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live up here?” he asked.
    I almost laughed. “No. I’m a PI. I’m on my way to the Deegan place. Kona Shaw asked me to come. You can call ahead and check with her if you want.”
    He shook his head, straightened, and waved me on.
    The Deegans’ driveway was maybe thirty yards beyond the mob scene; nice for them, but I doubt their neighbors were thrilled with the arrangement. I guess it paid to be the most powerful man in Arizona.
    The wrought-iron gate in front of the senator’s place was guarded by two guys in navy slacks and powder-blue, short-sleeve dress shirts with the insignia of some security company I’d never heard of emblazoned on the sleeves. They were built like linebackers, with necks about as thick as my thigh. I also noticed that they carried .40 caliber Glock 22s in their shoulder harnesses. A good choice; that’s what I carry, too.
    “Can I help you?” one of them growled at me through my driver-side window as the Z-ster idled in front of the gate.
    “Jay Fearsson to see Detective Kona Shaw.”
    “License?”
    I pulled out my wallet, flipped it open to my driver’s license and handed it to him. As an afterthought I took off my sunglasses. Most security guys want to see your eyes.
    He studied the picture, looked at me, and handed back my wallet. “They’re expecting you.” He nodded to his partner and a moment later the gate slid open with a low electrical whir. “Everyone’s in the main house.”
    I nodded and steered the Z-ster to a spot next to about nine other cars. Four of them were worth more than I make in a year, even a good year. Of the other five, two were police cruisers and two of the others were cheaper models with police tags.
    I didn’t like this. Not at all. Aside from Kona, most of these people thought the worst of me. Many of them had nothing but contempt for what they thought I’d become; others pitied me, which might have been worse. A voice in my head screamed at me to leave now, while I had the chance. If not for the way Namid had pinned me with his stare when the phone rang, I would have. I got out of the car.
    The driveway, if you could call it that, was an enormous cobblestone courtyard with a small bronze statue and fountain at the center. On the south side of the courtyard, arrayed in a semicircle, stood three buildings: two smaller ones—guest houses probably—flanking the main house. All the buildings were built in Spanish Mission style, which was popular among homeowners in Paradise Valley and throughout the Phoenix area. A cobblestone path to the front door of the mansion wound past an elaborate desert garden; hummingbirds darted among an array of glass feeders.
    The door opened as I approached the front landing. I expected to see Kona. Instead, two people I didn’t know emerged from the house. One was a short, slender man with thinning hair and tortoise shell glasses. He was wearing charcoal suit pants and a white dress shirt. His sleeves were rolled up, his tie loosened. He had dark rings under his eyes and a deep crease in his forehead, as if his face was stuck in a permanent grimace. He struck me as someone in the midst of a really bad day. Still, he managed a smile as he extended a hand to the woman standing beside him.
    She was taller, and very attractive. She had long, curly brown hair that she wore pulled back from her face, and she wore dark-rimmed glasses with those small rectangular lenses that college professors tend to like. They were cute on her, though they made her look way too intelligent for a guy like me. Call it a cop’s instinct, but I had a feeling that she was every bit as smart as she appeared.
    “Thank you for coming, Billie,” the man said. “I trust you’ll be kinder to the senator than you’ve been recently. At least until we’re through this.”
    “No promises, Mister Wriker,” the woman said, smiling at him. “But I hope that you’ll convey my condolences to Senator and Missus Deegan.”
    “I will. I’m sure