“A woman. I don’t remember the face, just the wiggle. Wore a suit and carried a briefcase, looking like business. Redhead. Real nice caboose.”

Cap’s eyes began to wander again from my face downward. I cleared my throat and they jumped back up again. “When was this?”

“The same day the brother stopped by, only a little later. She headed straight for his slip. I tracked her through the window, enjoyed the view.”

I blew out a breath. Universally hated, a resentful brother conducting a wellness check, a mysterious redhead with a nice wiggle, a history of depression and drug abuse—what was Jung trying to get me into? I checked my watch. There was still way too much time on Jung’s meter.

“Did you notice anyone strange hanging around Tim’s boat?”

Cap shook his head, smiled.

“How about Ayers’s paperwork. Do you still have it?” I wanted to see if Tim had named anyone else besides his family as emergency contacts, someone who might have had reason to kill him. “It should have his emergency contacts on it, a permanent address?” Cap shot me an empty stare. He was likely still on the redhead’s caboose.

“Yep.”

He didn’t move. I didn’t, either. Ditto the jar with Jung’s sixty in its belly. My eyes hardened. No smile. “I’d like to take a look at it.”

Cap stood his ground; my wallet stayed closed. If I had to stand here all day, I would. It was the principle of the thing. Nothing moved except the undulating fan down the counter and the flutter of the blinds. Cap blinked first. Frowning, he slowly pulled back the jar.

“I guess it’s no good to me. This one’s on the house.” He padded back to the cluttered table, opened a bottom drawer and rifled around some, finally pulling out a couple sheets stapled at the top left corner. “This is it.”

“It doesn’t look like much,” I said.

“Yeah, well, renting a slip’s not like buying a house.” He walked the papers back and watched as I read through them. It didn’t take long. I didn’t think I’d need Tim’s Social Security number or his bank account info, but I made note of them, anyway. Tim hadn’t listed a permanent address, apparently the boat was his one and only. I groaned when I got to the line for emergency contact. Tim had chosen Jung. Dejection gave way to lighter spirits, however, when the back of the sheet held the phone number and address of an Elizabeth Ayers, identified as Tim’s mother. That would save me some time.

I handed the sheets back. “Would you mind making a copy?”