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brown skin contrasted slightly with his graying moustache, which had been part of his personality for decades. Oseguera’s first language was Spanish, but he spoke English fluently, with only a slight accent. He was a details-oriented, no-nonsense cop. His firm handshake and honest, steady gaze spoke of someone who worked with diligence, truly believed in justice, and took pride in his job. Oseguera was known among his peers as someone who chipped away at his cases until every last question had been answered, every shred of evidence discovered, and every connectionmade. He was called Bird Dog because he hounded after details like a dog on the hunt.
    This investigation would immediately take Oseguera deep into the Latino community living in the greater Dallas area. He would need to interview individuals normally not comfortable with speaking with the police. This was a community where families preferred to keep a low profile and avoid the attention of local authorities. It was a barrier Oseguera himself had had to surmount, and his background and language skills were essential.
    Oseguera looked at the open file on his desk. A note at the end said he was scheduled to speak to Ben and Marisa Calzada later that morning. Good, he thought. At least he had a starting point where he could learn as much as possible about their missing son. He would need all the information available to get this case moving. Weeks after the remains had been discovered, there was no confirmation it was a crime, and the body still hadn’t been officially identified. Oseguera sighed as he sipped his coffee. What a way to return from vacation.
    The detective’s phone beeped. It was the officer at the front desk telling him that the Calzadas had arrived. He got up and walked down a flight of stairs to the reception area where the Calzadas were waiting. Their eyes darted in his direction when he entered the room. They immediately stood and made quick work of the introductions, but then they fell silent and didn’t look him directly in the eye. These people are not used to dealing with police, Oseguera thought. In silence, the detective escorted them to a simple, stark interview room. There was nothing on the walls, door, or floor that could distract them. The only furnishing consisted of a round, white particleboard table and a few uncomfortable blue chairs.
    The Calzadas had introduced themselves in Spanish, so Oseguera also spoke in Spanish. He asked them to tell him about Javier. Marisa sat in resigned silence as Ben began talking. Oseguera didn’t have to ask many questions: Ben had been waiting a long time to finally tell someone everything he knew that could lead to some sort of conclusion to his pain. Picking through what he heard, Oseguera made note of Javier’s cell phone number, the names of two of Javier’s friends, and his girlfriend’s name, address, and cell phone number. He also noted the two facts that Ben repeated, information that Oseguera knew already from Sergeant Patton’s file: Javier Calzada drove the Malibu thatwas found in Dallas off Walnut Hill, and the boy’s wallet had been discovered underneath an overpass off Interstate 35.
    Oseguera continued to take notes as Ben told him that his son worked at a car dealership in Carrollton. He rarely got into fights, Ben stressed. Ben said Javier hung out around Bachman Lake Park in the evening and on weekends. Finally, when there was a pause in Ben’s monologue, Oseguera quickly asked him for the name and address of Javier’s dentist so he could obtain X-rays. That’s when Marisa spoke up. She had the information with her and handed it over with the reluctance of someone who didn’t want to know the truth but had to have it.
    Oseguera completed the interview and escorted the Calzadas to the front lobby. They left arm in arm, walking through the cold, gray morning back to Ben’s van in the parking lot. Oseguera returned to his office to start working the phone while the