed?” Diana asked.

Brandon sighed. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I know what she told me, but I don’t know how much of it to believe. What about you? When you came inside, you looked upset. Are you all right?”

Diana considered his question for some time before she answered it. “No,” she said at last. “I don’t think I’m all right at all.”

Brandon looked at her nervously. “Why?” he asked. “What’s wrong? Are you sick? Do you need to go to the doctor?”

“Because I’m seeing things,” she replied. “I’m seeing people who aren’t there-dead people. I talk to them. They talk to me. They tell me things.”

“What people?”

“Garrison Ladd,” she answered after another long pause. “Andrew Carlisle. My father. All those people from my past that I don’t want to see keep showing up uninvited.”

“How long has this been going on?” Brandon asked.

She noticed that he didn’t try to talk her out of it. He didn’t tell her she was wrong or that she was making things up. Obviously he believed her.

“Several months,” she said. “It started while I was trying to finish the book. It was like they ganged up on me. Is that what happens with Alzheimer’s patients?” she asked. “Is that what happened to your father? Or is this some other kind of dementia? I suppose I should have gone to a doctor, but…”

Her voice trailed away. Even though that was what Brandon had been thinking-what he’d been worried about all along-it took his breath away to have the word spoken aloud like that between them, and he understood all too well why she hadn’t wanted to discuss it with anyone, most especially not with her husband.

“I don’t know,” Brandon said. “I don’t think anybody knows everything about those kinds of issues. They’re complicated and not easily sorted out.”

Diana nodded. “I know how much dealing with your father bothered you, and I don’t want to put you through that kind of thing again. I had been thinking about going out in a blaze of glory-of taking this out for a drive and running it off a cliff somewhere. That’s what my invisible friends all think I should do, but not you. Right?”

“You’re right,” he answered at once. “Not me.” He thought about what she had said then asked, “Is that why you want to sell this?” He patted the Invicta’s steering wheel.

Diana nodded again. “That’s why. I knew you wouldn’t want me to do it. I thought getting rid of the car would get rid of the temptation.”

Brandon Walker took a deep breath. Diana’s mental lapses were exactly what he had feared for days, weeks, and months, but now that they were talking about all this-now that it was out in the open-it didn’t seem so bad. His father and mother had learned to cope. He and Diana would, too.

He reached across the seat and put his hand on Diana’s shoulder. “If that turns out to be what this is, it’s pretty damned grim,” he said. “But I also remember the vow I made-for better or for worse, in sickness and in health. If Alzheimer’s is what worse means, then I’m in for the whole ride and so is the Invicta. Even if I have to hide the keys.”

Diana swallowed hard and nodded. By then nodding silently was all she could do. Her voice was stuck in her throat.

“Even toward the last, when my father barely knew up from down, he loved to go for rides, and that’s what we’re going to do-with the top down whenever possible. You, me, and Damsel-the three of us together. You took care of me when I had bypass surgery, and I’m prepared to do the same for you. Got it?”

“Yes,” she managed.

“We’ll need to talk to the kids,” Brandon went on, taking charge and laying out a plan of action. “We’ll need to let them know what’s been going on and what we’re worried about. Davy can help us deal with the legal ramifications. And now that we’ve got a doctor in the family, maybe Lani can give us some advice on what’s happening these days as far as medications and care are concerned. All right?”

“All right,” Diana agreed.

“In the meantime,” Brandon said, “what are you doing this afternoon?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Why?”

“Then I’d like to invite you and Damned Dog here to take a day trip to Casa Grande. I believe I finally have some answers for Geet Farrell, and I want to give them to him in person.”

Diana turned and looked in the backseat. She was relieved to see that Damsel was there-the dog and no one else.

“They’re gone,” she said. “The people who were here earlier are gone.”

“Good,” Brandon said. “They may come back, but if they do, let me know. You’re not in this alone any longer. They’ll have to deal with me, too.”

The idea of Max Cooper having to deal with Brandon Walker was something Diana had never considered before. For the first time in a long time she smiled and really meant it.

“Thank you,” she said. “Next time I see any of them, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

Tucson, Arizona

Sunday, June 7, 2009, 12:15 p.m.

90º Fahrenheit

Frustrated by being shut out of the investigation but with the photocopied license photo in hand, Brian was just leaving his desk to head home when his phone rang. Megan O’Rourke, Pima County’s chief CSI investigator, was on the line.

“I thought you’d want to know that we did find some brass cartridges,” she said.

“Great,” he said, “but I’ve been moved off the case. You should probably pass that information along to Jake Abernathy.”

