Pursuit of Justice. Pamela Tracy

City area—their father legitimately owned a used car lot there. Illegitimately, the man laundered money in his establishments, operated a chop shop, was a known associate of drug dealers—probably more, and was so slick nothing could be pinned on him. The file on Eric wasn’t as extensive as his big brothers. Both Tony and Sardi were more than well-known, and theirs rated as epics. Little brother Kenny’s file indicated a desire to catch up but nothing major, yet. There was a sister, too, Sam remembered. Most of her file could be blamed not on her brothers, but on her husband.

      Until Jimmy Handley’s murder, Eric had been the least-known Santellis. Of course, he just might have been better at hiding his sins. Sam could attribute the same skill to Rosa.

      Sam punched in the name of Terrance Jackle, Tony Santellis’s newly paroled best friend. It had been Jackle’s apartment where all had gone wrong. The photo whirled onto the computer screen. A sentence blinked on, and off, bright green, before freezing. Jackle had bought it a few weeks ago, in the back of his head.

      Strange.

      Frowning, Sam punched in another name. This one wasn’t a Santellis, just a hanger-on. Jason Hughes hadn’t done hard time for being present at Jimmy’s death. But that didn’t matter, hard time might be preferable. The man had been dead for sixteen months, drug overdose. A suspicion hovered and then took over Sam’s thoughts.

      Two corpses.

      Okay, time to try another name. Sam chose Mitchell Trent, a small-time dealer who’d never chosen friends wisely.

      Three corpses.

      Trent had been dead for almost a year. Trent apparently drove a vehicle with a brake problem. The report mentioned Trent’s girlfriend, Lindsey, had also died in the crash.

      Four corpses.

      The news didn’t surprise Sam. She’d been present at Jackle’s the day of Jimmy’s death, too, the only female besides Rosa.

      No, no way.

      Eric Santellis was the only one still serving time. It took Sam twenty minutes to ascertain that besides Rosa, Eric was also the only one still alive.

      And now, thanks to Sam, Rosa had a known address, albeit currently the Gila City County Jail.

      And her previous address had blown up a few hours ago.

      Pushing his chair back, Sam stood up and stuck the files in a drawer. It was almost three-thirty. Time to head home. After a few hours of sleep, all this might make some sense, although he doubted it.

      The brown sedan would have to suffice as transportation since one of the memos on his desk reminded him that the Exxon station had called at noon saying his truck was ready. A lot of good that did him now.

      He flipped the light switch and headed toward the stairs. This time of morning in the Gila City precinct meant solitude and paperwork. Sam glanced out the window. Cliff’s car was now parked between a paloverde tree and a trash receptacle. Suddenly, Sam doubted that sleep was anywhere in his near future. Rosa and Eric the only ones alive?

      Cliff was behaving strangely.

      What were the odds?

      The women’s area occupied the left corner of the station. It had one cell that opened into a type of foyer. They’d turned it into a women’s holding area back in the sixties. A few female picketers had gotten carried away at a peace march and suddenly the town needed a separate cell for women. Sam didn’t know, or care, what it had been used for before that.

      The duty officer’s radio played to a nonexistent audience. Sam curled his fingers around the handle of his gun. This was his station, his home, his turf. Why was he feeling that some outside force had violated his space?

      He heard Henry’s voice, a low mumble even in a quiet night. Okay, that meant at least one person was where he was supposed to be.

      Supposed to be?

      That’s what had been bothering him.

      Cliff’s showing up this morning.

      Cliff had only been back in Gila City a few weeks. He’d told Sam that haunting his old precinct wasn’t something he intended to do. Something about out with the old and in with the new. And this morning had been the first time he’d entered the doors. This morning, of all mornings, the morning Lucy Straus, Rosa Cagnalia, was apprehended.

      And now he was back.

      More than coincidence?

      Cliff had said, back when he and Sam were partners, not to believe in coincidence.

      For the first time, Sam truly understood what his ex-partner had been trying to teach him.