Dance: “Again, Mr. Serrano, there are many questions, things we don’t know. We’ve had reports that the man who shot Mr. Mendoza met with Mr. Guzman just before he drove to New Monterey. But they’re just rumors. You can see how we have to check it out.”

“Sure. Yeah.”

“So you’re telling me, you’re certain there was no BMW at his house that day?”

“That’s right, Agent Dancer, no, Dance, right? Agent Dance. And I’m almost just as sure there were no black cars. And then, that time, I was in the front of the property, near the driveway. I would have seen. I was planting hydrangeas. He likes the blue ones.”

“Well, thanks for that. Now, one more thing. If I showed you a few pictures of some men, could you tell me if any of them came to Mr. Guzman’s house while you were there? Ideally on the twenty-first but if not, some other time.”

“I try.”

Dance opened her notebook and extracted three pictures.

“Hard to see. They’re taken with, what, a spy camera or something?”

“That’s right, a surveillance camera.”

The young man was sitting forward, pulling the pictures closer. He seemed to notice his dirty nails and appeared embarrassed. Once he’d positioned the pictures he slipped his hands into his lap.

He studied the photographs for a long time.

Allerton said, “Looks like he’s giving it a real shot. Fingers crossed.”

But then the man sat back. “No, I’m sure I never seen them. Though”—he tapped one—“he look like that outfielder for the A’s.”

Dance smiled.

“Who is that?” Foster asked. “I can’t see.”

Allerton said, “I think it’s Contino.”

“Now there’s a prick and a half,” Foster mumbled.

A triggerman for one of the Oakland crews.

Dance gathered the pictures. She put them away and said, “I think that’s it, Mr. Serrano.”

He shook his head. “I wish I could help you, Agent Dance. I hate the gangs as much as you do, no, probably more.” His voice grew firm. “It is our teenagers and children getting killed. In our streets.”

Now Dance was leaning forward and she spoke in a soft voice. “If you did happen to see anything at Mr. Guzman’s house and tell me, something helpful to us, we’ll make sure you’re protected. You and your family.”

Now the young man looked away once more. This time it was a moment before he spoke. “I no think so. I think I no be working there any longer. I’ll tell my boss give me other jobs. Even if I make less.”

Allerton said, “Boy doesn’t have the cojones to snitch.”

Foster muttered, “She didn’t offer him anything. Why would he—”

“You know, Mr. Serrano, we have a budget for people who help us eliminate the gang threats. It’s cash, nobody knows.”

The young man rose, smiling wistfully. “There only one problem with what you say. ‘Eliminate.’ If you could eliminate the gangs, then maybe I think about it. But what you mean is, you put a few of them in jail. That leave plenty of others to come pay me and my girlfriend a visit. I have to say no.”