And finally discovering where he lived.

Hence, her presence here.

She chose not to mention this, though. “How’d your crime scene team do at the convention center?”

A pause. “Collected a lot of stuff. Don’t know the results yet.”

Another Fresno-Madera Consolidated cruiser arrived—Crystal Stanning was at the wheel. She parked behind Dance’s Nissan, climbed out and joined the others. She too looked around uneasily.

That’s the thing about a crime like this. You never quite know where the stalker is. Maybe miles away. Maybe outside your window.

Stanning, it seemed, wanted to report to her boss about whatever her mission had been but would say nothing until Dance was elsewhere or she had the okay. The sweating Madigan was impatient. He snapped, “The phone?”

“Service Plus Drugs in Burlingame. Cash. They don’t have any videos. Maybe that’s why he went there.”

Dance had told them all of this information.

But then Stanning continued, “And you were right, Chief, he bought three other phones at the same time.”

A question Dance had not thought to have TJ Scanlon ask.

Madigan sighed. “So this boy may have more on his plate.”

Which was, she guessed, a backhanded acknowledgment of her “farfetched” concern.

Four verses in “Your Shadow,” Dance reflected. Four victims? And that song might not be the only template for murder; Kayleigh had written lots of tunes.

“I got the numbers and the ESNs.”

You needed both the phone number and the electronic serial number of a mobile in order to trace it.

“We should get ’em shut off,” Madigan said. “So Edwin’ll have to buy one here. Easier to trace.”

We don’t know it’s Edwin, Dance observed, but said nothing.

“Sure.” Detective Stanning had three studs in one ear and a single silver dangling spiral in the other lobe. A dot in her nose too, marking where a ball might perch on off hours.

But Dance said, “I’d keep them active, like we haven’t figured out what he’s up to. And then put a locator notice on them. If the perp calls again we can triangulate.”

Madigan paused, then glanced at Crystal Stanning. “Do that.”

“Who should I—?”

“Call Redman in Communications. He can do it.”

Motion from across the street, where a more modest trailer squatted in sad grass. A round woman stood on the concrete stoop, smoking a cigarette. Sunburned shoulders, freckles. She wore a tight white strapless sundress with purple and red stains at toddler level. She eyed everyone cautiously.

Madigan told Stanning to help Harutyun canvass. He walked to the shoulder and after two pickups had passed he crossed the road, making for the heavyset woman, Dance following.

The detective glanced back at her but she didn’t slow down.

The neighbor walked forward uncertainly to greet them. They met halfway from her mailbox. In a rasping voice she said, “I heard the news. I mean, about Bobby. I couldn’t believe it.” She repeated fast, “It was on the news. That’s how I heard.” She took a drag.