MONDAY MORNING LUKE AND WOODY got off to a late start. Maddie wanted to be sure that Luke would be back on Thursday for her belated birthday, and then Grace, his mother, asked him to help with some last-minute party details. After all that, Woody took extra time to explain to his dog sitter how Zena’s routine went.

Once they were on the road, Woody and Luke discussed Ciara’s case and the power Orson believed they had to try to trick one of their suspects into confessing.

“We can do just about anything as long as we get consent, as long as the two suspects don’t refuse to talk to us or scream, ‘Lawyer,’” Woody told Luke.

“By that you mean we can bluff them, try to force them into a corner?”

“Exactly. We just have to think up something foolproof the first time out. We’re not likely to get a second chance. Plus, Faye thinks we can use the Ciara case as a cover for the Napier case.”

“How?”

“By using it to search for Stuart. We can make up a possible witness to the body dump. That could be the cover story for getting into wineries, telling them we’re looking for a farmworker. We can develop a profile and work it up as an anonymous tip.”

“I like that idea,” Luke said. “Good for Faye. But as far as Ciara’s case, it will be a challenge to come up with something that would force one of our suspects to confess to a murder that they have, for all intents and purposes, gotten away with.”

“Um . . . we’ll just have to be sneakier.”

Monday, after a quick complimentary breakfast at the hotel, Abby’s curiosity got the better of her. Taking the map, she got in the rental car and prepared to follow the route penciled out for her by Pastor Terry. She knew she should wait for Luke, but it felt like she had ants in her pants. She was so close to finally getting something on Alyssa. At the last minute, instead of following the map, she took Terry’s advice and decided to ask local law enforcement first. She found the sheriff’s station and went inside to ask about homeless camps in the area in general and this one in particular. There was a field deputy on the desk because of an injury who was familiar with the camp and who knew Mike.

“He helps us out from time to time,” he told her. “In fact, once he helped us catch a killer. Around here we like the Padre.”

“He’s not in any trouble. I just want to talk to him.”

“Well, unfortunately, there are a lot of homeless camps in the county. And they’re fluid. They don’t stay in any one place too long. This hand-drawn map you have is to one of the camps close to town, behind a shopping center.”

“It’s still there?”

“Yep. It’s been quiet and peaceful, no complaints lately.”

He explained that there were two ways in; the easiest and most traveled was a walking path that started at the back side of the shopping center parking lot. That was the path people with shopping carts or discarded strollers often took.

There was also a roundabout, drive-in way. It required a little hiking, but it would bring her to the camp from the back side, so she could watch the area, look for any trouble before actually walking in. He thought that would be the safest way to go. He also cautioned her not to go by herself.

“I’m armed,” she said. “And I would take every precaution. Most likely I’ll wait for my partner.”

Abby thanked him and left, realizing as she got back in her car, she couldn’t stop herself if she tried.

“The hurt has become a part of them and it’s scary to let go.”

Abby shook Pastor Terry’s words from her mind and started the engine. Her phone chimed with a text from Luke telling her that he and Woody were on their way. She looked at the time and calculated how long it would take for them to get here. Two and a half hours tops. She could wait that long, couldn’t she?

I’ll just take a look, she thought, in order to get an idea of the place. The deputy said I could see the whole camp and decide if I want to walk right in.

Following the deputy’s directions was not complicated at all. He’d clarified Terry’s handwritten note. It was a drive across a bumpy dirt road through some uninhabited terrain before she got to a reasonable access trail.

She parked her rental car where the road ended at a locked gate. Once out of the car, she hiked a well-worn path that took her through dry brush and old oak trees. All along the path was scattered evidence of human incursion: trash, paper, and an occasional discarded, broken, rusty shopping cart.

The terrain was mildly hilly, and Abby climbed up to the crest of a small incline before heading down. She could see the makeshift tents and shelters below. There were a lot of people milling around by the tents; the size of the camp surprised her. The deputy was right. From here she could view the whole situation and make a rational decision about whether or not she would approach. But it was a cluster of people off to her right, away from the tents, that caught her attention.

A man was being bullied. Thoughts of just “taking a look” dissipated as Abby started down toward the camp. As she got closer, she counted three against one. A homeless man guarding a shopping cart was in the center of three kids, teenagers. It looked as if they were trying to take the cart and, in the process, peppering the homeless man with profanity and rocks. The boys were all cleanly dressed; there was no indication that they were also homeless. She winced as the shabby man turned his back, holding on to the cart for dear life.

“Come on, you stinky old man. What are you hiding in there?” the tallest of the teens said.

Another one circled around and wrenched the cart from the man, eliciting a howl from him and chortles of laughter from the teenagers. The man fell to his knees and the three boys jerked the cart out of his reach and dumped the contents everywhere.

With the old man on his knees, helpless, Abby stepped forward. “Hey, what’s going on here?”

The boys all turned her direction.

“What’s it to you?” The tallest bully adopted a belligerent pose Woody liked to call “chicken chested” and advanced toward Abby.

She squared her stance and lifted the corner of her light jacket to show the butt of her gun and badge. “I’m a police officer. Back off from the man and his possessions.”

The tall boy stopped moving forward the same time a second boy sneered and said, “Possessions? It’s all trash.”

“Then why’d you have to dump it and take it away from him?”

