“You don’t have all the information you need from the FBI?” There’s a touch of incredulity in his tone, and I can’t say I blame him. My research probably looks a tad nonsensical.

“Well, I was really hoping for insights into Larry Reyes.”

“Larry.” He tugs on his chin and continues walking. “We’re right this way.”

“I know the two of you were good friends.”

“That’s true.” He sucks on the corner of his lip and slowly nods. His stride is so slow it requires effort to not sail past him. “He worked for me for a long time.”

“You must have been very upset when he was murdered.” I watch Wayne the way one watches a dramatic scene on a television show. I don’t want to see the pain or hurt, but I can’t not look. Only, that’s not what I see.

Whatever thoughts cross through his mind, he blinks and shakes them off.

“The captain is right up here. There’s over a thousand boats in this marina. Did you know that?”

He pushes forward with a quick pace. We turn onto a narrower section of dock, and he points. At the end of the dock, there’s an enormous white boat churning water. The boat he’s pointing at is so large a small boat is attached on the end, and there’s a deck with a curved sofa and black glass on the back and all along the sides.

“She’s gorgeous.”

“She’s my pride and joy. At the wife’s insistence, I named her El Capitan.”

The sliding door opens on the boat, and a man in shorts and a short-sleeved shirt steps out onto the deck. He waves to Wayne and heads to the front of the boat, where he bends and pulls in a white cushion that had been hanging down, presumably protecting the boat from rubbing against the dock.

“You have staff?” I ask.

Wayne chuckles. “Sure do. A boat this big, you gotta. Welcome aboard.”

He holds out a hand for me, and I step from the dock, across the water gap, onto the yacht, because she’s not just a boat, this is a yacht.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, thanks.”

“You sure?”

“Maybe later.”

“Well, let’s sit. It’s gonna take a bit for Juan to get us set to depart.” He sits on the white leather and crosses one ankle over a knee. I sit on the opposite end and rest my tote on the cushion beside me. “What’s with the criminal profile on Larry? You don’t think he just got involved with some group who found a good ransom prospect?”

“No, that doesn’t fit. It never has. They were too slow to demand ransom.” It’s one piece of the puzzle that has always bothered me. You could conclude the refusal to engage in negotiation was due to inexperience or a dominant psychology, but waiting until we involved the FBI and went full-frontal to engage are curious elements of this case. I could share the current theories that it’s all related to an illegal gun transaction gone bad, but sharing that with a Sullivan Arms executive would be the height of poor judgement. If the FBI or the ATF wants Wayne to know, they’ll meet with him and share their theories.