Pike said, “Looks like I won’t have to call. The sheriffs are rolling up now.”

“How did the cops get there?”

“Cars.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t know. I’m wondering that myself.”

A third cruiser appeared from the opposite direction, the three of them blocking his Jeep. Uniformed deps and the plainclothes people climbed out of their vehicles, and no one seemed in much of a hurry. Almost as if they knew what they’d find. Pike found that curious.

Pike started to end the call, then remembered the bib in his pocket.

“Don’t tell her what I found here, okay? I want to tell her.”

“Whatever you want.”

“I have to go.”

Pike put away his phone, but stayed in the chair, and raised his hands. The deputies saw him, and an older dep with gray hair and a hard face approached the gate.

“You Joe Pike?”

“I am. I was just about to call you.”

“Sure, you were. That’s what they all say.”

The deputy drew his gun, and then the other deps fanned out along the fence, and they drew down on him, too.

The dep said, “You’re under arrest. You do anything with those hands other than keep them up, I’ll shoot you out of that chair.”

The pit bull went into a frenzy, trying to break free. Pike didn’t move. He studied the two plainclothes cops who got out of the unmarked car. Middle-aged Latin guys. They looked familiar, and then he realized where he had seen them before. The last time he saw them, they were driving a Sentra.

Chapter 20

20

Elvis Cole

ANA MARKOVIC GRADUATED FROM the East Valley Arts and Sciences High School in Glendale two years earlier. Cole knew this from the yearbook Pike took from her room. First thing Cole did, he found her picture among the senior class—a thin girl with bright features, a large nose, and two monster zits on her chin. She had tried to cover them with makeup, but they were so inflamed they had burst through. Ana had probably been mortified.

Cole thought she kinda looked like Rina, but many people kinda looked like someone else.

The yearbook stated that Ana’s class consisted of 1,284 graduating seniors, most of whom, Cole thought, had written an inscription in Ana’s book. The yearbook’s inside covers were dense with notes and signatures, mostly from girls, telling Ana to remember what great times they had or teasing her about boys she had liked, everyone promising everyone else they would be best friends forever.