Burch said.“Me, too,” Nazario said. “I read a book about it when I was a kid.”“Look, is that it?”“It’s a lot smaller than I thought it would be.”The detectives had arrived at the San Antonio airport too late to drive to Summer Nolan’s ranch outside the city, so Burch had asked the taxi driver to drop them at a hotel near the Alamo.The historic landmark, surrounded by desert willows, live oaks, cedar elms, and redbud trees, was closed for the night, but lights blazed outside at two A.M. and throngs of people stood gazing at the old fort. The two detectives joined them.“Are you Texans?” asked a tall man in his twenties, wearing a plaid shirt and blue jeans.He seemed genuinely sympathetic when they said they weren’t. “Too bad,” he said.“You visit here often?” Burch asked.He nodded. “I try to drive down from Dallas at least twice a month. I just like to be here.”People were always there, he said, no matter the time, day and night.“That’s nice,” Nazario said later.
