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that, she and her daughter and grandkids were at a birthday party. A dozen witnesses.”
    I stare out the window. “Anderson didn’t come clean with us about his fight with the station manager. Was it because he doesn’t think her capable of doing something like this or because he’s afraid his wife will find out about the affair?”
    “Something we’ll have to find out.” He turns the key.
    Our stop at Modern Fitness turned out to be as unsatisfying as the lunch we just finished. The childcare center was closed for the day. According to the gym manager, the woman who normally works there Monday through Friday was at her doctor’s office, getting the leg cast removed she’d been wearing for the past two months. The manager did volunteer she’d be back to work at seven the following morning. The one silver lining was the confirmation we got that neither the Borosons nor Nicolsons were members of the gym.
    I looked down at the remains of my chicken molé. My expression must say it all.
    Zack balls up his napkin and tosses it on the table. “Told you you’d probably be disappointed in the Mexican out here.”
    I lay my napkin across my plate, shielding my eyes from the offending black goo the restaurant was trying to pass off as molé. “You were right.” I snatch up a chip and dip it into what I’m certain is salsa from a jar. “What’s your feeling about the gym?”
    “Unlikely a young woman in a full leg cast would be involved in a kidnapping. Plus, Taft confirmed no one from the gym had ever been to the Andersons’ home, and odds are the suspect has.” Zack takes a long pull from his iced tea.
    “How confident are you that the Anderson case is linked to the other two?” I ask.
    He sets down his cup. “You think it’s possible it isn’t?”
    “As far as we know, Cooper’s the only victim taken from home. Normally that would point to a personal connection with the victim. My first instinct, like yours, is to search for someone who has a connection to all three boys. But what if there is no connection?”
    Zack’s cell phone chimes. He reads the message then begins to tap his hands against the table top. “Taft and Biller haven’t come up with anything new on Hamilton but… Drum roll! Guess where Jose Perez is working today?”
    I can’t help but smile. His enthusiasm is infectious. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”
    The drumming stops. He leans forward, “One block from the Nicolsons’ home.”
    “No!”
    “Yup.”
    Jose Perez is unloading his lawn mower from a truck parked in front of an impressive home with a well-manicured lawn—the same lawn that he mowed on the sixteenth of February, the day that Mikey Nicolson was abducted from a shopping center a few blocks away. According to Taft, the gardener has no priors, nothing on his record at all except a parking ticket issued seven years ago.
    “Mr. Perez?”
    The swarthy man rolls the lawnmower down the truck ramp and turns toward us. “Yes?”
    Zack flashes his badge and quickly dispenses with introductions.
    Mr. Perez pulls a bandana from the pocket of his work pants and wipes his hands with it. He’s slight of build but lean-muscled. He’s wearing a white T-shirt and worn blue jeans. Under a battered baseball cap, his tanned face reflects curiosity and surprise at our sudden appearance, but no apprehension. “What can I do for you?” he asks.
    Zack pulls a notepad and pen from his jacket pocket. “We have a few questions for you about Cooper Anderson’s kidnapping.”
    “What?” His eyes widen in shock. Feigned or genuine, I can’t quite decide.
    “Were you not aware? It’s been all over the news,” I say.
    Mr. Perez sits on the edge of the truck’s bed and removes his hat. “When did this happen?”
    “Yesterday,” Zack answers.
    The gardener rises abruptly. “I was there yesterday. I saw Mrs. Anderson and Cooper leave for the gym like they always do. I was gone before they got back.” He passes the bandana over his