“So you and Dix think someone working with them, or some other gang, is shipping drugs, or guns, through rural Virginia?” Griffin asked.

“Well, the I-95 is one of the main corridors in the east for running drugs and guns up from South America to Miami, and the number of weapons and drugs coming east from the southwest increases by the day. The DEA has been working to infiltrate the gangs, and they’ve stepped up their surveillance along the interstate. The gangs, unfortunately, have almost limitless motivation because of the huge amounts of money they can make shipping drugs for sale up to the U.S., and the guns and money are going back south. It’s a nightmare.”

“So you’re thinking that Maestro, Virginia, might be a perfect route, or even a place to stash or distribute, to avoid that attention?”

Ruth nodded. “Maybe. Only an hour away from I-95 and you’re in a different world. We don’t know what attracted the DEA, but why else would an agent—Weathers—be here undercover if not to find out how they’re coordinating things locally?

“I’m thinking there’s got to be somebody who can help them disguise the operation, someone who fits right in and doesn’t look like a gang member, someone who knows his way around.”

“Maybe someone at Stanislaus, since there are new faces there all the time, so no one would notice?”

“Hopefully we’ll find out, if the DEA comes clean with us,” Ruth said.

Griffin said, “Okay, let’s say whoever’s in charge found out about Weathers and had him killed. That would mean Weathers only lasted six days. I wonder what happened to trigger them, how they outed the agent’s real identity.”

“Don’t know yet. We searched Mr. Weathers’s room, found nondescript clothes—three pairs of jeans, three sweaters, underwear, and a pair of size-twelve boots, and absolutely nothing else. Gotta admit, I find that odd.”

Griffin nodded. “Yes, I do, too.”

Ruth said, “Maybe his murderer went to his apartment, scooped up his laptop and his papers. If so, his murderer now knows details of the DEA operation here. Did he have stuff stashed in the tan Ford? Even if Dix’s deputies find the Ford, I can’t see it’ll be much good unless he was struck down in his car and it’s part of the crime scene. I wouldn’t be surprised if the DEA already has the tan Ford.”

Griffin said, “Ruth, it’s hard to believe Maestro is the epicenter of a gun and/or drug stash. Where? Somewhere on the Stanislaus campus? In a secret room off the auditorium? Has Dix heard any rumors at all?”

“No, but we’re a small, tight community here that keeps to itself, a gun dealer’s wet dream, when you think about it.”

“Since Delsey’s a student at Stanislaus,” Griffin said slowly, “she could have accidentally stumbled over something she shouldn’t have, more likely there than in town. But Delsey actually never met Weathers. She probably saw him at Salazar’s party Friday night, but so what? Why place the agent’s body in her bathtub and haul it away? What kind of warning is that?”

Ruth said, “Maybe they thought she was DEA, too, but if they killed her to make a statement, the DEA would come back in assault helicopters. They wouldn’t want that to happen.”

Delsey opened the bathroom door. She looked shell-shocked. “If I hadn’t seen that the man was Latino, then you’d never have guessed it might be this MS-13 gang, right?”

Ruth said, “Not really, Delsey, even MS-13 members come in all races now. It fits, though. Finding out the man in your tub was DEA, though, that should blow things open.”

Delsey said, “You’re thinking the dealers believed I was working with Mr. Weathers?”

Griffin said, “I don’t know. I mean, we can come up with all sorts of scenarios.” Delsey smiled at Ruth and watched Griffin frown as he paced, thinking, that wonderful brain of his focused entirely on the problem. He turned. “And none of them really tie everything together. Mr. Weathers wasn’t tortured, he took a knife in the chest, so they weren’t interested or didn’t have the time to try to make him talk about what the DEA knows.”

“Who was the other man whose voice I heard?” Delsey asked.

Griffin said, “No clue. But I promise, Dels, whatever the DEA knows, they’re going to tell us.” He stopped, stared at her. “That small bandage is lots better, but you’re looking a bit on the peaked side. How about we get you to the B&B and tuck you in?”

Delsey waved that away. “What did you learn from Dr. Hayman?”