yard a few years ago and some tools being taken. She read all this as she was actually scanning for the oldest entry under his name, hoping to find a birth announcement. She finally saw it under the year 1979. It told her he was an Aries and had been eight pounds six ounces at birth—and it gave her his birth date.

“Gotcha,” she said, smiling in satisfaction at the computer screen.

She got up and walked to the end of the newsroom and went through heavy steel double doors. They were designed to keep the sound of the press and its churning gears restricted to the back of the building. She walked through the dark machine room past the huge two-story press, which was silent at the moment. In the corner, she went toward another room and, using her editor’s key, unlocked the door. Inside were a chair, a desk, and a computer. This computer was old and clunky. She turned it on and, several minutes after a start-up that involved lots of whirring and pinging, the screen flashed to life. The computer was locked in here because the information on it was sensitive. The computer’s only job was to connect remotely to the Motor Vehicle Division. The connection would give her not only Alex Stevens’s driving record but all of his personal information, thanks to the computer’s ancientness. This was why it would never be upgraded to a new improved model. The 1997 Driver’s Privacy Protection Act restricted access to the personal information in someone’s MVD record, but the computer predated 1997, as did its connection. They had been grandfathered in, but it wasn’t something the Tribune staffers liked to brag about. They weren’t even sure if the MVD had ever bothered to check if its back door was still open. She typed in Alex Stevens’s name and birth date and was rewarded with his Social Security number, current address, driver’s license number, and arrest report.

He had been arrested for two DWIs five years ago, but nothing since then. She wondered how he could run a tow business with a DWI record. She wrote everything down and turned off the computer, which winked out. She left, relocking the door, and went back to her desk.

She had everything she needed to find out about Stevens’s life. Now she would use it to get him to tell the truth.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Saturday Afternoon

Gil got Donna Henshaw’s address from the MVD and headed toward that part of town. It was in the mountains above the city, where new homes of the rich and famous were starting to encroach on national forest land.

They stopped at a gas station to fill up. Gil stayed in the car but could hear Joe outside beeping at the pump as it beeped at him. Gil called Susan, who picked up on the third ring. There was the sound of a band in the background as she was yelling hello.

“Hey, my mom made carne adovada,” he said. Susan and the girls would be going over to Aunt Yolanda’s party in a few hours.

“Thank God,” Susan said. He heard her yell to the girls, “Grandma made carne adovada,” then heard Therese’s shriek of excitement.

“Where are you?” he asked. The noise coming from her side was unending.

“We’re on the Plaza,” she shouted, and Gil heard the girls laughing in the background.

“Really?” he said. “I was just there. I didn’t think you were going to go over there after the pet parade or I would have looked for you.”

“Oh, the girls talked me into it,” she shouted over the noise. “How about you?”

“I don’t think I can make it to the party, but—” Gil was interrupted by Susan yelling, “Damn it . . . Joy just spilled her Coke all over herself. I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later.” Then she hung up.

Joe came back into the car drinking a Mountain Dew and chomping on some Cheetos. Gil pulled out and headed away from downtown.

“I wonder why Donna Henshaw would adopt a kid?” Joe said, not really asking. “She must be in her sixties, but, boy, back in the day she had some truly outstanding knockers. I mean, like real ones. She put the boob in boob tube.”

“How old were you when her shows were on?” Gil asked.

“Oh, hell, I wasn’t even born,” Joe said, “but they still show her stuff on late night TV. Like her first sitcom, Can You Dig It? About her and her two black roommates. That stuff was