"You've got to be more aggressive. He's hot for you. What? You think he's hanging around here, shagging deadbeat dads and disappearing witnesses for the fun of it? Tina? She baited her hook the other day with that dress and the push-up bra and he didn't even look twice. He's gaga for you."

"Okay, seriously, that's enough," Casey said.

Stacy shrugged. "What do you need him for now, then?"

"Forget it," Casey said. "Nothing I can't do myself, anyway."

"Don't be so touchy."

Casey disappeared into her office, gently closing the door. She tried Jose again, then headed out the back and got into the Benz. She didn't want to give the Wilmer police chief time to prepare for her, so instead of making a phone call, she headed to the southeast corner of the county.

The drive to Wilmer south on 45 took less than half an hour. After announcing herself to a young woman behind the desk, Casey waited in a chair by the door. The receptionist glanced up at her often enough that Casey began to brace herself for a Movie of the Week comment. None came.

When Chief Gage emerged from the back, he was so tall the crew cut on his bullet head nearly chafed the doorframe. Casey felt the same one-way familiarity that she presumed the receptionist had with her.

She'd seen Gage's face on TV when Senator Chase's hunting accident filled the first block of almost every newscast for three days. Gage issued the official statement closing the case as an accident. He'd done the press conference in a hat proportional to his own height, and still it was his face that Casey remembered well, the black caterpillar eyebrows, the lantern jaw, and the icy blue eyes of a Siberian husky.

Casey shook his skillet-size hand, and he led her down a short hall to a large windowed office looking out on the full bloom of a pecan tree. A thick sheet of glass raised up by four elephant tusks served as his desk, and the heads of other trophy animals graced the high walls: a panther, a bison, a warthog, and an elk, among others. Framed eight-by-ten pictures of the chief with numerous celebrities made a complete ring around the office, one next to the other breaking only for the window: Clint Eastwood, George W. Bush, Sylvester Stallone, Billy Ray Cyrus. Antique handguns and their corresponding bullets hung in an oak case beneath a Dahl ram's head, and a cabinet of rifles stood in the corner. Beneath Casey's high-heeled shoes, the skin of a zebra covered the wood plank floorboards.

Casey sat down across from the chief in a wooden chair with a cane seat that rasped and creaked under every shift. She surveyed the room one last time, quickly, and noticed an absence of books. When she returned her eyes she found the chief staring intently.

"How can I help you, Ms. Jordan?" the chief said. He picked a bayonet up off a pile of papers on his desk and leaned back, turning it over slowly in his fingers.

"I'm interested in Senator Chase's accident," she said.

"Terrible thing," he said, fingering the tip of the blade as if to test its sharpness.

"I'm wondering how you knew it was an accident," Casey said.

Gage curled his lips, picked at his teeth with the bayonet, and said, "That's old news."

"Unless you represent the victim's widow," Casey said. "That's me. Strangely, the government is in a rush to get her out of Dodge."

"Maybe the government finally got tired of paying for their kids to go to our schools," Gage said. "But that ain't my business. My business is keeping this town quiet, things running smooth. What's your business, miss?"

Casey cleared her throat and said, "Your investigation of Elijandro Torres's death. How it was conducted."

Gage ridged his brow and considered her for a minute before pursing his lips to choke back a snicker and saying, "No, miss, that's not your business."

"I'd like to see the police report," Casey said. "And the coroner's."

Gage stood up and pointed the bayonet at the door. "People in this town pay me to keep them safe, miss. I got work to do."

"Your records are public information."

"And you can submit your request in writing," Gage said, waggling the bayonet at the door.

Casey got up and the chief followed her all the way out through the reception area, standing in the doorway with his arms folded across the broad expanse of his chest.

Casey had her cell phone going before she even got onto the highway, but hadn't gone a mile on 45 before she saw flashing lights in her rearview mirror.

"I've got to go," she said to Stacy, "just get that request going. I want these people to have that fax in their hands before I get back to the office, and call Jessica Teal at the coroner's. Tell her I need a copy of Elijandro's autopsy."

Casey pulled over and watched in her side mirror as Gage emerged from the police cruiser and fixed the big hat on his head. He wore mirrored sunglasses. At the back corner of the car he stopped, raised up a booted foot, and heel-kicked the taillight, rocking her car.

"Christ," Casey said, shaking her head as the chief ambled alongside her. She rolled down her window and gripped the wheel, her palms slick now with sweat in spite of the blowing AC.

Gage pointed at a green rectangular sign fifty yards up the road.

"You see that?" he asked.

It read wilmer city limit.

"Yes," Casey said through clenched teeth.

"Good," Gage said. "I noticed you got a brake light out. I'm gonna let you go this time. We're awful friendly here in Wilmer. Just a quiet little place in the corner of the county. I aim to keep it as such. You have a good day now, miss."

The chief tipped his hat and walked away.

CHAPTER 19

WHEN SHE GOT BACK TO HER OFFICE, CASEY FOUND JOSe sitting behind her desk.

"Hi," he said.

"Where the hell have you been?" she asked. "What are you doing at my desk? You look like a thug."

Jose rubbed at the stubble on his cheek and stood up. His baggy jeans sagged toward the floor, barely clinging to his hips by a thick leather belt. His flannel shirt had no sleeves, exposing bronze cannonball arms wrapped in barbed-wire tattoos.

"Nice to see you, too," he said, yanking the bandana off his head, rounding the desk, and reaching for the door.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Wait."

He did. They sat down and she told him about Isodora's court appearance, the ICE lawyer, and Gage, leaving out the part about the taillight. As she explained, his face relaxed.

"You should have let me do that," he said.

"I tried you."

"I was doing a favor for a friend on the force," he said, looking down at his street garb as an explanation. "I had to leave everything in the truck. Not the kind of people you want to get hold of your cell phone."

"I should have waited, but Jesus," she said, "they held her baby hostage. An all-time low, even for the US government. It's all tied up in Chase's accident, which I'm starting to feel pretty certain wasn't an accident."

"Gage isn't the type of guy who'd react well to your questions whether he's hiding something or not."

"Cop talk?"

"I'm not defending him," Jose said, massaging his thick arm. "I'm not saying Chase didn't kill the man and Gage didn't cover it up. Hey, I think the Cubans got Kennedy. I'm just saying, he's not the type to pander to a woman lawyer who tangles up the justice system to spare a couple of muchachas from a beating."

"But he'd relate to you," she said skeptically.

"He'd react differently," Jose said. "Let me at least try to talk to him and get a feel for it."

"Fine."

"You're not mad," he said.

"Maybe at myself," she said with a sigh. "You're right. I shouldn't have gone down there. All I did was give him a chance to cover everything up."

"He'll have to give you the police report. Meantime, let me play good cop and see if I can get something out of him," Jose said, rising from his chair and reaching for the door.