“I’m up-to-date on the case. Denise was suspected of embezzling money. She left because her client was calling in an independent auditor. Makes some sense. I understand insurance fraud, but other white collar crimes, not as much. My question remains: Where’s the money? It wasn’t in her bank accounts. It wasn’t anywhere, as far as I know—and I told the family what to ask for. They didn’t get any confirmation that any of the money was transferred into any account that Denise Albright controlled. The money disappeared down layers of shell corporations that they either didn’t or couldn’t trace, into a black hole.”

Nate asked, “Who did you work with at the Kerr County Sheriff’s Office?”

“A prick named Garrett Douglas. Wouldn’t give me the time of day. Kept passing me off to his partner Chavez, who didn’t know diddly-squat and said he’d have Douglas call me back, which never happened.”

“Sounds familiar,” Nate grumbled.

Miranda smiled, then said, “I told him I didn’t think the family left the country, I thought something happened to them here, and he showed me piss-poor photos from Brownsville Border Control. Could have been anybody in their car.

“I followed up with their friends and neighbors,” Miranda continued, “but no one saw anything. No one had heard from them. The only thing I could get was one neighbor thought she saw Ricky Albright—he was nine back then—on his bike late one night. She couldn’t remember which night—she thought it was Friday or Saturday night the weekend they disappeared. But she couldn’t swear to it.”

“By late, how late?”

“Dark—sunset was around eight thirty that week. She didn’t see his face but recognized the bike and his profile. He wore a backpack and hoodie and was riding his bike fast—she was walking her dog. She walks her dog every night sometime between nine and eleven, depending on what’s on television. She waved and said hello, but he didn’t answer or wave back, which was unlike him according to her. She thought it was rude.”

“But it wasn’t a night before the family disappeared? How can she be sure?”

“She sounded pretty certain, but you’re right—it could have been Thursday. Though the kid was nine, and everyone I talked to said he wouldn’t be allowed to ride his bike after dark, and he was a good kid, not prone to sneaking out or causing trouble.”

“If she’s right,” Lucy said, “then this was after the Escalade crossed the border.”

“Where’s the kid been for three years?” Miranda asked. “Someone would notice a homeless kid as clean-cut as Ricky, and we’ve been going through missing persons databases regularly for the last three years. Though I know that doesn’t mean squat half the time. Kids, sadly, disappear.”