“Yes.” Rourke paused. “And he might have counted on Merissa’s father to take her out for him, along with her mother.” He glanced at Tank’s hard face. “The man is unbalanced. Brilliant, but unbalanced.”

Clara saw them come in and motioned them to the booth where she was sitting. She smiled. “We could eat while we’re here,” she suggested. “Then, if I could impose on you to drive me by the hospital...?”

Tank said as he slid into the booth, “I’ll go, too.”

“Clara,” Rourke began after they’d ordered barbecue plates, “when Carson was out placing his surveillance units, did you leave the house at all?”

She blinked. “Why, yes, just to run by the drycleaners and leave a comforter. I wasn’t gone five minutes. Why?”

Tank and Rourke exchanged glances. Tank nodded.

“Don’t say anything in the house that you’d mind being overheard,” Rourke told her. “You must be extraordinarily clever. I’m not going to remove the bug he’s just placed. Let him think we’re too dim to realize it’s even there.”

“Bug? I don’t understand,” she began.

Tank explained how they thought the bug was placed, and how the intruder knew where Merissa kept her headache medicine.

“Oh, goodness,” Clara said heavily. “I opened my big mouth. Just like I did, telling them where Bill was, and I got him killed,” she added sadly. “Then there’s that other man. The one Merissa told us about, that she saw in her mind, a man who knew about this intruder and was going to tell on him...”

“You can’t save the world,” Rourke said heavily. He gave her a weary smile. “I know. I’ve been trying.”

She smiled weakly. “I see your point. It’s very hard, though, to know something and not be able to warn anyone.”

“In that case,” Tank told her, “you have to consider that some things just happen the way they’re meant to. We can’t see very far down the road. God can.”

“Okay.”

Carson came back in. He slid into the booth beside Clara. “I’ve put some things in motion,” he said. “There’s been a development back home.”

“What?” Tank asked.

“It seems that Cash Grier managed to track down the man who attacked Carlie’s father with a knife. He turned up in the morgue in San Antonio. He was poisoned.”

“Good grief!” Tank exclaimed. “Merissa told him that there was a man who knew him and was thinking about going to the authorities. He said he knew who it was and he’d take care of him.” He groaned. “It’s going to hit her hard.”

Rourke’s one eye narrowed. “Don’t tell her.”

“The man had a rap sheet seven pages long,” Carson added. “One of his arrests was for rape. He’s no loss to the world.”

“Did he talk to the authorities?” Tank asked. “Do you know?”

“He made a phone call before he died. It was to a police officer in San Antonio. They’re trying to contact the officer to see if a conversation even took place. One more minor detail.”

“Yes?” Tank asked.

“The man was taking a prescription medication for allergies. The capsules were tampered with. Like to take a guess at what sort of poison was in them?” Carson mused.

“Don’t tell me,” Rourke said. “Malathion.”

“Exactly. He had access to it on the ranch, didn’t he?” Carson asked Tank.

“He was in and out of the barn where we keep it, but it’s in a locked shed room,” Tank replied.

“You keep your keys hanging just inside the back door in the house,” Rourke recalled. “Does one of them fit that storeroom?”

Tank’s eyes closed. “She warned me about those keys the first day she came to the house,” he said. “She said, ‘he’ll find them there.’”

“She’s very perceptive,” Clara remarked gently.

“I wish I’d listened!” Tank groaned.

“He’d have found another way,” Carson said. “Anything can be used to poison someone, even common household items.”

“Like hand grenades?” Rourke said, tongue-in-cheek. “I believe El Ladŕon’s convoy was treated to a few of those...?”

“The convoy of El Ladŕon was accidentally blown up by a few equally accidentally tossed hand grenades.” He looked perfectly innocent.

“Nice aim,” Rourke said, grinning.

Carson grinned back. “I get in some practice from time to time.”

Tank started to ask a question when the jukebox, a holdover from the past, started up. The sounds of rock music filled the restaurant.

“Try talking over that,” Carson groaned.

The song was an old hard rock tune by Joan Jett, called “I Love Rock ’n’ Roll.” It had a hard, heavy beat and it had been a favorite of the Kirks’ mother when she was still alive. It brought back memories for Tank. He smiled as he listened. And then, quite suddenly, he frowned.

“What’s wrong?” Clara asked.

He caught his breath. “That song,” he said.

“Yes, it’s loud,” Carson muttered.

“No! The man who was, or who was pretending to be, a DEA agent when I was ambushed,” he said, feeling all over again the impact of the bullets. “I heard that song.”

