Before they cleared the parking lot, his phone rang. The display on his phone read SPAGNOLO, the forensic technician who’d been working the grave site last night.

“I’m with Brogan and putting you on speakerphone,” Hayden said.

“Understood,” Spagnolo said.

Hayden pressed the speaker button. “Go ahead. What do you have for us?”

“We were there until midnight and were able to remove the first set of remains,” Spagnolo said. “It took longer than we expected because we sifted through each cup of soil to ensure there were no personal items that might have been with the victim. We did find a few metal snaps, but whatever fabric the victim had been wearing disintegrated a long time ago. We also found two pennies near the skull.”

“Pennies?” Hayden asked.

“Best guess, someone was superstitious enough to think the victim needed the money to pay the ferryman,” Spagnolo theorized. “Greek mythology said the mythical ferryman requires the pennies in exchange for passage across the river Styx from the earth to the underworld.”

Crow had been superstitious. “Maybe he was more worried that she’d not cross over and would come back to haunt him.”

“I can only hope,” Brogan muttered.

“What’s on the docket for today?” Hayden asked.

“We have two crews working sites number two and three simultaneously,” Spagnolo said. “Barring any complications, we should be finished by the end of the day.”

“Thanks for the update,” Hayden said. “Keep me posted.”

“Will do.” Spagnolo ended the call.

Hayden pulled into the parking lot of Slater & McIntyre, located in a glass-and-brick building in downtown Austin.

Brogan checked his phone. “Just received an email from a buddy of mine at the state employment commission.”

“Are you going to make me guess?” Hayden asked.

“Guess who worked for Slater and McIntyre in the mideighties?”

“Danny Garnet.”

“Correct. So did Jack Crow.”

“Interesting.”

As they stepped through the front doors, they removed their hats, and Hayden’s gaze was drawn to the portrait of a man with a round face and thick graying hair wearing a crisp, dark suit standing in a law library. The painting, hanging near the receptionist’s mahogany antique desk, depicted only one of the firm’s two founding principals, Peter Slater Sr., when he was in his early forties. All traces of Russell McIntyre had been erased after his arrest years ago.

From what he’d read about the two partners, Russell McIntyre had been the one with star power and the driving force behind the firm. Though Peter Slater Sr. had been competent enough, it had been McIntyre and his wife’s family connections that had attracted the first big clients. Russell may have nearly ruined the firm with his financial schemes, but the fact was there’d have been no firm at all without him.

They showed their badges to the receptionist. “Mitchell Hayden. Mike Brogan. Texas Rangers. We need to see PJ Slater.”

The woman rose, pulling the phone headset off. “He’s in a meeting.”

“We need to see him now,” Hayden said, unapologetically.

“I don’t think you understand who he is or who he’s meeting with now.”

“I don’t think you understand how serious I am. This isn’t a request,” Hayden said.

She tipped her chin up a fraction. “I’ll speak to his secretary.”

She reappeared minutes later and escorted the pair to an office on the top floor in the back corner. The large plate glass windows overlooked the city of Austin. PJ came out from around his desk, adjusting his jacket. “Rangers Hayden and Brogan. It was good to see you at Monday’s fundraiser, Ranger Hayden. What brings you gentlemen here?”

“Your mother did a great job organizing the shelter fundraiser. Hope you raised a lot of money.”

“As always, she got everyone to give until it hurt,” PJ said, grinning. “Can I offer you coffee or a soda? My assistant is bringing me a fresh cup.”

“Coffee,” Brogan said.

“Please make it two,” Hayden said. “We’ve been going all night.”

“Working a case?” PJ asked as he texted the coffee order somewhere.

Hayden grinned. “Yes, we are, and I’m hoping you can help us with it.”

“I’ll do what I can.” He held out his hand toward the chairs and couch across from his desk. When the Rangers sat on the couch, PJ sat in one of the chairs.

The door opened and his secretary appeared with a tray of three cups of coffee in paper to-go cups, sweeteners, and cream. Both the Rangers took their coffee black, but PJ poured a liberal amount of sugar in his. “Hope you don’t mind the paper. We’re all on the go, and so are half our clients. Nobody sits and enjoys an entire cup of coffee anymore,” he mused.

