AFIS showed no match for the partial fingerprint on the strip of duct tape that had remained stuck to the tree. It was possible that the duct tape was left by someone else hiding a weapon in the tree, as it seemed to be the best hiding place around there. As Peter Deuteronomy had pointed out, caching weapons in various hiding spots along the border had become a frequent occurrence. Either way, Tess couldn’t get Wade Poole on prints. Worse, she had no idea where to begin looking for him. He seemed to have disappeared. So far they had been unable to find an address for Poole in Glendale, California, where he was supposed to have lived. He did not register a vehicle at the DMV. He was not on the tax rolls. He had no phone number.
He had ceased to exist.
But they were on his trail. Danny, working from his computer at home, came across a likely conference earlier in the year, the annual Western Association of Homicide Detectives Conference, held in January. Tess had gone once, herself—there were plenty of good seminars, especially on the latest advances in law enforcement.
“He was retired,” Danny said, “but that doesn’t mean anything. A lot of those old guys go to this conference—gotta keep their hand in.”
“He probably just got together with his old pals and played a lot of golf,” Danny added.
It took them all of twenty minutes to get the information from Hanley’s records. He had gone to Palm Springs in January.
“So what he said about having too much to drink was true,” Tess said. “Bert said if he drank more than one he was a falling-down drunk.”
“I can see it. They’re hanging out together in the bar, he’s having such a good time with his old buddy and former son-in-law he drinks a little too much and spills the beans. He might not have even remembered it. But
“So they decided to team up and prove that the family was killing people,” Tess said. “Only Hanley wants to build a case, and Wade wants something else.”
“Money.”
“Probably.”
“He’s a mean son of a bitch,” Danny said. “It wouldn’t surprise me that he’d kill Hanley and try to pin it on the Alacran. Thirty rounds to make it look like overkill.”
“George trusted Peter Deuteronomy to keep his USB disk. He was afraid of what Wade Poole might do.”
“Or do to
Tess was. Wade Poole’s next target was the family. If you put yourself in his position, what would he do next?
They discussed the possibility that Wade Poole might go after the DeKovens. How would they react to extortion? What kind of pressure would it put on them? And how could Tess and Danny use it to further their own goals?
“This might be the crack in the dam,” Tess said.
“Yeah, it could be.”
Tess got the feeling Danny was fading. She knew he was beginning to realize that everything had changed now, and would be changed for a long time, and sleep would be one of those catch-as-catch-can deals.
“You sound like the walking dead,” Tess said.
“But I’m the happy walking dead.”
“Maybe you should get some sleep.”
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead. What were you saying?”
“What do you think Poole’s next move is gonna be?”
“Depends. If he’s a hard-ass, he’d start killing people. In the family.”
Tess said, “To encourage the others to negotiate, or just because he could?”
“Both, I guess. Maybe he’d kill one of them to scare them.”
“Chad,” Tess said.
“He’d be the obvious choice. He could show that he had a long arm. That he could get them anytime.”
“What about Hanley? I think he killed him because he had everything he needed and he knew Hanley wasn’t going to go along with what he was planning.”
“Sounds about right.” Danny sounded like he was drifting off to sleep. “Tell you what, that family better be scared, if they know what he did to Hanley.”
“You think they know how he was killed?” Tess said. “Because if they don’t, maybe someone should tell them.”
CHAPTER 48
Doris Glazer and her dog Buster rounded the last curve of the trail before the pull-off where she’d left her car. It had been a good hike on a picture-perfect day, but now it was time to head home and take a nap before her shift at Fry’s in Nogales. She stooped to leash Buster, and when she looked up she saw a dog standing in the dirt road.
The dog was a sorry sight, but Doris knew it was an Australian shepherd. It had a collar and tags— somebody’s pet.
The dog stood in the road, head down, panting. And between pants, it was whining. Doris saw why. The dog was dripping blood from its hind end. Its legs were trembling and splayed out for balance.
“Oh, my God.”
The Australian shepherd had been shot in the flank.
While the dog was in surgery to remove the bullet, Doris called Animal Control and gave them the registration number on the tag. The dog’s name was Bandit, and it belonged to a Jaimie Wolfe, who lived in Patagonia.
Doris had seen Jaimie Wolfe around town, knew her to say “hi” to on the street. Jaimie had that ranch where she taught horseback riding. Her number was unlisted, and since it would be a while before Bandit would be released—and frankly, Doris was worried about paying for the surgery—she decided to drive over to the farm herself.
But no one was there. It was getting late and she had to get ready to go to work, So Doris had to leave it for now. She’d done the right thing, and even if she had to pay out of her own pocket in the long run, Doris would figure out a way to make her dollars stretch a little more.
She doubted it would come to that. Anyone who owned a horse farm had to have some money to pay for their own injured dog.
CHAPTER 49
Michael and Martin had spent the morning shopping and the afternoon sunning by the pool, a light lunch, and a massage for Michael’s aching muscles.
As Michael had expected, Martin had forgiven him. Maybe it was thanks to the TAG Heuer Grand Carrera chronometer Martin now sported on his beautiful, lean-muscled arm. His feet were still tender, but Michael knew a foot masseuse at the Los Palmas Resort down the road and summoned him here on his lunch hour. Since the bastinado left no marks, the masseuse suspected nothing.
Michael had told Martin they would “heal together,” and Martin was more than willing to forgive him. Now he was agitating to go to a play tonight in town. Michael didn’t let on to Martin, but he didn’t want to go out. He wanted to stay here and think. And maybe turn the place into a guarded fort. The phone rang. He glanced at the readout—Jaimie.
