At noon McMichael and Hector drove onto the Rio Verde Reservation in north San Diego County. The village of Rio Verde greeted them with its poor face- rust-riddled cars in the dusty yards, washing machines on the porches and sun-faded sofas under towering, leafless sycamores. A little boy with a soft drink in his hand stared at them as they drove past.

But directly across the highway stood the new casino- seven restaurants, an entertainment complex, three hundred slot machines and sixty blackjack tables all housed in an immense and elegant brick-and-glass structure. The parking garage was three stories high.

Alex Dejano, tribal elder and operations manager for the Rio Verde Casino & Resort, welcomed them into his third-floor suite with crushing handshakes.

McMichael guessed him at six five or six, right at three hundred. Dark skin and eyes, a black ponytail, knife scars on his face and forehead, a sullen face that broke into an engaging smile when Dejano introduced himself.

Dejano explained that he'd been introduced to Pete Braga by Malcolm Case. Case was an old acquaintance who knew that Dejano- the Rio Verde tribe of Indians, to be more accurate- had some money that needed to be put to work.

"Casino money," said McMichael.

"The casino has turned out to be profitable," said Dejano. His voice was soft and high-pitched for such a big man, McMichael thought. He noted the scars and pits on Dejano's big, padded hands.

Dejano said that Pete Braga and Malcom Case had an idea to open a cargo terminal when the old airport closed, then link it up with the old Spreckels railroad that runs out to Imperial Valley.

"And Case's company, Pacific Transfer, would build the terminal," said McMichael.

Dejano nodded. "Rio Verde bought two million in Pacific Transfer stock," he said. "It looked like a good investment. But the rest of Pete's idea looked foolish to us. He wanted to build a fish cannery at Tuna Harbor, where the restaurant and Tunaboat Foundation is. Load up the railroad cars with his product and get richer."

"Not likely," said McMichael.

"Impossible is more like it," said Dejano. "You're talking ten, fifteen million to build a cannery like he wanted. Then you've got all the problems with the fleet and the licensing and the fishing regulations that keep changing, the porpoise and the competition and the high labor here in the States. All the same things that ran Pete's business out of here twenty years ago."

"Hasn't really changed," said McMichael.

"Not really. One thing you understand by now if you're an Indian- don't exploit the animals and the land around you. Exploit people. There's an endless supply of people. But you can only kill so many bison or deer or tuna before the supply dries up. You want to kill something, fine, but eat it. Don't sell it. I don't think Pete learned that. He was naive. Arrogant, too."

"Arrogant like how?" asked Hector.

"For instance, he wanted me to buy the right-of-way on Indian land for any new railroad track that would have to be built north of the border. See, the Congress and state legislature weren't happy about a railroad dipping down into Mexico- jurisdiction, narcotics, illegals- all sorts of problems. Pete's idea was to build some new track in East County and skip Mexico altogether. He assumed the native tribes who own that desert would give me a sweet deal for the rights because I'm a native, too. Because redskins are just one big happy savage family. And I'd sell them to him cheap. That's not how it works."

"So you decided not to buy into the cargo terminal, just into Case's company, which would do the construction," said Hector.

Dejano nodded his big head. "When Pete got killed we figured we'd back off. No telling what the Port Commission or the Tunaboat Foundation might do without Pete on them. Sink the whole project, if they felt like it. And just between you and me, I don't always trust Malcolm Case to do what's best for the Rio Verde people. Or anybody else, for that matter."

McMichael wrote quickly, trying to get his exact words. "Tell us about New Year's Eve," he said.

Dejano looked at him with unconcealed suspicion. "What about it?"

"We're interested in the nurse," said Hector.

Dejano stared placidly at them, dark eyes lost in the huge dark face. "She bash him?"

"We're thinking she may have been involved," said McMichael. "She might have known it was coming."

"Shit," said Dejano. "Pete loved her."

"Tell us about that," said Hector.

"You should have seen the gleam in that old man's eye when she walked into the room. Or when he talked to her. Or about her. I met Pete two years ago. Before the nurse, he was just an old fart who wouldn't admit his days were getting short. But after he hired her, he could laugh at himself some. He could see he wasn't right all the time. So if she set him up to get whacked… man, I don't know what to say."

McMichael noted the difference between Dejano's version of Pete and Patricia's version. Patricia saw him meaner; Dejano saw him happier.

"Pete ever say anything to you about changing his will?" asked Hector.

Dejano frowned and nodded. "That night, New Year's Eve. He was watching her make drinks and toss popcorn to Pete's dog. Me and Pete were over in the corner talking. He said he liked her so much he'd leave her the house if he could. I asked him why he couldn't. He just winked."

"That's all he said about it?" asked McMichael.

"Yeah, I took it as a joke, you know? We're all drunk. You're talking shit just to hear yourself say it."

McMichael wondered how Pete's comments would go over with his granddaughter. "Was Patricia there?"

"She and her husband were gone by then," said Dejano.

"Did Case and the nurse have a thing?" asked Hector, glancing at McMichael.

"Case is always talking up the pretty ones. It didn't look like he was getting very far."

"What about you and the nurse?" asked McMichael. Some inner wire twinged inside him. He felt it vibrate then go still.

The big man peered at McMichael, face darkening, thick fingers tapping his desktop. "I made a pass. Maybe two. I said if I ever met the guy who did her neck like that, I'd squeeze the brains out of his head."

"Get far with that line?" asked Hector.

"No."

"How'd your date like it?" asked McMichael.

"Put it this way. It was a New Year's, but it wasn't happy for me and my lady."

"The nurse and Victor get along?" asked Hector.

"They seemed to like each other."

"How about the nurse and Angel?"

Dejano shook his head. "Didn't meet any Angel."

"She was Pete's professional company," said McMichael. "A prostitute."

"Never met her."

"How about Penny? She's a prostitute, too."

Dejano smiled. "Pete still had it in him, eh?"

"Until someone bashed it out," said Hector.

Dejano studied them in silence.

"I don't have any ideas about that," he finally said. "But I don't think the guy who did it was at the party. It was a holiday. That's friends and family."

"What about the nurse and Patricia?" asked McMichael.

Dejano shrugged. "I don't remember them talking or doing anything together."

"They might not have much to say," said Hector, "if Patricia thought he wanted to give the house away."

"But Patricia wasn't there for that," said Dejano. "And I still think Pete was joking."

"Jokes are always true," said Hector.

And if this one was true and Patricia knew, thought McMichael, she had motive to kill her grandfather. He thought of how angry Patricia had been about the gifts to Sally Rainwater. Common prostitute. True, Patricia had known nothing about Pete's letters to Grothke, Steiner & Grothke- she'd asked McMichael to tell her what they were about. But she could have learned about Pete's plans some other way. Could she bludgeon him? Probably not. But what about someone else? Someone she could trust. Someone who'd stand to profit along with her? What about Garland? Or Victor? Something for Sally Rainwater meant less for them.