I walked farther in, skirting the tarp, looking for a clean place to light. Except for the tarp, Cantu’s futon, partly hidden behind a Japanese screen, and four beanbag chairs clustered around a ratty tatami mat, the place was empty. I eyed one of the beanbag chairs, but quickly ruled it out. Only a preschooler could rock a beanbag chair with any finesse. I decided to stand.

“You and Tim Ayers were together,” I said. “I was hoping you’d be able to give me some background, some insight into his state of mind.”

“Sorry. Can’t. I don’t rehash.”

“Excuse me?”

“Once I close the door on something, it stays closed. I never go back. It’s like it never happened. It’s my personal philosophy.” He paused, took a beat. “I don’t dwell,” he added as if that clarified things.

I stood and watched him, eyeing the forlorn Slinkys on the tarp. “And your philosophy also applies to people?”

“Especially people.”

“So you’re saying you’ve closed the door on Tim Ayers and won’t discuss him now.”

“Closed it. Locked it. And, no, sorry, I won’t.” The smug look on his face belied his profession of sorrow. He wasn’t at all sorry. He was far too glib for that.

He tried handing the card back, but I wouldn’t take it. I’d have a time getting the paint off my fingers. “Okay, then. I’ll pass your name along to the detectives in charge of Tim’s case. Maybe you’ll talk to them.” I took a sniff, drawing in the scent I’d recognized out in the hall. Even the strong smell of fresh paint couldn’t mask it. “But before they show up, I’d flush the weed and whatever else you’ve got stashed around here, or get yourself a good lawyer.” I smiled, headed for the door. “Have a good day, Mr. Cantu.”

I started counting Mississippis, but had a feeling I wouldn’t have to go too far with it. I didn’t. Cantu bounded off the tarp like a gazelle and slid in front of me to block my exit.

“Whoa. Hey. Slow down there.”

The smugness was gone, replaced by panic. Cantu’s face paled. He began to sweat. He obviously had something else besides the weed hidden. Cantu ran the back of a paint-splotched hand across his forehead. “Tim drowned, right? I had nothing to do with that. We broke up a year ago at least. Ancient history.”

“By mutual decision?”

“Why’s that your business?” He’d forgotten just that quickly the position he was in.

I reached for the doorknob, but Cantu stopped me. “Okay. Okay. My bad. He broke up with me, okay? One minute, I’m thinking we’ve got a thing, and the next, he’s packing up and heading out the door. That’s how it happened.”

“No explanation?”