Marta didn’t say anything for a bit. “He’s an Ayers. They rub elbows with the mayor. You know what that means, don’t depress me by making me say it.”

“And you don’t find the lack of prints or any of that other stuff a little odd? How do you not leave a single print behind on your own boat?”

All I heard was quiet from Marta’s end.

“Marta, I’m good for it,” I said, jumping in. “You know whatever you tell me stays with me, but give me something that wasn’t already in the papers, will you?”

“We weren’t dealing with some ordinary guy, apparently,” she said, her voice lower than before. “According to the victim’s brother, Ayers was seriously OCD. He went bonkers over the slightest mess.”

“But you can’t determine his intent,” I said. It was not a question.

“My feeling is this is a self-termination, but for the family’s sake . . .” Her words trailed away. “Word came down from the top to pretty this up and do it fast. Since we couldn’t conclusively say he meant to kill himself, we didn’t. There’s still a stigma to suicide. Besides, the family’s apparently been dealing with some rocky shit for a long time with this kid, and wanted it all put to bed.”

“What kind of ‘rocky shit’?”

Marta chortled. “Byson didn’t give you the backstory?”

I sighed. “Apparently not.”

“The victim had a few minor scrapes, mostly in high school—possession of marijuana, underage drinking, speeding tickets, trespass. Then there’s his history of depression and anxiety, strike two. Maybe he was bipolar, the brother suspects as much, but Tim was never officially diagnosed. Guess the family didn’t want that hanging over their heads either. Strike three? Tim Ayers was dying of some god-awful kind of cancer, and didn’t have much time anyway. He was still up and on his feet, by all accounts, but his better days were behind him. That’s got to be tough for a guy still in his twenties., which possibly contributed to his state of mind at the time he died.”

I hung on the line, shocked into silence. Jung hadn’t mentioned that Tim was dying or that he had had a history of depression and anxiety. My grip tightened on the receiver. Here I was feeling guilty for turning him away when it now appeared that that’s exactly what I should have done. I narrowed my eyes. He knew what he was doing, too, didn’t he? I thought. If he’d told me all of this up front, that would have put quite a different spin on Tim’s “accidental” death.