“Believe me, God’s gift to women has already let us know that he’s taken charge of the case and also the universe,” Megan said with a laugh. “When I asked him about a related investigation in California, he laughed it off and allowed as how he’d let me know about it if and when the connection was verified. That’s why I’m calling you. Tell me about that other case.”

“Last night three homicides and a dead dog turned up shot to death in Thousand Oaks, California,” he said. “The victims had been dead for several days. We suspect it’s the same shooter. Let me give you the lead detective’s contact information.”

Once Brian was off the phone, he took the copies of Jonathan Southard’s head shot and set off for Tucson International Airport. When he arrived, two Pima County patrol cars were parked on the departing passenger driveway. That meant that the uniformed officers Brian had asked to be sent to the airport were still there and continuing to interface with the TSA officers at the passenger screening stations. Keeping a few copies of the photo for himself, he parked in the driveway and took the rest of the stack inside.

When he came out, working on a hunch, Brian drove back around the circle and pulled up behind the queue of cabs that were parked near the far end of the terminal building, waiting for fares.

It was ungodly hot. The drivers, several of them smoking, stood in a knot outside their vehicles, looking bored and discouraged. Most of the time they would have been less than interested in talking to a cop, but in this instance they were happy for anything that would take their minds off their shared misery.

“We’re looking for this guy,” Brian said, holding up a copy of the photo. “He may be trying to fly out of town this morning. Have any of you seen him?”

Brian was astonished when one of the drivers raised his hand. “Let me take a closer look,” he said. After examining the photo, he nodded. “Yes, that’s him. I gave this guy a ride about an hour ago.”

Brian’s heart skipped a beat. “Did you bring him here? Did he say what airline?”

“That’s just it. When I picked him up, he told me he was flying American, but when we came up the drive, he said he’d forgotten something back at the hotel and needed to go back.”

“Were the patrol cars here then?” Brian asked.

The driver frowned. “I think so.”

“What happened next?”

“I drove him back to his hotel. When he paid me, I offered to wait for him and bring him back, but he said it wasn’t necessary.”

“What happened then?” Brian asked.

The driver shrugged. “I watched him. He didn’t go back to his room or even into the office. He got in a car and drove away.”

“What kind of car?”

“A silver minivan.”

“What hotel?”

“Los Amigos downtown.”

Los Amigos Motel was a name Brian recognized. It wasn’t the kind of accommodations airport passengers generally preferred on their way in or out of town. It was a dodgy place with a reputation for renting rooms on an hourly basis.

After taking down the cabbie’s name and contact information, Brian thanked him for his help and headed back to his own vehicle. If the driver was correct, Jonathan Southard had already checked out of the hotel, but accessing his registration records would let Brian know if he was still using his own ID or if he had managed to get his hands on a phony one.

The desk clerk at Los Amigos was not happy to see Brian Fellows’s badge. Neither was the manager on duty, but they managed to give Brian what he needed. Jonathan Southard had checked in using his own name and his California driver’s license. He had paid cash for his room, arriving late Saturday night and departing today. And yes, Mr. Southard’s arm had been in a sling. He claimed that he’d been bitten by a neighbor’s Doberman.

Probably thought that sounded better than being bitten by his wife’s beagle, Brian thought.

He immediately relayed what he had learned back to the department to Jake Abernathy’s voice mail. He also passed the same information along to Detective Mumford in Thousand Oaks.

“So he saw the cop cars at the airport and figured out that trying to fly wasn’t going to work,” Alex said. “His next move will be to ditch that car and pick up a new one. Can you cover used-car lots?”

The truth was, Brian Fellows was off the case. He couldn’t “cover” anything, but he didn’t want to admit that to Alex Mumford.

“I doubt he’d use one of those,” Brian said. “If I were in his shoes and on the run, I’d be more likely to pick up a ‘for sale by owner’ vehicle from a street corner somewhere rather than going to a dealer. A private citizen would be only too happy to take a handful of cash. A dealer would be obliged to report it.”

Alex Mumford sighed. “You’re probably right,” she said. “But even that will take time. He’ll have to make contact with the seller. The cabdriver told you you’re only an hour or so behind him. If that’s the case, you may still be able to nail him before he can get out of town.”

“Let’s hope,” Brian agreed. “But there is one piece of good news in all this. I was worried that the shooter might come back looking for our surviving witness, the little girl. But since he was trying to fly out of town, I don’t think he’s focused on her. I’ve had a Border Patrol officer keeping an eye on her. I just left him a message that he can probably stand down.”

