“Tell them about the human trafficking investigation,” Uncle Bob said.

“Apparently they already know.” I looked back at Barber. “And we have one murdered teen and one missing one. Did you get anything on Mark Weir’s missing nephew?” He was supposed to check out Weir’s sister, see if she’d had any contact with her son.

“Not exactly, but I have to admit, it seemed like something was going on with the boy’s mother.”

“Going on?” My insides were suddenly tingling. “Could you be more specific?”

Uncle Bob perked up as well.

“She got a call a few days ago from a Father Federico. Sure put her in a tizzy.”

I sucked in a sharp breath at the mention of the man who owned the warehouse.

“What?” Uncle Bob asked.

Barber continued. “From what I got out of a one-sided phone conversation, she was supposed to meet him, but he never showed up.”

Ubie flashed me a look of desperation.

“Janie Weir was supposed to meet Father Federico, but he never showed,” I explained.

We pulled up to the station. “Seems like no one has seen him lately.”

“Are you thinking foul play?”

“It’s possible. Has he, you know, shown up see-through style?”

“Nope. But that doesn’t necessarily mean—”

“Right,” he said, opening his phone and speed-dialing one of his detectives. That man spent more time on the phone than most thirteen-year-olds.

I turned back to the lawyers. “Do either of you know how much a bumper for a Dodge Durango costs?”

Barber shook his head. Elizabeth chuckled.

* * *

As we strolled into the station to go over operation Bring Benny Price to His Knees, Garrett stood in the hall, checking over his notes for the day.

“You know what’s disturbing?” Garrett asked, closing his notebook as we walked up.

“Your addiction to little people  p**n ?”

“Nobody has seen Father Federico in days,” he said without missing a beat. Apparently, it was a rhetorical question. I wished he’d stated that before I wasted one of my best lines on an answer. I hated being wrong.

“Mark Weir’s sister was supposed to meet him a few days ago, and he never showed up,” Uncle Bob said.

Things were starting to come together. If Benny Price was trafficking children out of the country, maybe he’d gotten ahold of Mark Weir’s nephew Teddy. And maybe he’d gotten ahold of James Barilla, the kid found murdered in Weir’s backyard. Maybe James put up a struggle, tried to escape, and they killed him. But why on former planet Pluto would they put the body in Weir’s backyard and frame him for the murder? Did he pose a threat somehow? I needed caffeine.

I stepped past the meeting of the minds and headed for the coffeemaker. The minds followed, made their coffee, then led the way to a small conference room.

“Why can’t I smell it?” Barber asked.

“Excuse me?” I set my coffee on the table and pulled out chairs for them.

“The coffee. I can’t even smell it.”

“I tried to smell my niece’s hair,” Elizabeth said, a sadness permeating her voice.

“I’m not sure,” I said. “Can you smell anything?”

“Yeah.” Elizabeth tested the air. “But not stuff that’s right in front of me.”

“You’re picking up scents from the plane you’re on, which technically isn’t this one.”

“Really?” Barber said. “Because I could have sworn I smelled barbecue a while ago. Do they have barbecues on this side?”

I chuckled and sat down next to Uncle Bob.

After twenty minutes of arguing on how to go about taking down Benny Price, I came up with a plan. Benny owned a series of strip clubs called the Patty Cakes Clubs. The name alone was all kinds of disturbing. And according to the file the investigative task force had on him, Benny liked those strippers, though not half so much as he liked himself.

“I have a plan,” I said, thinking aloud.

“We already have a task force investigating him,” Ubie said. “If anything, we need to coordinate our efforts with them, take our cues from their investigation.”

“They’re taking forever. In the meantime, Mark Weir is sitting in jail, Teddy Weir is missing, and we have families who want answers.”

“What do you want me to do, Charley?”

“Set up a sting,” I said.

“A sting?” Garrett asked, his expression incredulous.

“Just give me a chance. I can get evidence on the man before the sun goes down today.”

While Garrett practically bucked in his seat, Uncle Bob leaned toward me, interest sparkling in his eyes. “You got something cooking?”

“Detective,” Garrett said in a scolding tone, “you can’t be serious.”

Ubie shook himself as if coming out of a trance. “Right. It was just a thought.”

“But, Uncle Bob,” I said, whining like a child who’d just been told she couldn’t have a pony for her birthday. Or a Porsche.

“No, he’s right. Besides, your dad will put a contract out on me.”

“Psh,” I pshed, raking my gaze over him in disappointment. “Can you say wuss?”

That had to sting. I didn’t psh him often.

“Charley, you were almost killed today.” Garrett’s silvery gaze glittered with anger. He was so moody. “And yesterday. Oh, right, and the day before. Maybe you should give it a rest?”