the police know more than they should and we know less than we should. For instance, there’s the car fire story that Tommy and Andrea are working on, which is based on information that you got while working for the fire department,” he said. In her head, Lucy cursed out Andrea, knowing that she had to be the one who talked too much about the story. Lopez continued, “Then, of course, there is that SWAT situation.”

Lucy said a thousand little swear words to herself.

Gil stood in the bright morning sun, watching the exits of the cathedral. He could have gone inside—in fact, probably should have—but he couldn’t bring himself to go into this holy place when he knew the questions he had to ask would involve immoral answers. The statues in front of the church were alone at the moment, with no tourists to take pictures of them. The sightseers probably all had been drawn to the spectacle inside the cathedral, where the closing Mass of fiesta was taking place.

Gil wondered if the tourists understood why there were grown men dressed in conquistador helmets and pantaloons at Mass. He wondered if the tourists would giggle at their simple, quaint tradition of having a fiesta queen dressed in a white gown and cape. They would probably go back home and tell their friends about Santa Fe’s backward ways. How they had an archbishop—the most senior representative of the Catholic Church—preside over a service that included city councilors and people in costume carrying swords. Gil knew the tourists would never understand what fiesta was to Santa Fe. To him. They wouldn’t understand that this was not an amusing celebration of a historic moment long past. This wasn’t their version of a medieval-days festival or a Civil War reenactment. To Santa Feans, celebrating fiesta meant celebrating their ancestors.

Gil had convinced Joe to let him come down to the cathedral by himself while Joe stayed at the office and tied up loose ends—making calls, processing paper, and looking over reports. Joe was unhappy, but Gil needed to do this next interview alone. It required a certain touch.

The bells started ringing in the cathedral towers, and the front doors opened. Out came the archbishop, followed by a gush of priests, as well as Don Diego de Vargas, La Reina, and a crowd of people in a riot of colors. They were in their fiesta best—ribbon shirts for the men and multicolored broom skirts for the women. They stood in front of the cathedral, chatting, waiting for the procession to start. Gil scanned the crowd. He saw the huge cluster of the Protectores de la Fiesta, their yellow satin shirts shining in the sun. A mariachi band started playing as four men came out of the church, carrying a huge wooden platform on which was a carpet of flowers and the two-foot-tall statue of La Conquistadora.

The band started to proceed down the street, and the four Protectores carrying the padded litter followed, with the wooden bars that supported the platform on their shoulders. The platform had its own white awning, embroidered with gold roses. Underneath, safely away from the sun’s harmful rays, was La Conquistadora. The real one. This was the only time of year she ever left the safety of one of her chapels. Today, La Conquistadora was dressed in a cape of deep blue with gold stars. On her head was a crown of flowers. Around her neck was a tiny silver filigree crucifix made with real pearls and rubies that matched her earrings. Behind her litter, a trail of priests, dressed in green vestments, walked with the archbishop. Next came La Reina and Don Diego, along with the fiesta royalty. They were followed by the religious organizations, holding banners and flags showing different appearances of the Virgin Mary. Last was the crowd. They marched down the street as the band began to play.

Within a block, all of the careful groupings had been destroyed as wives went to go walk with husbands and city councilors stopped to shake hands with constituents. Gil stayed on the outside of the procession, trying to catch a glimpse of Judge Otero. He finally saw him praying the rosary aloud among one of the religious groups.

Gil was trying to get as close as he could to the judge when his phone buzzed in his pocket. It was Joe, sending him a text that read: Henshaw gave $10,000 to Judge O’s last campaign. Gil knew that was the legal limit