Normally, a name and passport number would have been the magic key to a treasure trove of data, all of it available through perfectly legitimate means. But I kept turning up blanks. In the short time that Dolores Clemente had been in Seattle, she hadn’t made any purchases, hadn’t booked a hotel—hadn’t even used a public telecom. She and Montoya had flown in, rented a car, and driven straight to our neighborhood the next day. Which told me that they knew exactly where they were going. Rafael had already confirmed that the pair hadn’t called on any of the neighbors. They’d gone directly to our house.