Next stop was an elementary school where the sister of the local female victim was working. The sister taught third grade. As much as I hated to interrupt her class, I needed to get on this. I made Reyes wait for me outside, because nothing about a man loitering outside an elementary school seemed creepy. But I couldn’t risk him making her nervous.

After a thorough cavity check, a retinal scan, and the drawing of a sample of my DNA, I was allowed to walk two doors down the hall of the school to Marie Gallegos’s classroom.

Ms. Gallegos was a petite Hispanic woman with a short bob and pretty face. And she was just as distraught as Mrs. Chandler. I asked her the same questions and showed her the same pictures as we stood at her desk, to no avail. The children were working quietly at their desks. The brave ones glanced up on occasion, curious as to what we were talking about. The really brave ones stared openly. But the longer we talked, the more restless they became. I was worried we’d have a mutiny on our hands if I stayed much longer. Either that or Reyes would be arrested for hanging out at a schoolyard.

“If you think of anything,” I said as I let her get back to her third-grade math class before they drew blood, “please give me a call.”

“Thank you, I will.”

I put the pictures away, then headed back to the office to check out, hoping another cavity search wouldn’t be necessary. My ass could take only so much probing. Reyes would get jealous.

“Ms. Davidson,” Marie whispered just as I reached the office. She’d opened the door and was peering around it.

I walked back to her with fingers crossed.

“Anna did mention something rather odd the day before she disappeared. I only just remembered it.”

“Anything will help,” I assured her, trying not to get my hopes up, and failing.

“She said that a woman got in touch with her, claiming to be an old friend and wanting to have coffee. But then she said the strangest thing.”

“And what was that?”

“She said she knew the woman, but they had never been friends. In fact, she said she’d felt threatened by her at one time. She seemed genuinely worried about the call, but still laughed it off.”

That could have been a very costly mistake. “Did she meet with her?”

“I don’t know. I know she didn’t want to, but my sister was a people pleaser.”

I knew the type. I’d been accused of being one myself once or twice. I took out my memo pad and made a note to check Anna’s phone records. “Did she give you a name?”

“She did, but I can’t remember what it was. I’m so sorry.” Guilt engulfed her.

“No, please don’t be. Did she ever mention a Phoebe Durant?”

“Not that I recall.” She glanced down, and the pain that leached out of her hit me like a wall of sorrow.

I strained against the crushing weight of it, the direction of her thoughts so tragic, so heartbreaking. And there was nothing I could do to reassure her.

“She’s not coming back, is she?”

I lowered my head, too, and answered her as vaguely as I could. “I wish I could say.”

She nodded and closed the door between us.

All in all, the morning had been a complete bust. And my headache was becoming a pain in the ass. No other family members remembered anything about a phone call from an old friend. They didn’t recognize any of the other victims or their names. And they couldn’t say for certain if their missing family members were having any trouble at work or in their personal lives.

Uncle Bob had Anna Gallegos’s phone records, but all the calls she received had been accounted for. The only people who’d called her were family or close friends.

“Maybe this woman called her at work,” I said into the phone as I ordered my usual mocha latte at the Java Loft, only in decaf. The woman behind the counter gazed at me like I’d crossed my eyes and stuck my tongue out at her. “Can you get those records?” I asked, ignoring her.

“Sure can,” Ubie said. “She worked at the Plant Source, a nursery over on Candelaria.”

“Thanks. Let me know.”

“Oh, before I forget,” Ubie said, “Zeke Schneider, the guy who attacked you yesterday, was in prison, all right, but he was down in Cruces. Got out a couple of months ago. The guy who died in Santa Fe was his father, Zeke Schneider Sr.”

“Sounds like he had a healthy home life.”

“Doesn’t it? There was apparently a clerical error when recording the man’s death, and they accidentally entered the wrong Schneider. And guess who Zeke Schneider Jr. worked for when he got out.”

“God?” He said guess.

“Bruno Navarra.”

“The crime boss?”

“The crime boss who was in prison with Reyes.”

I turned and looked out the plate-glass window at my intended. He leaned against a post outside, keeping a watch on the horizon. The guy took his bodyguard responsibilities very seriously. He just needed a suit and some dark aviator shades. As it stood, he looked more like a supermodel relaxing in the sun. Poor guy.

“Thanks, Ubie. I’ll get back to you.”

“We still on for dinner tonight?” he asked.

“Does it involve food?”

“I sure the hell hope so.”

“I’m in.” I had no idea there was a dinner in my very near future, or what the special occasion was, but who could say no to free food? “Later, gator.”