The room was paneled with an oak or pine veneer, and dark. The cream-colored curtains—cheap and nubbly—turned the outside sunlight into a garish orange glow that seeped around the edges and gleamed off the walls.

The bed was unmade and a suitcase sat on a folding luggage rack near the bathroom. A robe hung on the bathroom door.

Laura was looking at the suitcase when she felt the room temperature change. One moment it was warm, and the next, cold enough to raise goosebumps.

Her eye went to the mirror on the bathroom door. More specifically, to the reflection in the mirror on the bathroom door.

A man sat on the edge of the bed.

The last time Laura saw Frank Entwistle she’d suggested he read up on ghosts to get an idea of how they conducted themselves, since he seemed to do such a slovenly job of it.

He looked old and tired. Like a deflated balloon in his Sansabelt slacks circa 1989. Cheap button-down shirt, blazer, Hush Puppies loafers, a Daffy Duck tie.

Lately Frank had taken to wearing cartoon character ties. The first time she’d seen him in one, she thought it had been due to indigestion brought on by some pork ribs.

But it turned out to be a trend.

“Scare you?” he said.

“That ship sailed a long time ago.”

“Thought you could benefit from my encyclopedic knowledge and razor-sharp instincts, kiddo. That’s why I’m here.”

“You know what I think?” Laura said. “You miss it.”

“I’m dead. I don’t miss anything.”

Laura said, “I missed you—can you believe that?”

“Sure I believe it. Just didn’t think you’d want me showing up, since you finally got a man. Thought it might embarrass you if I showed up at the wrong time.”

A considerate ghost. Go figure. An old-fashioned, considerate ghost. Laura felt as if she’d stepped into a Mad Men episode, if the characters in Mad Men wore cheap clothes.

Frank said, “Does he know about me?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“He doesn’t think you’re crazy?”

Laura thought about it. “No. I think we’re beyond that. He knows I’m crazy.”

Frank smiled at that, then rubbed his tired-looking face. “Probably should keep it that way. I just wondered what you thought about this guy. Perrin.”

“I’m not sure. The boy who lives here said he was in Special Forces.”

“You really think that?”

“I don’t know. Why? You don’t?”

“Don’t just go with what’s in here,” Frank said, touching a ghostly finger to his forehead. He pressed his finger to his bellied-out Sansabelts. “You gotta go with what’s in here.”

“In your pants?”

“Jesus, you’re getting a mouth on you. Your gut. Do you give your new partner that kind of crap?”

“I’ve changed.”

“Changed?”

“I’m more confident now. I know what I’m doing.”

“Then why do you need me?”

“Hey, I’m not the one who—”

“I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want to bounce things off me. But hey, if I’m not appreciated, I can go.”

And he faded away.

Laura stared at the spot where her former partner and mentor sat last. The bed was messy, but no messier for having Frank sit there. He was gone, except for a trace of his godawful cologne.

What had he asked her?

What do you think of Perrin?

Simple question. Who else would she be thinking about?

Laura started at the outside of the room and worked her way toward the center, taking photos of everything. She looked but didn’t touch; the unmade bed, the toothbrush on the clamshell sink in the bathroom, a squib of toothpaste in the sink. Toilet seat up. She took note: how long had he been married? Not long enough to adopt the habit a lot of married men did. Or was he just a rebel?

She smiled at that.

Was that how you proved you were a rebel in modern society?

She looked at the clothes jumbled in the suitcase.

Hiking clothes on a chair. Medium-expensive, she thought.

No Samsung Galaxy S III phone.

They would subpoena Sean Perrin’s phone records, which would give them access to every call he made or received. Even if the killer removed the SIM card or turned the GPS off and the phone was lying in a landfill somewhere, the calls would still be listed up to that point. They might not find everything, but it was a good place to start.

Anthony had already put a call in to the Las Vegas Metro PD to get the ball rolling. It would take a few days, but they would get the information in the long run.

Three framed photographs sat on a side table; a beautiful woman and two beautiful children.

Absolutely beautiful children. A stunning woman. Model-stunning. They could have been in Lands' End ads.

The photos were sunny. The faces were happy. Healthy. Scrubbed faces, American as Madison Avenue could make them. But they still looked like real people.

He’d caught them unawares, almost. Like he’d said, “Hey! Look here!” and his wife had turned to look at him. A quick smile.

The kids on the grass, watching ducks in a lake. Beautiful, beautiful kids. A boy and a girl.

Sean Perrin had quite a family, and quite a resume. Special Forces. Financial consultant. Whistleblower.

Maybe that was the key. He’d crossed the wrong person and now he was on the run.

He’d told Barbara Sheehey that he was married to a Ford model from LA. He’d told Cody Sheehey he had an estranged sister in Tucson.

His car was a rental.

Lots of undercurrents there. Lots of things that stood out, and piqued her interest.

Laura thought he’d been sitting in his car in the hours between eight and eleven, although she’d need confirmation on that from the M.E. She thought he was there after dark, because it would be more likely no one else would be there.

He’d sat there in the car and for some reason, closed his eyes. And then someone came along and shot him execution-style.

Laura said to the empty room, “Whoever you were running from, looks like they caught you.”

6: The Canvass

Fresh from his helicopter adventure, Anthony joined Laura at the cabin. Laura stood back and watched him look at the contents of the room. She wanted to see what caught his eye.

He went for the luggage.

“Nice clothes. Not too expensive, but nice.” He looked at Tess. “His watch was a knockoff made to look expensive. You know where he worked?”

“Mrs. Sheehey’s son, Cody, said he was a financial advisor.”

“In Vegas?” He answered for himself. “Probably. You want me to do that part? See where he worked and what was going on with him?”

Laura knew he liked that aspect of police work best. Back at the squad bay, kicked back in his swiveling chair, on the phone. Romancing people into telling him their darkest secrets.

“He has a sister in Tucson,” Laura said. “Apparently they’re estranged. We’re gonna have to run her down, too.”

Anthony had his phone out, checked it. “Shoot, no cell phone service.” He pocketed his phone. “I’ll go back to the farm and see what I can find. Insurance card, stuff he had to enter for Enterprise.”

“Why’d he rent a car?” Laura asked. “Why not drive his own?”

“Got me. You want me to help you here?”

“I’ve got it covered.” She believed in people doing what they did best. Anthony was good at everything, but he excelled at data collecting and doing his legwork back at the squad bay. She suspected that in down times, he was coming up with movie pitches and treatment ideas, but he was the best talker she’d ever seen on the phone. He could tease answers out of anybody. In person, though, he came off as overbearing. He towered over people, and some folks—most of them older—were intimidated by his bald head. This, she knew, was the reason he often adopted a porkpie hat. It made him look slightly goofy, but it took away the edge.