Suddenly the suitcase and the crated Miss Kitty made sense. June Holmes had invited Brandon into her home with the expectation that he was there to take her into custody.

“No,” Brandon said. “I came to find some answers, and you’ve provided those, but I’m not here to arrest you.”

June seemed astonished. “Are you sure? I thought that since I knew about it and didn’t tell…”

“No,” Brandon said. “Knowing about it isn’t the same as doing it.”

Momentary relief flashed across June Holmes’s face, then the doorbell rang.

“Now who can that be?” she asked. “I certainly wasn’t expecting anyone. I’m usually at church at this time of day.”

Tucson, Arizona

Sunday, June 7, 2009, 9:40 a.m.

84º Fahrenheit

Brian Fellows had gone back to his office, where he spent the better part of the early-morning hours on the telephone. Detective Mumford had gone to a hotel to interview Corrine Lapin, Jonathan Southard’s dead wife’s sister. Brian and Alex had agreed that he could participate in the interview by long distance. Brian knew that eventually some departmental bean counter would give him hell about racking up so many long-distance charges, but he would handle that when the time came. Right now, he and Alex Mumford were both on the trail of the same killer.

Corrine was able to provide a lot of information about what had been going on in Jonathan and Esther Southard’s family in the previous several years-or at least what her murdered sister had told her about what was going on. Jonathan Southard had been let go by his bank and had been unable to find another job. He had been depressed and angry.

Corrine said she suspected there had been some instances of physical abuse, but she didn’t know that for sure. She allowed as how she “thought” Esther might have been seeing someone, but she was coy about it. She either didn’t know who the boyfriend was or wouldn’t say. Brian was pretty sure the boyfriend’s identity would become obvious once they gained access to Esther’s telephone records.

“So Esther was planning on leaving Jonathan, but she was holding out for the arrival of Jonathan’s 401(k) payout?” Alex asked.

“That’s pretty much the size of it,” Corrine admitted. “But Esther is the victim here. The way you’re asking the questions, it sounds as though you’re going to drag her name through the mud right along with her husband’s.”

“We’re just trying to get the lay of the land,” Alex assured her.

“About that 401(k). Do you have any idea about when those monies were due to arrive?”

Brian was the one who asked that question, and that was the real advantage of participating in a real-time interview. He was able to ask his own questions.

“The last time I spoke to Esther, she told me she expected the check to arrive anytime. As in the next few days.”

And it probably did, Brian thought. Rather than share it with his soon-to-be-ex-wife, Southard converted it into cash. That’s what he’s using for running money.

“How much money was it?” Detective Mumford asked. The question let Brian know that she was following the same set of assumptions.

“Esther thought it was going to be close to half a million dollars. She expected them to split it fifty-fifty.”

“The prospect of a quarter-of-a-million-dollar payoff makes it worthwhile for her to wait around,” Alex Mumford said.

That comment had Brian Fellows’s full agreement. It’s also enough to kill for, he thought, but he didn’t say that aloud.

Brian’s cell phone rang. With the landline receiver still at his ear, he pulled his cell out of his pocket. He thought the caller might be Kath, letting him know that she and the girls were on their way to church. Not recognizing the caller ID number, Brian put the interview line on hold and answered.

“Detective Fellows? It’s Dan Pardee.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I was talking to Angie a couple of minutes ago. She told me the bad guy’s arm was hurt. It may even be broken. I believe he was wearing a sling of some kind.”

“So Major did get him,” Brian murmured.

“Major?” Dan asked. “Who’s Major?”

Detective Fellows paused for a moment before he answered. Dan Pardee was not an official part of the investigation into the Komelik shooting, but for some reason Brian Fellows didn’t understand, the man seemed to have skin in this game. The Border Patrol agent was involved enough and cared enough that he was still at the hospital and still looking out for Angelina Enos long after most other officers would have gone home. And if Jonathan Southard was as screwed up as he appeared to be, Fellows reasoned that Angie might very well need to have someone looking out for her, preferably someone armed with a handgun and trained in the use of it.

“Major was Jonathan Southard’s wife’s dog,” Brian said.

“Was?” Dan asked. “And who’s Jonathan Southard?”

“Abby Tennant’s son,” Brian replied. “Her estranged son. Major was the son’s wife’s dog. We believe the dog died attempting to protect his owner, Esther Southard, Jonathan’s wife. Major is dead and so is Esther, and so are their two kids. All three of them were shot to death. The bodies were found in Thousand Oaks, California, late last night or early this morning. I’m not sure which.”

There was a period of stark silence before Dan Pardee spoke again. “He wiped out his whole family. When?” he asked. “How long ago did they die?”

“Long enough ago for Southard to get here from Southern California,” Brian said. “Long enough for him to track down Jack and Abby Tennant and blow them away. His father and stepmother live in Ohio. We’re concerned that he may try to target them next. That’s my next call-to let them know what’s happened but also to notify them that they, too, might be in danger.”

“What about Angie?” Dan objected. “If what’s-his-name, Southard, finds out he left a witness behind, what happens then? Who’s to say he won’t come back looking for her as well?”

“It’s not a matter of if he finds out,” Brian Fellows said. “Somebody already let that cat out of the bag. Mention of a surviving witness, an unidentified child, was on a TV news report earlier this morning. With a little motivated effort, the bad guy could probably find out who she is and where she is.”

“Great,” Dan muttered sarcastically. “That’s just terrific.”

“How long do you expect to hang around?” Brian asked.

“I told Angie I’d stay on until one of her family members shows up to take her home. I figured someone would have come for her by now.”

“If and when someone does come by to pick her up, give me a call back on this same number,” Brian said. “That way I can clue Law and Order in so they can keep an eye out, too.”

“All right,” Dan said. “Will do.”

The interview line was still lit-still on hold-but now the desk phone was ringing again on the second line.

“Oops,” Brian said. “Gotta go. There’s another call.”

This time when Brian picked up, the departmental operator was on the line. “A call from the big guy,” she said.

Around the Pima County Sheriff’s Department, “the big guy” was none other than Sheriff William Forsythe. It was not a term of endearment.

“You should have called me!” Forsythe said accusingly, once Brian came on the line. “The people who run Tohono Chul are constituents of mine-important constituents. Once you made that connection, you should have called.”

Brian had pulled an all-nighter. The idea of being bitched out by the sheriff himself didn’t go down very well right about then.

“It was five-thirty or six before we made the Tohono Chul connection,” Brian said civilly. “So far we’ve got what looks like at least seven victims-three in California and four here.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about the out-of-town victims,” Sheriff Forsythe bellowed. “Those are none of my concern, and none of yours, either. Law and Order can run the reservation part of the investigation. I want some hands-on treatment for these local folks. That part of the investigation should be handled by one of our A-teams, not somebody working solo. I believe the Aces are next up. I’ve already called them, and they’re on the way. Once they show up at the department, turn over whatever you’ve got to them, and go home.”