“Actually, I’m not at the airport and I’m technically not in Vegas anymore. I’m on the loneliest road in America heading to the middle of nowhere. What are the ministers doing?”

“What else? They’re staging a big fucking rally in Rodia Gardens to protest the LAPD and the story is about to go national. But I’ve got you in Vegas and I haven’t heard from Cook. What are you doing there, Jack? What are you doing?”

“I told you in the e-mail you haven’t read. The story is—”

“I check e-mail regularly,” Prendergast said curtly. “I’ve got no e-mail from you. No e-mail.”

I was about to tell him he was wrong but thought about my credit cards. If somebody was able to crash my credit and wipe out my bank accounts, then maybe they crashed my e-mail as well.

“Listen, Prendo, something is going on. My credit cards are dead, my phone’s dead and now you’re telling me my e-mail never made it. Something is not right here. I—”

“For the last time, Jack. What are you doing in Nevada?”

I blew out my breath and looked out the side window. I saw the hardscrabble landscape that hadn’t changed in all the time mankind had ruled the planet, and which would remain unchanged long after mankind was gone.

“The story on Alonzo Winslow has changed,” I said. “I found out he didn’t do it.”

“He didn’t do it? He didn’t do it? You mean the murder of that girl? What are you talking about, Jack?”

“Yeah, the girl. He didn’t do it. He’s innocent, Alan, and I can prove it.”

“He confessed, Jack. I read it in your story.”

“Yeah, because that’s what the cops said. But I read the so-called confession and all he confessed to was stealing her car and her money. He didn’t know her body was in the trunk when he stole it.”

“Jack…”

“Listen, Prendo, I connected the murder to another murder in Vegas. It was the same thing. A woman strangled and put in a trunk. She was a dancer, too. There’s a guy in prison here for that one and he didn’t do it either. I’m heading up to see him right now. I’m going to have to report and write this all by Thursday. We have to go with it on Friday because that’s when it’s going to come out of the bag.”

There was a long silence.

“Prendo? You there?”

“I’m here, Jack. We need to talk about this.”

“I thought we were. Where is Angela? She should handle the ministers. She’s on the beat today.”

“If I knew where Angela was, I would have her going with a photographer to Rodia Gardens. She hasn’t come in yet. She told me last night before she went home that she would stop by Parker Center and make the morning rounds before coming in. Only, she hasn’t come in.”

“She’s probably out running down Denise Babbit. Did you call her?”