"Jose," she said, "this guy's an asshole."

He turned and winked at her. "I've never met one of those."

He left and closed the door. She stared, listening to the sound of the big diesel engine whirring to life, until her intercom beeped and Stacy told her she had a call from Jessica Teal, her contact in the coroner's office.

"We didn't do an autopsy," Jessica said without a greeting.

"You had to have," Casey said, "it was in Dallas County."

"Not always," Jessica said. "It's up to the police. We can't do an autopsy on everyone who dies. If they determine the cause of death is accidental and a doctor signs the death certificate, that's it. We wouldn't see it."

"Didn't you hear about it?" Casey asked.

"I did, but I assumed it must have been pretty obvious if the police were calling it an accident without us, a high-profile thing like that. Everyone here figured they were trying to minimize the impact on the senator. Bad enough the guy was an illegal, after the senator's tirades about them. Press has been amazingly quiet on that, though. Either they bought the story about the guy not being a regular around the ranch or the senator called in some serious markers."

"Can we dig him up?" Casey asked.

Jessica was silent for a moment before she asked, "Do you have a reason?"

"The wife thinks it wasn't an accident," Casey said.

"I didn't see anything about a wife in the news," Jessica said.

"She's an illegal, too," Casey said. "They're putting her on a plane in about an hour. It's a long story, but the ICE got rid of her faster than a Colombian drug dealer."

"What's ICE?"

"Immigration and Customs Enforcement. It's part of Homeland Security."

"So we're safe now that this Mexican widow will be back on the other side of the border," Jessica said.

"Your tax dollars at work."

"We'll need the wife to exhume the body. That and a court order."

"Is there a form or something for the wife?" Casey asked.

"I can get you one."

Casey looked at her watch and said, "Can you fax it right now?"

"Sure."

Casey hung up. She told Stacy to get the fax to her as soon as it came in and dialed Jose.

"If you had to get to the airport at this time of day in less than an hour, what would you do?" she asked him.

"Book a later flight."

"If you had to."

"I'd call my buddy who I just dipped down into the barrio for and have him send a couple motorcycle cops to meet you at the on-ramp."

"Can you?"

"For you?" he said. "You only have to ask once. I practically feel a rash coming on."

"God."

"I'll have them there before you hit the ramp at Stemmons," Jose said. "Keep your phone on."

"How will they know it's me?" she asked.

"They're not gonna miss that fancy ride. Get going."

She ducked into the other room and watched Stacy pulling the coroner's fax from the machine, grabbed it, and dashed out to her Mercedes.

CHAPTER 20

TEUCH CRACKED AN EYE. THROUGH THE COVER OF HIS LASHES he watched a man in a white lab coat clip an X-ray up onto the large light box before stepping back to address a semicircle of younger people, also in lab coats. They crowded around him like the chicks of a hen. Teuch thought he saw the name stephen on a brass nameplate pinned to his coat.

"Dr. Noton," one of the chicks asked, "is there any damage to the premotor area?"

Teuch's eyes flickered, causing him to lose focus for a moment.

"We cauterized only the prefrontal," the doctor called Noton said.

"Have you ever seen damage to that area that didn't scramble the personality?"

Noton pushed up the plastic glasses on his nose with his thumb and said, "Mostly scrambled. Sometimes over easy, though. Sometimes it's an altered personality, or just an amplified one. It's tough to know with a John Doe. We don't have any reference points."

"The police don't know anything?"

Noton shook his head.

"But he'll be functional?" the same person asked. "Walking. Talking."

"Eventually," Noton said. "I've seen people with massive frontal lobe damage walk out of the hospital in less than a week. Others? It can take years before they're functional enough to live on their own."

Teuch flexed his fingers and toes under the sheet and smiled inwardly, knowing from the clarity of his thoughts that he'd be one of the ones walking out in less than a week.

Noton reached for a tray and lifted a shiny half-dome up for all to see. "Anyway, who wouldn't want a titanium skull?"

A couple of them chuckled politely.

"Doctor," another one asked, "I thought you had to wait at least three days after a thoracic surgery to patch a skull."

"The bullet went right through the chest," Noton said, looking up and scratching his cheek. "They opened him up and got right out. Dr. Kilkoyne did the surgery if you want to talk with her about it. Said she never saw anything like it. Bullet hit at just the right angle, ran along the rib, and out under the arm. Human armor."

"Lucky guy, right?"

"Very," Noton said. "Whoever he is."

"Will the police be back?" someone asked.

Noton shrugged. "When he comes to, they will."

Teuch let his lids settle closed. He thought about opossums and how they survived. These doctors would grow careless. And then, when the time was right, John Doe would be gone.

He had work to do.

CHAPTER 21

AFTER HE LINED UP CASEY'S MOTORCYCLE ESCORT, JOSe PAID A visit to Ken Trent, his former captain. Jose was hoping for a connection to Gage that might put him in a favorable light with the big chief.

"Guy's a grade A flaming asshole," Ken said, leaning back in his chair.

"Tell me what you really think," Jose said.

"The two of you'll get along swell."

"Seriously, someone must know him," Jose said. "Even assholes have friends."

"Tell you who might be able to help," Ken said. "Dave Wayson, you know him?"

"The narco guy who got into the Secret Service?" Jose asked.

"He got the detail out on the senator's ranch when the first lady came for that square dance fund-raiser they did for some Bible group. Mention my name to Wayson. My wife's brother was the one who helped him get into the Secret Service. He'll help you."

Ken jotted down Dave's number and handed it across his desk to Jose.

"Did he get to know Gage?" Jose asked, sticking the number into his pocket.

"Podunk cops like Gage fall in love with the Secret Service guys. Makes them feel like they're on the inside."

"What kind of bullshit is that?"

"I don't know," Ken said, "I'm making it up as I go, but it's the only thing I can come up with."

Jose laughed and stood to go.

"That poker game is still running every Tuesday," Ken said, walking him to the door. "You should get there."

"I know," Jose said, shaking his old friend's hand. "I keep saying I will and one day I'll surprise you."

"How's things on the home front?"

"Cold and deep as the Titanic."

"Not her, your little girl," Ken said.

Jose turned and smiled. "Honestly? I'd be married to that two-timing bitch ten more years if it got me another little girl like Kenna. She's the silver lining. Platinum, really."

"Good," Ken said.

Jose wanted to get home to change his clothes before seeing Gage. On the way he dialed Wayson, who answered his phone on the first ring, out of breath, as if he had been expecting someone important. He sounded disappointed at the sound of Jose's voice until Jose mentioned Ken's name. Then Wayson perked right up.

"Cold fish, that guy," Wayson said in reference to Gage. "I actually went down there after the whole first-lady visit to help him out with some protocols for the senator."