He didn't doubt Agent Cole was good at her job. But she didn't know the locals like he did. His family had been in New Mexico for generations, roping cattle and breaking horses. He was blue collar, through and through, and he preferred field work over desk work any day of the week.

She may have been born in New Mexico, but she had clearly been away a long time. He had no use for a city girl like her. As long as she stayed out of his way, though, he would have no problems with her.

A strange cocktail of smells filled his nostrils as he climbed from his truck: hot metal, microwaved frozen meals, spilled beer. He moseyed up the steps to the trailer. By the time he reached the door and knocked, Agent Cole was behind him, her auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail and her thin eyebrows set in a serious, professional line.

Callaway pressed his lips together solemnly and shook his head at her, as if to say, Nobody should have to hear this conversation.

The woman who answered the door had short blonde hair and a sagging middle shrouded in a loose, outdated dress. A cigarette dangled from her hand.

Anthony? she said, puzzled. What are you doing here?

Callaway removed his hat. Mrs. Powell, you might wish to sit down.

Callaway paused in the doorway, taking in the humble living room. A large flatscreen TV dominated one wall, but the carpet was thin and faded, and the furniture all looked like cast-offs from a thrift store.

He was surprised to see the girl's brother, Jake, sitting on the couch. He looked to be around fifteen, his eyes glassed-over and his hair a tangled nest. His mother sat next to him on the couch, resting her hand on his shoulder.

This is about my Lisa, isnt it? Mrs. Powell said, her lip quivering. Her hand rose halfway to her face and paused, as if ready to cover her mouth at a moments notice.

Callaway pressed his hat to his chest and looked down. The worst part of his job was telling a victims family that the person they loved was dead, and the best part was telling those same people the killer had been brought to justice. He hoped that, sometime in the near future, he would get to visit the Powells again for the latter reason.

Im afraid Lisa is gone, he said.

Mrs. Powell scooted eagerly forward on the couch, as if she had just received a piece of wonderful news. Gone? Do you mean she ran away, left the state? She nudged Jake with her elbow. She could be anywhere in the world by now.

Callaway sighed. He had tried to soften the blow, but instead he had only confused the poor woman.

No, maam, he said. Lisa is dead.