“And that’s before the party even got going.” Jung sat back and watched for my reaction. “People with OCD go bananas if a paper clip’s out of place. They scrub their hands a hundred times a day, repeat the same action over and over in exactly the same sequence. Tim didn’t have any of that, and I’ve known him for practically forever. I don’t think he even knew how to make his own bed. Lucky for him, the boat was easy to keep straight, when he thought to do it. Stephen sold the police a line and they bought it.”

I pushed the photos back toward him. “Why would his brother do that?”

“Resentment. Stephen wanted everything to himself, the money, his father’s love and attention, all of it. Tim couldn’t keep up—he never fit in. Eventually he gave up trying.”

“What do you mean ‘fit in’?”

Jung shrugged. “Wealthy family, influential circles, there are . . . expectations. Stephen toed the party line, followed in his father’s footsteps, never made waves. Tim tried, but couldn’t hack it in the end. He was an artist. He was gay. They didn’t approve of either. Add to that, Tim didn’t give a shit about his family’s legacy. When his father died, he had a choice, go with the flow or get the hell out. He got the hell out. That’s when his mother froze him out. Stephen too. Then he got cut off from the money, and he had to go it alone. His father left him the boat outright, though, so Tim decided to live on it.”

“How’d he get by?”

“He worked odd jobs, a year here, a year there. He sometimes would sell a painting or two. Mostly, I think, he lived off his insurance. He called it a vertical settlement? Sounded strange to me, but he seemed stoked about it. He said it gave him his insurance money upfront, enough to get by on, instead of it coming in after he died when he couldn’t use it? It’s legal. He was doing okay out there on the lake.” He shook his head, grit his teeth. “Man, Stephen’s a real tool. I wish I could punch his face right now.”

So much for Swami Rain and Jung’s yogi business, I thought, smiling. I scribbled viatical settlement on a notepad so I could check it out later. “What did Tim have that somebody might want?”

Jung leaned forward, his head in his hands, out of his element, in way over his head. “The only important thing he had was time, and what kind of creep would take that from him?” He looked up, searched my face. “So? What do you think? I convinced you, right? Please, you have to help me here.”

“There are some inconsistencies. Maybe they mean something, maybe they don’t.”