“I have a few more questions. About the marina, about Tim Ayers.”

“If you’re not off my property in five seconds, I’m calling the police.”

“You mean Peter Langham’s property, don’t you? He owns this house, and your boss owns the boat you’ve been squatting on, and the car you’ve been driving. And I don’t think you’d really call the police. Not given your past experience with them.”

Darby drew in closer, his eyes gone stone cold, ugly. He wasn’t the least bit attractive now. This was the harder side of him, the side not trying to put on a friendly face; the side that coldheartedly scammed people out of their hard-earned money and then did time for it. This was the criminal, the con, the crook. Maybe he’d figured out how to defraud Tim? Somehow piggyback off his settlement? Skim some off the top? Maybe Tim caught on and that led to their confrontation?

“You lied to me,” I said, my eyes steady on his. “You were keeping tabs on Tim. You’re still keeping tabs on his boat, on me. What is it you think I’ll turn up?”

He stood there, barely breathing, no response, frigid cold emanating from flat, icy eyes.

“What happened between you and Tim Ayers?” Darby gave me nothing, and it was beginning to rankle. “Did you break into Tim’s boat? Where’s the painting you took away? Why’d you take it?” I searched his face for a reaction, but got nothing. “Where’s Jung Byson?” Darby didn’t even blink. It was a little chilling. “Who’s Peter Langham?” I said, pushing.

There was no way he would answer—I wouldn’t have—but I wanted to see whether he’d panic, hold firm, or come apart. Darby’s warning gaze was as sharp as knives now. He didn’t look like someone you should turn your back on, and so I didn’t. I kept a fair distance, watching every twitch. He glanced over my shoulder, his eyes surveying the street, possibly checking for witnesses.

“You’re fishing.” He managed a slow smile, but I could tell I’d gotten through. What had gotten under his skin? The mention of the missing painting? Langham? He checked the street again. When he turned back, I was still there. “Tim got drunk, hit his head, and went over. That’s it.”

“How do you know he hit his head?”

Darby’s eyes smoldered, and not in a good way.

“It wasn’t in the papers. You didn’t have access to the police report, as far as I know. So how’d you know?”