Tess didn’t plan to ask him anything major. She wanted to know a little about Hanley’s finances. But he’d scotched that in the elevator.

She also wanted to find out more about the DeKovens, to get a better handle on Jaimie DeKoven. Their star had faded in recent years, but the family was still important to this part of the country. Tess was new to southern Arizona, but she liked history. She’d been reading up on Tucson and its past, and the DeKovens were a big part of that.

Tess knew these were powerful people, and any place she was, she liked to check in with powerful people.

Because things happened around them.

She noticed a watercolor behind the desk, well lit and beautifully framed. Walked over to get a closer look.

“I see you noticed my new purchase,” a voice came from behind her: Michael DeKoven all spiffed up. He spiffed up good. A handsome man.

“Charles Russell?” she said.

“Good eye.”

Tess did have a good eye—she’d noted the signature.

“It’s an original Russell—I just bought it at the Scottsdale auction. A hundred and twenty thousand dollars. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Tess had to get used to people who not only put a financial value on everything, but stated it outright. Was it insecurity? Or just pride?

“‘Counting Coup,’” DeKoven added. “It was quite a battle to get this piece, but I won in the end. Do you like it?”

“Yes.”

“I buy a lot of Russell and Remington. They speak to me. I was raised in the Southwest where a lot of these struggles happened—lots of struggle. The Apache wars, Geronimo…my family was a big part of the taming of this area, so historical paintings from that era have always held an attraction for me. My great-great-great-grandfather was the first to operate a cattle ranch in the Rincon Valley. He helped build this state.” DeKoven sat down behind his massive desk. “What did you want again?”

“George Hanley?”

He laughed. “Oh, I can’t tell you much. I only met him, I think, once or twice.”

“Just a few questions,” Tess murmured, “and I’ll be out of your hair.”

“I don’t know if I can be helpful at all.” His tone diffident. “You know, I meet a lot of people.”

“But he came to you for financial advice?”

“As I recall, we had a meeting. I told him what I thought he should do, that I’d be happy to look into his finances in depth if he wanted me to. We talked about how he could make that money work for him instead of letting a lot of it go to Uncle Sam. Although in the general scheme of things, it wasn’t much money at all. I was worried that he might not have enough to see him all the way through retirement.” He paused. “But I guess that’s not an issue now.”

Tess didn’t like the way he said that. It was just a toss-off remark, but it sounded inappropriate coming from DeKoven’s mouth.

“So that’s the extent of my involvement with Mr. Hanley.” DeKoven stood up and reached out his hand. Manicured nails, expensive watch, and a handsome wedding ring.

His voice was hearty. “Other than talking to him at a few of Jaimie’s meet-and-greets, that’s about the extent of it. I hope this has been helpful.”

Tess read it as, I hope I haven’t been the least bit helpful.

She was being dismissed. That pissed her off, so she stayed put. “Did Mr. Hanley ever mention problems with his son-in-law?”

He blinked. Tess could tell he was surprised that she was still here. “No…not that I can remember. We didn’t really talk.”

“What about his daughter?”

“No.”

DeKoven didn’t look so handsome anymore. He looked put out. He’d cued the music and was waiting for her to take the hint and hustle offstage, and so far she’d proved to be dense.

Tess said, “Do you know a man named Steve Barkman?”

She saw something in his eyes. Which was new, because there’d been nothing there during the whole interview.

“Barkman…Judge Rees’s son? I’ve heard of him but I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure. Why?”

“He was in Credo,” Tess said. “I got the feeling he was interested in George Hanley’s death. He mentioned you.” Lying was an important tool in the homicide detective’s toolbox.

For an instant, Tess saw something new cross DeKoven’s face. She couldn’t read it. Then his expression smoothed back to bland. “He mentioned me? I’m flattered.”

Tess waited.

“What did he say?”

She shrugged. “Just that he knew you.”

Michael DeKoven didn’t take the bait. He smiled broadly and held out his hand for her to shake. “This has all been very interesting. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you out. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment I’m late for.”

The official term for this in the detective’s handbook was “the bum’s rush.”

Tess sat in the car in the parking lot with the air running. She felt shopworn and vaguely greasy having just talked to Mr. DeKoven.

She looked the family up on her laptop.

There were four children—two boys and two girls. Their father had died a few years ago in a plane crash, leaving them a massive fortune. (At least that was what she read.) Tess managed to find a photo of the pioneering family in happier times, when the kids were young and the mother, Eloise, was still alive. The photo was of a ribbon-cutting ceremony for a water treatment plant in the desert south of Tucson, to be built by DeKoven Construction. It was a sunny day, everyone shading their eyes and staring into the camera, the whole brood. A big day for DeKoven Construction. The patriarch of the family, Quentin DeKoven, looked both proud and grim, as if he had just finished climbing Mt. Everest and had some time to gloat. He stood apart from his wife and children.

The mother, Eloise, had a bland expression. Tess sensed discontent there. The girls wore shorts and tops. Jaimie looked thin and bored. The younger sister, Brayden, was a little shorter and a little plumper. She had a sweet expression. Her hair was blonde, lightened by the sun. Michael looked like the teenage version of what he was now.

Tess tried to think of a word for it. Disconnected, maybe? As if he were watching a play, but not participating. Removed.

Except when she mentioned Steve Barkman. That had wiped the self-satisfied smirk off his face.

She squinted at the photograph. The fourth child was the younger son: Chad. He looked slightly down and away from the camera. Tess got the impression that the boy didn’t want to be there, which would fit with his age—he was just starting his teen years. But the biggest impression she got from him was passivity.

No so with Michael. Michael gave her the impression of smoothness. Smoothness and distance.

Except when she’d mentioned Steve Barkman.

CHAPTER 15

Tucson, Arizona

Irene Contreras had the key to Steve Barkman’s house.

His place was on a little patch of desert, which could be reached off Ft. Lowell Road, not far from El Fuerte across Craycroft—the old army post ruins at Fort Lowell Park.

Her granddaughter played soccer there.

The dirt lane off Ft. Lowell Road meandered through creosote desert and ended up at a brick house built in the sixties. Irene knew the house was from the sixties because her father had worked for Beauty Built Homes, building houses just like this one.

Irene once was the secretary for a construction company for over twenty years, but times were tough and she’d lost her job, so now she worked for a cleaning service, Happy Maids. She wasn’t all that happy, because she’d loved her old job and this was a lot more work and hard on her back, but the nice thing was, she lived only five minutes away from Mr. Barkman’s, and he was on her regular schedule.

She pulled up behind his SUV, got the cleaning caddy from the hatchback of the Happy Maids car, and crunched up the lane to the house.