“Yes. Hernando wanted me to come with the boys first. To make sure we were safe. My sister lives here. We stayed with her for about six months. Then Hernando came with Miguel.”

I thought of how frightening it must have been for her to travel with her sons and without her husband to a country she couldn’t be sure wanted her. Lucia Vasquez was a brave woman.

“Detective Asanti told us that there was a problem with money. Was your husband unable to pay?” I asked.

A flicker of anger ran through her eyes, and she rubbed her hands together. “The man. He changed the money.”

“Changed the money?”

She nodded, hard. “He told Hernando that it will cost five hundred dollars to come to America. Hernando paid him.” Tears formed in the corners of her eyes. “But after he brings Hernando over, when he brings him to my sister’s, he tells him that he must pay three hundred dollars. More. He did the same to Miguel.” The anger flickered again. She wiped the tears from her eyes with her finger. “We did not have that. We spent everything we had to get all of us here.”

I didn’t want to ask questions that were going to bring back painful memories. But she had answers that I needed.

“When Hernando told him that you didn’t have the money, what happened?” I asked.

She clasped her hands together and looked back up. She straightened herself in the chair. “Hernando told him he would get the money. The man gave him two days.”

“But Hernando was unable to get the three hundred dollars?”

“He and Miguel, they each got two hundred dollars,” she said, her words heavier with anger than sadness. “Our family and friends, they gave us what they could. Hernando thought this would be enough, and he tells the man that they will get the rest soon.”

“But that wasn’t enough?”

She shook her head slowly. “No. Hernando and Miguel, they got angry. They are afraid he will keep asking for money. For forever, you understand.”

I did. Interest and extortion born out of fear.

“So Hernando and Miguel, they tell him no more. They tell him that they will go to the police and even go home to Mexico if they have to. But they will not pay him any more.”

I glanced at Asanti. I wondered what he would’ve done if they had showed up at his station.

“That’s when the other man showed up here.” She paused, fixing her eyes on me. “The man that you look like.”

I felt the blood rush to my face, like a kid who’d fallen down on the playground in front of all his friends.

“Wait,” Liz said. “There were two men?”

Lucia nodded. “Yes. The man that killed Hernando and Miguel, I had never seen him before that night.”

“Who was the other man?” I asked. “The man you paid.”

“He had a funny name,” she said, blinking as she tried to recall.

From down the hallway, young voices spilled out, hollering at each other. Two boys bounded into the living room and landed in pile at their mother’s feet.

“Manuel! Rigo!” she said harshly. “We have guests.”

The boys untangled themselves and stood. They looked to be six or seven years old, dressed in shorts and Chargers T-shirts. Both had the dark hair and dark skin of their mother. They looked at each other and giggled.

Lucia rattled off something in Spanish, and the giggling stopped. They looked at us.

“Sorry,” the slightly taller one said.

“Sorry,” the other one said.

Liz smiled. “It’s okay, guys.”

“We’ll be done soon,” Lucia told them. “Go back to your rooms.” They tore off toward the back of the house. I wondered if they knew what had happened to their father.

Lucia watched them go, then folded her hands in her lap. “They’re very handsome,” Liz said.

Lucia forced a tiny smile. “Thank you. They are good boys.”

Lucia turned to me. “The one that look like you. He was named Simmings. Something like that.”

“Simington,” I said, the name tasting sour as it came out of my mouth.

“Yes,” she said. “And the man that we paid was named King, maybe? I remember he always wore a very crazy shirt.” “Crazy how?” I asked. “Women dancing. Lots of colors.”

A crazy shirt. I remembered the guy from the casino who Carter and I had exchanged words with.

And King sounded too close to the name Simington had given me to be a coincidence.

“Keene?” I said. “Landon Keene?”

She looked at me, then nodded slowly. “Yes. That is it.”

THIRTY-TWO

“Do you know Keene?” I asked Asanti as we drove away from Lucia Vasquez’s home.

“I know the name,” Asanti said. “I’ve heard it mentioned in several different cases involving illegal transportation. Not in a good way. But I’ve never seen or spoken to him.”

“What’s your sense?” Liz asked.

“People are scared of him.” Asanti turned back under the interstate and pointed us toward the station. “Most of these guys just use straight intimidation. It’s the most effective tool to use against a person from another country. Immigrants fear the US authorities because they are worried about being sent back to Mexico, so they would rather deal with people like Keene or Simington.”

I shifted in the seat. Every time I heard Simington’s name it was like an unexpected pin prick that I couldn’t dodge. In my eye.

“I think I met Keene,” I said.

Liz turned around, and Asanti glanced in the rearview mirror. I told them about the confrontation Carter and I had had with him on the casino floor.

Asanti pulled the car back into the police lot. We all got out. “Not surprising,” Asanti said.

“What’s not?” I asked.

“Keene’s presence in a casino.”

“Why? Does he have a gambling problem?” I asked, thinking of Simington’s debts.

“That I don’t know,” Asanti said, leaning against the trunk of the car. “But casinos are prime hunting grounds for people in his business.”

“How do you mean?” Liz asked.

“Let’s say Keene runs a ring of coyotes,” Asanti explained. “He needs guys to run his cargo over the border. It’s not the safest job in the world and not a position you send a resume for.” A dour expression settled on his face. “Keene needs leverage to get people to work for him. He needs people who desperately need money.” “People with gambling problems,” I said.

Asanti pushed off the trunk of the car. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and rubbed it over the spot he’d been leaning against, wiping away whatever minute smudge his weight might have created.

“Exactly,” he said, putting the cloth back in his pocket. “They look for regulars, men who are sweating heavily as they lose. Guys who are there so often it’s clear they aren’t employed. They’re not hard to spot. Their losses are piling up, and a guy like Keene offers them a way out. Quick cash for a little amount of work. Do the job, get the paycheck, and get right back to gambling. It’s a dangerous, foolish way out, but a way nonetheless.”

I thought back to Keene messing with the guy in the casino. At the time, the argument hadn’t made sense, but after listening to Asanti, what had been going on seemed clear.

“Did you ever hear anything that put Simington and Keene together?” I asked.

“No,” Asanti said. “But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t happening. Some things I get wind of, some I don’t. Immigration isn’t too gung-ho on bringing the local cops into their cases unless they have to.”

“Do the casinos know what guys like Keene are doing?” Liz asked.

“They have to know,” I said. “They’ve got cameras covering every centimeter. Nothing happens without their awareness. They wouldn’t let some random guy hassle their customers.”

“That could mean the casinos are involved,” Liz said. “At least to some extent.”

An image of Moffitt and his two thugs flashed through my head. I had no doubt they were capable of being involved in something like this.

“It would be risky for the casinos,” Asanti said. “But I tend to agree with you. It could not happen without their knowledge.”