He searched the pages until he found the picture of Rose Marie Platt, and discovered a collection of documents stapled together. The first was a compilation of Lister’s notes condensing statements made by Rainey’s associates, describing how they knew Rose Platt, and what they knew, if anything, about her relationship to Rainey. Their names were highlighted in yellow, and their addresses were handwritten in the margins.

Most of those interviewed were identified as co-workers, and most knew nothing incriminating. One of those interviewed was Rose Platt’s mother and two were identified as her brothers. These condensations were as short as the others, and contained no information useful to Lister’s investigation. The brothers claimed they had not seen their sister for six years, and the mother complained she had not seen nor heard from Rose in almost ten years. Rose was alternately described as rebellious, fucked up, selfish, and a tramp.

Pike flipped past the remaining statements, but paused again when he found a copy of the warrant issued for Rose Marie Platt’s arrest. The warrant contained an information sheet with a second picture of Dru, her physical description, and background information that might prove useful to investigators. The names of friends and relatives, prior addresses, schools attended, and past employers were all neatly typed into the appropriate boxes.

Pike read this sheet carefully. A tiny box at the top of the page was checked to show she had no arrest record. Another box showed her fingerprints were not on file.

According to the investigators, Rose Marie Platt was born in Biloxi, Mississippi. She had been married three times, the first when she was seventeen years old, the second when she was nineteen, and a third time when she was twenty-two. The first two marriages occurred in Biloxi; the last in Slidell, Louisiana. The names and last known addresses of the three men were listed, along with the brief descriptives: DVR, NO CHLDRN. Divorced, no children.

Pike thought about the young girl in the snapshot Dru showed him. He could picture the little girl clearly. Amy. A pretty kid with a happy smile standing beside a couch. The love of my life.

The form listed parents and siblings. Pike studied it. Dru’s mother and father were named, but a box by the father’s name was checked. Deceased. The names of her two brothers were typed beneath her parents. Beneath the names of the two brothers was another checked box and a single descriptive: SISTERS—none.

Pike stared at this line the longest. Sisters—none.

Dru had told him Amy was staying with her sister.

Pike stared out the window at nothing, aware but not caring about passing cars or the light that dappled through tortured elms. Pike could see the scene perfectly and recall every nuance of her expression. The awkward uncertainty as she took out her billfold. How she shrugged when she showed him the picture, as if expecting him to reject her. How her smile flashed like summer lightning when he asked her out anyway.

But no sister meant there was no Amy, which meant none of it was true.

Pike tamped the pages together and slid them back into the envelope. He thought for a moment, then started the Jeep and turned toward Pacific Station. It was only five minutes away. He took out his phone as he drove and called Jerry Button. Button had returned to his office.

Pike said, “Who is Straw and what is he doing?”

“What do you mean, who is he?”

“Were you in on it with him?”

“Pike, I’m busy. What the fuck are you talking about?”

Pike decided Button’s annoyance was real, which meant Straw had lied to Button, too.

“Straw didn’t come here to bust Azzara. They were watching Rainey. They’ve known Wilson was Rainey since the beginning.”

Button came back sounding uncertain.

“Did he tell you that?”

Pike described the DEA reports and Straw’s video but Button didn’t want to believe it.

“This better not be bullshit.”

“Meet me outside in five minutes. You can have the camera and the reports. I’ll give them to you.”

Button fell silent, and Pike knew why. Button was embarrassed.

“I’m on my way now, Jerry. You should have checked him out.”

“That fuckin’ Feeb. Those arrogant pricks always pull underhanded shit like this.”

“If you had done your due diligence, we would have known what we were dealing with. We could have stopped the Bolivian.”

Button cleared his throat, anxious to change the subject.

“I hooked up with the New Orleans agents. Did Cole tell you?”

“Yes. They don’t have a picture?”

“No, but they’re pretty sure he’s an American named Gregg Daniel Vincent. He’s not a Bolivian.”

“What do they know?”

“Not much, and most of it they can’t confirm. Made his bones guarding dope farms in Honduras from government raids. Made his rep killing snitches and cops the Bolivians want out of the way. Tortures them to death. The Bolivians have this whole rap about him escaping from some kinda nuthouse for psychopaths, but that’s probably bullshit. They use him to scare people.”

Pike didn’t care about any of that, and wasn’t impressed.

“Is there a description?”

“They know he’s a white guy, but that’s it. They don’t have a description or a photograph.”

Pike pulled to the curb by the flagpole outside Pacific Station. He put the Jeep in park, but did not turn off the engine.

“I’m here, Button. By the flag out front. Come get Straw’s stuff.”

Button sounded sick.

“You really have it?”

“Come get it. I’m leaving it on the curb.”

Pike closed his phone, got out with the envelope and the camera, and left them on the sidewalk. Less than one minute later, he was driving away when his phone rang. He thought it was Button, calling him back, but it wasn’t.

“Pike? Is this Joe Pike?”

Pike recognized the voice.

“This is Bill Rainey. You know me as Wilson Smith.”