The look on her face as she had rammed her shopping cart into his, and the look on her face as she had realized he wasn’t who she’d thought he was, had intrigued him. He had watched her come out of Pavilions looking pale and shaky. When she had pulled out of her parking spot and taken off, he had to follow.

She was looking for the brown van now, he supposed. And what if she found it sitting in one of the driveways along Via Verde? Would she go up to the front door of the house expecting to find the man she believed had taken her daughter?

He supposed so. And then what? No good scenarios came to mind. Mendez tried to put himself in her shoes. If he knew the guy who had taken his kid was walking around scot-free, what would he do?

Track him down like a fucking dog and blow his brains out.

He made a mental note to find out if Mrs. Lawton or her late husband owned a gun.

Not finding the brown van, she continued down Via Verde, through the area lined with trendy boutiques and coffee shops, and on past the scenic campus of McAster College with its green lawns shaded by huge spreading oak trees.

Mendez kept well back as they turned onto Old Mission Road and the residences became fewer and farther between. He pulled over and watched from a distance as Lauren Lawton drove to the very end of the road and into the gated driveway of a sprawling white house with elaborate flower beds in tiers down the front yard.

The BMW disappeared into the garage.

He checked his watch and contemplated what to do. Technically speaking, he had the day off. He was only riding around in an unmarked car because his personal vehicle had gone into the shop to have a dent taken out. He had spent a couple of hours in the morning at the courthouse to testify at a hearing. The rest of the day was his. If he wanted to spend it in Santa Barbara, he was free to do so. If he left now, he could stop in at the PD to get some questions answered, then treat himself to a nice dinner by the ocean.

He drove back to Via Verde, bought himself a coffee, found a pay phone, called the Santa Barbara Police Department, and asked to speak with Detective Tanner.

“Investigative Division, Detective Tanner speaking.”

The voice belonged to a woman. It was a little hoarse and scratchy, but definitely a woman’s voice. Mendez looked at the receiver like maybe there was something wrong with it. “Detective Tanner?”

“Yes? How can I help you?”

“Uh . . . this is Detective Mendez in Oak Knoll.”

“And . . . ?”

“I have a couple of questions for you,” he said, manually shifting his brain into gear. “Regarding a case I was told you’re working.”

“What case?”