“He was in North Dakota. Fargo, North Dakota. I remember because I really liked that movie. He told me to visit but...I never did. He said he might come here but that never happened, either. It’s complicated.”

No shit, he thought. Parenting was very complicated but he sure as hell didn’t want to be on the receiving end of sporadic phone calls from Traci or have a wedge between the two of them that was so wide it couldn’t be bridged.

“Dusty, did he give you his address in Fargo?”

“No. I think he was living outside of town. In a farmhouse. He said they were raising chickens.”

“They?” A.L. repeated.

“His roommate. Some guy. I don’t think I ever heard his name.”

“Do you have a phone number for Coyote?”

“No. He always called me. But like I said, it wasn’t often. Is he in trouble?”

“We need to talk to him about an ongoing investigation. If he would happen to call you in the next few days, would you please give him my name and telephone number and ask him to call me?”

“I can do that.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Goodbye.”

Rena waited to make sure the call was disconnected before asking, “Do you believe her?”

“I don’t know.”

“Think he’s still living outside of Fargo?”

“I don’t know. When Dawson Ladle bought the Frogg house, he said that Coyote acted as if it was a hassle to come back to Dover. Without looking at a map, I’d estimate that Fargo and Dover are at least four hours apart.”

“There and back takes a day. Could be a hassle.”

“Right. But we’re even farther away here in Baywood. I’m betting...” A.L. stopped. “Fuck,” he said. He scrambled through the papers on his desk and finally saw what he wanted. The list of abductions or potential abductions by non-family members. He scanned the list. It was what he remembered. “Fargo,” he said. He ran his index finger across the line. “Two years ago this past July. Four-year-old female. Attempted abduction. Suspect not apprehended.”

“By a red-haired man?” Rena said weakly.

“I hope not,” A.L. said. “We need more information on this case and we need it now.”

It took them fifteen minutes to wade through the bullshit and find the person they needed to talk to. Detective Ron Baker was at home, getting ready to fire up the barbecue, but once A.L. filled him in on their case, he said that he definitely had time to talk.

“What can I help you with, Detectives?” he asked.

“The information we’re looking at said it was an attempted abduction and that no suspect was apprehended. What can you add to that?” A.L. asked.