“Cami dropped by the office and told Mateo that she had ‘fixed Adrian Willoughby’s wagon.’ I’m not sure what that means, and I guess I’ll have to wait until I see her in person to hear all the details.”

  “What about Frank Muñoz?” Ali asked. “Have you made any progress on him?”

  “As a matter of fact, we have,” Stu said. “He’s getting his departure lined up.”

  “I’m guessing you learned that through the keylogger,” Ali offered.

  “Yup,” Stu replied. “From the draft file. He sent a note to Moroni saying he’s leaving Vegas on Monday night.”

  “Any idea where’s he going or how?”

  “My best guess would be that he’s flying rather than driving because he’ll be looking for a destination that will put him beyond the reach of the US Marshals Service,” Stu answered. “To that end, I’ve had Frigg check all scheduled flights departing Las Vegas after five p.m. on Monday. So far, Muñoz doesn’t have a reservation on any of them. That would suggest that, if he’s leaving by air, he’s either flying private or traveling under an assumed name.”

  “Flying private costs money,” Ali observed. “So does creating fake IDs so you can fly under an assumed name. Does Muñoz have a job?”

  “Not that we can tell. Frigg took a look at his financials and tracked down a checking account in his name. In his draft file message to Moroni he complained about being out twenty thousand dollars, presumably for prepaid hits that didn’t work out. Wherever that twenty thousand bucks came from, it didn’t pass through his checking account.”

  “Any credit cards?”

  “A debit card only. Twice a month he makes a three-thousand-dollar cash deposit into the checking account and then uses debit card transactions to pay his bills. Frigg has been able to examine that checking account’s complete history, and she brought today’s activities to my attention because they were so unusual.”

  “Unusual how?”

  “Muñoz went shopping.”

  “That’s unusual?”

  “He’s not big on cooking and takes most of his meals at a neighborhood diner. What shopping he does do is generally little more than a trip to a drug-store or grocery, but today he went on an extensive shopping spree that started at Walmart followed by visits to several consignment stores. Today’s debit card purchases came to almost two thousand dollars. By the time he was finished, there was still some money in his account, but not that much considering that his next influx of cash isn’t due until the middle of the month.”

  “Sounds like he’s draining that account,” Ali suggested. “Any idea what he bought?”

  “According to the receipts, he came away with two pieces of luggage, toiletries, and a whole bunch of underwear as well as an extensive new wardrobe,” Stu replied.

  “What else do we know about him?” Ali asked.

  “Quite a bit,” Stu said. “It turns out Las Vegas is video surveillance central. Frigg has been able to hack into several security systems—not only the one inside his apartment complex but also several others in the near neighborhood. By using facial rec software and splicing video segments together, she’s been able to access enough archived footage to monitor most of his comings and goings from the time he moved into the complex. She’s also able to keep tabs on his current movements.”

  “That sounds cool,” Ali said, “and more than a little creepy.”

  “In addition, although Muñoz has a vehicle, he seldom uses it. Most of his traveling is done on foot. His usual stops are the diner where he takes his meals, and a nearby gym—Hi-Roller Fitness—which he visits on a daily basis. Frigg noted that on days when he makes his bank deposits, he often walks directly from the gym to the bank.”

  “Are you suggesting that those cash deposits may be coming from the gym?”

  “That’s how it looks,” Stu agreed. “Since gyms usually collect money rather than dispense it, Frigg believes we might have stumbled onto a possible money-laundering operation.”

  Ali had a hard time getting her head around that. “A money-laundering gym?” she asked. “Are you sure?”

  “Seems like,” Stu said. “Hi-Roller has several other locations in Vegas, all built with the same footprint and with identical interior designs and equipment, including top-of-the-line video surveillance equipment inside and out. Interestingly enough, the Alta location—the one Muñoz uses—is the only one where none of that high-end surveillance equipment is operational.”

