"If there are drivers down there, how come somebody would hire Tom to go all the way down and get them?"

"They didn't," Mecca said.

"Sometimes they did," Tammy corrected.

"Well, sometimes. The dummies. But mostly we called for Tom if somebody got dropped off and stayed awhile or rented one of Old Billings's trailers and then needed a ride back 'cause bis ride was long gone. The casino rides don't wait around too long. Unless you're one of those high rollers and then probably…"

"And then what?"

"Then you wouldn't come to Clear in the first place."

"They got prettier girls in Pahrump," Tammy said matter-of-factly, as if it was strictly a business disadvantage and not something that bothered her personally.

"An' it's a bit closer an' the pussy costs more," Mecca said. "So what we get up in Clear is your cost-conscious consumer." Spoken like a true marketing expert. I tried to get the conversation back on track.

"So, for the most part, Tom Walling came over and drove customers back to Las Vegas or wherever they came from."

"Right."

"Right."

"And these guys-these customers-could have been totally anonymous. You don't check IDs, right? The customers could use whatever name they wanted when they came in there."

"Uh-huh. Unless they look like maybe they ain't twenty-one yet."

"Right. We check the ID of the young ones."

I could see how it could be done, how Backus could have sized up brothel customers as his victims. If it appeared they had taken measures to guard their identities and hide that they had made the trip to Clear, then they had inadvertently made themselves perfect victims. It also played into what was known about the demons that drove his killing spree. The profile work in the Poet file indicated that Backus's pathology was wrapped up in his relationship with his father, a man who on the outside held the vaunted image of FBI agent, hero and good man, but on the inside was a man who abused his wife and son to the extent that one fled the home because she could, while the one who couldn't get away was left to retreat into a world of fantasies involving the killing of his abuser.

I realized there was something missing. Lloyd Rockland, the victim who had rented a car. How did he fit in if he didn't need a driver? I opened the file Rachel had left in the car and pulled out the photo of Rockland. I showed it to the women.

"This guy, do either of you recognize him? His name was Lloyd."

"Was?" Mecca asked.

"Yeah, that's right, was. Lloyd Rockland. He's dead. Do you recognize him?"

Neither of them did. I knew it was a long shot. Rockland disappeared in 2002.1 tried to think of an explanation that would allow Rockland to fit into the theory.

"You serve alcohol in there, right?"

"If the customer wants it we can provide it," Mecca said. "We got a license."

"Okay, what happens when a guy drives all the way up from Vegas and gets too drunk to drive home?"

"He can sleep it off," she responded. "He can take a room if he pays for it."

"What if he wants to get back? What if he needs to get back?"

"He can call over here and the mayor will take care of it. The driver will take him back in his car and then the driver just catches a ride back like with one of the casino cars or something. It works out."

I nodded. It worked out for my theory as well. Rockland could have gotten drunk and had to be driven back by the driver, Backus. Only he wasn't driven back to Vegas. I knew I would have to ask Rachel to check the remains identified as Rockland's for a high alcohol level. It would be another confirmation.

"Mister, are we gonna have to stay here all day?" Mecca asked. "I don't know," I said as I looked up at the trailer door.

Rachel tried to keep her voice low because Billings Rett was at the other end of the bar acting like he was doing a crossword puzzle, when she knew he was trying to listen to and understand everything she was saying and that could be heard from the phone.

"What's the ETA?" she asked.

"We'll be in the air within twenty and then another twenty to you," Cherie Dei said. "So sit tight, Rachel."

"Got it."

"And Rachel, I know you. I know what you will want to do. Stay out of the suspect's trailer until we can go in there with an ERT. Let them do their job."

Rachel almost told Dei that the fact was that she didn't know her, that she couldn't begin to understand the first thing about her. But she didn't.

"Got it," she said instead.

"What about Bosch?" Dei asked next.

"What about him?"

"I want him kept away from this."

"That will be sort of hard since he found the place. This is all because of him."

"I understand that but we would have gotten there eventually. We always do. We'll thank him but we have to brush him aside after that."

"Well, you get to tell him that."

"I will. So are we set? I've got to get over to Nellis."

"All set. See you inside the hour." "Rachel, one last thing, why didn't you drive up there?"

"It was Bosch's hunch, he wanted to drive. What's the difference?"

"You were giving him control of the situation, that's all."

"That's second-guessing after the fact. We thought we might get a line on the missing men, not be led right to-"

"That's fine, Rachel. I shouldn't have brought it up. I have to go."

Dei hung up on her end. Rachel couldn't hang up because the phone was stretched from the back wall and over the bar. She held it up to Rett and he put down his pencil and came over. He took the phone and hung it up.

'Thank you, Mr. Rett. In about an hour a couple helicopters are going to land here. Probably right in front of this trailer. Agents will want to talk to you. More formally than I did. They will probably talk to a lot of people in your town."

"Not good for business."

"Probably not, but the faster people cooperate, the faster they'll take off and be out of here."

She didn't mention anything about the horde of media that would also probably descend on the place once it was revealed publicly that the little brothel town in the desert was where the Poet had holed up unnoticed for all of these years and had chosen his latest victims.

"If the agents ask where I am, tell them I went up to Tom Walling's trailer, okay?"

"Sounded like you were getting told not to go up there." "Mr. Rett, just tell them what I asked you to tell them."

"Will do."

"By the way, have you been up there since he came in here and told you he was leaving for a while?"

"No, I haven't managed to get up there. He paid the rent on the place so I didn't think it was my business to snoop around his things. That's not the way we are here in Clear."

Rachel nodded.

"Okay, Mr. Rett, thanks for your cooperation."

He shrugged as if to say he either had no choice or his cooperation was minimal. Rachel turned from the bar and headed for the door. But just as she got there she hesitated. She reached inside her blazer and pulled the extra magazine for her Sig Sauer off her belt. She hefted its weight once in her hand and then slipped it into the pocket of her blazer. She then went out the door and got into the Mercedes next to Bosch.

"So," he said, "is Agent Dei mad?"

"Nope. We just brought in the case break, how could she be mad?"

"I don't know. Some people have the ability to be mad no matter what you bring them."

"Are we just going to sit here all day?" Mecca asked from the backseat.

Rachel turned around to look back at the two women.

"We're going over to the western ridge to check out a trailer. You can go with us and stay in the car or you can go into the bar and wait. More agents are on the way. You'll probably be able to get your interviews over with here and not have to go into Vegas." "Thank God," Mecca said. "I'll wait here."