Misery purred to life around me, her engine only slightly louder than a 747. I was just about to head back to the office for more recon, mostly on this Fernando character, when I got a text. It must have been from Umberto. It said Fernando could see me in two hours and had an address to meet.

I didn’t text back.

* * *

Since I had some time and I wasn’t going to have to hunt down Fernando, I drove out to Mr. Adams’s house. I couldn’t believe how wrong I’d been about him. I pegged him for a standup guy. A stellar father. A pillar of society. But even his own dad had only bad things to say about him.

Did Mr. Adams Sr. know that Mr. Adams Jr. was also a degenerate gambler, as cliché as that was? I didn’t think so. He would have told me. But how can someone be that deep into gambling, to lose everything again and again, and no one know? No one I’d talked to, at least.

Cookie and I chatted on everything she’d found out about Mr. Adams while I was being molested. He’d had a colorful life filled with a lot of unfortunate events. A little too many.

Mr. Adams was home when I knocked. He was a shell when he answered the door. Pale and withered like he had every intention of just wasting away. The guilt was eating him alive. Umberto had to be wrong about his boss. Fernando had to have done this.

“Mrs. Davidson. Did you find anything to exonerate Lyle Fiske?” he asked as he held the door open.

“Not yet, but I’m getting very close.”

We sat in his messy living room. Magazines lay strewn about the apartment. A laundry basket of clothes sat on one end of the sofa with dirty dishes punctuating the disarray. The cleanest part of the room was a tank with a turtle in it.

I resisted the urge to introduce myself to the turtle. “Mr. Adams, I am all for finding out what happened to your daughter, but I’ll need your help.”

“Of course. Anything.”

“I couldn’t help but notice you’ve had a few unfortunate accidents over the last few years. Strange things like a broken leg. A dislocated shoulder. And you lost two fingers in a construction accident?”

He folded his hands together. “Mrs. Davidson, what does that have to do with my daughter?”

“Sir, you promised to be honest with me.” When he said nothing, I added, “I believe it has everything to do with her and a certain bet that you made.”

I barely got out the last word when Mr. Adams broke completely. He sobbed into a towel he had sitting on the sofa. His shoulders shook so hard I thought he’d rattle his ribs loose.

“I took the bet,” he said, his voice cracking on every syllable. “I didn’t think he’d do it.”

“A man who would break your leg? Who would take your fingers?”

“Fernando didn’t do this.” He held up his hand. His pinkie and ring fingers had been severed at the knuckle. “That was another bookie in another city in another time.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Since I was in grade school. I bet on anything. Used to get sent home for running craps games in the schoolyard. I’d go for days without lunch and use that money to make a bet of one kind or another.”

“Didn’t your father ever get you help?”

He laughed a long moment. It was bitter and full of pain. “Oh, I have never lived up to his pristine standards, and he doesn’t let me forget it. Adams men don’t need help. They stand on their own two feet.”

“Is that why you did it? As payback to him?”

“I don’t know. All I know is that I took the bet. I signed my own daughter’s death warrant.” He broke down again.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Adams. But this is all hearsay. It won’t clear Lyle Fiske. The evidence against him is too solid. We need something more to get Lyle off. We need a guarantee.”

And I might just have one. I couldn’t wear a wire to the meeting with Fernando, but maybe I could get something that would help us. See some clue that would get Lyle acquitted.

Fernando had to have done it. Who else? Unless a member of his crew really did do it, possibly thinking it would endear him to Fernando. But when he freaked out and started questioning his men, whoever did it clammed up, scared for his life.

If the guilty party was at the meeting, I would be able to feel it. If nothing else, I could tell Fernando and bargain for the guilty party to turn himself in.

Just as I stood to leave, I spotted a shotgun in the corner of the living room, and I knew exactly why it was there.

“I’m sorry, but could I have a glass of water?”