said he left the gang because of the lifestyle, but he had been so focused on finding out if Herrera was Brianna’s father that he hadn’t asked any follow-up questions. He never asked if Herrera left the gang for Brianna. Fisher wasn’t the only one who had made mistakes, and David Geisler had paid for them all.

Herrera came in in his orange jumpsuit, his shaved head glinting in the fluorescent light as he sat down.

“Hey, man,” Herrera said to Joe, but as soon as he noticed that Joe’s friendliness had evaporated, he leaned back in his chair, tattooed arms crossed in front of him.

Gil looked at Herrera and felt strangely relaxed. Maybe it was because he wouldn’t have to lie in this interview. Maybe because there were no games left to play.

“We talked to Laura Gutierrez,” Gil said.

Herrera said nothing. He just stared at Gil. Hard.

“She told us about the day Brianna disappeared,” Gil said.

Gil wasn’t asking questions. He was just making statements. Because he knew Herrera wouldn’t talk to them. Even if he did, he certainly wouldn’t tell them the truth. Because they had nothing to trade for it. The only bargaining chip might be a reduced sentence for a confession, but that would be up to the district attorney. Right now, they had nothing valuable to offer. So Herrera would stay silent. Gil guessed that the man wouldn’t ask for his lawyer right away, though. Mainly because prison is boring. Joe and Gil offered a distraction. They were like a television program to Herrera; they were entertaining to watch.

Gil still hoped to get something out of the interview, despite Herrera’s silence. It wouldn’t be evidence. It might only be the knowledge that Gil did everything he could to seal up the case.

“Laura says she called you and told you something shocking,” Joe said. “She told you that Brianna wasn’t your baby.”

Herrera didn’t move, but he was listening.

“You know what else she told us?” Joe said. “She said she had to explain to you about babies because you actually thought a kid who was due in July could have been conceived by you almost a year earlier.”

Herrera didn’t react to Joe’s mocking.

“Dude, did you even listen in sex ed class?” Joe asked. “It’s nine months, man. Nine. Not ten. Not twelve.”

Still no response from Herrera.

“Then Laura tells you that Justin is Brianna’s real father,” Joe said, “and you lost it, because here Ashley wouldn’t have sex with you, this tough guy, but she was doing this kid?”

Herrera was stone still.

“And this was after you had gone and left everything—the gang, your friends—to take care of your little girl,” Joe said. “Man, you even tried to cut off your own tattoo.”

Gil interrupted, saying, “Laura told us that you showed up just a few minutes after she called. She said you tried to break down the front door, but it was locked, and she was too scared to open it. She thought you might try to kill them all.”

“When you couldn’t open the front door, you went around back, where you saw Brianna playing in the backyard.”

Herrera was trying to look disinterested.

“It’s so nice when you have an eyewitness,” Joe said. He leaned forward and added in a low voice, “Laura saw everything you did through the kitchen window.”

Herrera’s jaw tightened.

Gil and Joe left Tony Herrera sitting in the beige room. He had never spoken, not even to ask for his lawyer. The DA would be charging him in the morning, which would bring stacks of paperwork on the case. Tomorrow they also would sort out if the rest of the family knew about Herrera’s involvement. For now, they walked across the parking lot of the detention center. Gil took a few deep breaths of fresh air. The coming night would be beautiful. Clear and crisp. He popped open his cell phone and dialed. All he said to the person who answered was “Can we go some place and get dinner?”

Lucy wondered if God had made greens and browns dominate the desert so the sunset—like the one she was watching now out the restaurant window—could be painted across a noncompeting muted canvas. The colors changed from yellows and oranges to reds and fuchsias, every color more molten than the last. The sunsets in New Mexico stopped her in her tracks. Always. Daily.

She looked up as Del slid into the booth. He looked good, wearing faded-just-right jeans and a light blue T-shirt. She could see why she had fallen for him all