"Two minutes," said Hector.

"Slick," said McMichael.

They watched Axelgaard guide the SUV into a three-point turn and head back the way he had come.

"Bye for now," said Hector. "Put this together with Pete."

Silence then as McMichael headed up Palm, bound for Silver Strand. He felt a brain thorn forming, way back in his mind, too far back to get to right now.

"All right," he said finally. "Thigpen and Pete met when Thigpen kept running across Victor and Angel. Thigpen felt sorry for Victor, this brain-damaged man-boy chasing after his dad's hooker. Thigpen tried to go light on him. The old man offered Jimmy an easy job and overpaid him, as thanks for helping out his son."

"Okay."

"The Axelgaard boys already had their border thing in place, but they didn't have a safe way of moving that much product. Maybe they didn't have the guts to try moving that much product. But all of a sudden, Thigpen's got legit business on both sides of the border, and a tractor trailer loaded with new Fords. He goes to work for Pete, and for the Axelgaards, too. Pete finds out. But he doesn't go to the cops because he's still a captain at heart, he's used to taking care of his own problems. And because he's let his own son get mixed up in it. And who knows, maybe Pete thought he'd be suspected. It sure wouldn't look good for Pete Braga Ford."

"All right."

"So he calls Jimmy on it. A big argument at Pete's home, early December- I've got a witness to it. Thigpen and Axelgaard realize that Pete's not only trying to take away the biggest fortune they'll ever make, he could always change his mind and just turn them in. So they think proactive and take him out. With Pete gone, it's business as usual. Thigpen was in jail by then, but the Axelgaards weren't."

Hector said nothing as they sped along Silver Strand, the black ocean stretching all the way to the stars.

"Why did they start taking Victor along? Why risk letting him see what he sees?"

"He's a hostage, but he doesn't know it," said McMichael. "With Victor along, the TJ people saw security, because Pete Braga's son is in on it. And stateside, Pete's less likely to make trouble if his own helpless boy is part of it."

Hector went quiet again until they were almost to the Coronado Bridge. "Why didn't Pete come to us when he found out what Thigpen was doing?"

"Because he's a do-it-yourselfer."

"No," said Hector. "I don't think so. Pete was smart. Pete could find fish and sell cars and play politics. He was smart enough not to crash a drug operation on his own. They're messing with his son, and he's playing boat captain? Naw. He'd come to us."

"Maybe he did," said McMichael. "Maybe Narco is working these guys."

"They'd have told us after the murder," said Hector.

McMichael thought it through. The brain thorn brought him back to the way that Axelgaard had handled the duffels.

"Pete had phone numbers for three assistant chiefs," said McMichael. "Almanza, Dodge and Bland Jerry."

"I'll see what I can find out," said Hector. "If someone's protecting the department by snuffing the truth about Jimmy, that makes him a goddamned narco runner with a badge."

"And maybe a shot caller."

"No shit," said Hector. "One of the team could have staked the place out and waited until the nurse took off to get something. Could have been one of the brothers. Could have been one of us. But either way, his prints would have been in the law enforcement register. Unless they used some clean cheap labor from TJ."

"But you'd have to figure a hired guy would help himself to Pete's wallet or watch because they were right out in the open," said McMichael. "And a hired guy, how's he going to know about the big diamond earrings and that hummingbird with all the jewels?"

"True," said Hector. "And why would a pro hit Pete so many times?"

They were back on the mainland by the time Hector spoke again. "Maybe the argument between Jimmy and Pete was about something else. Maybe Pete never knew what Jimmy was up to. Maybe nobody we saw tonight had anything to do with Pete."

"I thought of that, too," said McMichael.

"A Fed and a cop, running drugs from Mexico. We gotta tell Rawlings."

"First I want to talk to Jimmy one more time."

"Do it quick or we look bad."

They made headquarters at one-thirteen in the morning. Hector yawned and got out, banged his knuckles on the Crown Vic's hood as he headed for his car.

"Pete's dog died from poisoning," said Barbara Givens. "He had a large amount of undigested strychnine in his stomach, and enough in his blood to kill him."

It was nine in the morning, a stiff wind coming off the water and a dark wall of clouds advancing from far north. McMichael stood in the Team Three pen, his leather jacket still zipped against the cold, and took Arnold Stiles's toxicology report from Givens.

"Steak," she said. "That was in his stomach, too. It looked like some of the strychnine had been put in capsules for a slow dissolve, some left loose to do the job quick. The guy used an oral tranq, too, so the animal wouldn't make too much noise while he died- meperidine, active ingredient of Demerol."

The tox report put the time of ingestion and death somewhere between December 30 and January 2.

"Rainwater saw the dog alive on New Year's Eve," said McMichael. "Pete had a party."

"Like to see that guest list," said Barbara.

"I can get it." McMichael called Patricia's number and told her what he needed. Then he called Jimmy Thigpen's lawyer. The lawyer said absolutely no visits from law enforcement, until McMichael told him- in slightly more than general terms- why he needed to see Jimmy somewhere they could talk without being heard.

"I'll arrange it," said the attorney.

McMichael was escorted into the protective custody exercise yard at eleven-fifteen.

Thigpen looked plump and pale, his hair a mess, his blue jail pants rolled into thick cuffs but still too long. He squinted in the true sunlight of the yard, looking up at the cold white sky. The yard was a hundred feet square with walls on four sides and a chain-link roof. There was a backboard and hoop. Near the west wall a timid rhombus of sunlight angled onto the concrete. The yard was empty now, with a deputy on the other side of a Plexiglas observation window looking at them while he drank his coffee.

They walked counterclockwise, McMichael on the inside.

"I got a look at your part-time job," said McMichael. "TJ."

Thigpen didn't look at him. "The upholstery? How did you manage that?"

"Victor and Axelgaard One to Diaz Leather Artists to Axelgaard Two. New cars, easy passage, three duffels. Axelgaard- brothers or cousins or what?"

Thigpen peered at McMichael. "Funny, walking in a circle like this," said Thigpen. "Makes me feel like a lab rat."

McMichael didn't answer.

"Look, Mick," said Thigpen. "I don't know what you're talking about. I have to say that. You know how it works. My lawyer's trying to work a deal with the DA. There's no profit in me talking to you."

"That's not quite true."

"Then what's your offer?"

"I'm after Pete's killer. Not you."

"That's not much of a help to me," said Thigpen.

"Heck and I are the only ones who know what Auto Leather International is all about. I can keep you out of my version for right now. I can tell Narco that we stumbled onto the Axelgaards through Victor. It would be almost the truth, because I didn't see you do squat."

Thigpen said nothing.

"Internal Affairs knows you were moonlighting for Pete Braga Ford," said McMichael. "That's all they know, so far as I can tell- they think it was legit. I can leave it to them to connect you up to it or not, until the Axelgaard boys go down. When that happens, they'll blow you wide open. I'm just offering you a little head start."