“Yes.”

“Have them check with neighbors and see what time Childers and Brainard usually arrive home. Also have them ask if there have been any unusual goings-on around either address earlier today.”

“Where will you be?” Tica asked.

“In the car. I’m going to head on out to Sierra Vista myself. I have a bad feeling about this one, Tica. Flores went out dressed to go hunting, but I’m afraid he isn’t looking for white-tail deer. Where’s Dick Voland, by the way?”

“He called in a little while ago after he and the other deputies left Oak Vista. He said he was going home and to call him only in case of a crisis.”

“Nothing happened out there today?” Joanna asked.

“Nothing at all,” Tica responded. “The monkey wrenchers didn’t show. Once Chief Deputy Voland told me he was taking the rest of the evening off, I put Frank Montoya on notice that he’s on call. He’s standing by his radio.”

“Can you patch me through to him?”

“Sure. Hang on.”

Seconds later, Frank Montoya’s voice came through the radio. “Glad to hear from you,” he said. “I was just going to give you a call. It took me most of the afternoon, but I finally managed to track down that Becker stuff. Want to hear it now or later?”

“Go ahead.”

“Jonathan Becker was a police officer in North Las Vegas. It’s a separate entity from Las Vegas proper, sort of like the city of Tucson and South Tucson. Becker had put in eighteen years when his son signed on as a rookie. The son and some of the other North Vegas cops got caught up in some bad stuff. What the son thought was a sting turned out to be the real thing. The kid went to his dad and told Becker what he was into. There was a big internal-affairs investigation and supposedly the kid was going to break blue and testify. Before that happened, though, he was found dead, floating face-down along the shores of Lake Mead. After that the IA investigation went nowhere, and the other dirty cops skated.

“Sometime after that, Becker quit the force and went after the other guys on a freelance basis. He finally found out enough that he was able to blow the whistle on them. They fought fire with fire and tried to frame him for attempted murder. That’s where the conspiracy-to-commit deal came from. He was picked up, arrested, printed, but never charged. The next thing anybody knew, the Internal Affairs investigation was reinstated. Four officers in all left the force. Two of the dirty cops went to prison for murdering Becker’s son after Jonathan Becker testified against them in court. Shortly after their guilty verdicts, Becker reportedly died in that one-car roll-over. According to the obituaries, his remains were cremated. There was a memorial service for him in Kingman, his hometown.”

Frank paused. “That’s it?” Joanna asked.

“That’s it. What does it sound like to you?”

“Phony as a three-dollar bill,” Joanna replied. “My guess is he disappeared into the Federal Witness Protection Program.”

“Bingo,” Frank agreed. “And that’s what I’ve been doing all evening-pulling strings to find out whether or not that’s what happened. It turns out we’re right. Becker went into the program and stayed for the better part of a year. Then he let himself right back out again-a little over a year ago.”

“Which is about the time Farley Adams showed up in Tombstone. That means he’s pulled two disappearing acts instead of just one.”

“If you take what happened Sunday into consideration,” Frank said, “it sounds more like three.”

“Let’s go back to the Witness Protection Program. Don’t they pull prints once someone goes undercover?”

“Usually. At least, they’re supposed to. I’m guessing, though, that some wise-ass up in North Las Vegas-one of the dirty cops’ pals-figured things the same way we did-that the Feds were hiding him. Whoever it was had enough pull to put Becker’s prints back into circulation on the off-chance that one day Becker’s prints would show back up in the system.”

“And now they have,” Joanna mused. “When Alice Rogers turned up missing, he must have realized that we’d come to him looking for answers. He also knew that if we did even the most limited of background checks, it would lead to more and more questions. And straight back to North Las Vegas, where someone is still harboring a grudge and looking to kill him. Which brings us right back to the mysterious Detective Garfield.”

“Exactly.”

“So here we have someone who was once suspected of conspiracy to commit murder. That might make him prime-suspect material in this case, but the problem is, he didn’t take off until after you and Susan Jenkins came to see him. Which means that until you both showed up, he probably didn’t have an idea that anything was wrong.”

“Which would mean that he isn’t our killer after all.”

“May not be our killer,” Joanna corrected. “But even if he himself didn’t kill Alice Rogers, he may know something that would help lead us to whoever did. And we have to find him before someone else gets to him first. Or else we have to find Detective Garfield.”

“Did the call to Casey come in through the regular switchboard?”

“As far as I know.”

“Well, then,” Frank said. “How about if I work with the phone company and try to find out where that call came from?”

“Can you make inquiries like that after hours?”

“Watch me,” Frank replied.

The radio was quiet for a moment as Joanna considered her next move. “Do that if you can,” she said at last. “In the meantime, we’ve got another problem.”

“I gathered that much from what Tica said. What’s going on?”

Joanna reeled off everything she knew as well as what she suspected concerning the disappearance of Lewis Flores. “What’s the next step then?” Frank asked when she finished. “If you’ve got deputies at both Childers’ house and at Brainard’s, what else is there to do?”

“I’m on my way out to Sierra Vista right now,” Joanna told him. “I want to talk to the deputies in person and find out what, if anything, they’ve discovered. If it goes bad, though, I’m going to need you on the double.”

“Okay,” Frank said. “I’ll stand by. Call if you need me.”

Going back to Tica, Joanna asked for detailed directions to the two houses in question. Karen Brainard lived near Huachuca City. Childers’ house, in Sierra Vista Estates, was far closer, so Joanna headed there first. She was about to turn off the highway when she was hit by a sudden stroke of inspiration. All of Lewis Flores’ difficulties seemed to stem from the controversy swirling around Oak Vista Estates. Maybe that’s where the answers lay as well.

Switching off her turn signal, Joanna continued on down Highway 92. At the entrance to Oak Vista, she found that a makeshift barbed-wire gate had been pulled across the road and stretched between the two upright posts of the cattle guard. There was a padlock hanging on a chain around one end of the gate, but when Joanna checked, she found it wasn’t fastened. If the lock was supposed to keep monkey wrenchers out, it wasn’t going to do much good left open.

Joanna opened the gate, drove across the cattle guard, then doused the Blazer’s lights and turned off the engine. “Tica,” she said into the radio. “I’m out at Oak Vista Estates right now. I’m stopped just inside the entrance, and I think I’d better have some backup.”

“I’ll get someone right there. What’s happening?”

“I’m not sure. The gate has a chain and a padlock, but it wasn’t fastened shut. I’m afraid someone may be here ahead of me.”

“The monkey wrenchers?” Tice asked.

“Maybe, but l don’t know. That’s why I want backup.”

“I’ll send the deputies who are already at Mark Childers’ house. They should be able to get to you in under ten minutes.”

“Have them come ASAP,” Joanna said. “But no lights or sirens. I don’t want to advertise our arrival.”

“Got it,” Tica said.