Dixon cut him a hard look, then turned back to Ballencoa. “I apologize on behalf of my office if Detective Mendez came on too strong, Mr. Ballencoa. Your point is taken. I completely agree with you—it’s not our job to pry into the lives of law-abiding citizens.”

Ballencoa was beginning to look pleased with himself.

“On the other hand,” Dixon said, “you do have a record for a serious offense, and there is a . . . unique history involving Mrs. Lawton. I’m sure you can understand—”

“I understand my rights,” Ballencoa said firmly. “I would like to file my complaint and leave.”

There was no talking him out of it. Dixon escorted him out of the conference room. He would take Ballencoa to the desk sergeant to do the paperwork. Mendez watched them go down the hall, waiting for them to turn the corner. As soon as they disappeared, he stepped back into the conference room and shoved a chair on casters so hard across the room that when it hit the wall it sounded like a gun had gone off.

“Fuck! Fucking pervert, child predator, woman stalker has the balls to come in here and complain about me? Fuck that!”

Hicks shrugged and spread his hands, as if to say This is what you get for being an asshole. “He’s smart. He wants a short leash on you.”

Ballencoa’s complaint would go on Mendez’s record. He was building a paper trail for his lawsuit if he decided to file one. A single complaint wouldn’t get him far, but if he accumulated several, he would have established a pattern of behavior.

“He’s building himself a buffer,” Mendez said. “If he can make us back off and keep our distance, he’s got breathing room to do what he wants.”

“This ain’t his first rodeo,” Hicks said.

“No. He’s got his system down,” Mendez said, pacing the width of the room with his hands jammed at his waist. “What else was in that bag of his?”

“A sketch pad. A notebook. A couple of rolls of film. Some breath mints.”

“No photographs?”

Hicks shook his head.

“He had his eye on that bag like there was something in there he didn’t want us to get our hands on.”

“Then why did he bring it in here at all? He could have put that recorder in his pocket.”

“I should have shot the fucker and solved everyone’s problems,” Mendez grumbled. “I sure as hell thought he was going for a gun.”

“Me too.”

“Man, I seriously need a drink after this.”

“You’re buying.”

Dixon came back into the room then, his fury barely contained. He backed Mendez into the wall.

“I ought to beat your ass like a rented mule!” he shouted. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I don’t have an excuse, sir,” Mendez said. “He made me angry and I lost my temper.”