Barbara folded her arms over her chest. “Damn you to hell, I had nothing to do with this man’s death.”

Moira was looking for a spent shell casing. The one curious thing about the photos was that it was clear the victim had been shot with a small-caliber handgun. One shot to the base of the skull. The lack of powder or flash burns on either the victim’s skin or his clothes indicated that the killer hadn’t shot at particularly close range, which you would certainly want to do if you meant to kill a man with one shot from a small-caliber weapon.

Forty minutes of sifting topsoil through her fingers produced nothing. By this time she had made one complete circuit of the crime scene at a calculated distance from where the body was found. Of course, it was possible that the victim had been killed elsewhere and dumped here, but she didn’t think so. If, as she suspected, the killer’s motivation was not only to silence the victim but also to implicate the Skydels, he would want the killing to occur on their property.

At a wider radius from the kill spot, more scrub grew, and Moira, once again down on her knees, began to excavate around the base of these gray-green plants. The sun was lowering, passing through a stray band of striated cloud. The landscape turned blue-gray in the false twilight. Moira sat back on her hams, waiting for more light. When the sun began to emerge, the crime scene was pierced with brilliant shards of red-gold, scattering across the ground at an acute angle. Their shadows stretched out behind them, attenuated giants.

Out of the corner of her eye Moira saw a bright flash, instantaneous, like the wink of a diamond facet, and then it was gone. She turned her head and quickly picked her way to the spot where she had seen the flash. Now there was nothing. Still, she drove her fingers into the ground, pushing them forward, turning over the dusty earth.

And there it was, suddenly, in the palm of her hand, as the granules of dirt fell away. Carefully, she plucked it up between thumb and forefinger and moved it into the sunlight. The flash came again, and she read the markings on the case, her heart beating hard and fast.

Barbara took a step closer. “What have you found?” Her voice was a little breathless.

Moira rose to her feet. “Has it ever occurred to you that the victim was deliberately shot on your estancia?”

“What? Why?”

“As I said, the victim worked for your brother, Gustavo. However, he was someone else’s creature. This someone tipped the victim to the raid, and the victim escaped. Why was he tipped off, only to be killed within hours of his escape?”

Barbara, mute, shook her head.

“When he left Gustavo’s compound he took with him your brother’s laptop, which contained all of Gustavo’s drug contacts.”

Barbara licked her lips. “The person who controlled him killed him?”

“Yes.”

“Shot him to death on my estancia.”

“Yes. To try to implicate you,” Moira said. “What saved you was luck in the form of the incompetence of the local police.”

“But why would this person want to implicate me in the murder?”

“I’m speculating here,” Moira said, “but I’d say he wanted to get you out of the picture.”

Again, Barbara shook her head, mutely.

“Consider: The person who has Gustavo’s laptop holds your brother’s business in his hands. His plan was to muscle his way in and get rid of anyone who stood in his way.”

Barbara’s eyes were wide and staring. “I don’t believe you.”

“That’s where this shell casing comes in.” Moira held up the item in question. “The forensic photos showed that the victim was shot to death with one bullet to the base of the skull. The oddity was that the killer used a small-caliber handgun, even though he wasn’t standing right behind the victim. I figured that he had to be using special ammunition, and I was right.”

She placed the spent casing in Barbara’s hand. Barbara held it up and looked at the markings in the last of the fading light.

“I can’t read the writing.”

“That’s because it’s Russian Cyrillic. The manufacturer is Tula. This casing is from a very special bullet, a hollow-core that’s filled with cyanide. Not surprisingly, it’s illegal, and only available in Russia. It’s not even sold over the Internet.”

Barbara looked at her. “The killer is Russian.”

“The man who muscled his way into Gustavo’s business.” She nodded. “That’s right, I know you’re only fronting your brother’s business. I know you and Roberto have a new partner.”

That did it. Barbara’s face fell. “Goddammit, I told Roberto that Leonid was out to get him, but he just laughed at me.”

“Leonid?” Moira’s heart gave a thump in her chest. “Is Leonid Arkadin your partner?”

“Roberto said, ‘What do you know, you’re a woman, women know what they’re told to know, nothing more.’ ”

Moira grabbed her arm in order to focus her. “Barbara, is Leonid Arkadin your partner?”

Barbara looked away. She bit her lip.

“Is it loyalty or fear that’s keeping your mouth shut?”

Moira could just make out one curve of Barbara’s thin smile. “I’m loyal to no one. In this business it doesn’t pay. That’s another thing my husband doesn’t understand.”

“Then you’re scared of Arkadin.”

Barbara’s head swung around, and there was a violent look in her eyes. “The fucker muscled his way in. He strong-armed Roberto, for Christ’s sake, said he had Gustavo’s client list. Roberto said those were his people. Arkadin said that was in the past. He said that Gustavo was dead, he had the list, and the clients were his, as well. He said the best solution was to share the profits equally, that if Roberto didn’t agree he’d contact them without Roberto’s permission or help and supply them from other sources.

“Roberto tried three times to kill Arkadin. All the attempts failed. Then Arkadin told him, ‘Fuck you, Gustavo’s clients are mine now, go find yourself some other pigeons to feed.’ I thought Roberto was going to have a coronary. I calmed him down.”

“Your husband must’ve liked that,” Moira said drily.

“My husband’s a pussy, as you can see for yourself,” Barbara said. “But he’s devoted to me and he serves his purpose.” She lifted her arms to encompass the whole of the estancia. “Besides, his business would be in the toilet without me.”

The sun had slid behind the mountains in the west. It was growing dark very quickly now, as if an immense blanket had been thrown across the sky.

“Let’s get back to the jeep,” Moira said as she took the shell casing from Barbara.

On the way back to the hacienda, Barbara said, “You know Arkadin, I gather.”

Moira knew as much as Bourne had told her. “Well enough to know that his next step will be to take over Corellos’s business completely. That’s how Arkadin operates.” It was how he’d appropriated Nikolai Yevsen’s arms distribution in Khartoum. He’d find some way to suborn a La Modelo guard or a FARC inmate or maybe one of Corellos’s many women inside prison, pay them enough to assuage their fear of the drug lord. One day soon, Moira thought, Corellos would wind up dead in his luxurious cell.

“Arkadin is already pissed at Roberto and me,” Barbara said as she guided the jeep over the unpaved road. “The latest shipment has been delayed. The boat had to pull in for repairs because its engine overheated. If you know anything about Mexico, you know that those repairs weren’t going to happen in a matter of hours, or even overnight. The boat will be ready by tomorrow evening, but I know that’s not going to satisfy him.” Her hands were gripping the wheel so tightly, her knuckles had turned white as bone.

“I understand, Berengária, honestly I do.”

“Why do you disrespect me? I’ve been Barbara for years.”

“I respect your real name. You should embrace it, not reject it.”

When Berengária did not reply, Moira continued. “Arkadin has his rules, and they’re inflexible. Both you and Roberto will forfeit something for the delay.”