“I know that you have said that you had nothing to do with what happened to Jackson, but we know that’s not true. Hector?”

Del Pozo reached into his pocket and took out a piece of paper. He unfolded it and held it out so that they could both see it. Milton looked and saw an image of himself at Manchester Airport. He was waiting in line for security, his carry-on luggage on the ground next to his feet and his jacket off, ready to be put through the scanner.

“What’s this?” he said, tensing a little as he prepared to move.

“This is you on your way from Manchester to Amsterdam,” she said. “We always check those who want to work with us. López found your story less than convincing, so he arranged for a little additional investigation. You were in the same city as Señor Jackson on the day that he was arrested—indeed, within hours of the incident. I suppose that might have been a coincidence, although I don’t really believe in them. And then…”

She looked over at del Pozo and waited for him to hand down a second photograph. It was a piece of police evidence, complete with a stamp that denoted it as having originated with the Greater Manchester Police. The photograph showed the brick of cocaine that Milton had purchased from López. The end of the brown paper wrapping was sliced open, revealing the latex inner layer and the dense white substance beneath.

“This is how we pack our product,” La Bruja said. “First we use the latex and then we wrap it in the paper.”

“I told him this,” Milton said, indicating del Pozo. “I bought my coke from you. He bought his coke from you. They’re the same.”

She ignored his protest. “I suppose it could have been a brick that Señor Jackson had bought from us himself, except that when the police tested it, the results indicated that the substance included a chemical—potassium permanganate—that we only started to use in the preparation of our product after his last shipment had been delivered.”

“But before yours,” del Pozo said.

La Bruja stood. “So we know, Señor Smith. We know. We know that you used the cocaine that you bought from us to frame Señor Jackson.”

Del Pozo stepped back, out of range. Milton noticed that his hand had drifted to the butt of his pistol.

“So?” Milton said. “You brought me out here to tell me that? Why didn’t you just have one of your goons shoot me at the ranch?”

La Bruja smiled. “Because, John, I do not care.”

“What?”