She didn't even say goodbye.

She.

just turned and walked away from the car.

Quickly.

Graham sat for a moment and watched Caitlin until she disappeared

behind a building.

Then he dragged both hands through his hair and let out a deep

breath.

Her scent was in the car.

He rolled down the windows and started the engine again.

He had work to do.

"I-et's go, Esmerelda."

He threw the car into Reverse and pulled out of the spot.

The day had been one of the longest ones of Graham's career.

He and Jeffers had hit the streets shortly after he had returned to the

precinct.

Armed with flyers, they had canvassed the area, asking local store owners if they had seen or heard anything unusual.

Taking into account the early hour of the crime, it seemed improbable that anyone had.

He hadn't been disappointed.

As was expected, the dead man had had no wallet on him, but his fingerprints had given them a name.

Joshua Landers.

And a priors sheet had given them a few local leads to pursue.

At least it was something.

What Graham wanted when he walked through the door of his one-story,

white stucco house was a good meal and a little companionship from his son.

And maybe for the Colorado Rockies to finally win a game. Empathy with underdogs had him rooting for a team that hadn't a prayer of having a winning season or even coming within a hundred miles of a .

500 average.

He figured that gave them something in common.

What he didn't want was more trouble or problems of any sort.

Jake was sprawled out on the sofa, his eyes glued to the twenty-inch

television that, along with his grandmother's two-faced weaves on the opposite wall, dominated the room .

Graham closed the door behind him and locked it automatically.

"Hi, Jake, how's it going?"

He nodded at the set.

Jake looked at his father glumly as he sat up.

"They're losing."

He laughed quietly.

Winning baseball games was of the utmost importance to Jake.

The concept of competition wasn't part of Navajo culture, but Jake was very much a nineties kind of child.

"Some things are dependable."

Graham pocketed his key"Grandma around?"

Jake nodded and pointed to the left, his eyes back on the screen.

"In the kitchen."

Glancing at the score that flashed across the bottom of the screen as

the side was retired, Graham followed the aroma to the kitchen.

His stomach growled in hungry anticipation.

His mother was at the stove, stirring what was to be their dinner in a

large metal pot.

She was dressed in traditional Navajo costume-she claimed she was comfortable that way and no other.

Graham had given up trying to change her.

He bent over her and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"Hi, Ma."

Lily Redhawk looked up at her only son.

People generally mistook them for sister and brother rather than mother

and son.

But today her face, usually so peaceful, so youthful, looked drawn.

She looked very close to her own age.

The table was set.

All but the glasses.

He took out three from the cupboard and placed one at each setting.

what's the matter, Ma?

Jake still giving you a hard time?

" Graham had thought that the matter had been settled this morning.

"Jake has been fine," she said quietly.

"You had a call today."

He knew by the way she said it that he wasn't going to like this.

"From?"

She placed the wooden spoon down on the stove.

"Celia's lawyer."

The divorce had been final for almost two years.

He sent money each month to a post office box because he didn't know

where she was staying.

It was better that way.

He and Jake were managing very well without her.

He sat down and looked at his mother.

"What does she want now?"

Lily glanced toward the other room.