“Sort of, but more intense, more thorough. Bob told me many times that he has to live in the role before playing it. Like once, when he was to portray a small town police officer, he used an alias and some faked papers to get a job as a real policeman in some town in New Mexico and worked there for two months. He arrested people, gave out tickets, broke up fights, everything a real cop would do. The studio almost had a stroke when they found out. That’s the kind of thing he does to prepare.”
I said, “So, to portray a Border Patrol Agent, what would he do?”
We were all silent, thinking it through when Hunter said, “He’d do it in stages.”
“Like what?” I said.
“He’d start with the uniform, the gear, then get a feel for working outdoors.”
Hondo said, “Yeah, then he’d read up on things—hey Mickey, in the script, what would he have been trying to do?”
“The bad guys were some smugglers, a gang of them and he was going after them.”
“Uh-huh. Bob would get some angles on smuggling, do some reading on it and see what was happening in LA.”
Hunter said, “He wouldn’t try to impersonate a Border Patrol Agent, it’d be too risky.”
I said, “Yeah, the uniform would clash with his hair.”
Hunter and Mickey frowned at me. The corners of Hondo’s mouth went up a quarter inch.
“Okay,” I held my hands up, “No more hair jokes.”
“Why would it be too risky?” Mickey asked.
“A couple reasons, the big one being it’s a felony to impersonate a federal officer. I’m surprised New Mexico didn’t file on him for impersonating a police officer.”
Mickey said, “He had that worked out. See, Bob was friends with the Governor and got himself appointed as special officer of the state, working undercover. Made it all legal. He also did a recruitment commercial for the State Troopers for free, his way of paying back the Governor.”
Hunter said, “I doubt he could do the same for a federal job. My guess is he was going to check out some smuggling organizations on his own, like freelance.”
Mickey said, “He’s got a Private Investigator’s license, so I guess that would make it legal, wouldn’t it?”
I said, “He’s got a license?”
“Uh-huh. The President of the California Association of Private Investigators gave him an honorary license.”
I looked at Hondo, “This guy’s got more honorary awards than Bill Cosby.”
Mickey sniffed, “And he deserves every one of them. He does a lot of things for people.”
“I didn’t mean anything by it, Mickey. Just thinking out loud.”
Hondo said, “Any of you think about the coincidences we’re talking about here?” He ticked them off on his fingers, “We’ve got the photo of Bob at the ridge overlooking the canyon where the Mexican women were hiding; the women were smuggled there, Bob’s preparing for a Border Patrol part, and we know Bob tries to authenticate what his character’s going to do by doing it himself.”
Hunter continued it, “So he tries to find the smuggler or smugglers of the women.”
Mickey said, “And he disappears.”
I said, “Let’s get that photo worked on. I want to know who’s there with him.”
**
Hondo had a friend who ran his own security company and had lots of high tech equipment to process videos and images. I had Hondo take my windbreaker and drop it at the cleaners as he took the photo to the friend’s office. It took the guy an hour to enlarge and enhance the corner of the photo that contained the shadow and the leg and foot.
Hondo brought it back to the office and when Mickey saw it she squealed, “That’s a cowboy boot.”
It was. A black, pointy-toed cowboy boot with a silver cap on the toe, but I didn’t think it was anything to get all quivery about. I said, “Uh-huh. And the shadow is of someone standing out of camera range.”