Pike went to the big double-wide, listened at the door, then went to the nearest window. The freeway was loud, which made listening difficult. He stretched on his toes to peek inside, and saw a basic living room with an old-fashioned console television. The room was neat, clean, and the television was off. Pike angled his head, trying to see through an interior door when a gray-and-white cat jumped against the window. The cat cried at him through the glass as if it was lonely and wanted to escape.

Pike returned to the door. He tapped three times, then decided Ms. Williams had probably gone out.

Pike drew the Python as he moved to the second trailer, and let it dangle down along his leg. The second and third trailers were both empty, the tenants long since gone to escape Moon and his crew.

The fourth trailer sat by itself against a wall of ragged oleanders, caged by a six-foot chain-link fence. A gate in the center of the fence was latched but not locked. There wasn’t much of a yard. Just a few feet of dirt on either side of the Airstream and a few feet behind. Two large metal bowls were under the trailer, one filled with water. A chain stretched from the tow hitch to disappear behind the trailer. It was the kind of chain used for a strong, aggressive dog, but Pike could not see what was attached to the other end.

Pike stood at the fence, listening. The trailer was still. Windows closed. No voices or music.

Pike made a tsk, tsk, tsk sound.

A dog inside the trailer barked. Not behind; inside.

Pike lowered himself into a push-up position, trying to see what was behind the trailer by looking under it, but accumulated junk and dead weeds blocked his view. He made the tsking sound again, and the dog inside barked. One dog inside.

The blue girl said Moon had dogs—more than one.

Pike let himself through the gate, ready to step back if an animal charged, but nothing moved. The dog inside was barking so loudly, Pike doubted Moon or anyone else was home. He latched the gate, then took a roundabout route to see behind the trailer, and that’s when he saw the dog. A ragged male pit bull lay on its side, two legs stiff in the air. The dog’s head was matted with dried blood and swarming with black bottle flies, but the dog wasn’t the only dead thing behind the trailer. An African-American man was sprawled a few feet beyond the dog, his face covered with so many ants they looked like a second skin. The smell followed an instant later, strong enough to make Pike’s eyes water.

Pike checked the body, but found no identification. He had been shot twice in the back. A black nine-millimeter Ruger pistol lay in the dirt by his hand.