“To cover it properly, it would have taken several cans more than our guy used,” Jaime said. “If you ask me, this was a crappy, half-assed job.”

“Because whoever did it was in a hurry?”

“Either that or because they had no idea what they were doing,” Ernie Carpenter said.

He turned to Debbie. “While you’re out in Sierra Vista talking to the Fry’s clerks, maybe you should also check with auto-parts stores in the area to find out if anyone purchased a supply of primer this past weekend.”

Joanna was gratified that Ernie was making sure Debbie had something useful to do-that she was being treated like a member of the team. As Debbie jotted a reminder to herself into a small spiral notebook, Joanna turned to her crime scene investigator, Dave Hollicker.

“What about the blood samples you found in the bed of the pickup?” she asked. “Any word on those?”

“They’re blood, all right,” Dave answered. “But we don’t know whose. Doc Winfield has already forwarded Evans’s blood and tissue samples to the Department of Public Safety Crime Lab in Tucson. They’re the ones who can give us a comparison in the shortest amount of time. I can take the new samples up there myself or I can send them. Which do you prefer?”

“By all means take them,” Joanna said. “And do it today. Let’s get this case moving.”

Frank shot a questioning look in her direction. He didn’t say anything aloud, but she knew what he was thinking. Why? What’s the big rush? And how much more is it going to add to this year’s expenditures?

With budgetary constraints always in mind, those were entirely legitimate questions, and Joanna didn’t have any ready answers-at least not the kind of reasonable answers that her chief deputy wanted or would understand.

In the days before Jenny was born, Joanna remembered throwing herself into a frenzy of housecleaning and nest-building-scrubbing the refrigerator and cleaning and rearranging all her kitchen cupboards. In light of her current position, wanting Bradley Evans’s homicide solved prior to the baby’s birth was probably a variation on that same theme. Solving a case amounted to a sworn law enforcement officer’s equivalence of nest building. From Joanna’s point of view, it was infinitely preferable to cleaning a refrigerator.

“Has anyone talked to Ted Chapman since we found out about this latest development?” Joanna asked, nodding toward the photographs still spread across the table. “Maybe he’ll know something about this and the photos will turn out to be totally harmless.”

“I doubt that will be the case,” Ernie said.

To be honest, Joanna doubted it, too.

Jaime glanced at his watch. “Sorry to rush this,” he said. “Ernie and I are due to meet up with the second in command at the Douglas prison in about forty-five. Since Ted’s usually around the jail here somewhere, we can probably catch up with him once we finish the Douglas interviews.”

With little additional discussion, the homicide team packed up their collection of photos and left the conference room. As soon as they were gone, a grim-faced Frank reached into a file and brought out a single paper which he slid across the table to Joanna. “Take a look at this,” he said.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Read it,” Frank urged. “It came off the fax machine as I was on my way into the briefing. It’s about one of those UDAs they picked up east of Douglas the other night.”

The words top secret and confidential were written in huge black letters across the cover sheet. Inside was what appeared to be a routine incident report, but as Joanna read it, she felt a sudden chill. One of the illegal crossers, a young unidentified male of Middle Eastern origin, had been apprehended by Border Patrol agents. While searching the surrounding area, the officers had discovered a backpack stuffed with fifteen thousand dollars in American currency, a collection of fake IDs and phony passports, a laptop computer, and three working cell phones.

“Yikes!” Joanna exclaimed.

Frank nodded. “That’s what I say.”

“If they picked him up the night before last, how come we’re only just now hearing about it?” she asked.

“The way the feds operate, I’m surprised we’re hearing about it at all,” Frank returned. “And I don’t think we would be, if they didn’t need our help. Border Patrol is asking us to beef up patrols all along the southern sector.”

Over the months since 9/11, there had been rumors of the Border Patrol apprehending illegal crossers who didn’t fit the usual profile of UDAs simply looking for work. It was thought that some of the arrests had included possible terrorist operatives, but all the rumors in the world hadn’t been enough for the federal government to bring to bear the kind of focused attention border issues clearly merited. Evidently this latest bust was one that might finally succeed in attracting Washington’s attention, but until that happened, it would be up to the severely understaffed Border Patrol and outmanned local law enforcement agencies to fill in the gap.

“And we will give them help,” Joanna declared. “As much as we can spare and maybe even some we can’t. Is any of this being made public?”

Frank shook his head. “Homeland Security wants to see how much information they can glean from the cell phones and the computer before anyone knows the bad guy has been picked up. So, yes, they want our help, but they also want us to keep it quiet.”

“Okay,” Joanna said with a nod. “It makes sense. That way we do the work and they get the credit.”

Frank nodded. “You’ve got that right,” he said.

When the briefing was over, Frank started toward the door. He paused in the doorway. “I assume this means Billy and Clarence O’Dwyer are still off our surveillance list for the time being?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” Joanna said.

“Jeannine Phillips isn’t going to like it,” Frank cautioned.

“Don’t worry,” Joanna said. “I told her yesterday that we wouldn’t be able to divert any more patrol officers to San Simon.”

“How’d she take it?” Frank asked.

“Medium,” Joanna said. “Which is to say she wasn’t thrilled.”

Frank looked relieved. “I’m glad you told her,” he said. “I don’t think Jeannine likes me very much.”

“She likes you well enough,” Joanna observed. “You’re just not her type.”

Returning to her office, Joanna had barely picked up the first piece of mail when a shaken Ted Chapman appeared in her doorway.

“I ran into Jaime Carbajal and Ernie Carpenter out in the parking lot,” Ted said. “The very idea of Brad stalking someone is utterly ridiculous. I can’t believe it!”

“Ernie showed you the photos?”

“Yes, but this makes no sense at all.”

“The photos were taken from a disposable camera that had Mr. Evans’s fingerprints all over it,” Joanna pointed out. “According to Casey Ledford, his were the only prints on the camera, so he would most likely be the one who took the pictures.”

Ted shook his head and rubbed his eyes. “Even so,” he said wearily, “Brad simply wouldn’t do such a thing.”

“Did you recognize the young woman?” Joanna asked. “Do you have any idea who she might be?”

“None whatsoever!”

“Someone he might have dated in the past?” Joanna suggested.

“No,” Ted answered. “If Brad had been dating someone, I’m sure he would have mentioned it to me. Besides, the young woman in the picture looks to be in her twenties. She would have been far too young for him.”

“Older men and younger women do happen,” Joanna said.

“In the movies, maybe,” Ted said. “Or if the old guy has bundles of money, but that’s not the case with Brad. He may have had a job and a paycheck, but I can tell you from personal experience that the pay scale for members of jail ministries is only one click above flipping burgers. If I didn’t have my military retirement, Ginny and I wouldn’t be able to make it. Someone who looks like that girl did wouldn’t throw herself at an ex-con who’s just barely getting by.”