‘Why, Jeff?’ Duval says, smiling grimly. ‘What would make you think they weren’t?’

‘No offence meant, I just think Mrs Coleman has a right to know. She wouldn’t want to be getting into any trouble with the INS.’

‘Trouble?’ I ask quickly. ‘What kind of trouble?’

Hogan puffs out his chest like a homing pigeon with a vital message to deliver.

‘Well, ma’am, we have something here called a resident identification programme. It’s a visa that allows Mexicans to move freely across the border for work purposes only.’

‘And?’

‘Every employer round the border area needs to have their paperwork in order.’

Duval holds Hogan’s gaze effortlessly. He maintains his arms-crossed pose, the very picture of laid back, and my guess is, if there’d been a toothpick to hand, he’d be chewing on it.

‘See, Mrs Coleman,’ Hogan says as he turns back to me, ‘if by chance your permits weren’t in order and someone put a call through to the INS,’ he pauses, ‘why, ma’am, there’d be agents crawling all over this place within hours.’

‘How are those fish of yours getting along, Jeff?’ Duval interrupts pleasantly. ‘Still having trouble with poachers?’

The veins in Hogan’s neck stand taut. I lay my hand on his arm. ‘Please don’t worry, Mr Hogan, I’ve seen the permits and everything is fine.’ I studiously avoid catching Duval’s eye. ‘Thank you so much for coming by. It was very nice of you.’

Hogan exhales noisily. ‘Just glad to have been of service, is all. I’ll get that number for your husband another time.’

‘You do that,’ I say soothingly and steer him to his waiting Chevy, feeling Duval’s eyes drilling into my back.

‘Can I expect you at the meeting then, Mrs Coleman?’ Hogan bends his long body like a folding ruler into the leather seat.

‘I’ll do my best.’

‘Everyone round here has to pull together. We need to take care of our own.’

He yanks at the power steering and throws a wintry look at Duval. ‘You should have come to me first before hiring that fella,’ he says. ‘You watch out for that man, Mrs Coleman. You watch out for him!’

Dust hangs in the air from the departing Chevrolet. I stomp back to Duval, brimming with self-righteousness. ‘Why didn’t you just tell him what he wanted to know?’

‘I don’t answer to Jeff Hogan.’

‘So you just assumed I would back you up?’

‘You don’t answer to him either.’

‘That’s not the point. I don’t want any trouble with the IN whoever it is.’

‘Hogan’s a fool,’ he says mildly.

‘Well that may be, but so would I be, if I was knowingly hiring illegals to work in the town.’