‘You’ll have Hogan on your back till you do.’

‘Do you have to use “on my back” and Hogan in the same sentence?’

Duval laughs but I think of Robert, on the phone now almost every day.

‘Hogan’s offering us a stake in a business that’s already up and running. How can this not make sense, Alice? Tell me how this can not be a good idea.’ And I wonder just how much longer I can hold them both off.

‘Hogan’s a fool,’ Duval says again.

‘Maybe, but he’s a fool with an army, and he’s suspicious of you.’

‘Yes,’ he says quietly. ‘I know he is.’

‘Duval, sooner or later they’ll come looking for you, and if I can find the schoolroom, anyone can.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘You’re not worried?’

‘I’m counting on not everyone having your combination of luck, perseverance and blind disregard for personal safety.’ He signals for more coffee.

‘What if they catch you?’

‘Who they? Border Patrol or Hogan?’

‘Either.’

‘Well, Hogan is your average “shoot on sight, string ’em up from the tallest tree” kind of a guy.’

‘Well that’s okay then – and the Border Patrol?’

‘Oh, you know the kind of thing. Jail. An orange jumpsuit, a long-term contract with one of those chain gangs you’re so intrigued by.’

Riding through the desert one morning, I’d been profoundly shocked to come across a chain gang of women, digging graves in the county cemetery, not far off the road. They’d been padlocked together at the ankles and were wearing striped uniforms, in a scene more resonant of the deep south at the turn of the century than of contemporary America.

‘Who are they?’ I’d asked Duval. ‘Serial killers or something?’

He’d shaken his head. ‘Most of them are in there for minor infractions, cheque forgery or violating their probation. Some of them probably just couldn’t make bail.’

I couldn’t believe you get put on a chain gang for forging a cheque. But then Arizona is not exactly the most liberal state in the union. According to Duval it only got a Martin Luther King day after tourists threatened to boycott the golf courses.

Duval peels another toothpick from its plastic casing. ‘If you like I’ll apply for litter clean-up on the rez and you can wave at me next time you drive by.’

‘What makes you think I won’t be hammering rocks on the other side of the road?’

Duval’s face turns serious. ‘Alice . . .’

But we’re both distracted by the sight of Winfred rumbling through the restaurant towards us. He’s out of uniform, and looking a little unkempt in a Hawaiian shirt and jeans. ‘Hey, Winfred!’ I say, expecting his broad grin in response, but he gives only a perfunctory smile before easing his bulk along the bench.

‘Duval, listen to me, man,’ he starts. ‘I got some news.’