  “If they’re hiding things, maybe Frigg’s right about the money laundering,” Ali conceded, “but whatever the gym is up to at the moment isn’t our concern right now. Frank Muñoz is. We know he’s trying to skip town, and we need to keep that from happening.”

  Once the call with Stu ended, Ali considered what she’d just learned, searching for a way to pass this vital and very timely information along to law enforcement without being obliged to answer too many questions about how she’d obtained said information. She still wasn’t sure how she’d deal with that when she dialed Amos’s cell phone. She was beyond relieved when he didn’t answer, allowing her to simply leave a message.

  “We had one of our operatives keeping tabs on Frank Muñoz’s movements today,” she said. Calling Frigg an operative was a stretch, but still…

  “Looks like he bought luggage and a whole wardrobe refresh,” she continued. “As far as I’m concerned, that rumor of his leaving town soon is pretty much verified. Thought you’d want to know.”

  Ali didn’t go into any more detail than that. If Amos was the kind of cop she thought he was, he’d be far more interested in using the information she’d just given him than he would be in tracking down the source.

  She hoped she was right about that because, if she was wrong, she’d not only just put Stu, Frigg, and herself at risk, what she’d done might well spell doom for High Noon itself.

  CHAPTER 47

  BEAVERTON, OREGON

  Saturday, January 4, 2020, 8:00 p.m. (PST)

  Ramon showered before he went to the airport to collect Molly, but as soon as she climbed into his 4Runner, her reaction was similar to Tina’s but without the barbed sarcasm. “You smell like smoke,” she said.

  “Sorry about that,” he replied. “The folks’ place may be the one that burned, but plenty of smoke got into mine as well. It’s going to take time to get rid of it.”

  “Time along with plenty of soap and elbow grease,” Molly observed. “So how are things?”

  “Dad’s supposed to be transferred to a rehab facility on Monday. He’ll be there for five days before moving into temporary digs at an assisted-living place where he and Mom can stay for the next two and a half months. After that, who knows?”

  “Are they going to rebuild?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “Anybody’s guess,” Ramon answered. “Six months at least and maybe longer, depending on finding a contractor and getting all the permits.”

  “I was thinking about that on the plane,” Molly said.

  “Thinking about what?”

  “About where they’re going to live,” she replied. “Originally your dad built the cottage for someone who couldn’t get around. It comes complete with a walk-in shower, grab bars, and an ADA toilet, none of which you need, and all of which they do.”

  “You’re suggesting they move into my place?”

  “I am,” Molly said with a laugh, “but only after you get the smoke out.”

  Molly’s laughter was one of the things Ramon loved about her. “If they’re in my place, where am I supposed to go?”

  “Well,” Molly said quietly, “you could always move in with me.” Her statement was followed by a long silence. “Are you going to say something?” she prodded.

  “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Ramon asked at last.

  “Look,” she said, “while I was with my mom, I had plenty of time to think about lots of stuff—important stuff. She almost died, Ramon, and she still might. I knew as soon as I met you that you were the one for me. I want us to get married, and I’d like to do that while Mom’s still around to come to the wedding.”

  “Let’s be clear,” Ramon said. “Are you asking me to move in with you or are you asking me to get married?”

  “Both, I think,” Molly said with a small giggle.

  Ramon wasn’t laughing. “I was planning on asking you over Christmas,” he began, “but then…”

  “But then Mom got sick, and I went to California,” Molly finished. “Well, I’m here now. Maybe it’s not cool for the girl to ask the boy to marry her, but I did, and I’m waiting for an answer. Is it yes or no?”

  “It’s a yes,” Ramon said, “most definitely yes, but between now and the time we tie the knot, there are a few things you need to know about me.”

  “What kinds of things?” Molly asked.

  “In the last couple of days I’ve gathered some disturbing information about my family background—some bad stuff I never knew before, and unless I’m sadly mistaken, it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better.”

