break up the crowd. Even so, they still had to walk at least five blocks through the river of people, which churned this way and that. Gil could only walk a few steps before another cousin, high school friend, or someone from church greeted him. This was what fiesta was all about. Catching up with people. The concept was lost on Joe, who was exasperated by the slow progress. Joe had only lived in Santa Fe for a few years, and his life consisted of the police department. There was no one in the crowd who would push over to greet him because he was an outsider.

They finally made it to the Plaza, its block-sized area of green grass playing picnic grounds for what seemed to be hundreds of people. Food booths selling funnel cake, tamales, and Navajo tacos ringed the edges.

“We are totally getting some of that action,” Joe said, watching a young woman walking by eating a funnel cake. Gil hoped he was talking about the food.

“Well, if it isn’t little Gilbertito Montoya,” Gil heard someone nearby say, using the diminutive form of his first name. Something his own parents had never done.

“Although I guess you’re not so little now,” said Judge Victor Otero, walking toward Gil with his hand outstretched. He was dressed in the yellow and red satin shirt of the Protectores de la Fiesta. “I bet you no one calls you Gilbertito anymore.” Next to him Gil could feel, rather than see, Joe laughing.

“No one ever really did call me that, sir,” Gil said, shaking Judge Otero’s hand, then introducing Joe.

“I haven’t seen you since you were a teenager at your grandpa’s funeral,” Judge Otero said.

“Yes, sir,” Gil said, using “sir” less out of respect than because Judge Otero would expect it.

“You know,” Otero said, clapping Gil on the back and turning to Joe, “I knew this boy’s grandfather. He was a hell of a judge and one hell of a drinker.” Gil said nothing. Otero added, “I even knew his father. Best district attorney I ever met.” Otero seemed to expect Gil to thank him for the compliments to his relatives, but Gil felt no sense of obligation. Judge Otero had been one of many local officials that had been over to his parents’ and grandparents’ houses when he was little. They had been among the movers and shakers of the day. Gil hadn’t seen Judge Otero in more than a decade, though. They had no friendship, only an acquaintanceship now well past its peak.

“So when are you going to start coming to the Protectores’ meetings?” Judge Otero asked Gil. “Your father and grandfather were some of our most dependable members.”

“We have a few questions to ask you, sir,” Gil said, still keeping the honorific in order to smooth over the conversation’s rough edges, and ignoring the judge’s question.

“Yes, I know. Chief Kline already called and told me,” Judge Otero said. Gil wished that the chief had told him about his plan to call the judge when they had talked earlier. Gil had decided he had finally avoided his boss long enough and called to give him an update on the case. Kline was disappointed about Geisler being sent to the hospital but didn’t blame Gil, instead heaping his scorn on the DA. Gil also wanted Kline’s blessing to talk to Judge Otero. Gil didn’t really need it, but he thought it was a good idea to give the chief a heads-up. Now he wished he hadn’t. The interview might have been more telling if Judge Otero were surprised to see them.

“Do you know Ashley Rodriguez?” Gil asked, seeing if it would throw the judge off his game.

“Of course,” Judge Otero said as he shook the hand of an elderly woman as she walked by and murmured a greeting. “She came to my court over a speeding ticket, and I helped her with a personal matter.”

“What kind of relationship did you have with her?” Gil asked, thinking he might get an emotional response of some kind.

“Purely professional,” the judge said. “Actually, I take that back. I did feel a little fatherly toward the girl the one time I met her. She came into my courtroom and told me she was three months pregnant. I think at the time she was using her condition to try to get leniency on a speeding ticket, and I admit, it worked. She reminded me so much of my own daughters.”

“What did you do to help her?” Gil asked.

“Well,