“Speaking of phones,” Alex Mumford said, “have you made any progress on tracking the victims’ phones?”

“Not on this end,” Brian admitted.

“It sounds like my chief is a whole lot more motivated than your sheriff. I should be able to add them to my request for a warrant.”

“I’m glad somebody is motivated,” Brian said with a hollow chuckle. “Do what you can, and if you can make it work, call me on this number. Any time night or day.”

“Will do,” Alex said. “Night or day. But if the high-tech solution doesn’t work, maybe the low-tech one will.”

“What’s that?” Brian asked.

“You know,” she said. “That old standby. He gets pulled over for a broken taillight.”

“One can always hope,” Brian said.

Brian knew that buying a car from a dealer was a process that could take several hours, and purchasing one from a private individual wasn’t a slam dunk, either. If Jonathan Southard was trying to replace his vehicle, there was still a window of opportunity to catch him. If anybody was paying attention, that is.

Brian had been dismissed from the case and he had passed on everything he knew to the new team of detectives. It would have been easy to forget about it-to go home for a much-needed nap and let Jonathan Southard be Jake Abernathy’s problem-but there was a big difference between being removed from a case and being able to let it go.

Brian Fellows was a plugger. Yes, he believed there was such a thing as blind luck, but he knew luck came most often to the people who applied themselves and did the grunt work. Rather than heading home, Brian returned to the sheriff’s department, where he settled in behind his desk and started working the phone, calling car-rental agencies and used-car lots.

The Aces wouldn’t mind. Detectives Abernathy and Adams were long on flash and bang, but they weren’t big on gutting it out.

Gutting it out was Brian Fellows’s middle name. He picked up his phone and went to work.

Sells, Tohono O’odham Nation, Arizona

Sunday, June 7, 2009, 1:30 p.m.

91º Fahrenheit

Delia had made it sound as if the court order for Angie’s temporary guardianship was already a done deal, but it took a lot longer for Judge Lawrence to issue the actual paperwork than Lani would have thought possible. As the two women sat side by side in the waiting room outside the tribal judge’s chambers, Lani wondered if this was the same place where her parents had come years earlier when they petitioned for her adoption.

But I was already their foster child by then, Lani thought. They had clothes for me and furniture and all those other things little kids need. I’ve got nothing, and the bedroom that would be Angie’s is full of unpacked boxes of books.

When she voiced some of those concerns to Delia, the tribal chairman nodded. “When we go before the judge, we’ll ask if he’s able to permit you to go into Delphina’s house to retrieve some of Angie’s clothing and belongings.”

Ultimately, that’s just what the paperwork said. In addition to granting Lani temporary custody, Judge Lawrence issued an order stating that she, accompanied by an officer from Law and Order, was authorized to enter Delphina Enos’s residence for the sole purpose of retrieving Angie’s personal items.

That may have been what the judge ordered, but it wasn’t what happened.

After leaving the judge’s office, Lani and Delia went straight to Law and Order. Accompanied by a uniformed patrol officer, the two women caravanned to Delphina Enos’s mobile home. They arrived there just as Carmen and Louis Escalante were preparing to drive away in a pickup truck that had been loaded down with their dead daughter’s furniture and possessions.

Furious, Delia Ortiz signaled for them to stop. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

“We came to get Delphina’s things,” Louis said with a shrug. “Everything she owned is stuff her mother and I gave her. It’s only fair that we should get it all back.”

Inside the mobile home, Lani and Delia were dismayed to discover that the place had been stripped of everything of value-clothing, furniture, dishes, pots and pans. If Angie had any special toys or remembrances, they were gone now, too, except for one-a single cheap stuffed toy, a bedraggled lion that had probably come from the stuffed-toy vending machine just inside the front door at Basha’s. Clearly the lion had been there in the dirt and debris under a couch for some time. Lani picked it up and gave it several hard whacks. The blows raised a cloud of dust.

“How could they do this to their own grandchild?” Lani wondered.

“Did you ever see the movie Zorba the Greek?” Delia asked in return.

Lani shook her head. “Never heard of it,” she said.

“My mother and Ruth loved that movie, mostly because of Anthony Quinn,” Delia said. “In it, some poor old woman dies. The townsfolk descend on her house like a pack of jackals and strip it of everything.”

“Just like this?” Lani asked.

Delia nodded. “Just like,” she said.

As Delia spoke, she opened her purse. Reaching inside, she pulled out two hundred-dollar bills. “This isn’t much, but it’s a start,” she said, passing the money to Lani. “Take Angie into town and use this to get replacements.”