“The mind plays tricks in dangerous situations,” Rourke began.

“It was that song. But it wasn’t sung. It was...I don’t know...like wind chimes,” he faltered as he tried to recall it.

“Wind chimes?” Carson mused.

Rourke frowned. “My...employer,” he said, hesitating before he gave the relationship, and not the real one at that, “has a very expensive Swiss watch that he customized with a tune he was fond of. It plays the opening bars of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony.” He lifted his head. “It sounds like wind chimes. Or chapel chimes that used to come out of the steeples at churches.”

Tank sat very still. He closed his eyes, trying, trying to remember the man. “It’s no use,” he groaned. “When I picture him, all I can see is that damned gaudy paisley shirt he was wearing.” He opened his eyes. “But I know I heard chimes. It could have been a watch. I’m not sure he was wearing it. Judging by his suit, he couldn’t have afforded an expensive Swiss watch with customized music,” he added. “His suit was strictly off the rack.”

Carson pulled out his cell phone and opened an internet browser.

“What?” Tank asked.

“It’s a long shot,” he said. “But I’m curious about that tune. It rings a bell somewhere in the back of my mind.”

He tapped in a search string and waited. Then he thumbed through the results, which seemed to go on forever. Finally he paused, tapped the screen and his face grew even more grim.

“Several months ago,” he said, looking up, “about the time Hayes Carson made his bust and you got ambushed, a district attorney was murdered in San Antonio.”

“And?” Tank asked.

“They think it was a theft because of what was stolen. His wife was wealthy. He was wearing a very expensive Swiss watch. They said it had a musical alarm, but not what the tune was. It was never found.”

Tank’s dark eyes twinkled. “A break. Maybe.”

Carson nodded. He was still pulling up websites. He frowned. “There’s a photograph of the prosecutor who was killed. I want you to look at this.” He handed his iPhone to Tank, who took it and his face paled.

“What?” Rourke asked when he saw Tank’s expression.

“The damned shirt. The damned paisley shirt.” He drew in a long breath. “That looks like the shirt the so-called federal agent was wearing.”

“Can you find out if the shirt went missing?” Rourke asked Carson.

“Let me find out for you. I know a homicide detective with San Antonio P.D.,” Rourke said. He pulled out his own phone and put in a call to Lieutenant of Detectives Rick Marquez.

* * *

“ROURKE,” RICK MARQUEZ stated when he heard the South African accent.

“That’s me. How are things?”

“Busy,” Rick replied, chuckling. “My wife and I are expecting any day now.”

“Congrats,” Rourke replied.

“Thanks. We’re pretty excited. Big changes coming.”

“You’re telling me. Listen, I’m working for a bloke up here in Wyoming. Tank, excuse me, Dalton Kirk...”

“Hayes Carson told me about that,” Rick interrupted. “Any luck catching the culprit?”

“That’s where we’re hoping you could give us a hand, unofficially,” Rourke replied. “A San Antonio district attorney was murdered some months ago, and some things were stolen from him, yes?”

“Yes,” Rick said. “He was a good guy. Hardworking and honest and relentless. He left behind a wife and two small children. Damned bad luck. He was walking through the car park after hours when somebody jumped him, shot him to death and robbed him.”

“You’ve never caught the perp, yes?”

“That’s right. Why?”

“I understand that a watch was one of the stolen items...specifically an expensive Swiss watch.”

“I don’t remember exactly, but I think so.”

Tank asked for the phone and held it to his ear. “Dalton Kirk here. Lieutenant Marquez. Was your murder victim also wearing a paisley shirt at the time, and was it missing?”

“Let me think. Oh, I remember now. It was one of the more puzzling aspects of the crime. Of course, criminals come in all colors and mental persuasions. The man’s shirt was removed by whoever killed him. Left his suit coat, which was very expensive, lying on the ground. His wallet was taken, the watch and the shirt.”

“Was he shot in the chest?”

“No. In the head. There was some blood, not a lot, on his suit coat. Although there was quite a bit on the pillar behind him...”

“The shirt, was it identified by anyone?”

“His wife said it was a couture paisley shirt she had a famous Paris design house create for him... What is it?” Rick asked when Tank drew in his breath.

“The man who shot me was wearing a shirt like that. Sheriff Hayes Carson remembers the agent who was with him at his drug bust also wearing one. I don’t know if he saw the man’s watch, but you might ask him.”