“That and finding out your father’s gay.” She shrugged. “After Jack and I split up, I took Crystal back to Missouri to visit my folks. I wanted her to know her grandparents. She just hated it. She complained about the heat, she complained about the bugs, she complained about the humidity, she complained about the camp I sent her to, she complained about the kids. When I moved back, she was flabbergasted. Why would I want to live in a swamp with a bunch of hicks? I tried to explain to her that I missed my family. That as I got older, I wanted to be around people who cared about me.”

“I understand,” Decker said.

“You may understand, but she sure didn’t. But that was Crystal. She never really got the concept of intimacy and relationships. Everyone she met was her best friend.”

THE DRIVE TO Vegas on the I-15 was a direct shot: around 270 miles that should have taken about four hours had they not stopped at one of Oliver’s favorite diners. The place was noted for cheap prices, big portions, and clean bathrooms—the trifecta of the open road. Scott decided to treat himself to a cheeseburger and fries, while Marge selected a tuna melt. Both had apple pie for dessert.

They rolled onto the Strip around two in the afternoon. Not a cloud sat in the sky and the mercury danced around eighty-five. As they tooled down Las Vegas Boulevard going north, the sun was fierce, reflecting off the Four Seasons onto the gold glass walls of Mandalay Bay, the glare following them as they drove down the Strip. The gigantic hotels did little to shade the heat since they arose straight up like monoliths, their verticality even more pronounced because they had been erected in the middle of the Mojave Desert. Oliver had booked a small but serviceable motel off the Strip. The lobby was a brightly lit atrium that held coffee-shop tables, a reception desk, and a bank of slot machines that beeped and flashed even when no one was playing them.

After checking into their respective rooms and unpacking, Marge plopped down onto the bed and called Detective Lonnie Silver on her cell. “Sergeant Dunn here.”

“Welcome to Vegas. How was traffic?”

“Not bad at all. Weather is accommodating.”

“Yeah, it’s beautiful outside. Way too nice to be bogged down in homicides.”

Marge said, “Any news at all on Garth Hammerling?”

“I haven’t found him or the woman. But something interesting came through the wire about an hour ago. It’s good that you came down.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“Interesting, not ominous. Not yet. I’m right in the middle of fleshing out a lead on another homicide we’re working on. How about we meet in a couple of hours?”

“Tell me where.”