One of the buildings on the side of the hill was in the process of being renovated. It looked as if it had been damaged in a fire, with streaks of black soot reaching up the beige walls and half of the roof missing, presumably burned. A stack of bricks had been placed at the side of the road with a dumpster that was already full of debris from the construction work. Chase waited until the road was empty and then walked out from his hiding place, crossing the street with a stride that mixed briskness with a lack of concern, and passed around the dumpster. The property was set back a little from the sidewalk and was accessed by a concrete bridge that traversed the ten-foot drop to the first floor below.

The door was protected by a metal grille and, when he tugged at it, Chase found that it had been locked. He followed a short passage to the side of the building where the wall extended out to mark the boundary with the adjoining house. There was another low wall at the edge of the passage that was then topped by metal railings. Chase clambered onto the wall, then onto the top of the railings—rusty and treacherous—and then turned back to face the property. He reached over his head, felt the sloping edge of the roof, and heaved himself up. It was difficult. The camber of the tiles meant that it was difficult to get an even grip, and the material was sharp enough to cut into his fingers and fragile enough to threaten to break. After a moment hanging out above the drop to the ground below, he managed to swing his boot up and over and, hooking his toes, dragged himself over the edge.

He lay there for a moment, gathering his breath and staring up at the stars overhead, before the sound of a dog’s bark spurred him to move deeper onto the roof so that he was harder to see from the road below. He went back far enough so that the lip of the roof obscured him from the street, while still ensuring that he had a clear view of the property next to the road’s hairpin turn.

He reached into his jacket and took out the P226. He would rather have had the rifle, but it would have been difficult to bring it with him without it being conspicuous. He knew that he would likely be outgunned should he manage to put himself into position to take a shot at La Bruja, but there was nothing to be done about that. He would just have to make do.

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