“How can I take her anywhere?” Lani asked. “Legally I can’t even drive her home from the hospital. I don’t have a booster seat.”

“Is that Border Patrol guy still anywhere around?”

“Dan Pardee?” Lani asked. “Yes. I believe he’s still over at the hospital. Why?”

“He’s the one who brought Angie into town from the crime scene last night,” Delia said. “The officers there let him remove the booster seat from Donald Rios’s Blazer in order to do that. I’m sure he still has it.”

“I’m sure he does,” Lani said.

Sells, Tohono O’odham Nation, Arizona

Sunday, June 7, 2009, 1:45 p.m.

91º Fahrenheit

By early afternoon, Dan Pardee was mad enough to chew nails. He had waited around all morning and well into the afternoon, but there was still no sign of Angie’s missing relatives, and no sign of Dr. Walker, either. Angie was asleep again, and Dan was pacing up and down the hallway when he saw Dr. Walker’s midnight-blue VW Passat pull into a parking space reserved for doctors. When Lani stepped out of the driver’s seat, Dan strode out to meet her.

“Dr. Walker, where the hell have you been all this time?” he demanded. “Angie and I are still waiting. No one has come for her, not one person. Where are those people? What the hell’s wrong with them?”

She handed him a piece of paper, an official-looking document. “What’s this?” he asked, looking at Lani rather than the court order.

“It’s what’s taken me so long,” she answered. “Nobody has come for Angie because no one is going to come for her. Her family doesn’t want her.”

“Why the hell not?”

“You and I both know that Angie’s alive because the killer didn’t know she was there. Her superstitious relatives have decided that since Angie wasn’t slaughtered along with her mother, she is now regarded as a dangerous object-a Ghost Child. They won’t come anywhere near her.”

“And this?” he asked, nodding toward the document.

“It’s a court order from the tribal judge declaring me to be Angie Enos’s legal guardian.”

“Why you?” he asked. “Did the judge just pull your name out of his hat?”

“Not exactly,” Lani said. “It turns out Angie Enos is my second cousin.” She collected the document, turned away, and started toward the hospital’s main entrance.

“You and Angie are related?” Dan asked, falling in behind her. “Couldn’t you at least have mentioned that to me earlier?”

Lani spun around and faced him. She seemed angry, and he didn’t understand why. “I would have mentioned it earlier if I had known it earlier. It turns out I didn’t find out about it until after I left the hospital.”

“Wait a minute,” Dan said. “How could you not know you were related?”

“I’m adopted,” Lani said. “There’s a lot about my birth family that I don’t know. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

For the first time he noticed the bedraggled stuffed toy Lani held clutched in her other hand.

“What’s that?” he asked.

Lani took a deep breath. “It’s the only thing Angie Enos has left in this world,” she said. “Some time this morning while you were here at the hospital, Delphina Enos’s parents went to her house and emptied the place. They stripped it of everything-and I do mean everything. This worthless stuffed toy is the only thing they left behind. Angie Enos has nothing left,” she added bitterly. “Nothing but this poor damned lion and me.”

Sells, Tohono O’odham Nation, Arizona

Sunday, June 7, 2009, 1:45 p.m.

91º Fahrenheit

Lani’s eyes filled with hot tears. The injustice of it was more than she could bear. It was bad enough that the Escalantes had turned away from their grandchild, but to take everything she owned and leave her with nothing…

Dan Pardee’s hand went to his pocket. Initially Lani thought he was reaching for a hanky to offer her. Instead, he pulled out a wallet. Opening it, he shuffled through what he carried there. Then, unfolding a frayed envelope, he removed a single photo, which he handed over to Lani.

“Not quite nothing,” he said. “She still has this. I found it at the crime scene last night. I probably shouldn’t have taken it, but I did.”

“Who is this?” Lani asked. “Angie and her mother?”

Dan Pardee nodded. “So you see there? Angie does have something after all-a lion, a photo, a pink-and-yellow pinwheel, a surprise cousin, a dog named Bozo, and me, the ohb. What else could a poor little kid like that possibly need?”

Lani looked up at him in amazement. Ever since hearing about Andrew Carlisle’s appearance, Lani had been filled with dread that something bad was about to happen, that something Apache-like was about to enter her life. What she hadn’t expected was to find herself faced with the real thing. She had also expected this Apache-like entity to be something evil.

“You really are Apache?” she asked.

Dan Pardee nodded. “I’m afraid so,” he said.

Still holding the photo, Lani found herself smiling up at him through her tears. “You may be ohb, ” she said, “but right this minute, I believe, next to my dad, you’re probably the nicest man I’ve ever met.”