The Go and Glow was a full-service car wash, the kind where you got out of your car and waited while it went through the automated wash process and was then vacuumed and wiped off by real people. The work was heavily dependent on weather, and A.L. was aware that they hired lots of day labor. They literally doled out wages at the end of every day. “How long have you been working there?”

“Just a few weeks. Pey’s girlfriend lives in Baywood and she lets us stay at her house, especially if it looks like the weather is going to be good for business. Otherwise, we can’t get there very easily. No wheels right now.”

Rena leaned forward. “Let me make sure I understand, Mr. Frogg. You and your roommate, Peyton Dowl, were working at Go and Glow on Monday. Did you work there any other day this past week?”

“Yeah, we worked Tuesday. And I wanted to work on Wednesday but Pey and his old lady got into it and she didn’t want us staying at her place. We caught a ride back to our place with another guy who works at Go and Glow. Which was bullshit because three hours later, she ended up driving there anyway all apologetic and stuff.” Coyote looked up as if something brilliant had just occurred to him. “You can ask her about Wednesday morning. Because she had breakfast at our place. I don’t remember what time it was but I know it was Wednesday because that afternoon she drove us back into Baywood so that we could get to Madison.”

“Slow down,” A.L. said. “You were in Baywood Wednesday afternoon and then you went to Madison?”

“Yeah.”

“How did you get to Madison on Wednesday afternoon, Mr. Frogg?”

“Pierce drove us.”

“Who is Pierce?”

“Pierce Dowl. Pey’s brother. He drove from Madison where he lives and we met him in Baywood. He drove us back to Madison and dropped us at the train station. We barely made the train.”

“What kind of vehicle does Pierce Dowl drive?”

“He’s got a white Jeep.”

“You took a train on Wednesday from Madison to where?”

“Denver. We went to a concert at the Red Rocks. We just got back today. And I’m minding my own business, walking down the street and a cop picks me up and tells me that I’m wanted for questioning. I don’t know what you think I’ve done but I wasn’t here, man.”

“Do you know Emma Whitman?”

Coyote shook his head.

“Is that a no?” A.L. asked, his eyes going to the tape recorder.

“Yeah. I don’t know any Emma Whitman. I know an Emily White. I went to high school with her.”

A.L.’s gut was churning. He was starting to get a bad feeling that they were way off base here. “Emma Whitman is five years old.”