Marta flicked a thumb toward Tim’s boat. “This is the crime we’re looking at now, and Byson’s on the hook for it.” She turned to leave, then turned back, thoroughly pissed. “I do know how to run a case.”

“I’m not questioning that.”

“Then why are you crawling up my ass?”

“A friend asked for my help, so I’m giving it. I’d do the same for you.”

Marta searched my face and grimaced, apparently seeing the truth in it. She stood down, not much, just a fraction of an inch. “You’re going to haunt my dreams, aren’t you?”

“I believe someone may have had a reason to kill Tim Ayers.”

She smoothed down her crop of dark hair, her anger having turned to quiet resignation. I knew she hated murderers as much as I did. That’s why she became a cop, and why I did. “Tell Byson I’m looking for him.”

“Tim’s family had their lawyer shoo me off their property when I went to ask questions,” I said. “Who’d they have run interference for them tonight?”

Marta didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. I knew it was Felton. Where was he the night Tim died? He knew Jung. It wouldn’t have taken much for him to hire someone to impersonate him for a break-in.

“They’re hiding something,” I said. “And you’re wasting your time looking for Jung.”

Marta turned to leave, saying nothing. I watched as she trudged back toward the slips across damp, dewy grass. I stood for a long time and watched as the cops finished up and slowly moved away from the boat, along with most of the curious onlookers. The department wouldn’t have dispatched so many cops or the evidence techs, had this not been Ayers’s boat. Wealth had its privileges.

I waited for over an hour, still no sign of Cap. He had to have slipped back inside the office. Ganz could have gotten the part about the boat wrong. Darby’s got no boat registered in his name, but if the ex-con hung out here for any length of time, the nosy Cap would have to know who he was and why he was here. As the lot cleared of police, leaving the evidence van lagging behind, I headed for the marina office. The sun was well up now, the Drive just beginning to clog up with morning commuters. I flicked a look toward the lot. Barb was still in the car. It was a miracle.

“Lady PI,” Cap said when I walked in. “I thought I saw you talking to that lady cop. She’s a tough one, huh?”

I stood at the counter, my hands on it, palms down. He was a little too jovial, a little too friendly. “She’s also very good. What can you tell me about Vincent Darby?”