“I knew you’d be back,” he said when he reached me, “but you’ve got the wrong idea.” He eyed the bartender, who was wiping down the bar and didn’t appear to give a fig about what else was going on. “Look, I’ve got to take care of Vivian. Do you mind taking a walk?” Vivian, a fluff of hairy orange, looked up at me with black marble eyes, her pink tongue hanging out of her mouth like it was too long to fit. The dog’s blue collar matched the blue bedazzling on the leash. It was way too much.

I stood, gestured toward the door. “After you.”

The doggy park was empty when we got there. Maybe folks didn’t exercise their dogs this late? The small enclosure was cordoned off by wrought iron, and the second Ganz unhooked rat-dog from the leash, Vivian lit out, tearing around like a bat out of Hades. Ganz and I sat down on the nearest bench, watching as she rolled around in wood chips.

“She’s a Pomeranian,” Ganz said, though I hadn’t asked. “I didn’t kill Tim.”

“You were seen at the marina days before he died, dressed as a woman. You’re deep in debt, and you blackmailed his family. Is that what paid for all the boxes I saw stacked up in the bar the other day?”

Vivian was back, flapping her nub of a tail. Ganz tossed her a treat from a plastic bag with the dog’s name spelled out on it in fake rhinestones. Seriously, way too much. The dog caught the snack midair, chewed a couple times, swallowed, and then pranced off. I scanned the street.

“Yes. But I didn’t think of it as blackmail. What’s it going to take for you to believe me?”

“Start talking. I’ll stop you when I’ve heard enough.”

Ganz took a deep breath, tossed another treat. “Okay, it wasn’t just business between us. Promises were made. Things ended badly. You have to understand, I had the club hanging over my head, bills. I needed that money. Maybe I panicked. Maybe I made the wrong choice. I did. I did make the wrong choice.

“The night of the party, afterward, I thought that if I couldn’t get the money from Tim, I might be able to get it from his family. They weren’t concerned about him being gay. I mean, it is the twenty-first century. It was the bar, his friends, our social unacceptability they didn’t want to deal with. I threatened to play it up, make things sticky. I knew they’d pay to keep me quiet. Their lawyer, Felton, is a horrible person, but I couldn’t give in to his threats. The club was literally dying right in front of me. I’ll admit it wasn’t my finest hour.”

“How’d you get the money?”