“So that’s why you couldn’t be bothered to even identify his body. You sent Felton.”

“Mother told you we were in New York on business the night Tim killed himself. And now I’m walking away. I don’t want to see you ever again.”

“If not Spada,” I said, “who else might want to hurt Tim?”

He chuckled, but there was no lightness in it. It was a mean, spiteful, unforgiving chuckle. “You don’t give up, do you? Do you know how many lawyers I have?”

“Do they all wear watch fobs like Felton?”

Ayers glared at me. “Felton said you were a smartass. You want to pin Tim’s death on somebody, fine, go hound some of his predatory friends. That should give you a long list of suspects.”

“I’d be glad to. Give me their names.”

Ayers turned to leave. “I don’t think I will. Goodbye. Get lost.”

“Do you know where Felton was the night your brother died? He was at the marina mighty quick to ID Tim’s body.”

He turned back, appearing far more irritated than he had been already. “How would I know where he was? What does it matter anyway? Tim’s dead and buried, his problems right along with him. It’s over, done, finally.” He cocked his head. “I think I’ll enjoy yanking your license.”

“If you want it, you can have it now.” We stood and faced each other, neither of us happy to be in the situation. Stephen Ayers stared at me; I stared back. The Picasso sculpture stayed out of it; the people passing paid us no mind; neither did the rangy pigeons. “I’ll keep coming back. I’ll keep asking. You’ll need a million Feltons to turn me away.”

“You haven’t the resources to fight me in court.”

“I’ll hold a garage sale.”

Neither of us spoke for a time. Ayers appeared to wrestle with something internal. All I could do was wait and watch him do it. He looked uncomfortable, stretched past his limits, but I hoped he could see the resolve on my face. “I’d already cut him off at the knees,” he said. “He was no threat to me. Even if I wanted to kill him, why would I bother? All I had to do was wait a few more weeks, days maybe, and he’d be gone, anyway.” He grinned. “Don’t look so shocked. Our relationship was always adversarial.” He looked around the plaza, inhaled deeply. “I’m done having to insulate the family from Tim’s screwups. You want to know who wanted him dead? It wasn’t Nick Spada. . . . I’ll tell you, but only because I really hope he did it and has to spend the rest of his pathetic life in a prison cell. It’ll be better than he deserves.”

“Who’re we talking about?”