"Maybe," Turner said. "But I'll tell you one thing. Whatever the hell it is, this nigger sure as shit shouldn'ta had it."

Two ambulances arrived, about ten minutes later. One took the blond woman to the nearest hospital, the other carried Teddy Angel's body to the nearest morgue. A local tow-truck service arrived another forty-five minutes after that and, after getting the truck upright, towed it back to Turner's and Lanier's station.

It took the Texas State Police three days to prove Wade Turner correct in his assessment. Teddy Angel sure as shit shouldn't have been carrying his cargo. In those few days, they were able to determine that Teddy's truck had been reported stolen three months earlier in Cincinnati, Ohio. It had been refitted completely-repainted and given false license plates. The name stenciled onto the side of the truck-Hirshey Sporting Goods-belonged to a nonexistent company. The permit found in the glove compartment, the one that would have allowed the truck into Mexico with its sporting goods cargo, was a forgery. The Mexican company listed as the recipient of the goods, El Sportiva Mexicana, was also nonexistent.

Teddy Angel's driver's license was not in the name of Teddy Angel. Or even Edward Anjule. It had been issued in the name of an Easton, Pennsylvania, male who had died at the age of two, just over eight years ago. Teddy's fingerprints had been "interfered with"-those were the words used by the forensic expert who worked on Teddy's body. It meant that someone had operated on Teddy's hands, cut the tips of his fingers so he could not be identified using his prints. Teddy had also clearly never had his teeth so much as cleaned, so nothing came up when a search for his dental records went through the computer. The Texas police had no clue to his true identity.

As near as could be determined, there was absolutely nothing real about either the truck or its driver. At least nothing that the police-or the FBI, who had been called in-had much hope of finding.