The access road to the mouth of the canyon was on the other side of the mountain—a winding adobe-colored stretch cut into the hillside. To get there, he’d have to go back down the mountain, then up on the other side. Too bad the place lacked a skytram.

He caught his name over the static of the car radio, reached through the window, and picked up the mike. Marge was patched through.

“What’s going on over there?” she asked.

“I haven’t gone down to the actual scene. I think I found the spot where the car fell—or was pushed—over.” He explained the details. “Are you coming down?”

“Don’t have time. I’ve got to interview Mama Bellson.”

“Oh, that’s right. In the meantime, send me a uniform to watch over the area while I go down to the actual scene.”

“No deputies around?”

“They’re securing the area below.”

“I’ll call someone for you,” Marge said. “I’ve been going through phone books and directory assistance—no Sondra Roberts. I haven’t had a chance to check out the personnel files of hospitals and health-care agencies in a big way, but I’m working on it.”

“What about Overeaters Anonymous?”

“Got calls in to the regional chapters. Usually, members are anonymous. But I think we can get some information with a baby’s life at stake. There are two of them. I’ll keep trying until interview time. Hollander, Fordebrand, and MacPherson are checking the tips that have come pouring in from the TV broadcast this morning. Lines haven’t stopped ringing at the station house. I’ve had to use my radio to get through.”

“Good to see people concerned.”

“Lourdes Rodriguez is thinking of making a personal plea on the five o’clock news. What do you think, Pete?”

“Good idea if it’s necessary.” Decker’s stomach churned. “We still don’t know if the baby was inside the car. The fire fighters haven’t begun to pry the car open yet.”

“That poor little girl—both of them. What an ugly mess!”

“If the baby isn’t in the wreckage, I’ll stop by the hospital and update Lourdes. We both met Marie—maybe if we knock our heads together, we can remember something vital.”

“Keep me posted.” Marge cut the line.

Decker rehooked the mike and leaned against the unmarked. In the distance, he heard the purr of a motor. He glanced at his watch again. In the past forty minutes, not a single car had gone by. Chances that anyone had seen what had happened to the car would be slim.

The purring grew in volume, and a few moments later a red four-by-four screeched as it emerged from the bend. The top was off, and a woman with short blond hair was at the wheel. Decker flagged her down, and the Jeep stopped in the middle of the roadway.