“He’s an ex-cop,” Tess said.

“Yeah. Could be something there. But we haven’t come across him. I’ll keep checking, though.”

“Thanks,” Tess said.

“No problem. Keep me posted—you never know where this could lead.”

She became aware that Derek Little was staring at her from across the room. When she caught his eye, he looked back at his computer monitor. Concentrated on it for a moment.

Then he rolled his chair out from the desk and stood up.

He walked in her direction. Derek was tall and skinny, the way Tess envisioned Ichabod Crane.

He stooped over her.

Cleared his throat.

“I have a question for you.” When he spoke, she got the impression it was like trying to pull a sliver out of his hand with a pair of tweezers.

She looked up at him. Wasn’t about to stand up.

He cleared his throat again. “You remember the Sanchez case?”

“That wasn’t mine.”

“But we were all looking for him, right?”

Yes. Bonny had put his picture up on the projector. He had beaten his wife to death and was on the run.

“I have a photo here, came off a surveillance camera.” He shoved it under her nose. “Is that him?”

She looked at the guy. “Where was this?”

“Outside Appliance City.”

It was blurry. A night photo. Tess said, “Yes, it’s him.”

“Uh. How do you know? It’s blurry and you can see less than half his face.”

“It’s him.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay. Then…thanks.” He remained where he was.

“And?”

He slapped the photo back on the desk. “What kind of car is that? Behind him. See?”

Just the fender. No, just half the fender. Fortunately, it was the part with the headlight.

Tess had seen a car just like it the other day. “It’s a Ford Fusion.”

“Thanks.”

He picked up the photo and walked back to his desk.

The Magic Show was over.

Twenty past midnight, Tess gave it up and headed for home. She had a twenty-mile drive on a winding two-lane road to her place in Patagonia and she was already falling asleep.

Hanley’s apartment was sealed.

It could wait.

CHAPTER 4

Orchard Apartments near Rio Rico was a two-story tan stucco, faded with age. The only landscaping was two spindly agaves ringed with cement blocks. The blacktop edged up to the wild yellow grassland that seemed to take over everything in sight. A large banner had been tied across part of the second story with the legend: MOVE-IN SPECIAL $499 A MONTH - FURNISHED. Across the road was a convenience store, and beyond that, a Motel 6.

Tess met Danny there midmorning. He’d already been up in the Atascosas, driving around talking to potential witnesses.

“You canvassed the whole area?”

“Uh-huh.”

“How’d it go?”

“I made it back to the car alive, so I’d have to say it was a success.”

Danny liked to joke but this time he was serious.

“That bad?”

“It’s like Blade Runner out there.” He added, “If you’re going to Credo, check them out—I wanna know what you think.”

He looked at the apartments and grimaced. “What’s a retired cop who won the lottery doing living in a dump like this?”

“He gave most of the money to the Humane Society,” Tess reminded him.

“Bet his daughter liked that.”

They’d had to wait for a warrant, so it was midmorning by the time they reached the apartments. Danny rousted the apartment manager from her desk and followed her as she scuttled down the walkway to his door. She’d taken note of their badges and Tess could tell she wanted to ask questions, but Danny just thanked her and closed the door behind them.

They gloved up and started looking around. At first, Tess folded her arms under her armpits and looked at everything without touching.

George Hanley was a neat man. A bachelor’s two-cup coffeemaker sat on the counter, lined up with the toaster. Issues of gun and fishing magazines were stacked neatly on the veneered-oak side table by the chair. Everything in the bathroom was lined up on shelves with military precision. Clean towels, spotless floors.

Tess noticed this because she did the same thing.

Danny took the kitchen while Tess took the bedroom. Again, she looked at everything, taking mental snapshots of the room layout and contents.

Next, she checked the desk by the sliding-glass door in his bedroom. The sun poured in, throwing a lozenge of light on the carpet. The desk top was completely clean, except for a jar of pens and pencils. She went through the desk drawers and found the usual stuff—from Post-its to a stapler to erasers and other detritus that didn’t warrant being seen in the open.

A MacBook Pro laptop sat on the bedside table. Tess called out to Danny. He came in.

He whistled. “Could be a goldmine,” he said.

“If we get it to forensics soon—”

“It’ll probably be a week before they get to it. They’re backed up, what with Guzman.”

The Guzman case was a big one. Several members of a prominent Nogales family had been gunned down during a wedding. The patriarch, Alejandro Guzman, owned several legitimate businesses and was a household name in Nogales for thirty years. But it was widely known that he played both sides of the street. He’d been careful to keep his illicit operations separate from his sweet old grandfather image. But he’d laundered money for the Alacrán.

It had caught up with him in March, when he was shot once through the eye and once through the heart as he toasted his daughter’s wedding.

“They just confiscated about a dozen racehorses,” Danny said. “They’re gonna be busy for a while.”

“Probably,” Tess said. Welcome to the Arizona-Mexico border. She looked at the laptop. She was gloved. The laptop was exactly like her own. She could open the lid, fire it up, and take a look.

Danny hung back in the doorway. They looked at each other.

“I guess we bag it and hope for the best,” Tess said.

“Probably has a password.”

“Yeah.”

“Crap.”

“Double crap with a cherry on top.”

“A fucking crap flambé.”

They both laughed at that.

“I’m gonna go back to his pantry,” Danny said. “Guy must have bought out Costco.”

Hanley had a four-drawer file cabinet. Folders were neatly marked with his credit card bills—one Visa and one American Express card—and several folders holding information on what appeared to be old crimes. Newspaper clippings and printouts, mostly, some of him at homicide scenes. Hanley was meticulous in his filing system. Tess also noticed he held no balance on his credit cards, paying in full every month. She found his rental agreement and a number of other business records. Tess photographed them all in situ and then stacked them and put them in the evidence box she’d brought.

George Hanley was a deliberate man.

She looked through the wall calendar and saw a few notations.

“Danny, check this out.”

Danny ducked his head in. “What?”

She motioned to the calendar. “Nice handwriting. What is that? The Palmer Method? My dad wrote like that.”

One on April 8, with the notation: “finance adv.”

“Financial advisor?” Danny said.

Another notation at the end of April: “SABEL.”

“What’s that?” Danny asked.

Tess typed the letters into her phone and got the answer. “Southern Arizona Buffelgrass Eradication League. Says here it’s a group ‘dedicated to ridding southern Arizona of a highly flammable invasive species of grass.’”

“Jesus. That’s a mouthful.”

“He must have belonged to the group.” Tess photographed the calendar and then took it down. They went through each month, Danny peering over her shoulder.

There were several notations. In January, there was a line across three days and the word “Conference.” In May, another line through three days, and the notation, “LA.” And under that, “look at wading pool.”