  CHAPTER 48

  BLYTHE, CALIFORNIA

  Sunday, January 5, 9:00 a.m. (PST)

  Juanita awakened late on Sunday morning to the distinct aroma of pancakes wafting through the air. Obviously Armando was in the kitchen, serving up Sunday breakfast. She’d had trouble falling asleep the night before, and she was grateful he’d let her sleep in. She was pulling on her robe when her phone rang with Roxanne Lugo’s name on caller ID.

  Roxie was the standout star of the Riverside County Sheriff’s Office tech unit. In a world where it often took days or weeks to track down cell phone records, she was often able to achieve almost instantaneous results. When Juanita had handed the warrant for Dante Cox’s phone over to Roxie the day before, she’d been hopeful answers might come quickly, but not this quickly.

  “Roxie, good morning. What have you got for me?”

  “Edward Gascone,” Roxie replied, “aka Big Eddie.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “He’s the guy Dante called as soon as he got off the phone with Tyrone on Monday morning. I already checked with Records, and Big Eddie is someone who, as they say, is known to law enforcement. Little stuff, mostly—several DUIs, resisting arrest, and various drug charges, along with some gang-related activities. I’ve got an address for him in Whittier. Would you like to have what I found?”

  “Absolutely, please text it to me.”

  “I assume that means you’ll go after another warrant on his number, too?”

  “You’d better believe it,” Juanita replied. “I don’t have Judge Carruthers on speed dial, but close. Are you working today?”

  “I wasn’t supposed to, but for you I’ll make an exception.”

  “All right,” Juanita said. “I’ll see you as soon as I can.”

  By the time Juanita entered the kitchen, the kids were gone and Armando was clearing up. “Where did everyone go?” Juanita asked.

  “Grandma has summoned all the cousins for a playdate at her house,” Armando told her. “I heard your phone. Do you have to go in?”

  Juanita nodded. “Roxie, the tech unit’s whiz kid, just came up with a name for a person of interest in my double homicide. I’m going to need another search warrant, then I’ll need to drive over to Whittier and talk to the guy.”

  “Not alone, I trust,” Armando said.

  “Definitely not,” she told him. “Doing death notifications solo is one thing. Meeting a possible suspect is not.”

  Juanita knew that not only did Judge Carruthers always golf on Saturdays, he also went to church every Sunday. After filling out the warrant request, she caught up with him at Blythe’s United Methodist Church where he was finishing up leading a Bible study class.

  “Not you again,” he grumbled. “Another one?”

  “Yes, please,” she said, handing over the paperwork. “With any kind of luck, we’re building a daisy chain of phone numbers that will lead to a suspect.”

  With the new warrant in hand, she called her partner at home. Rudy sounded terrible. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked.

  “Doc says I’ve got a case of walking pneumonia. I hear you’re working that double homicide,” he answered. “Having any luck?”

  “Some,” she said. “I just picked up a second search warrant from Judge Carruthers for the phone of a guy who lives in Whittier. I was hoping you’d be up to driving over and talking with him.”

  “Sorry, not today,” Rudy replied. “You’ll have to grab somebody else.”

  “Will do,” Juanita told him. “In the meantime, get well.”

  As Juanita headed for Riverside, she thought about giving Amos Anderson a call to let him know what was going on, but she decided to put that on hold until after she talked with Big Eddie.

  At headquarters, she dropped off the warrant and then checked with investigations to see who was on call. The guys working out of Riverside tended to look down on “substation” folks who worked out in what they called “the boonies.” Juanita was happy when she ended up with Matt Dorsey as her ride-along. He was a younger guy, new enough on the job that he had yet to develop a full case of snark.

  On the fifty-minute drive from Riverside to Whittier, Juanita briefed him on the double homicide near Blythe as well as the possible connections to the several other cases involved.

  “Wow,” he said. “This one is all over the map.”

  The address Roxie had provided was to an apartment building in the 5800 block of Comstock Avenue. As they approached the intersection of Comstock and Beverly, Juanita and Matt both fell quiet, understanding that things were likely to become dicey. When cops knock on suspects’ doors, things can go south in a hurry.

