“Also ask him if they picked up any foreign evidence that could generate a DNA profile of the perpetrator.”

“Got it.”

“Let’s get on the stick with this. Tinsley is still out there and it’s making me more and more nervous.”

Once again, Decker hung up the phone. He rubbed his eyes, and then rubbed his neck. He was tired, but it was turning out to be a productive couple of days. Garth had been spotted with Mandy, so they were on the right track with Vegas. And Mandy, although in guarded condition, was still alive. Eventually she’d be coherent enough to talk. And how lucky was it to have a hair with its root in the clasp of the necklace. A DNA profile would solve a lot of problems.

Things seemed to be coming together, but there were still a lot of fundamental unanswered questions.

Where was Garth?

What were the events that led up to Adrianna Blanc’s death?

What were the events that led up to Crystal Larabee’s death?

Were the two women’s deaths related?

And was Chuck Tinsley a serial murderer?

So many crimes, so little time.

WIPING THE SWEAT from her face, Marge looked up at the glaring sky. The desert sun that had been so perfect yesterday when she was lazing around the pool had now turned into the enemy as they schlepped around in ninety-degree heat from apartment building to apartment building.

And, man, Clark County sure had a lot of apartment buildings.

It had apartment buildings, condos, housing developments, and seedy hotels with long-term rentals available. They had been going at it for hours before the two of them finally broke for dinner. The only thing open at five in the afternoon was an all-day storefront that advertised the best barbecue in town. They didn’t lie. The ribs were messy and spicy, just the way Marge liked them. When she was done, she cleaned up with a premoistened towelette.

“That was good.”

Oliver was still munching on a bone. “Damn good.”

“What do we have left?”

“If you insist on working, we’ve got a slew of condo developments within a few miles.”

“How much is a slew?”

“Five developments and each one has about thirty condos. Two of them have a management company on-site.”

“So let’s start with them.” Marge signaled the waitress for the check.

“We’re looking for something that might not exist.” Oliver paused. “Kind of like love.”

The waitress came over—a stout lady with gray teased hair. “No dessert for you?”

“Wish we could,” Oliver told her. “We’ve got to go back to work.”

“Working on Sundays? What do you do?”

“Cops.” Oliver produced his badge. “For real.”

She stared at the shield without examining it too closely. “In that case, I’ll wrap up a couple of doughnuts to go. On the house.”

“Thank you very much, but we can pay for it,” Marge said.