“He walked through and went out another door.”

“Not before waving to the security camera,” Hick said sourly. “He exited the side-street door, strolled off down the sidewalk, and that was the last anyone saw of him until he showed up at that bar with Mickey Bolden.”

Joe belched behind his fist. “What ID did he use when he went through DFW’s security?”

“Georgia driver’s license. Breezed through. He checked a bag. His weapons must’ve been in it.”

Joe grumbled, “Don’t count on it.”

He stuffed his trash into the carryout sack, then stood up and made a circuit of the small room, giving Hick time to wolf down his sandwich. Joe resumed by asking, “Anything out of Mississippi?”

Mickey Bolden had kept an apartment in Biloxi. Basic shelter. Nothing fancy by any stretch. It was paid for by what he earned as a maître d’ at a restaurant in one of the shabbier casino hotels. He reported his gratuities to the IRS, as any solid citizen would, and paid his income taxes and bills on time.

His hobby, for which he seemed to have a passion, was far more lucrative than the restaurant job. Unfortunately the Bureau hadn’t yet discovered where he banked the fees he earned by snuffing people, which was one reason they were never able to make a case against him that a prosecutor felt would hold up in court.

“Last Wednesday, Bolden told his employer that he needed to take a few days off,” Hick said.

“Which he did periodically.”

“And nobody ever asked why.”

“Probably because everybody knew why,” Joe remarked.

“Probably. Anyway, he hasn’t been seen around his Biloxi apartment since Thursday evening. But the car registered to him is still in the parking lot.”

“Rental?”

“None leased in his name.”

Joe hadn’t expected there to be. Mickey would have had someone under the radar who supplied him with a vehicle when he went to a job.

“I did hear from Morrow,” Hicks said, “but don’t get excited. Deputies canvassed Jordie Bennett’s neighborhood. One lady noticed an unfamiliar car parked at the end of the street yesterday. In a nutshell, all she remembers is that it was dark in color and had four wheels.”

Joe chuffed.

“There might have been two men inside. She couldn’t say with any degree of certainty.”

Law enforcement agencies in Louisiana and surrounding states were on the lookout for Shaw Kinnard and Jordie Bennett, but they didn’t even know what kind of vehicle to be looking for or in which direction Kinnard was headed. So far no sightings had been reported even by the crazies who routinely reported they’d seen Elvis and Osama bin Laden.

“Agents have been interviewing Ms. Bennett’s employees and friends with whom she keeps in touch,” Hick said. “All went hysterical when told of her disappearance and probable abduction. None were helpful, but they sing the same chorus. It must have to do with her brother and Billy Panella.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Joe groused. “Anybody contact Jackson Terrell?”

“He was reached by phone at a ritzy wellness spa in Colorado. Woke him up, and he wasn’t alone.”

“New girlfriend?”

“New wife. They got married several months ago.”

“Guess we weren’t invited.”

“Guess not.”

“But he’s not mooning over his breakup with Jordie Bennett.”

“Apparently not. Can’t speak for her, though.”

Joe thought about it and came to the conclusion that they had zilch. No leads, false or otherwise, to follow up. They might just as well be in a damn black hole, a situation infuriatingly similar to the last time Shaw Kinnard was their suspect.

As though Hick was reading his mind, he asked, “What was he doing with Mickey Bolden?”

“Mickey was a link to Billy Panella and thirty million dollars, give or take a few mil.” Thoughtfully, he pulled on his lower lip. “Only a guess, but Kinnard probably approached Bolden a while back and laid some groundwork. In the hope of getting to Panella and all that dough, he established a quasi partnership with his trusted hit man.”

“He offered his services.”

“I’m only guessing,” Joe reminded him.

“It feels right, though,” Hick said. “He let Bolden know that he was available for down-and-dirty jobs, then sat back and waited for a call.”

“Which he received on Tuesday.”

“So he sewed up his business in Mexico and hightailed it here.” After a beat, Hick asked, “Do you think he knew who the hit was?”

“He probably assumed it was Josh Bennett.”

“At what point do you think he learned it was his sister instead?”

Joe rubbed his forehead with worry. “I don’t know.” He pushed his fingers through his hair, noticed that it was greasy, and realized how badly he needed a shower. Even Hick was looking less than bandbox fresh.

“Let’s take a couple of hours.” Joe picked up the folder with the gruesome photos and tucked it under his arm. “I need to touch base with my family. I think we’re supposed to go to a carnival at the kids’ school this evening.”

“How will Marsha take you missing it?”

“She’ll be pissed, but she’ll forgive me. Eventually. How’s your love life? Still in that ‘promising relationship’?”

“Yes. It’s still promising.”

“Oh yeah? When will you be taking it to the next level?”

“No time soon.”

“How come?”

“Because of all my other promising relationships.”

Joe rolled his eyes and motioned Hick toward the door, but he hung back. “One thing I failed to mention earlier. The hired party girl who talked to the authorities in Mexico?”

Joe nodded.

“She was with the three men when they left the party.”

“Explain.”

Hick told him that after the bodies of the two victims were discovered near police headquarters, the young woman was rounded up from the villa along with all the other guests. He pointed to the folder under Joe’s arm. “She cooperated in exchange for anonymity, so you won’t find her name or photo in there. But she’s the one who IDed Shaw Kinnard.

“She told the investigators that just as the party was getting into full swing, Kinnard approached Frat Boy and confided that there was a guy he needed to meet, someone from a rival cartel who wanted to switch teams. To demonstrate his sincerity, this guy was willing to tell everything he knew about the rival’s operation, but it had to be right then before the rival caught on and silenced him for good.

“Our frat boy was reluctant to leave the sex, drugs, and rock and roll, but Kinnard impressed on him that this guy could decide that the life expectancy of a traitor was short and chicken out. They had to move on it or say bye-bye to a golden opportunity. So Frat Boy grudgingly went with Kinnard, and, at Kinnard’s suggestion, took only one bodyguard so the soon-to-be-traitor wouldn’t get spooked.”

“The frat boy chose his top guard, the chief of the state police.”

“Actually Kinnard made the selection,” Hick said wryly. “We know all this because the frat boy was all over the party girl during this discussion, and she heard everything. When the time came to leave, the frat boy insisted that she go along to ‘keep him company.’ Her words.