“All right,” Rosaria says, noting the bloody and gaping wound in the man’s mouth and head. Flies are starting to come in and buzz around. Morales goes into the tiny kitchen and Rosaria follows, careful to keep her footsteps slow and careful. It wouldn’t do to slip on the paper booties and fall on your ass in front of a local.

In the kitchen is another dead man, also shot, splayed out against a kitchen counter, broken dishes and glassware on the floor. This one is younger and slimmer than his companion in the living room. Morales says, “Looks like junior here took the brunt of the assault. At least three wounds I can see, and no duct tape.”

Rosaria nods, says to Morales, “Mind if I check the refrigerator and cabinets?”

“Sure. You hungry?”

“Not yet.”

The cabinets are mostly empty, save for bags of potato chips and tortilla chips, some containers of salsa. The refrigerator is nearly empty as well, but the freezer is full of Swanson frozen meals.

Rosaria says, “Temporary quarters for temporary guests.”

“You got it.”

She sees a book on the floor, near the dead man. It’s a Spanish-language Bible. “What do you think of this?” Rosaria asks.

Morales says, “Looks like the guy had a ‘come to Jesus’ moment before the bullets started flying.”

Rosaria says, “I wonder what Jesus might be saying to him now.”

Rosaria carefully goes through the rest of the house. Another siren in the distance. Two bedrooms, each with a bed and a mattress on the floor.

“Looks like four guys,” she says. “Waiting…but for what?”

“Not for a hit,” Morales says. “But really…”

The sound of the siren grows louder.

“Go on,” Rosaria says. “What were you going to say?”

“It wasn’t a hit, it was a snatch,” she says. “We got a report of two guys running across the field after the shooting started. We got two dead guys here. That means our two runners were probably the shooter and somebody else. And if you were just coming in to hit the residents, you wouldn’t be running away with another guy in tow.”

Rosaria says, “You got sleeping arrangements for four.”

“Yeah, and we also know that a large tricked-out pickup truck left before the shooting started. Maybe that guy betrayed his friends here. Went out to make a phone call, and then the hit comes. Might be halfway to the border by now.”

Rosaria nods and just walks quietly out of the house and, on the worn, beaten-down brown lawn, tugs off the gloves and the booties. Morales keeps hers on. Rosaria says, “But it certainly wasn’t a hit.”

“How are you so sure?” Morales asks.

“The guy with the duct tape. It means the shooter came in with mercy on her mind. She didn’t want to kill anybody right off. But she killed when she had to…and then she left with the man she was here to take. If this had been a hit, there would have been no duct tape…just a shooter coming in with an M4 or an Uzi or AK-47, just hose down every room.”