Hayden sipped his coffee, knowing he’d start slow and ask the easy questions first. “I’m looking for information on Danny Garnet. He worked for your firm in the mideighties.”

“I’m not familiar with the name, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t correct. I can check with our human resources director and see what she has in her records.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Hayden said.

Slater picked up the phone on a side table and punched three numbers on the keypad. “Sharon, this is PJ. Can you pull the records for Danny Garnet? He would have worked for us in the eighties.” He listened and nodded his head. “Pull whatever you have. And I’m going to need that yesterday if you don’t mind. Great.” He hung up and sat back down. “She’ll be here shortly. We digitized our employee files about ten years ago, and that makes life a lot easier when old personnel questions arise. What has Mr. Garnet gotten himself into that requires a visit from the Texas Rangers?”

“Before I answer that, I have another question,” Hayden said.

“Sure. Fire away.”

“You told Faith McIntyre that you found the name Josie Jones in one of Russell McIntyre’s datebooks, and you believe Josie might be Faith’s birth mother.”

PJ sat back, sipping his coffee. The jovial welcome didn’t completely fade from his face, but it soured considerably. “That’s a very private matter for Faith, and I don’t see how that is the concern of the Texas Rangers.”

“The reason I’m asking is that we think Josie Jones knew Danny Garnet back in the eighties,” Hayden said.

“Again, I don’t know how it relates to Faith’s adoption. And frankly, I don’t think she’d like me discussing this with you or anyone else. All I know for sure is that Josie Jones was a name I said may be a lead for Faith.”

“Have you ever heard of Olivia Martin or Kathy Saunders?” Brogan asked.

PJ looked genuinely confused now, but Hayden reminded himself he was dealing with a very adept defense lawyer. “I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

“These are women who were represented at one point by Slater and McIntyre. They went missing in the late eighties.”

“We have fifteen attorneys on staff and have been in business in our current and former forms for nearly forty years. Do you have any idea how many clients that means?”

“I’m guessing a lot,” Hayden said. “But I’m betting you also digitized the client records along with the employee files. That kind of technology makes it so easy for you to find out.”

“I could do that, but I won’t. If we did represent those women, the work falls under attorney-client privilege.”

Hayden’s voice dropped as his patience thinned. “Well, for your own sake, I suggest you have a look.”

“Are you suggesting someone here was responsible for their disappearances?” PJ asked.

“I’m not suggesting anything.”

A knock on the door had PJ and Hayden rising as a woman in her late fifties with shoulder-length graying hair appeared. She nodded to Hayden but moved quickly to Slater and handed him an iPad. “I’ve pulled up his file. This is all we have, sir.”

“Thank you, Sharon.” PJ sat back down and scrolled through the papers, not saying a word until Sharon closed the door behind her. “I don’t want you to think that Slater and McIntyre isn’t cooperative. But we are bound by ethics and laws.”

“Understood. Just giving you a heads-up that we’ll be circling back on this matter. What about Garnet? There shouldn’t be any restrictions to talking about former employees.”

“No, of course not.” PJ studied the information Sharon had brought him. “Garnet was hired in 1985 as a private investigator. Back then the firm was small and had only a couple of attorneys other than my father and Russell. This day and age, I wouldn’t work directly with a private investigator, but in those days, my father and Russell would have.”

Hayden had searched PJ Slater on the Internet and learned he’d been born in 1990. He was the only child of Peter and Margaret Slater and according to the records was not adopted. “Do you have a list of cases Garnet investigated for the firm?”

That thousand-watt smile returned. “And we are right back to attorney-client privilege. Our private investigators often handle very delicate information that our clients would not expect us to ever reveal, even after forty years. I can tell you according to this printout that he handled dozens of cases. Why is Garnet so important to you now?”

“His name came up in an investigation, and we plan to interview him later today.” Hayden always judiciously balanced how much to tell as well as withhold during an interview. Sometimes he had to give a little information to prime the pumps. “Have you heard the name Paige Sheldon?”

“I did hear the Sheldon name. Her story was in the news recently. She’s missing, I think. Do you think Mr. Garnet is associated with the Sheldon case?”

“We don’t know for sure yet, but considering this girl is still alive and about to deliver a baby, we want to find her as quickly as we can.”