‘Yes, we had an earlier report of illegals in the area. A group of twelve. My agents lost them.’

‘Well, Hogan found them for you.’ I describe the fight in the dark, Benjamín being stabbed, and I look to Benjamín, expecting him to present his wound and corroborate the story, but his eyes are locked on his feet as though he is unwilling or unable to meet the eyes of authority.

‘The Border Patrol doesn’t condone anyone taking the law into their own hands. Alice, we don’t want their help any more than you do.’

‘Then send your agents back out there before some-body else gets killed.’

Chavez picks up a pencil and balances the point and rubber between his forefingers.

‘Alice, if Henry Duval is involved, it won’t make any difference if it’s one of my men or Hogan’s who finds him. The man’s wanted for murder. One way or the other it’s likely he’ll find himself looking down the barrel of somebody’s pistol.’

‘Not if you call off the “dead or alive” edict.’

He leans forward and puts his elbows on the desk.

‘What is it you’re not telling me?’ he probes gently.

So then I tell him mostly everything else. How we’d gone into Nogales for dinner, how we’d witnessed the patrol guard beating up on the kid and how Duval had tried to stop him but done nothing worse than bloodied the man’s nose. I tell him that the guard had been alive when we left.

‘Why didn’t you inform my men of this earlier?’ Chavez asks and for the first time I falter. ‘Your husband was here this morning, I believe?’ he adds almost conversationally.

‘Yes.’

‘And where is he now?’

‘He took the children home. To England.’

‘But you stayed?’

‘Yes.’

‘Alone?’ He sounds surprised.

‘Yes.’

‘I see.’ Chavez taps his pencil against his lower lip. He picks up the phone. ‘Alice, we know Duval has a safe house in the desert. If you show us where to find him, we’ll bring him in and talk to him. That’s as much as I can promise you.’

He waits for my nod, then taps in an extension number. ‘Come,’ he says into the receiver, ‘my office.’

Relieved, I lay my hand on Benjamín’s arm, but still his head remains bowed. At the knock on the door Chavez excuses himself.

‘Benjamín,’ I whisper. ‘Are you okay?’ Chavez is talking to another agent at the door. I squeeze Benjamín’s arm and finally he raises his head. His eyes slide over me to the two men and then, as though an invisible fist has delivered a punch straight to his solar plexus, his face freezes.