"Statements," he said.

"Statements?"

"Telling what kind of guy our dead coyote really was. And pictures."

"Of?"

"Rosalita wasn't the first woman this asshole tried to leave in the middle of nowhere," he said.

Casey opened the file, looked at the pictures, and quickly closed it.

"Can we connect him to this?" she asked.

"Had an old friend run some DNA," Jose said. "He was a randy little son of a bitch."

"That's not even funny," she said.

"I didn't mean it to be," he said, nodding toward the file. "There's six. Just the ones they found. I got persuasive with one of his mules. Word is that he'd peel off one lucky girl for every trip he made."

"Which is?"

Jose shrugged. "Twenty, thirty a year. He's been in business five. He picked them up at the bus stop in Nuevo Laredo and took them downriver where he kept a shitty boat, shuttled them over, and took them on a fifty-mile hike through the hills."

Casey flipped open the file again and stared for a moment, the blackened skin clinging to the bones like mold. She gritted her teeth. "Too bad he died so quick."

"A.357 hollow point tends to end things pretty abruptly," he said. "But even if it was quick, you gotta admit getting your balls shot off is no way to go. Can you get the DA to drop the charges against Rosalita with this?"

"If she were a sorority girl from Tech?" Casey said, closing the file for a second time and shoving it away from her. "No problem."

"I didn't see her wearing no pin when I spoke to her."

"Exactly," Casey said, shaking her head. "He'll offer us a manslaughter plea."

Jose whistled low. "Five to seven."

"Instead of the steak dinner we owe her for cleaning up that garbage. If I have to, I'll go to trial."