“I’ve got a sandwich coming. I planned to eat at my desk.” I raised my wrist to show my watch. “Still on the clock.”

Muna popped up at the table, silently like a stealth drone, and placed a meat loaf platter in front of Weber and the ham sandwich I’d ordered by default in front of me.

“I gave you two pickles,” she said, grinning wide. “In case y’all wanted to share.”

I watched her move away again, a scowl on my face. With friends like these . . .

Weber unfolded a paper napkin, spreading it across his lap, as though preparing to while away the afternoon. “You’re backtracking on the Ayers case, even though it’s ours, and by ‘ours,’ I mean CPD, and more specifically Pena’s.”

I covered my lap in napkins, too. “Who told you that?”

“You did. With the look you just gave me. Have you found anything we didn’t?”

I shook my head. “Not yet, but I think there’s something there. I can feel it. You guys, Marta, think Ayers committed suicide.”

He forked a morsel of meat loaf into his mouth. “We suspected it, but couldn’t say for sure. Ruling accidental, spares the family.”

“I think they’d want the truth, whatever it is, don’t you?”

He nodded slowly, turning suddenly serious. “Sometimes the truth hurts. Sometimes not having it does more good than harm.” He let his words hang there for a moment while he watched me across the table. “You don’t agree?”

“Booze and prescription meds,” I said. “Why not just stick with that? Why jump into the lake? Why opt for an agonizing end, when a more peaceful one was available?”

Weber didn’t answer, just watched.

“What?” I said.

“If Marta could have moved the needle, she would have.”

“Maybe.” I picked up my sandwich, took a bite. It’d been hours since my morning cereal. “Actually, not maybe, I know she would have. Your nickname’s really Fish?”

He raised his glass and took a sip of water, swallowed. “Yep.”

“And you’re not going to tell me how that came about.”

The devilish look he gave me made me smile. “It’s called keeping the mystery alive. Did you find that kid, the one on the bike?”

Still chewing, I nodded.

“He wasn’t your client before, but he is now?”

“He is.”

Weber looked baffled. “And he handed over real money?”

“He wrote a check.”

“Huh. Go figure. And you think you’ve got a shot at turning something up, even though we worked it and found what we found?”

“I might have a shot. There’s nothing competing for my time at the moment.”

He dug into his mashed potatoes, his eyes locked on mine. “Are there any windmills you won’t tilt at?”