From the corner of her eye, Abby saw people from the tent area moving their way. Suddenly she wondered at the wisdom of confronting the boys, especially if the homeless people saw a reason to confront her. She couldn’t physically subdue all of them. If they didn’t want to listen to her, or if they were given to more violence, the only force option she had was her firearm. Did she want to get into a shooting over a cart of trash?

The three boys started moving her way again as the old man scrambled on all fours toward his scattered belongings.

“You’re not a cop.” The tall one made a fist and thumped his chest. “I know all the cops here. That’s a toy badge. What are you doing with a gun?”

Abby thought that with his attitude he certainly did know every cop in the area. She pulled her phone from her pocket. “Why don’t I dial 911 and let someone sort this out?”

That stopped them again and Abby pressed the three numbers, thumb hovering over Send.

One of the other boys put a hand on the tall kid. “Hey, this is boring now. Why don’t we find something else to do?”

“Nah, maybe we should just take that gun away from her.” He took another step forward, but Abby saw his eyes flick toward the tent area. Three or four figures were closer now, and they seemed to be concentrating on the altercation.

Indecision flashed in the kid’s eyes and he looked toward his smaller friend. “Aw, you’re right. This is boring and these people stink. Let’s get out of here before we catch a disease.”

He spit on the ground toward Abby and then turned away, waving his hand in a dismissive fashion. The other two fell into step with him as they left, taking a trail away from the camp, but a different trail from the one that brought Abby to the spot.

She realized she’d been holding her breath and turned toward the tent people. They’d stopped their progress toward her but were still watching. There were two men and a woman. Putting her phone away, she nodded toward them, then went to see if she could help the man who was putting his “treasures” back into his cart.

Keeping an eye on the watchers, Abby approached the man. “Are you okay?”

He mumbled something she didn’t understand and continued picking up his belongings.

Abby helped him right his cart, noticing cuts on his grimy hands. The man appeared to be in his sixties, painfully thin, balding, and wearing jeans too big for him, tied with a rope. The polo shirt he had on looked as though it hadn’t seen a washing in a month, and the odor confirmed that. Abby had seen many homeless men like him in Long Beach when she worked patrol. She never liked to deal with them, not because of the grime and the stench, but because the majority of those who attracted police attention needed medication for some illness or another and they refused to take it. That was generally why they were homeless. Trying to reason with people who had untreated mental issues was pretty much impossible.

“It’s jelly; it’s jelly,” the man said.

“What?” Abby asked. “Are you missing something? Did the boys take something from you?”

“It’s jelly; it’s jelly.”

Abby wasn’t certain what he was saying, and she knew she’d not get any information from him about Mike Jez. She continued helping him put everything in his cart and pull it back up onto the path the boys had dumped it from.

“Hey!”

Abby’s head jerked up to see a figure running toward them. On alert, she stepped back to be prepared.

“What are you doing to him?” the out-of-breath man asked. About the same age as the shopping cart man she was helping, this man was dark-skinned —Hispanic or Indian.

“I’m not doing anything to him. I was helping him get his things together.”

“You a cop? Is he in trouble?”

“I am a cop, and no, he’s not in trouble.”

“Then what are you doing here?” He faced her with his hands on his hips, brow furrowed.

“I’m looking for Padre Mike.”

“Padre Mike? Is he is trouble?”

“No, nobody’s in trouble. I just want to talk to him.”

The first homeless man gestured to the second man. He handed him something and pointed to Abby.

“What? You sure?” he asked. The grimy man nodded and the second man took the object. “I don’t know what you did, but Jelly likes you.”

“Is that his name, Jelly?”

“That’s what we call him. Me, I’m Ham. We’re buddies, Ham and Jelly. He wants you to have this, so you must’ve done something good.”

He held out his hand and Abby had to fight the fear that Jelly wanted to give her a filthy present from his cart. But when she looked into Ham’s hand, she saw a small geode, a stone cut in half to reveal beautiful crystals inside. It wasn’t grimy; in fact it looked as if it had recently been polished.

“Oh, that’s beautiful,” Abby said, “but it’s his treasure.”

“Don’t matter. He wants you to have it.” He pushed the stone closer and Abby took it.

“What happened here?” Ham asked.

She explained about the boys.

Ham slapped his forehead. “I know those boys. Man, I never should have left Jelly. We was down at Mickey D’s and they were trippin’ on us. They must’ve followed us back here. Thank you for helping Jelly. Now, what do you want with the Padre?”

“I just want to talk to him about something that happened a long time ago, something he might know about.” She pulled out a business card and wrote down her cell phone number. She handed the card to Ham. “I’ll be here for a few days. He can call me at this number or check in at the church if he wants to be certain I’m on the level. I know Pastor Terry.”

“Pastor Terry? He’s good people.” Ham took the card and read it carefully. “You’re from Long Beach? Padre’s never been to Long Beach, I’m sure.” He frowned.

“This happened here. Well, not here, but in Templeton, where he went to school. A long time ago. I really want to talk to him.”

Ham nodded. “I’ll see what I can do, but I ain’t promising nothing.” He turned to help Jelly push his cart to where the tents and makeshift shelters were. Abby watched them go. Then she put the geode in her pocket and headed back up the trail the way she’d come.

When she reached the rental car, she stopped abruptly as if she’d hit a wall. All four tires were flat as pancakes.