“I’m afraid that’s privileged information,” the partner, whose name was Dale Godwin, said, not sounding in the least concerned by the fact that a Texas Ranger was asking after one of his employees. For all Darren knew, Mr. Godwin, like many outside the state, did not understand the Rangers’ role in law enforcement in Texas; he might have been talking to a park ranger for all the sense of urgency in his voice. He did, at least, confirm that Monica worked for Chafee, Humboldt, and Greene, but he assured Darren that she was a big girl—his actual words—who knew how to take care of herself.

“Well, she’s not been seen at her hotel in two days and she failed to appear at an appointment she arranged with a local notary, Gail Combs, an invoice for which I bet you have sitting somewhere in your files right now,” Darren said. He let that sink in for a moment before adding, “But I’m sure your firm’s been in contact with Ms. Maldonado over the past forty-eight hours, right, Mr. Godwin?”

The lawyer blew out a heavy thud of breath, not so much a sigh as the sound of a bass drum, the music in a Western that told of dread on the horizon. “Let me talk to her secretary,” Godwin said. “And I’ll get back to you.”

After more than an hour, Darren still hadn’t received a return call.

While breakfast was being served in the dining hall off the lobby, he headed to the second floor, bypassing the front desk altogether and trailing one of the hotel’s maids, a whippet-thin black woman with a head of pressed hair and flyaway strands that refused to lie down for anybody. He watched as she knocked on Sandler Gaines’s room and announced, “Housekeeping,” in a dulcet but perfunctory tone. When she received no answer, she opened the door with her master key. Darren, his fears allayed by the fact that Mr. Gaines was nowhere around, flashed the woman his badge and said he needed to get into room 207.

“It’s empty, sir,” she said.

“No matter,” Darren said with a forced air of authority, speaking at a clipped speed that left little room for questions, “I need to get in there, ma’am. This is state business and as serious as it gets. I’m ordered to search this room.”

The maid—BARBARA, her name tag said—shot Darren a look that suggested she thought it was possible it was some bullshit mixed up in this, but Darren was black and carrying a badge so she gave him the benefit of the doubt but also felt she was within her rights to mutter under her breath as she opened the door to room 207, “Better not get me fired over this neither.” Then she left him alone.