Ganz shrugged. “My hands weren’t exactly clean. I didn’t want to draw attention. Besides, the police are never my first call for anything.”

“Describe who you saw.”

“It was the weird guy I told you about, Tim’s friend, the one from the party.”

I swallowed hard. Jung.

“I stopped watching when I saw someone else taking an interest,” Ganz added. “No one I recognized. At that point, I gave it up. Tim was dead. I’d done what I’d done. I had to make peace with it. I didn’t see the second guy’s face, just his outline. He was tall, not fat. It could have been anybody. He got into a black SUV.”

I stood. The black SUV. Was Vince Darby following Jung? Why? And now I couldn’t find Jung anywhere? That wasn’t good.

Ganz watched me closely. “Are you all right?”

I shook my head, thinking. “Don’t think so.”

“But at least you don’t think I’m a murderer?”

I ignored the question. What was Jung up to? How had he gotten himself on Darby’s radar, and what was Darby willing to do about it? “I’ll need to see those discharge papers.”

Chapter 32

Chapter 32

The next morning I went to rent reliable wheels and ended up with a white Chevy Cruze that had a strange vibe and smelled like other people, but I had no choice but to push on with it. I tossed my pipe in the trunk, along with a few other PI essentials—a camera, binoculars, a clipboard, emergency rations—and headed out again to look for Jung. He took something from Tim’s boat, and Vince Darby watched him do it. Now Jung was in the wind. I had a bad feeling that wasn’t a coincidence, but first I had a stop to make.

I was leaning on the Cruze, my arms folded, when Weber strolled out of the area, saw me, and grinned. He was dressed in a jacket and tie, and his trench billowed behind him as he strolled over, cool as anything. He made quite the picture, and I was beginning to take a proprietary interest.

“Tiller’s Gun Shop,” I said when he reached me.

He shot me a confused look, cocked his head.

“You wanted to know where I buy my ammo? Tiller’s.” I searched his face, saw amusement creep into it, and realized instantly that I’d been played. I smiled, shook my head. “And you don’t care where.”

He got closer, stood facing me, hands in his pockets. “I knew me asking about you would tick you off, and that you’d come around to tell me just how much.”

“Smart,” I said. “Sneaky, but smart.”

“How’d you know where I’d be?” he asked.

I shot him a sly smile. I’d asked around. Cops talk. “You forget what I do for a living?”