“But he doesn’t even know Angie,” Carmen objected. “Joaquin’s never come around, not once. I heard that he was in jail somewhere.”

Louis shrugged. “Let his parents do it, then. Angie can be their problem, not ours.”

Without another word, Carmen Escalante rose from where she sat, picked up her chair, and disappeared with it into the kitchen. Brian glanced at Delia Ortiz. What he read in her face was absolute contempt for both these people, the husband and the wife. No wonder the tribal chairman had found Delphina Escalante Enos a job to do and a place to live far away from this vindictive excuse for a father and a spineless mother.

“I’m sorry to have to ask you this kind of thing,” Brian said. “If you’d rather I came back later…”

“Ask,” Louis Escalante growled. “What do you want to know?”

“Was your daughter involved in drugs of any kind?”

“I don’t think so,” Louis said. “But you should talk to that man of hers. I’ve heard that about Joaquin Enos. He does all kinds of bad things. His daughter will probably grow up to do the same. Someone else will have to look after her, if they’re brave enough.”

“What do you mean, brave enough?” Brian asked.

Louis shrugged. “She’s alive,” he said, as if that was all that mattered. “If everyone else is dead, why is she still alive?”

“Because the killer didn’t see her,” Brian said.

“Yes,” Louis said, “Kok’oi Chehia.”

“Ghost Girl?” Brian asked.

Louis seemed startled that Brian understood what he had said. He shrugged and looked away.

When the interview was over, Brian drove Delia back to her home in Sells. He knew that at one time she and Leo had lived in the house Delia had inherited from her aunt Julia in Little Tucson, but sometime in the recent past they had moved back into the Ortiz family compound behind the gas station.

Delia directed him to the proper mobile home. Brian pulled up next to it. Rather than getting right out of the vehicle, Delia sat for some time with her hand resting on the door handle.

“Now you know why I gave Delia a job,” she said at last. “She and the baby needed to move out of there.”

Brian nodded. “Yes, I can see that,” he said. “But I’m surprised that the Escalantes won’t take in that poor little girl. She’s their granddaughter, for Pete’s sake. That doesn’t make any sense to me. What happened to her mother isn’t her fault.”

“No, but that’s how the Escalantes work,” Delia added. “Louis was talking about how bad Joaquin Enos is, but they’re not nice people, either.”

Brian knew enough to say nothing more. Instead, he waited for Delia to finish. “Louis is Lani Walker’s uncle,” she said finally. “Her blood uncle.”

Brian Fellows, who knew a lot about Lani Walker’s history, was taken aback. “Are you saying this is the same family, the people who wouldn’t take Lani back after she was bitten by all the ants?”

Delia nodded. “The same family,” she said. “They wouldn’t take Lani back because they thought she was dangerous.”

“And now they’re claiming Ghost Girl is dangerous, too,” Brian muttered. “What will happen to her?”

“We’ll check to see what the father’s family has to say,” Delia told him. “If they don’t want her, either, then I guess CPS will have to step in and decide what to do with her.”

“Angelina Enos is a possible witness to her mother’s murder,” Brian said after a pause. “The only reason she’s alive right now is that the killer doesn’t know she exists. If you place that little girl in state custody, you’ll leave a bureaucratic trail behind her-a paper trail that can be followed or a computer trail that can be hacked. People who want that kind of information know it’s there to be had for a price.

“Whoever killed those four people at Komelik tonight did so in cold blood and without a moment’s hesitation. That means they won’t think twice about coming back to take out an eyewitness, either, even a four-year-old eyewitness, and they’ll do whatever it takes to find her.”

“You think so?” Delia asked.

“Absolutely,” Brian said.

Delia thought about that for a while. Finally she sighed. “All right then, Detective Fellows,” she said. “I’ll see what I can do, and I appreciate your help.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And I hope you catch whoever did this,” she said. “The People need you to catch him.”

Brian Fellows nodded. “Yes,” he said, “I understand.”

And he did.

San Diego, California

Saturday, June 6, 2009, 10:00 p.m.

58º Fahrenheit

Once Corrine Lapin had placed the 911 call, she felt as though she had done everything she could do. She watched TV for a while, but then she went to bed, leaving her cell phone on the bedside table next to her just in case someone did call her back. Sometime after one in the morning, when she was deep in sleep, the musical ring tone roused her.

“Ms. Lapin, please,” an officious woman’s voice said.

“This is she,” Corrine answered. “Who is this? Are you calling about my sister?”

There was a momentary pause before the woman replied. “Yes, I am. My name is Detective Mumford,” she said. “Detective Alexandra Mumford with the Thousand Oaks PD. I’m afraid I have some very bad news.”

Corrine’s heart began to hammer wildly in her chest. “Don’t tell me something’s happened to them!” she breathed.

“After your 911 call was forwarded to our department, we dispatched a patrol car to do a welfare check,” Detective Mumford continued. “No one came to the door, but when officers went around to the side of the house, they were able to see what appeared to be signs of foul play.”

“Foul play,” Corrine echoed. “Are you saying…?”

“I’m afraid the people we found inside the residence are all deceased, Ms. Lapin.” Alex Mumford’s voice was sympathetic but firm. “They have been for several days.”

“Deceased?” It was only by repeating the words that Corrine was able to make sense of what was being said. “You’re telling me they’re dead? That can’t be true. All of them-all four of them?”

“So far we’ve located only three victims,” Detective Mumford said. “Four if you count the dog. An adult female and two children, a boy and a girl, and a dog.”

That was astounding. The people were all dead, and Major, too? He was Esther’s beloved beagle. Until Esther had real kids, Major had been like a child to her. She loved that dog to distraction, and he loved her. Naturally Jonathan had despised the dog.

Thinking those thoughts, Corrine started to cry, but then she realized Detective Mumford was still speaking to her, asking a question. “… where he might be?”

“Where who might be?” Corrine asked raggedly, pulling herself together.

“Mr. Southard,” Detective Mumford said. “Your brother-in-law. It’s possible that he’s a victim of foul play, too, but…”

Corrine stopped crying, her tears transformed into a flood of fury and anger. “He did this, didn’t he!” she declared.

She threw off the sheet, scrambled out of bed, and groped for the light switch. She punched the speakerphone button so she could still hear the detective’s voice as she began pulling on clothes.

“That no-good son of a bitch did this to them! He killed them all and left them to rot. How did they die?”

“There’s evidence of gunshot wounds. A single wound to the head of each of the human victims. The dog was shot twice. He was found next to the adult female. There was blood on his muzzle. My guess is the dog was trying to protect her, and he may even have succeeded in biting the assailant before he was killed. We’ll be running tests on him as well, hoping to find DNA evidence that will help identify the assailant.”

Corrine’s hands shook as she pulled a T-shirt on over her head-a Disneyland T-shirt. She had bought matching shirts for all of them when she and Esther had taken the kids there for spring break. But that was another time and place, forever banished to the past. She was no longer crying. She would not cry. She wouldn’t give Jonathan Southard the satisfaction.