"Something any good Texan will kill for," Jose said. He studied Mandy's face, the lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth tugging her into middle age.

"My husband and I have done our own things for a long time," she said. "Everyone knows about his strippers and little coke whores. I stayed for my kids, but it wasn't a nunnery."

"He didn't care?"

She shook her head. "He doesn't give a damn about me. It's for whatever they do at that quarry. That's why he killed Ellie, and to let me know I better stay out of it."

"Ellie didn't tell you anything?"

"The only thing he said was that those trucks weren't bringing people into the country."

"What were they doing?"

"Taking them back. To Mexico."

"Your husband is shipping illegals out of the country?" Jose said, wrinkling his brow. "Like some vigilante deporting them?"

Mandy swigged her coffee and swallowed. "No. They take them back there for something else."

"Ellie didn't say what?"

Mandy shook her head. "He said people had been going missing for some time. Some people thought it was just a superstition. Whatever he heard, he didn't want to talk about it. I don't think he heard enough to know anything for certain and he wasn't the type to speculate. All I know is that from the look on his face, it wasn't anything good."

CHAPTER 47

CASEY WAS LOOKING AT SPACE IN AN ABANDONED ADULT BOOKstore not far from her condemned office when her cell phone rang. She began to gush about her plan to nail Chase when she heard Judge Remy's voice, but the judge cut her off and suggested Casey save what she had to say for her chambers in fifteen minutes. Casey nudged a dusty package of French ticklers with the toe of her shoe and said she'd be there in ten.

"Not for me," she said to the Realtor, offering a weak smile, snapping her phone shut, and heading for the door.

Her Mercedes coughed alive and the crunch of broken glass barely registered as she pulled away from the garbage-strewn curb. When she got to the judge's chambers, Casey extended a hand.

"Please sit," the judge said, "I've got a settlement conference in five minutes. I'm glad you could see me in person. Here's your complaint; the clerk hand-delivered it after he spoke with the admin judge, who called me to see if I was okay to handle this."

"I'm glad you agreed."

"I'm not in a position to say no," she said, "not after signing that exhumation. I stuck my neck out, so the admin figured he'd give me the short straw on this. No one wants a trial with a senator. It would have been nice if you could have warned me."

Casey sat, stiff-backed, and said, "There are fourteen judges. Cases are supposed to be random."

Remy scrunched her face and tilted her head. "Do you think this is some old lady slipping on a bunch of grapes at the Kroger? You're suing a United States senator. You think they just spin the wheel?"

"How did they even know about the exhumation?" Casey asked.

"That's my point," Remy said. "People seem to know a lot, even though nothing's been reported in the papers."

"Well, it will," Casey said. "I've got a press conference tomorrow morning. He already shut down my office. The EPA showed up with guns, in case you think I don't know I'm suing a US senator."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," she said. "They'll come sniffing up my skirt, too. Don't think I got this case as a favor, it's not. I don't need the face time and I don't want it. I wanted to tell you, straight out, before this stink bomb explodes. Everything goes by the book. I will have my chute open."

Casey fished some papers from her briefcase on the floor and held them up one at a time. "I have orders of deposition for the senator and his wife. The undertaker. His two assistants. The police chief. The ranch foreman. Subpoenas for the Wilmer police investigation papers and the phone records of the senator's home, office, and cell phone."

The corner of the judge's lip twitched. "We typically wait for the answer to come back, then send a bill of particulars for what you want."

Casey nodded her head and removed another document. "Except when the plaintiff has a reasonable suspicion of spoliation of the evidence or a conspiracy between domestic partners to use the marital privilege as a shield, Cleveland v. Norris and Kronkite v. The State of Texas. I have the briefs."

The judge plucked up her reading glasses and took the briefs, examining one, then the other before pointing them at Casey.

"I can trust you on this?"

"It's not a gray area," Casey said. "One of my associates wrote her UT bar review article on Kronkite."

The judge inhaled deeply and exhaled through her nose, shaking her head, but signed the orders, one after another, with a flourish.

"Here we go," she said, rising up.

CHAPTER 48

TEUCH STRUGGLED UPRIGHT IN THE NARROW BED, CLAWING FREE from the tangled sheets but unable to shake the fog of pain. Sunlight poured in through the cracked and dusty window, exposing the dried blood on his pillow. Teuch groaned and went to take hold of his head, but he no sooner touched the stiff and pungent dressings than a searing jolt of pain shot through his skull. The springs in the cot beside his squeaked and a fat man with a dirty but ample mustache produced a bottle of peppermint schnapps and wagged it Teuch's way.

"You need one?" the man asked, then took a swig himself that peppered the dank air with a hint of candy freshness.

Sweat beaded on Teuch's upper lip and he made a grab for the bottle.

"Easy," the man said in a whine, "I was givin' it to you."

Teuch slugged down what remained in the bottle, then returned the empty to the bum along with a look evil enough to cut off any complaint. Teuch staggered to his feet and tugged at the drawstrings to keep the worn and baggy sweatpants from slipping off his naked hips. Barefoot, he made his way through the rows of cots, most of them sagging beneath sleeping men. Teuch steadied himself on the human lumps without regard for the indignant cries and moans.

After a good pee, Teuch made his way into the front room, where a wizened man in a security cap slept behind the desk. Teuch remembered the old-timer from his arrival the previous night. After the drunk with the peppermint schnapps found Teuch collapsed under a bridge, delirious from exhaustion and pain, he and a friend had carried Teuch to the shelter. The old guard had brought out a cardboard box full of old clothes. With the help of the drunk, the guard had changed Teuch before dropping him into bed. Now, with his mind at least partially cleared, Teuch needed to find a phone.

He slapped the old man's face, sending a stream of drool down his cheek as he blustered to life.

"A phone," Teuch said. "I need it."

The guard's eyes widened behind his thick glasses, and he swiped away the drool and collected his senses.

"When the nuns get here," he said, angling his head at the door halfway down the wall behind him. "Out that door. They got one. I ain't."

Teuch winced at a fresh wave of pain.

"When?" he said through gritted teeth.

The guard peered at him. "You oughta sit down."

"When?" Teuch said, growling from his throat.

"A couple minutes," the guard said, examining his watch. "No more."

Teuch staggered over to the door and began to hammer on it with the meat of his fist.

"No need for that," he heard the guard call from his desk.

The door flung inward and the powdery face of a bespectacled nun appeared with an angry scowl and her pale lips shaped into a perfect O.

"I need a phone."

"Your head is bloody," she said, stepping back, her face softening.