She answered on the second ring. “Cass Raines, PI,” she chuckled. “Where’ve you been hiding yourself?”

I slid back in my swivel chair, all easy, propped my legs up on the desk. “I’ve been around.”

“Last I heard, you were wearing a pair of Farraday’s cuffs and headed for the women’s lockup. I knew he’d never get you there, though. You’re like a feral alley cat, wily, slippery.”

I frowned, not sure if I should feel insulted or not. Who wanted to be likened to a feral alley cat? “Yeah, okay. Look, Marta, I need a favor. The drowning at the lake? Tim Ayers? Can you tell me anything about that?” I listened hard, squinting, as if that would help me pick up stray sounds from her end. “You still there?”

“I closed that case.” Marta’s voice was tight, all the friendliness sucked out of it. “Go sniff around someone else’s alley.”

Again with the cat thing? I frowned, braced myself for more heat. “You’re sure it was accidental, that it couldn’t have been anything else?”

“Like what?”

“Like a push instead of a slip? A shove instead of a jump?”

She let a beat pass. “The only push is the one Ayers gave himself. He either jumped or slipped, either way he was the only one there. Now it’s done. We released the body to the family. You’re too late to try and poach.”

I dropped my legs, leaned forward. “I do not poach.”

“You poached Farraday. He’s a prick, but you poached the hell out of him.”

“That was personal, and you know it . . . and I was right. Don’t leave that part out.”

“Right, wrong, I don’t give a shit. A poach is a poach.”

“You’re sure nothing smelled a little off, a little weird? You’re certain he either jumped or fell?”

“Everything smelled just fine to me,” Marta said. “But what’s any of this got to do with you?”

“I’m asking for a friend of Ayers’s.”

“A friend? What friend? . . . Oh, no. It’s that spacey guy—the dopey one with the kooky name. Something dumb . . . Byson . . . Jung Byson. That’s him, isn’t it?”

“He’s taking his friend’s death hard. Toss him a bone.”

“I see him again I’ll toss him into a cell. How’s that?” I could hear Marta breathing heavily on her end. She didn’t like to share. She also didn’t like to be questioned or second-guessed. I knew all this going in, which made dealing with her, especially on something like this, not a lot of fun.

“Marta, I can almost hear the steam flooding out of your ears. I’m not checking over your shoulder. I just want to know what you think happened. For old times’ sake, just a little info, and I’m out of your rapidly graying hair.”