  The building appeared to be older but in seemingly decent repair. Big Eddie’s apartment was at the end of a long corridor on the third floor.

  “I’ll knock,” Juanita told Matt. “You’re backup.”

  Arriving law enforcement officers don’t announce their presence with tentative taps, and Detective Juanita Ochoa had fully mastered the “cop knock.”

  “Open up,” she announced, pounding on the door. “Riverside County Sheriff’s Office!”

  After that, both she and Matt stood there, primed for action and waiting for the door to open. It didn’t. In fact, nothing at all happened. There was no sound from inside the apartment. Eventually Juanita knocked again, harder. This time a door did open, but it was the one on the opposite side of the corridor.

  An older woman dressed in a robe and fuzzy house slippers appeared in the doorway. “If you’re looking for Ed, he’s not home. Who are you?”

  Juanita held out her ID. “I’m Detective Juanita Ochoa with the Riverside County Sheriff’s Office,” she explained.

  The woman glanced at Juanita’s ID briefly and handed it back.

  “Ed’s not in any kind of hot water, I trust.”

  “No,” Juanita lied. “We’d just like to ask him a few questions.”

  “He took off for Vegas for a couple of days,” the woman said. “He does that on occasion. Left Tony with me.”

  “Tony?” Juanita asked.

  “His parrot,” the woman answered. “Used to belong to his mother, but she left it to Ed when she died. Damned bird must be old as the hills, and it jabbers away constantly. I don’t understand a word of it, but Ed tells me Tony speaks Italian.”

  “Any idea when Mr. Gascone will return?”

  “Nope, he comes and goes as he pleases. He’s got a lady friend who lives in Vegas—Rochelle something or other—and he spends quite a bit of time with her. Don’t think he’s ever mentioned her last name. Can I give him a message?”

  Juanita started to give the woman one of her cards but decided against it. Her cards clearly said HOMICIDE DETECTIVE in black and white, and the less said about homicide right then, the better.

  “Not to worry,” Juanita said. “We’ll stop by again later.”

  As Juanita and Matt left the apartment complex, she felt that peculiar sense of letdown cops always feel when an anticipated confrontation comes to nothing.

  “Sorry to drag you all the way here for no good reason,” she apologized.

  “No problem,” Matt said. “Being out driving beats sitting around in the squad room waiting for something to happen.”

  Back at the department and after Juanita and Matt parted company, she detoured over to the tech unit where, as promised, Roxie was at her desk.

  “Hey,” Roxie said, “glad you stopped by. There’s more to come, but I’ve got some preliminary results on that second warrant.”

  Juanita wasn’t surprised. Phone companies were notorious for stalling when it came to complying with warrants. In fact, it seemed to be standard operating procedure industry-wide, but the responsibility for following those procedures usually landed on the people at the bottom of the food chains—the technicians doing the actual work—and when it came to charming technicians, Roxanne Lugo was an expert.

  “What did you find?”

  For an answer, Roxie handed over a computer printout. “A list of recent calls. Details on cell tower location as well as text and email data will come in separately.”

  Juanita studied the list. Most of the calls were to or from area codes she recognized as being in the LA area, but a whole flurry of them were from a number with an area code of 702.

  “Where’s this one?” Juanita asked, pointing.

  “That would be Las Vegas, Nevada.”

  Juanita felt a jolt of excitement. “A neighbor told me Ed Gascone was in Vegas visiting his girlfriend. Can you track down that number?”

  Several minutes of typing followed. Eventually Roxie spoke again. “This leads back to a cell phone belonging to someone named Rochelle Moroni. In addition to her cell, she has a landline that lists an address on 7th Street in Vegas. Does that help?”

  “Are you kidding? Of course it helps! One of Big Eddie’s neighbors said he has a girlfriend named Rochelle. What can you tell me about her?”

  “Hang on,” Roxie said, “let’s check with Records.”